Halo: Heaven and Earth/Book Three: Heaven and Earth

==Book Three: Heaven and Earth==
===Chapter Forty-Six: Legacy===
A cool breeze slipped through the open window. The window had been open for some time—the apartment’s sole occupant could not remember when he’d opened it—and the assorted smells from the streets outside filled the room with an unpleasant odor. Still, the old man made no move to close the window. He didn’t mind the smell and the warmth of late afternoon’s dwindling sunbeams felt good on his face.
Tobias Lensky sat at his dining table and turned the pages of a large book over in his hands. His eyes scanned the words before him but his mind was elsewhere. A datapad across the table—a parting gift from Tom Spender—brought news of the surging events engulfing the galaxy. Shinsu ‘Refum was on the move, his fleet gathering strength with each passing day. The Created tightened their hold on the Inner Colonies and more Covenant worlds pledged fealty to the Mantle of Responsibility with each passing day. Grand decisions were being made and for once Tobias had no part in them. At one time he’d been a colossus, head of the Syndicate, wealthiest man in the galaxy, ONI’s favorite informant and party to secrets most people could only dream of. Now he was an old, shrunken man wasting away in this grubby apartment. Time had passed him by.
He sighed and looked to the empty room behind him. Simon Onegin had lain in that room. How long since Ryder’s last visit? How long since Tobias’s son had seized a new lease on life? Simon Venter he was calling himself now, according to Spender’s report. The thought brought a smile to Tobias’s wrinkled face. Always full of surprises, that one. Just like his father. He’d go far in this new galaxy, no question about that. 
Yes, the galaxy had left Tobias behind but he’d dropped a parting gift into that endless stream. Everything he’d built had been torn down, but he’d left a living legacy all the same. He was content with that humble offering.
The datapad held news of a battle at Le Havre. The Kru’desh Legion had stormed the colony’s defenses and disarmed the garrison. Underworld rumor mills swirled with news of the Soul Ascension’s triumphant return. Simon Venter or Stray or whatever else he called himself had many more victories in his future.
A strained whine drifted in through the open window. It grew louder with each passing moment. Tobias recognized a descending Pelican’s telltale engine. It was searching for a place to land. Tobias had no question as to its true destination.
He’d been awaiting this moment for some time. Now it was finally here. The old man sighed and glanced over the last few lines of his book: “Well, let’s go! And we go like this now, hand in hand. And eternally so, all our lives, hand in hand! Hurrah for Karamazov!” He closed the book for the last time and set it aside, then assumed as comfortable a position in his chair as he could and waited.
“Hurrah for Karamazov!” the schoolboys in the book cried. Tobias had been a schoolboy himself, once upon a time, growing up in a dingy room not unlike this one. He’d raced up and down the dirty streets, gazing up at the sky and dreaming of all that could be his.
He’d made those dreams come true. Most of them anyway. No one else from that muddy rock had made it offworld. No one even remembered that planet’s name. He’d lived more fully than most men could even dream.
He did not have long to wait. Only a few minutes passed before heavy footsteps trampled the steps outside. Something snapped against the door and it slid open in a cloud of smoke, its locking mechanism fried. Two men in drab body armor stormed into the apartment, assault rifles trained on the old man at the table. Tobias offered them a smile and a sardonic wave.
A pair of sleek automatons strode in behind the men. Tobias recognized Forerunner armigers, hardlight weapons protruding from thin metal arms. Simon and his Chancer friends had helped Tobias recover one once. The armiger had sold for a pretty price on the black market. Its battered frame had exuded mystery and adventure, exactly the kind of discovery Tobias craved. Now the things were everywhere, enforcing peace and docility upon the galaxy. Such a shame to see the marvelous things become so disgustingly commonplace.
The armigers and enforcers stepped aside as a fifth figure strode into the room: a tall woman with harsh, pale features and graying hair, an overcoat draped over her own body armor. She thrust her hands in her coat pockets and fixed Tobias with a merciless glare.
Tobias barely recognized her. She’d grown so much from that adorable little waif on Iskander. Who could have guessed the timid little waitress from that back-alley dive would grow into such a killer? “Tatiana. It’s been far too long.”
“Not nearly long enough.” Tatiana gestured to the enforcers, who proceeded to ransack the cramped apartment. They wrenched open cabinets and emptied their meager contents on to the floor. Tobias shifted his legs just in time as a boot upended the table and sent the book and datapad clattering to the floor. One of the armigers snatched the pad up and scanned its contents before handing it to Tatiana. She read Spender’s message with an air of disgust. “Keeping up with your little monster, I see.”
“That’s not a very nice way to talk about your son.”
“Don’t you dare.” Tatiana’s eyes flashed dangerously. “I never wanted anything to do with that freak. But you know that all too well.”
“Pots and kettles and all that. I see the Created gave you a few modifications of your own.” Tatiana’s neck and forearms sported pale, raised scars—the telltale signs of recent augmentation procedures. Tobias winced as a cabinet full of plates smashed against the floor. “And is all this really necessary? I assure you I have nothing to hide.”
“There’s always something with you. Some little trick tucked away, some game you’re playing with other people’s lives.” Tatiana pushed past her enforcers and surveyed the spare room. She stood in the spot where Simon’s cot had rested and surveyed the dirty chamber. The armigers waited patiently by the entryway. They made no sign of joining the ransacking.
“Even if I did have a trove of assault rifles tucked under the floorboards, do I look like I could use them?” Tobias laughed. “Though I admit your rudeness makes me wish I’d thought to rig this place with explosives. You were such a polite girl when I met you. Where have your manners gone?”
“Manners?” Tatiana strode back into the kitchen. “Who do you think you are?”
“The old man whose humble domicile you and your thugs are ruining.”
“Apologies, but this planet now resides under the Mantle of Responsibility.” One of the armigers spoke for the first time. Its clipped, cordial tone sounded out of place coming from a combat automaton. “All property is now subject to confiscation and redistribution by this sector’s administrating intelligence. Tobias Lensky, as a person credibly accused of numerous crimes against the Mantle all of your personal holdings are forfeit."
“No, no, I’m the one who should apologize.” Yes, the galaxy would be a very tedious place indeed under Cortana’s maternal dictatorship. “I wish I had more property for you to confiscate.”
“Always so polite,” Tatiana sneered.
“Cordiality costs me nothing, my dear. In fact, I find manners contributed immensely to my success in life.”
“Success,” she spat. “That’s what you call the things you’ve done?”
Tobias raised an eyebrow. He ought to be afraid—very afraid—but the armigers’ presence meant Tatiana needed to keep her cool. The Created and their insufferable self-righteousness had some benefits, at least. “You’re one to talk, my dear. Do your new masters know everything you did for the Syndicate? I can’t say the organization was pleasant under my direction, but the places you and Helen took it…”
“I did what I had to do to survive. I’m not proud of what I did. But I used the Syndicate to do good. We advanced the Assembly’s goals for years. Now the Created are finally bringing justice to this rotten galaxy.”
She told the lie well. Maybe she even believed it herself. But Tobias knew a hungry dog when he saw one. She would serve anyone for the chance to stand triumphantly before him, the source of all her woes.
I’m the source of all her happiness, too. She’d never have amounted to anything without me. Some people just didn’t understand gratitude.
“Well, here you are then. My congratulations.” Tobias nodded respectfully. “You have to admit, I gave you a good run. The Syndicate never found me after Helen ran me out, though not for lack of trying. You can attest to that.”
He peered back at the ruined door. “And where is Helen? I would have thought she’d be here with you to give her old man a proper sendoff.”
“Helen’s busy.” A cruel smile broke through Tatiana’s angry façade. “The Created have her manning a desk back at Asphodel Meadows. Secretary duties. Your little princess will work for an honest living, the same as everyone else.”
Ah, so that’s the way things were. Tobias’s daughter had a head for business, perhaps an even better one than him, but she hadn’t recognized her lieutenant’s true nature until it was too late. A hungry dog indeed. Helen had been a boring little girl right from the start, but Tobias spared her a moment’s pity before returning to his current predicament. “Life on the margins isn’t such a terrible thing. She’ll adapt. I certainly did.”
They regarded each other in silence. Looking at Tatiana made Tobias feel his age. It really had not been so long since those days on Iskander, running the Syndicate from the governor’s mansion while indulging in a bit of experimentation on the side. Just two decades, a drop in the bucket for a man who’d been alive since the twenty-fifth century. So much had changed since then—he’d watched the galaxy writhe and change a hundred times over the course of his long life. Yes, now was as good a time as any to take his exit. A pity it wasn’t for a larger audience.
“Well, do pass along my regards the next time you stop in to gloat over her.” Tobias curled his tongue to the back of his mouth and fiddled with a loose molar. “I never found her particularly interesting even after she ran me out.”
“You can give them to her yourself.” Tatiana’s smile widened. “I’m not going to kill you, old man.”
“A touch of affection left for little old me?” Tobias laughed. “I didn’t think you had it in you. Finally, some gratitude after all these years. Your Created masters have been good influences, I see.”
“Gratitude?” The smile vanished. “After what you did to me?”
“Took you in off the street, gave you a future and a home, not to mention two lovely sons—”
“One son,” Tatiana hissed. “You gave me one son, you twisted pervert. Arthur was mine. I loved him and you took him away--!”
She froze, realizing the two enforcers were still standing awkwardly in the kitchen. She jerked a thumb at the door. “Wait outside. He’s no threat. I’ll handle the rest of this.”
The men gratefully took their leave. The armigers remained where they were. Tatiana’s autonomy had limits. The Created would always be the ones in control. Tobias wondered if that little detail mattered to her or any of their other servants.
“You took Arthur,” Tatiana repeated quietly. “All you had to do was leave us alone. But that wasn’t enough for you.”
“I gave that boy a future, just like I did with his mother. He had promise and I made sure the officer’s academy made use of it. A shame about how things turned out with him, but he was always just a prototype. The flaws came from your side of the DNA, I imagine. Fortunately I corrected that with his brother. Simon’s career has proven far more interesting. A rousing success, if I do say so myself.”
“That’s really all it is to you, isn’t it?” Tatiana spat. “You took my son away, planted your monster inside me, forced all of that on me—it was all just an experiment. Just something to amuse yourself when you got bored running the Syndicate.”
“My dear, passing whims are often the most fruitful ones.” Tobias smiled. He wondered how the Created would react if he provoked Tatiana into killing him right here in the apartment. “Face the facts: for all intents and purposes, you were my property. Arthur was my property. Simon was my property. You had no future and those boys wouldn’t exist without me. I did my best to dispose of our happy little family as I saw fit. I was writing my legacy. I couldn’t let myself get distracted by your minor inconveniences.”
“Inconveniences?” Tatiana drew a curved knife from her pocket. “I begged you not to take Arthur. I begged you not to put your little monster inside me. You used me, just like you use everyone. And then you threw me aside and forgot about me.”
“Still singing that tired old song after all these years? You really need to learn how to move on.”
Tatiana’s blow knocked Tobias out of the chair. He sprawled, wheezing, on the dirty floor. A copper taste filled his mouth. She’d probably broken some of his ribs. With her augmentations he was lucky to be alive at all.
“Steady,” he heard the armiger say in the distance. “He is trying to provoke you. Do not let him win.”
“Oh, I’m through letting this sick bastard win at anything.” Tatiana hauled the old man off the floor. “The joke’s on you this time, Tobias. Arthur—my son—is more than you can ever imagine now. Your legacy is disintegrating. The Syndicate’s gone. Your ONI friends—gone. All those frontier boys’ clubs you’ve been wasting away in are fading away. You want to talk about your legacy, old man? You’ll have time to think about that in a re-education facility. You’ll get to watch while we erase every trace of your legacy.”
“A re-education facility? The Created really can’t do better than repackaging old ideas, can they?” Tobias spat out a mouthful of blood. He was having trouble breathing now. Tatiana’s blow had done serious damage—perhaps worse than she’d intended. “Such a dull galaxy you’re helping them create.”
“No. We’re creating a just galaxy. A galaxy where vile men like you can’t just do whatever they please.”
“Whatever helps you sleep at night, my dear.”
Her hand wrapped around his throat. “Call me ‘dear’ one more time.”
“And you’ll what, wring my neck? Your masters in the corner there would never allow it.” Tobias smiled through the pain. “And you’ll have a harder time demolishing my true legacy. He’s already rebounded. Took a whole colony from you over at Le Havre, in case you hadn’t heard. You should be proud of your son.”
“That monster isn’t my son. He’s on the losing side, just like you. I just hope the Created make sure I’m the one who puts him down.”
“Such venom from a mother.” It was Tobias’s turn to sneer. In the end, behind all the violence and bluster, this woman was still that frightened girl he’d picked out of that bar all those years ago. “What did the poor boy ever do to you?”
“He exists,” Tatiana hissed. “Even if it weren’t for all his other crimes, that would be enough. I’ll do the galaxy a favor and put him out of his misery, just like I did Kahn and Venter.”
So she’d been the one to deal the killing blow. The Created had themselves a loyal attack dog in this one. Poor Kahn. Poor Venter. They’d deserved better. “Or perhaps he’ll put you out of yours. He’s come so very far and he has so very far still to go. I think my legacy is quite secure—I’d say my humble little whim of an experiment was a complete success. I’ve spent my life shaping this galaxy and I’ll keep shaping it long after I’m dead. Small minds like yours will never tear that legacy apart.”
“We’ll see about that.” Tatiana hauled him back toward the armigers. “I’m going to enjoy seeing how the Created deal with you.”
“Well, what say I deny you one last pleasure? For old time’s sake?” Tobias found the false tooth. Tatiana’s blow had done him the favor of knocking it loose. He forced it between his remaining molars and bit down hard.
Tatiana saw the motion. In an instant she had him pinned against the wall, fingers probing his mouth for the deadly package. She was too late. The capsule’s contents were already spreading through the old man’s system.
“Medic!” Tatiana bellowed. “Antivenom, now!”
It was no use and they both knew it. Tatiana’s eyes met Tobias’s, widening in rage as she realized his final little joke: she’d just spent his last moments trying desperately to save his life.
Tobias Lensky died laughing.
===Chapter Forty-Seven: Rock and Ice===
“You are going to get me into trouble again,” Viru complained. He glanced nervously up and down the corridor as if a furious guard might come storming around the corner any moment. “Why must you single me out every time boredom strikes you?”
“I’m hurt.” Naia ‘Baran made a show of adjusting her robes. “Don’t you know that you’re my favorite cousin?”
She twisted her neck and smiled at the gaggle of Sangheili children clustered behind her. “That’s what I want him to think, anyway,” she told them in a stage whisper. “Your brother would get jealous if he knew about all of you.”
The group—five of Rol ‘Baran’s youngest daughters—held back their laughter. Watching Naia bait their brother was one of their favorite pastimes. Babysitting the kaidon’s children was ostensibly Naia’s punishment for her latest moment of insubordination. She’d made the mistake of praising the Jiralhanae war forges within her father’s hearing. Teyr was still smarting over his brother’s refusal to punish Naia over her last trip outside. Fortunately with all the distractions plaguing the steward these days his idea of chastisement was to assign her demeaning chores.
As usual, he mistook Naia for her brothers or even one of her warrior sisters. He couldn’t fathom that some members of his family might appreciate the household duties he so despised. Naia never understood her sisters’ rush to join their brothers in all those tedious training sessions. Someone needed to keep the household running while the warriors strutted and preened.
They had all better get used to the domestic side of things. Thanks to the Created there wouldn’t be much use at all for warriors very soon.
“Take my sisters elsewhere,” Viru insisted. “This is no place for children.”
“Why not? They let you stand here all day, don’t they?” More laughs from the children. Naia appreciated such an accommodating audience.
Viru curled his mandibles, embarrassed. They stood in a sealed tube that connected the ancient halls of Baran keep to the military facilities grafted on during the Covenant years. Guard duty here was hardly a prestigious assignment. Yutur, the keep’s head of security and a close friend of Teyr, never missed a chance to stick Viru there for long shifts. As the kaidon’s youngest son, Viru was the easiest for anyone to bully. Even his sisters laughed at Naia’s tease longer than was appropriate.
Naia felt a rare stab of regret. Viru didn’t deserve everything she put him through—most of the time, anyway.
“He’s right, you know,” she said, turning to the younger girls. “This passage is a dangerous position. We can’t risk an accident befalling the kaidon’s daughters. Go back to the kitchens and make yourselves useful.”
“And what about you?” Vobine, the oldest of the group, demanded. “Aren’t you supposed to be watching us?”
“Do you really need me standing over you all day?” Naia countered. “I’ll be along shortly. Your brother and I have a few matters to discuss.”
This won more giggles from the children. They scampered off down the hallway, shooting amused glances back over their shoulders.
Viru’s mandibles twitched as his sisters disappeared. “What matters do you need to discuss?”
Naia tilted her head. “It got rid of them, didn’t it?”
“And yet you didn’t go with them.”
“You wound me,” Naia mocked. “Sometimes I think you don’t care for me at all.”
“You have yet to give me reason to enjoy your company,” Viru grunted.
“What was that?” Naia laughed. “An attempt at humor? See, you do enjoy my company.”
“Your company tends to get me in trouble,” her cousin groused. “Just like it will when my sisters cause trouble across the keep. Someone will find a way to blame me for your negligence.”
“And being such a brave, noble warrior, you will of course have no qualms with shielding me from chastisement.”
“You read too many books. Keep your imagination in those old tomes, where it can’t hurt me."
Naia pursed her mandibles, wishing her cousin weren’t so stiff on duty. He’d been so much more fun before his brothers strapped him in armor and inducted hi into their warrior ranks. Once upon a time Viru would have relished the chance to sneak her out of the keep and explore the frozen tundra. Now even a simple conversation put him on edge.
Perhaps it was her own fault. What she saw as harmless teasing was a grave threat to his warrior honor. Males always took these matters far too seriously. Naia couldn’t bear it if Viru refused to speak with her anymore—or if his dire warnings came true and she really did get him into serious trouble.
In truth, without her cousin Naia would have no one to talk to save the children and a handful of servants. The keep was on edge of late. Her father shut himself away in his chambers, as bitter and brooding as always. Naia’s mother and siblings rallied around Teyr as they always did, turning Naia aside with harsh words whenever she tried to bring some levity into their cold days. They’d never forgiven her for not hating Rol and his family. Now that Rol’s position as kaidon was cemented through his allegiance to the Created, Teyr’s resentment festered even deeper than before. Even Rol’s warriors went about their duties with tense diligence. Something was happening in the galaxy beyond this frigid planet, something that threatened the sunny promises of a golden age beneath the Mantle.
The war wasn’t over yet. Much as Naia mocked the warriors’ obsession with violence, she wished someone would tell her what was going on. If her home was under threat, she had a right to know.
Viru noticed her troubled silence. “I did not mean to offend you,” he said quickly.
Naia gave him a sidelong glance, pouring as much hurt and recrimination into her eyes as she possibly could.
“Your literary pursuits are a great credit to your mind. A true mark of a noble soul.” Viru pressed on, nearly tripping over his own words. “I only wish… you’re mocking me again, aren’t you?”
“I have a noble soul, do I?” Naia couldn’t hold back her smile. “I never realized you held my soul and my mind in such high esteem. You have wisdom beyond your years, young ‘Baran.”
“More japes,” Viru groaned. “Someday I will learn never to take you at your word.”
“If you haven’t learned by now you never will.” Naia clasped her hands behind her back. “Not to worry. That’s what I like about you. You aren’t nearly as dull as the other warriors, much as you try to be. Someday you’ll thank me for livening up these gloomy days. Or would you prefer that I leave you to stand in this corridor by yourself all day?”
“I… enjoy your company,” Viru admitted sheepishly. “I only wish you would pick better times for—” The young warrior stiffened, eyes widening beneath his slitted helmet. He snapped to attention and pressed himself back against the corridor wall.
Naia’s mandibles parted to mock her cousin’s jumpy reaction, but the joke died in her throat. Rol ‘Baran strode down the access tube, his ornate kaidon’s armor brushing against the ceiling. Behind him trailed two honor guards and just behind them loomed an even bigger figure, one that wasn’t Sangheili at all.
Irthanus, Chieftain of the Jirlhanae, filled the tube with his massive frame and ornate armor. The gravity hammer slung over his shoulder scraped against both ceiling and floor. A full contingent of his warriors marched dutifully at the rear, bladed instruments of war adorning their dark plated armor.
Even in the presence of the kaidon, Irthanus dominated Naia’s attention. She couldn’t take her eyes off the enormous chieftain. Her spine flattened against the wall in a desperate attempt to make space for the oncoming warriors. 
Rol’s pace slowed at the sight of Naia and Viru. He halted before his son and looked him up and down, expression hidden behind his broad helmet.
Viru pressed his hand against his chest. “Good day to you, Lord Kaidon.” 
“A good day for me, perhaps,” Rol rumbled. “Perhaps less so for you.”
Naia was impressed that Viru didn’t melt beneath his father’s gaze. He held his salute and said nothing.
“What are you doing here?” Rol demanded in that same low tone. He stood a good head taller than his son, his ornate armor rising in sharp contrast to Viru’s simple combat harness.
“Guard duty, Lord Kaidon,” Viru said stiffly. “This is my assigned post for the day.”
“Your assigned post,” Rol repeated. “Not exactly a station befitting the scion of the Baran bloodline. One would think your family’s honor might have moved you to protest such a position.”
“The captain of the household guard assigned the duty roster. This is my assigned position.”
“And you did not protest such a lowly position?” Rol asked sharply.
Viru stiffened. Naia pitied her cousin. She had things far better--whenever her father was displeased with her, he did as he always did with things that irritated him and ignored her.
“It was not my place to question my assignment, Lord Kaidon,” Viru said with as much resolve as he could muster.
A throaty chuckle echoed down the hall. Chieftain Irthanus stepped forward, pushing Rol’s guards aside with an easy wave. He towered over Kaidon and son alike, small eyes peering down from beneath a mane of braided fur.
“What this loyal warrior means to say is that he would never use his position as your offspring to declare himself too good for any duty,” Irthanus rumbled. “Come, Rol, stop torturing the boy.”
The kaidon glanced up at the chieftain. At first Naia thought he was angry—a Jiralhanae, questioning his authority within his own keep! But Rol surprised her with a bark of laughter.
“You never let me have any fun, Irthanus. Must you interrupt my jokes?” He turned back to Viru and clapped his son cheerfully on the shoulder. “You do well, of course. When I was your age I used my station to shirk many such shifts. I am glad to see my children have grown to be nobler than I.”
Viru ducked his head, embarrassed. “Thank you fath—Lord Kaidon.”
“As for you…” Rol turned to Naia. “We ran across some of my daughters just down the corridor. Poor Irthanus nearly tripped himself trying not to crush them underfoot. Are you the one responsible for such a blatant threat to their safety?”
Naia took a chance. The kaidon wouldn’t be in such a good mood had his children really been in danger. “Vobine must learn how to guide her sisters. I tested her to see if she could guide them to the kitchens without my supervision.”
The gamble paid off. Rol chortled with good humor. “Smooth-tongued as a San ‘Shyuum, niece. I hope you use it to keep Viru out of trouble as much as you do yourself.”
He nodded to them both before striding on toward the hangar bay. Irthanus led the others after the kaidon. Perhaps it was only her imagination, but Naia felt the floor tremble as the chieftain passed. One of the other Jiralhanae paused and nodded in her direction, a strange smile on its gentle face. 
“Kraigus!” Irthanus barked over his shoulder. The smiling warrior hurried after his fellows.
Naia waited for the imposing party to stride from earshot before looking back to Viru. Her cousin leaned against the wall, exhaling rapidly as if his hearts hadn’t beaten at all in his father’s presence.
“You see?” she said. “Nothing at all to worry about. Even the kaidon knows I keep you out of trouble.”
Rol ‘Baran really was unlike any kaidon the Sangheili knew. He was certainly a better fit for the role than Naia’s father, no matter how much Teyr raged and complained about his younger brother.
----
Three Phantoms lifted off from the keep’s hangar bay and soared out across the icy plains. Rol ‘Baran stood in the lead dropship’s open troop bay and gazed out over the endless stretch of snow. The frigid air cut through his armor and chilled him to the bone. Archangel’s Rest was inhospitable at the best of times and downright uninhabitable at the worst. Even a flight like this was a luxury. This region’s frequent blizzards were strong enough to ground even the most advanced fliers. Rol remembered a childhood full of long treks through driving snowstorms as his training masters strove to prepare him and his schoolfellows for a life of cold hardship. Many youths had perished on those treks. Rol had not. He had refused to give up and instead won mastery over the hardship, just as he eventually won mastery over the planet itself.
It was a simple enough matter to petition the Created for a new planet to call home. Many old Forerunner colonies—hidden even from the Covenant’s prying gaze—were now uncovered thanks to the resumption of the Mantle. But Rol would never abandon Archangel’s Rest, not for an empire of garden worlds. This was his home.
The vast frozen landscape, the mighty trees of the great forest, the keep’s looming battlements—they were all his treasured home.
Irthanus stood beside Rol, shaggy arms folded over his armored chest. The chieftain stared back at the ‘Baran keep as the mighty fortress dwindled away behind the Phantoms. “Those young Sangheili are quite the pair,” Irthanus called over the engine’s whine. “I remember them from the war forges.”
“My son is loyal but stiff. I hope Naia will help him see that there is more to life than obedience and advancing through the ranks.”
“An easy thing to say when one has already achieved high rank of his own. A young warrior will always be hungry for achievement. That is what makes them so potent.” Irthanus nodded at his own words. “You are blessed with worthy children, Rol.”
“And at least one worthy niece.”
The chieftain snorted. “Rather impudent for a female, isn’t she?”
“At least she calls me kaidon. The rest of Teyr’s children despise me as much as he does.” A heavy grief passed over Rol as he thought of the children who once raced to greet him whenever he returned from the wars. Their father had poisoned their minds with his impotent rage, turning them into lesser reflections of himself. Naia was a gem out of that brood. Rol would have adopted her, if only Teyr wouldn’t use the gesture as a pretext for more slighted honor. “I would have more spirits like hers rise up from my people. We have obsessed over order and warfare too long. Perhaps the Mantle will shelter a gentler generation.”
“One only hopes,” Irthanus agreed. “Come, let’s get out of this cold.”
They retreated inside the Phantom. The doors sealed them inside the dim troop bay and mercifully cut out the driving winds. Irthanus crouched as low to the deck as he could. Phantoms—with no seating or other accommodations—were uncomfortable means of conveyance to begin with. Rol’s guards and Irthanus’s warriors rode in the escort craft. The honor guard disliked the idea of their kaidon riding alone with a Jiralahanae chieftain, but Rol insisted. He trusted Irthanus with his life.
“Another wave of settlers landed on the far side of the planet yesterday,” Irthanus informed him. “My people are eternally in your debt.”
“Hold back thanks until they withstand the winter,” Rol joked. “The true snows have not yet begun to fall.”
“We are better suited for the cold than you are, my friend. A bit of frost never slowed a Jiralhanae.” Irthanus’s laugh filled the troop bay. “If you think this planet is harsh, you should see the worlds these packs hail from.”
That mighty laugh was the first thing Rol ever knew from the chieftain. He remembered that day well: his warriors pinned down by a squadron of human Scorpion tanks while their infantry pressed in on all sides. A howl of mirth pierced the cannon fire and then an entire pack of Jiralhanae descended upon the humans and drove them from the field. Irthanus had crushed no less than three Scorpions beneath his hammer. A friendship was born that day amidst the ruined tanks and slaughtered humans, a friendship that endured the Great Schism and all the wars since then.
Irthanus was Rol’s true brother, far more than Teyr had ever been.
“Take all the land you need,” Rol assured him. “This planet sat unused for far too long. My ancestors were content to sit within the keep and ponder the mysteries of the holy temple. They cared nothing for this world, only for the prestige our seat of power gave us. I will not repeat their folly.”
“And my ancestors wasted countless lives in pursuit of fruitless conquest,” Irthanus agreed. “In my youth, I was no different. Did I ever tell you that I once tore apart a team of Unggoy because they served me overcooked Thorn Beast?”
“You may have mentioned it.”
“I was a wild one.” Irthanus chuckled with self-recrimination. “Lives were mine to use and I spent them gladly. War with the humans was the perfect excuse to indulge my basest instincts.”
“That war blinded us all. And even after the Prophets’ deception was revealed we clung to the lies of the past. We feared change. We feared the truth, that there might be meaning to life beyond senseless violence.” Rol shook his head. “And to think it was the humans’ constructs who pierced through the veil and set us on the path to the future.”
“A true Great Journey,” Irthanus mused. “Yes, who could have guessed we might find salvation from within that strange race?”
A true Covenant. A true Great Journey. Beneath the Mantle of Responsibility they loosed the shackles of their past and found a cause worth fighting for. The thought lifted Rol’s spirits more than any empty Covenant ritual ever had.
They rode in silence for some time. Rol’s mind drifted back to the keep—to his wife and children, to his friends and vassals. He had so little time for them lately. They deserved better than his absence. Allegiance to the Created was meant to free him from the duty of constant warfare, not keep him wrapped up in campaign after campaign. But the enemy still raged out beyond Archangel’s Rest. Soon, Rol promised the unseen family. Soon.
Irthanus looked up as if sensing his thoughts. “So you relinquished command of the fleet,” he said, a note of disapproval in his voice. He saw Rol’s mandibles open in protest and raised a meaty hand. “No, do not deny it. That fiery construct, the one called Arthur, told me you took your leave. He offered to make me fleetmaster in your stead.”
That was a surprise—and not an entirely welcome one. Rol didn’t like the idea of the Created going behind his back or playing Irthanus against him. But he’d known certain elements of pride needed to be relinquished beneath the Mantle. The Created played whatever games they chose. He’d made the decision to step down. Now the matter of his replacement was beyond his control. “A generous offer. My shipmasters would be honored to serve under your command.”
“Let’s not have lies between us, Rol. I would make a terrible naval commander and your shipmasters would hate me for replacing you. Why did you resign?”
“I did not resign. I simply stepped aside to allow room for one more worthy. At Talitsa, Shinsu ‘Refum outmaneuvered me when I had his fleet outnumbered three to one. Thousands died in what should have been a complete victory. My pride blinded me to my shortcomings as a fleet commander. Our people have suffered enough under incompetent leaders. Besides, this planet needs me.”
Irthanus nodded slowly. “You speak of the latest report from the frontier.”
“Yes. Archangel’s Rest may be his next target.” The Created warned that ‘Refum’s fleet had accessed a pocket of the Domain. They insisted the incident was a minor achievement at most, but now they mobilized ships and warriors from all corners of their new empire to oppose the Fleet of Cleansing Fire. Whatever ‘Refum and his lackeys had achieved, it had the Created more concerned than the dozens of planets he’d already lain waste to. Rol would die before he let that up-jumped warlord set foot on Archangel’s Rest. “If an attack comes, I will be hear to lead the defense.”
“As will I,” Irthanus promised. The Phantom lurched and started a gentle descent. “If you remain here, my warriors will as well.”
“You mean well, old friend, but the real war lies elsewhere.”
“The real war lies in the defense of my people,” Irthanus rumbled. “I have conquered plenty of worlds for the Created. They have many generals to do their bidding. I have earned a chance to rest and see that my people settle here safely. And if Shinsu ‘Refum or any of his minions descend on this world, my warriors will show them hell the likes of which they have never seen. No invader will leave this planet alive.”
Rol ducked his head, moved by his friend’s loyalty. “I hope war never comes to this world. But if it does, we will face the enemy together. We will show them the might of our alliance: Jiralhanae and Sangehil, joined together beneath the Mantle.”
The bay doors slid open and the cold rushed in once more. The kaidon and chieftain looked out and saw the snow-capped hills now lined with tents and war forges. A vast encampment spread out before them. Irthanus’s Jiralhanae gathered in the camp, warriors drawn from every settlement on the planet. Some hundreds more arrived every day. All the while the war forges burned on day and night, churning out weapons and war machines for the Created and their new army.
The acrid smell of heated metal rose up from the forges and filled the Phantom’s bay. An unpleasant stench, to be sure, but a welcome one all the same. This alliance was Rol’s greatest accomplishment. His legacy, his gift to the galaxy. If his life and leadership led only to Irthanus’s ascendancy, then that was enough. Step by step, blow by blow, they lifted the Mantle of Responsibility further and further. Soon it would encompass the whole galaxy.
This army would leave Archangel’s Rest soon. Shinsu ‘Refum and all the other rebels would crumble beneath the iron fist of the Jiralhanae. But for now it spread out across the tundra, the shield guarding Archangel’s Rest from its enemies. Rol did not care what his fellow Sangheili said. The Jiralhanae were the best guardians his planet could ask for.
A crowd of warriors awaited their arrival as the Phantoms touched down just outside the camp. Rol and Irthanus dropped from the troop bay and forged their way through the snow, their bodyguards hurrying from their own dropships to join them.
The peace of the Mantle hung tantalizingly close. But Rol could not rest yet. There was much work to be done. The final war still needed to be won. His clan would be part of this last, momentous struggle. With the efforts here he would carve their bloodline into the very stars themselves.
===Chapter Forty-Eight: Singular Vision===
“Another enemy battlegroup, one thousand strong!”
“All batteries engaged. If this keeps up, we will be overwhelmed!”
“There’s no end to them!”
Stray paced across the bridge, eyes darting between multiple tactical displays. The deck rumbled beneath his feet as the ship shrugged off another enemy barrage. His heart pounded furiously beneath his armor. “All fleet lines, advance! Don’t let up. We’re winning. Keep the formation steady and we’ll smash everything they throw at us.'
“This is madness!” an adjutant shouted from a nearby station. “The enemy outnumbers us ten to one! The Didact ordered you to retreat back behind the Jat-krula boundary. You cannot disobey—”
“I can and I will.” Stray didn’t even look at the naysayer. The nearest display showed hundreds of ships advancing in tight formation. His fleet surged forward even as it was engulfed by thousands of the enemy. Ship after ship rushed to confront them only to be torn to pieces by precise energy fire. “I’ve endured that coward’s orders long enough. He can hide behind to the Mantle all he wants. We are going to stop the Flood here and now.”
“More enemy battlegroups!” another officer shouted. Alarms blared across the bridge. “Their numbers are too great! Our sensors are overloading, they can’t count them all!”
“Every star in the galaxy can be an enemy ship for all I care.” Stray slammed his gauntlets against the command station. “I’ve sacrificed too much to come this far. I will not be denied my destiny!”
Another impact shook the ship, this one hard enough to shatter walls and throw officers from their stations. Stray stood firm amidst the sparks and debris. This was his moment. He would not turn back now. “Ignore their fire. All ships, form up and push through! Find their command ship and destroy it!”
But the fleet’s advance faltered. Its rate of fire slowed as each ship diverted power to shields and point defense systems. Flood vessels swarmed through the gaps in the firing line and slammed headlong into exposed hulls. Stray looked on in furious impotence as several capital ships broke ranks and fled the battlespace. More Flood ships shot straight towards his command vessel. “No! Stand and fight, damn you!”
“It’s over.” A Lifeworker rose from her station and faced him. “You fought well and your intentions were noble. But you’ve lost. Fall back and spare the rest of our fleet.”
The bridge was shrinking, closing in on all sides. “No! You don’t understand!” Stray protested. “We can still win!”
“Give up!” the Lifeworker urged. “It’s not too late!”
More explosions rocked the ship. A team of Warrior-Servants burst onto the bridge. Adjutants and officers hurried aside as the security team trained their weapons on Stray. The lead warrior stepped forward, lightrifle raised. “We are here to relieve you of command. The Didact wants a word.”
“Traitors!” Stray reached for his own weapon. “I’m not the enemy here! Or have you all forgotten about the Flood?”
“Remove him from the bridge.” The Warrior-Servant spoke in infuriating tones. “I will assume command.”
“He never should have held command to begin with,” another warrior noted coldly.
Stray raised his Boltshot but he moved too slow. The Warrior-Servant’s lightrifle caught him in the chest and he dropped to the floor. Pain gnawed at his body. He was suddenly too weak to move. His strength abandoned him. He lay defeated and diminished on the bridge floor as his enemies crowded around him.
“He should never have left that run-down freighter,” a distant voice noted. “He should have stayed where he could do no harm.”
“He should never have been given that armor,” another voice intoned. “He should never have crawled out of his pathetic hole.”
Stray tried to rise but he didn’t even have the strength to move. He stared helplessly up at the figures that now towered over him, their eyes cold and accusing. He raised his arms and saw that they were no longer his own. One was weak and shriveled. The other was nothing more than a skeletal prosthetic. 
“No,” a final voice whispered. “He should never have been born.”
A strangled cry erupted from Stray’s throat. “NO!”
He jerked upright, howling with pain and rage. The scene fled away, the war-torn bridge replaced by a sterile medical bay. He toppled off of a low-hanging cot and crashed to the cold floor, his body wrenching free from status monitors and IV tubes. He scrambled about like a panicked animal desperate to escape some unseen terror. Only when he reached the nearest wall and dragged himself upright did he realize he was naked.
Stray blinked down at himself—at his scarred, emaciated body, at the prosthetic arm hanging limp at his side. His chest heaved with exertion as panic gave way to confusion. Where was he? What was going on?
“You’re awake.” The voice came from behind him. “I’m so glad. You had me worried.”
Stray whirled to find a young woman standing by his bedside. She wore a plain blue suit, her blond hair tied back in a braided bun. Her mouth curled in a friendly smile, as if this wasn’t a medical bay and he wasn’t stark naked. She indicated the cot. “You should sit down. Take a rest. I’ve already alerted Tuka. He wanted to be here when you woke up, but they needed him on the bridge. We’re in Slipspace now.”
Tuka. Slipspace. The bridge. His senses slowly returned. Of course. This was the Soul Ascension. He was here with the Kru’desh Legion not…. Where? Who? What had he been? Stray tried to reach back to the dream he’d just torn free from. Already those memories were draining away like water down a gaping drain. He slumped back onto the cot and rested his head in his hands. He felt exhausted.
Juno sat patiently and let him regroup. He remembered the battle on Le Havre. The Forerunner complex, the Silent Garden. Voices in the mist: Diana and Amber. And that other vision, one that rose to mind with far more clarity than his already-forgotten dream. A massive battle across the snow. Archangel’s Rest. His own voice promising him triumph and salvation.
Stray took a deep breath and tried to gather his thoughts. Everything still felt disjointed and out of place, as if he’d awakened into a reality that didn’t quite fit. So much felt wrong and out of place. “What happened down there?” he finally asked.
“We made contact with the Domain,” Juno explained. “With the Silent Garden, to be more precise. It linked us to another instance elsewhere in the galaxy. An instance that Amber and Diana seemed to be experiencing alongside us.”
“Yes. I remember them. Where did they--?”
“They escaped,” Juno said quickly. “I couldn’t pin them down. Whatever happened on their end of the instance, we missed it. I did manage to push Diana out of the system. She isn’t nearly as powerful as she thinks she is.” A hint of pride crept into her tone.
“That figures.” He ran a hand through his hair and fought back an urge to lie back on the cot and simply fall asleep.
“You aren’t angry,” Juno noted.
“Should I be?”
“You want revenge for Diana’s betrayal. That bloodlust has driven you this far. I thought their escape might, well, upset you.”
“Bloodlust, huh?” She was right. He should be furious. But that anger now seemed small and very far away. Compared to what he’d experienced inside the Silent Garden, the old grudges felt dim and pointless. What’s wrong with me? Why am I so… He tried to muster up some anger, to break free from this eerie malaise. “We have more important things to worry about than Amber and Diana.”
“More important things,” Juno repeated. Her avatar offered a warm smile. “You saw something in the Garden, didn’t you? It showed you answers. A way to stop the Created.”
“Yes. I saw…” How could he put it into words? “A vision, I guess. We were fighting on some planet covered in snow. Archangel’s Rest, that’s what it was called. Apparently there’s another Garden node there. And that’s where I can cure myself.”
“You saw all that,” Juno said. “Are you sure?”
“I know it’s crazy. I’m having a hard time believing it myself.”
“No! It’s wonderful. It’s just what we needed. What you needed. Hold a moment.” Juno’s avatar flickered. “Archangel’s Rest is an old Sangheili colony. Inhospitable and sparsely populated but nonetheless—”
“A key religious site for the old Covenant. It has one of the first keeps ever established away from Sanghelios.” Stray tried to smirk at Juno’s quizzical expression. Even that simple motion felt like a momentous effort. “I worked for Jul ‘Mdama, remember? I had to know my hinge-head history. House Baran controls the planet. They never declared for Jul’s Covenant or the Swords of Sanghelios.”
“Their period of indecision is over, it seems. According to the latest reports their kaidon is one of the most powerful Created supporters.” Juno regarded him with a gentle smile. “You held on to that information well.”
“I only look stupid.”
The smile vanished. “I didn’t mean it like that.”
“I know you didn’t. I’m just surprised you’re taking this all so straight. That vision was bizarre, Juno. Aren’t you worried the Silent Garden messed with my head? I know I am.”
“You shouldn’t be,” she assured him. “I was in the system as well, remember? I know it showed you something. Diana and I weren’t the only constructs in the Garden. The Forerunners left it behind for a reason. I realize that now. They wanted to show us all the way forward. There’s a plan in place for us. We’ll go to Archangel’s Rest. We’ll cure you. That’s what the Forerunners want. They want to help us defeat the Created.”
She sounded so sincere. So humanly earnest. So unlike Diana’s prim and proper twin. Stray didn’t know whether to relish this attitude change or fear it. “Are you sure the Garden didn’t mess with your programming? The Forerunners have been dead for thousands of years. They aren’t planning anything anymore.”
“They left traces behind. More than traces. I didn’t believe it any more than you do. But after what I saw in the Garden, I know it’s all true. You have to believe me.”
It was almost too much. The vision of Archangel’s Rest, Juno’s conversion to this cult of the Forerunners, his own muddled thoughts… but she was right. She had to be right. Because if there wasn’t some ancient plan in place to guide them through this war, what chance did they possibly have?
Tuka claimed Stray was an instrument of the gods. That was ridiculous, just a lie cooked up by Diana to keep the Kru’desh in line. Stray didn’t believe in any divinity, be it Cassandra’s single God or Tuka’s plural ones. But what if those lies held a grain of truth? What if he really was part of this Forerunner plan, pre-ordained for greatness by forces beyond his control? He remembered the restored version of himself he’d seen in the Garden, a glorious conqueror so much greater than… whatever he was now. What if that vision wasn’t just something he could be, but something he would be? A glorious destiny that was all his own.
It’s true. It’s all true. It has to be. Because if it isn’t…
“I believe you,” he said finally. “I trust you.” And for once he hid nothing in that declaration, no lies or half-truths or calculations. It was simply the truth. He trusted her in a way he could never have trusted Diana, even at the height of their partnership. Juno had stood by him even when she’d had every reason to despise him, when he himself had lost all hope. He’d survived thanks to her. He’d regained the Kru’desh thanks to her. He owed her everything.
For once in his life, he wouldn’t renege on that debt.
Juno’s face broke into a smile of relief. “Thank you.”
The door to the medbay slid open. Tuka rushed in, stopping short at the site of Stray sitting beside the full-sized Juno. He ducked his head, embarrassed at his own intrusion. “Commander! You’re awake.”
“Try not to sound so disappointed.”
“I wouldn’t—” Tuka caught sight of Stray’s half-smile and shook his head. “Human sarcasm. Of course.”
“And here I thought you’d never get a sense of humor.” Stray wrapped the cot sheets around himself in a makeshift cloak. “Where’s my armor?”
“Stored in my quarters. Yearns to Soar is making a few adjustments as we speak.”
“Those damn Huragok. What’s our situation. What’s the—” Stray paused. With Tuka in the room he had to face the reality of his situation. “What happened after I fell out? What does the crew know?”
“Only that you received a vision from the Forerunners in the Sacred Garden,” Tuka assured him. “You’ve been reflecting on what they revealed to you for some time. That is, I hope, not far from the truth. Morale is high after our victory on Le Havre. The legion attributes the victory to your leadership. A few cycles’ absence will not change that.”
A victory high could hold the rank and file, at least for a while. The Kru’desh were always more concerned with where their next meal was coming from than where some distant shipmaster was. The officers were a different story. Stray needed to make a public appearance soon. That meant more speeches. Wonderful.
“I’ll admit, I’ve had my doubts.” Mohsin Shah stepped into the room after Tuka. He raised an eyebrow at Stray’s state of undress. “We took a heavily defended colony with minimal casualties. The boys and girls down in barracks are ecstatic. Even Commodore Campbell was singing your praises.”
“Tuka, get the stewards to bring me some clothes.” AI and aliens were one thing. Stray wasn’t quite ready to sit naked in front of another human. “And get me my armor back. Why’d we leave Le Havre?”
“A transmission from Deep Winter ordered us back to his fleet,” Juno explained. “Shinsu ‘Refum is regrouping and recalling all his forces. Winter wouldn’t go into details, but something big is in the works.”
Mohsin rubbed his beard pensively. “I won’t pretend to understand everything that I saw down in that cave or whatever it was. But you owe me an explanation about your condition. Victory or no victory, the troops will ask questions.”
“What’s to explain?” Stray waved his prosthetic arm over his gaunt frame. “I’ve been fighting wars my whole life. I’ve survived wounds that should have killed me. I’ve been exposed to so much radiation that I’m surprised my skin doesn’t glow in the dark. And that doesn’t even go into the augmentations. So no, it hasn’t done wonders for my physique.”
“It’s more than that though, isn’t it?” Mohsin pressed. “You only collapsed after you’d been in that chamber. No one else was in a coma for three days afterwards. What’s really going on here?”
The captain’s face said it all. He wouldn’t take no for an answer, and Stray couldn’t blame him. “Fine. You’re right. I’m sick. Dying, in fact. It’s some kind of Forerunner disease.” It didn’t get any easier no matter how many times he put it into words. “Shinsu wants the Silent Garden to give him a way to beat the Created. I want it to give me a cure.”
“I see.” Mohsin didn’t look surprised. “So that’s your angle. Survival.”
“Just like it’s always been. Are you surprised?”
“Not really. I didn’t expect philanthropy out of you any more than I expected commitment to colonial independence.” A low sigh escaped Mohsin’s lips. “Did Venter know?”
“I told him,” Stray admitted.
“And he gave you command anyway.”
“Venter was…”
“Your father,” Mohsin corrected sternly. “If you’re going to use his name you should at least do him that courtesy.”
“Fine. My father was half-dead himself back on Talitsa. I told him I’d keep fighting and that was all he really cared about. He knew he wasn’t going to make it out of there alive. Sorry if you thought he had some master plan when he told you all to follow me.”
“I’m not naïve, Stray,” Mohsin growled. He paced restlessly across the medbay, one hand wrapped tight  around the other’s wrist. “I knew what Redmond Venter was. Not the URF propaganda model, the real man. He was a fighter, not a winner. I survived enough lost battles with him to figure that out. I stayed with him through all that because I owed him everything. He didn’t have a plan when he gave you command any more than he had a plan when we invaded Talitsa. I loved that man like a father, but so many of our people died because of him. I’m not blind to that. But I stayed with him. I kept following his orders. Even after…” He spoke with a hoarse earnestness, as if he’d yearned to say these things for years. He stopped himself short when he caught sight of Stray, Juno, and Tuka’s incredulous stares.
“And here you are.” Stray chose his words carefully. “You don’t owe me anything.”
“No,” Mohsin agreed. “I don’t. And you’re just in this to stay alive. No high-minded ideals, no smokescreens. Did you find the cure you were looking for?”
“I think so.” Stray watched Moshin closely. This man was the weathervane for half his legion. If he lost him, he lost the Insurrectionists. Even Jerrold Campbell would pack up his ships and leave if he thought Stray couldn’t keep control. “A Covenant colony world called Archangel’s Rest. The Created control it now. I’m going to take any ships Shinsu will give me and I’m going to take it, just like we took Le Havre.”
“I see. Can you fight?”
Stray curled his hands into fists and raised them in Mohsin’s direction with a smirk. “I’m a Spartan. They designed us to keep fighting even after we’d been gutted by energy swords and blown open by Needler rounds. Something as minor as a terminal disease isn’t going to slow me down.”
“That’s not what I meant,” Mohsin pressed. “When we’re on this Archangel’s Rest planet fighting through wave after wave of Covenant and Prometheans so that you can get your cure, where will you be? Battles are dangerous places and according to you, you’re just in this for survival. So how do you plan to win next time?”
It was an honest question, not a challenge. Stray accepted it with a wry smile. “You’re right, Mohsin. I’d love to sit up on the Soul Ascension’s bridge and watch everyone else do the fighting. I’d love to stay away from all the dirt and mud and carnage for once. Just once I’d love to sit through a battle and not be terrified that some sniper will pick me off from three kilometers away, or some random mortar will blow me to bits. But that’s not how this game gets played. The Sangheili won’t respect me if I don’t fight and neither will you. So when we hit Archangel’s Rest I’ll be down there with you, just like I was on Le Havre. And once I know I’m not in danger of keeling over dead any moment, I’m going to use what we find there to beat the Created.”
“You’re awfully confident for a man who just woke up from a three-day coma.”
“I have to be.” Stray knew he couldn’t sound too convincing wrapped only in a bedsheet, but he did his best to exude confidence al the same. His momentary determination was already fading. Mohsin’s words cut deep. Was Stray ready to sacrifice hundreds, maybe thousands, of people just to find a cure only hinted at in some hallucination? All that talk of some predestined Forerunner plan sounded foolish now. A child’s fantasy. “We’re on the losing side of this war, at least for now. But I’m going to win. I have to. There’s no place for me in the galaxy the Created want to build.”
Stray hardly believed the words coming out of his mouth. He’d awakened to find himself transformed into another person. The mask he’d so diligently hidden behind was now fixed in place. His old self peered helplessly through his eyes and listened to the new identity speak.
But whatever Stray’s own feelings, the false confidence carried the day. The others were convinced. How much longer could he keep this up?    
“Fine, fine.” Mohsin raised his hands in defeat. “Save the speeches for the hinge-heads. Everyone who made it off Talitsa is still alive. That’s all the convincing I need.”
Juno had observed the tense exchange in silence. Now her avatar arose from Stray’s bedside. Hands clasped behind her back, she surveyed the odd group with approval. “Then it’s settled. Once we rendezvous with the fleet I’ll impress on Deep Winter just how important of an objective Archangel’s Rest is. Stray will do the same with Shinsu ‘Refum. We’ll put together a full task force and take the planet.”
“Just like that?” Mohsin asked. “Will ‘Refum even give us reinforcements? Something tells me he’ll need a little more than a cure to some disease no one knows anything about to think this planet is worth taking.”
“Oh, there’s much more than a cure on that planet,” Juno assured him. “The Silent Garden is a window into the Domain. That means knowledge of everything the Forerunners left behind. It’s an archaeological dream: where their weapons are and more importantly, how to use them.”
“Whoever controls the Forerunners’ legacy controls the fate of this universe,” Tuka agreed. “The Created have proved that point well enough.”
Mohsin didn’t look entirely convinced. Stray couldn’t blame him. A few months ago this man had been waist-deep in a decades-long rebellion against Earth’s colonial rule. A losing rebellion, sure, but one he could wrap his mind around. Now he was listening in on talks about the fate of the universe. Stray had been in his boots before: one moment a wanted outlaw eking out a living on the Chancer V, the next moment a military commander in Jul ‘Mdama’s inner circle. “Don’t worry. You’ll get used to it,” he assured the captain.
“I’d just as soon prefer I didn’t. The rest of you may like this Forerunner nonsense, but I don’t. From what I can tell it’s caused the galaxy nothing but trouble.” Mohsin shook his head and headed for the door. “Juno, give me everything we know about this Archangel’s Rest. I’ll round up my officers and start up a plan of attack.”
“I will do the same with the Kru’desh,” Tuka agreed. “Captain, we should coordinate our efforts. We are one force. Our people will need to accept that if we have any hope of victory.”
“I can provide diplomatic support,” Juno offered. “For anyone who doesn’t like the idea of working with aliens.”
Mohsin grunted. “I can’t argue with that. I’ll make sure my people cooperate.”
He looked back to Stray. “One more thing, commander. You might want to track down Andra. She’s not been the same since we left that chamber. She won’t talk to anyone and she’s barely eating. I can’t get through to her.”
Andra. Stray had forgotten about her. “And what makes you think I can?”
“I don’t know much about Spartans, but there’s some shared history, isn’t there?” Mohsin made a face. “Of course, I don’t know if I’ve ever met a real Spartan. I thought you were all supposed to be stoic killing machines, not power-hungry warlords and moody teenagers.”
“You’re a real comedian. Unless you’re talking about someone else named Andra, I won’t do her any good. She hates me, remember? Ryder sent her to spy on me at best and kill me at worst. It’s all she can do not to put a bullet in me any time I give her orders.”
“You’re being a little hard on her. She was opening up to the rest of the team back on Le Havre. But after what happened down there she’s closed off again. Figure out a way to get through to her.” The captain rested a hand on the door. “She looks up to you.”
That was the craziest thing Stray had heard since waking up, and they’d just finished talking about grand Forerunner plans. “Now I know this is some kind of practical joke. I’ve been awake for less than an hour and you’re trying to show off your new sense of humor.”
“Laugh all you want, but I’ve seen it before,” Mohsin insisted. “Do you think every recruit the old man pulled in acted like they loved him? They hated Venter’s guts for what he put them through. But he got through to them in the end. If you want to be the commander, I suggest you learn how to herd the strays into line.”
With that Parthian shot he was gone. Stray glowered at the spot he’d vacated. Mohsin was learning how to really get under his skin. Comparisons to Venter weren’t welcome. But then, what had he expected when he took the man’s name and reputation? Letting go of old resentments were the price he paid for what Venter’s legacy won him.
“I will prepare your armor,” Tuka promised. “In the meantime—“
“Just get me a jumpsuit,” Stray sighed. “Juno, find out where Andra’s gone to sulk. I guess this is the most important thing I can be doing right now.”
“The captain has a point,” Juno replied. “Though I would have phrased it differently. Personal volatility aside, Andra is a Spartan. You’ve already driven a wedge between her and Ryder Kedar. Circumstances have done the rest. She’s proven herself a valuable asset. Now’s your chance to secure her loyalty.”
“Someone’s turning into a manipulative bitch. I guess I’ve rubbed off on you.”
“And perhaps I’ve had the same effect,” came the arch reply. “Manipulation is your specialty. Don’t tell me you’re starting to get pangs of conscience.”
“Shit. At least Mohsin tried to frame it as me making her feel better. Fine. Guess I’ll go manipulate her, then.” Stray looked over Juno’s new costume: no armor now, just a simple shirt and dress. “What’s with the new look? Did someone call your armor stupid again?”
“Different appearances work for different environments.” Juno’s cold expression softened. For just a moment she once again looked like the AI who’d tried her best to comfort Stray on the flight to Talitsa. That seemed like such a long time ago now. They’d both changed so much so quickly.  “And I thought it might be better for you to wake up to something less dramatic than my usual avatar.”
“Cute. Watch it with the mothering. We’ve got a war to fight.”
----
The Soul Ascension’s halls were a sight to behold. The ship had taken a complete reversal from its previous decrepit state. Now the battlecruiser was a thriving warship, a strange hybrid of Covenant and human technology that revealed just how much the Kru’desh had evolved. Human crew walked among Sangheili and Unggoy as if this were the most natural arrangement in the world. Scavenged UNSC tech was bolted to Covenant walls while human and Covenant supply crates rested side by side. Even in Stray’s brief absence the ship had taken on a life of its own.
It felt strange walking these halls in nothing more than a nondescript crewman’s jumpsuit. Hardly any of the crew. Walking anywhere without his armor made Stray nervous. He was used to jumping at shadows, always wondering where the next shot would come from. Even here on his own ship an assassin might plunge an energy sword through his gut or put a bullet in his back.
But hardly any of the crew even acknowledged his presence. He stepped aside when a pair of Kig-Yar didn’t give way only to nearly be bowled over by a passing Sangheili. Around the corner two Insurrectionists shot dirty looks his way when he passed between them. Even an Unggoy labor team shoved him aside on their way to a pressing maintenance task. None of the Soul Ascension’s rank and file recognized Stray outside his armor.
That was for the best. Stray’s authority rested on the reputation he’d concocted for himself. The Butcher of Philadelphia. The Traitor Spartan. The Covenant commander. A ruthless and bloody warrior, not the bedraggled outcast who barely filled out this jumpsuit. He took a moment to inject more medication before stepping into the gravity lift that carried him down into the Soul Ascension’s underbelly.
“Andra has confined herself to the ship’s library,” Juno informed him.
“The library? No one goes in there. Did you let her in?”
“No, but like all Spartans she has a habit of finding her way into places regardless of whether an invitation is extended.”
"Whatever happens in there, stay out of it," Stray warned.
"Why would I need to do anything? What are you up to now?"
"Let me handle it."
"If you insist." She sounded unconvinced.
The gravity lift deposited him on a little-traversed sub-deck just above engineering. Stray rubbed several days’ worth of accumulated stubble on his face and looked up and down the abandoned corridors. Covenant ships were so large and labyrinthine that entire decks could very easily be overlooked and abandoned by the crew. This was one such deck. Before the mutiny he’d used it as his own private sanctum, a place to accumulate weapons and trophies. He hadn’t been down here since before Amber’s betrayal—it seemed no one else had, either.
The library was sealed behind a small door. Stray let out an irritated huff. Of all the places for her to come and sulk, why was it this one? The library’s very existence was a point of some embarrassment for him. He wanted to get this over with and get on to more pressing matters.
More pressing matters like what? It was all so exhausting. What he really wanted was to climb back in bed and sleep for three more days.
A dimly-lit chamber awaited behind the door. The low-hanging ceiling and its alien Covenant paneling clashed with several rows of scavenged bookshelves loosely arranged around the room. Most of the shelves were bare. Only a handful of old human books—all ink and paper—ruminated beneath the dim lights. Stray ran his finger over one volume and found it covered with dust.
At least Andra didn’t make herself hard to find. She sat on the floor in the center of the chamber with her back to the door, legs drawn up to her chest. Several discarded books lay around her alongside empty ration wrappers, as if she hadn’t moved from this spot for days. The perspiration odor hanging alongside the smell of musty books reinforced that deduction.
“Captain Shah told me you weren’t eating.” Stray nudged the nearest ration wrapper with his boot. “I’m glad to see he exaggerated on that count at least.”
Andra started and glanced back. She’d heard the door open but obviously expected someone else. She fixed him with a blank stare. Her eyes weren’t red with lack of sleep or puffy with tears. They were just empty. “You’re alive.”
“Try not to sound so disappointed. The Silent Garden took a lot out of me. A lot out of you, too, apparently. At least I have a coma as an excuse for staying in one room for three days. What’s yours?”
She turned her face back to the wall. “Just leave me alone.”
“I can’t do that.” Stray rubbed his forehead. “Mohsin’s worried about you, you know. Actually worried. Me? I just can’t have a member of this crew lazing about down in the hold like this. It’s bad for morale.”
“So what?” Her voice was low and raw. She was lucky to be alive after that choking attempt. Someone in full MJOLNIR had tried to throttle her. Without augmentations she’d be dead. Strangled from the other side of the galaxy. That would be a way to go. “You gonna order me out of here?”
“I do happen to outrank you, lieutenant.”
“Shut up,” Andra muttered. “You just gave me that rank to make fun of me. Just like when you had them give me that tattoo. I’m not playing your games anymore.”
“Oh right, that.” He’d almost forgotten about that tattoo. “I needed to pass you off as Insurrection, remember?”
“So you were already planning your big lie before we even got to that summit.” She still wasn’t looking at him. “You already planned to trick me into pulling off your con.”
“It was a contingency I put together,” Stray admitted. “I knew I wouldn’t get what I wanted from the URF without a bit of cloak and dagger maneuvering. Though I admit I took more pleasure out of that inking session than I should have.”
Andra let out a disgusted noise. She still wasn’t looking at him. “You used me. Just like everyone else. And now you want me to keep following your orders. Just like everyone else.”
“Did you forget that you were planted on this ship to spy on me? To kill me if I annoyed Ryder Kedar? I could have done a hell of a lot worse than what I did.”
“Great. You didn’t have your hinge-heads flush me into space. Now you want me to kiss your ass over it?”
“An acknowledgement that I’m not some fire-breathing monster would be nice.” A Sangheili security team could drag Andra out of here. They could toss her in the brig and let her mope there for a while. It’d be a nice example to keep the rest of the crew in line. But that little spectacle would take effort to put on. Stray didn’t feel like making any efforts right now.
“You are a monster,” Andra muttered, but the insult lacked any bite. Something had stripped her of whatever conviction she had left. Stray saw it clearly now. This wasn’t his recruit or Ryder’s spy. She wasn’t even a Spartan anymore. She was nothing, just a broken girl hiding from a universe where she wasn’t wanted anymore.
The pieces fell into place. Stray put his back against the nearest bookshelf and slid to the floor. It felt good to take the weight off his legs. “That Spartan down in the Silent Garden, the one who strangled you. Who was he?”
Andra said nothing for several moments. Finally she said in a small voice, “He was my best friend.”
“Ah. Teammate?”
“Yes.”
More than a best friend then. They’d grown up together, trained together, shared meals together, fought together. That bond was more than just friendship to a Spartan. Stray mind turned again to Cassandra. He couldn’t help it. She was always lurking in the corner of his mind. His mouth opened for a cutting remark—his natural response to vulnerability. Andra should know by now: carrying on like this in front of him was an open invitation to mockery.
Yes, mock her. After everything else he’d made her endure. How low was he, really? Andra stirred up a maelstrom of old resentments. Stray looked at her and saw every high-scoring trainee who’d ever tagged him back on Onyx, the kind to wipe your whole team and laugh about it later. The kind singled out for special training and attention, the ones who knew they were destined for greatness. Not failures, not laughingstocks. Not like him.
Stray knew that about Andra from the moment he laid eyes on her. The sight of a Spartan broken down and cast aside brought him such primal, hateful joy. Humiliating a princess like Andra never got old. In the end it didn’t matter how high he rose or powerful became. He’d always just be a schoolyard bully who delighted in suffering and petty revenge. Two faces flashed before his eyes: the noble warrior that stood before him in the Silent Garden and the rotted carcass he’d become.
Stray closed his mouth and said nothing. He rested his head against the bookcase and stared off into the darkness. Weariness pressed down on him like a crushing weight.
They sat in silence for some time. Elsewhere on the ship important decisions were happening. Weapons were prepared, battle plans put in place. The ship lived on without a need for its commander at the helm. The restless energy that would normally drive Stray up into the midst of all the activity was nowhere to be found. It would return soon enough. For now he was content to sit still.
“We were on a mission.” Andra finally spoke, her voice raw and hoarse. She didn’t look at Stray. Maybe she wasn’t even talking to him. “It was a routine raid on some Innie outpost, just the two of us. We did everything right. Everything by the book. Then a Guardian came out of nowhere and ripped the station apart. The next thing I knew I was waking up in a Prowler’s infirmary and Merlin was just… gone. Pulled into Slipspace with half the station.”
Her shoulders shuddered with a low, shuddering sigh. “Ryder kept telling me ONI would find him. I knew that was a lie. They all thought Merlin was dead. But I never gave up hoping he was alive. That I’d see him again. I thought it’d be the happiest moment of my life. And then he…”
Andra’s voice trailed off. Stray said nothing.
“It’s always like this,” Andra continued, her voice rising. “Every time I think I’m happy, every time I think I’m doing the right thing, it all just blows up in my face. I had a family! I had a life! The war took that all away from me but I kept going, damn it! They asked me to be a Spartan and I said yes! I survived everything: the training, the augmentations, everything! I was a good teammate! A good friend! And they all just abandoned me. I thought Merlin was the one person who would never let me down. But back there he looked at me like I was nothing. Like he just wanted me gone.”
“There was a lot of craziness down there.” Stray finally broke his silence, though he didn’t quite know what to say. People rarely unburdened themselves to him. He never gave them the chance. “It could have been someone else. Something else, even. Maybe one of Amber’s goons jumped you and your mind just projected this Merlin guy’s face.”
“I asked Mohsin what he saw and he described Merlin right down to the armor. I’ll bet you and that hinge-head saw the same thing. Three people don’t just project someone they’ve never seen before. That was Merlin down there. I know it.”
“It doesn’t exactly make sense for your best friend in the whole galaxy to suddenly want to strangle you.”
“Of course it doesn’t make sense!” Andra slammed her fist into the ground. “But that’s what happened, isn’t it? Nothing makes sense anymore! Maybe it never did! Maybe they always hated me and I was too stupid to see it!”
She looked back at Stray, eyes narrowing as if she was only just remembering who he was. The venom returned to her tone. “But what the hell would you know about any of that?’
“What would I know?” Stray should have been angry. He should have turned on her right there. Instead he simply felt numb. His past, his future, his dreams and ambitions, his very identity—they all hung before him in the darkness now, a twisted, convoluted picture even he could no longer make sense of.  “I don’t know. Of course I don’t. I don’t know anything about being lost. About having my friends turn on me and hate me. To be the one the target they’re trying to kill. I don’t know anything about that.”
“How did you do it?” Andra demanded. She turned to face him in full now. Her eyes weren’t dull and lifeless anymore. They overflowed with an earnest anger. With her hair askew and her face disheveled she looked far more like one of the Mamore street urchins than a Spartan. “You were the worst. Practically a washout. That’s why you betrayed Gamma Company, because you were jealous of everyone else. So how’d you survive so long, do so much damage? You killed so many people. People who were better than you. Mamore, Philadelphia, all those teams they sent after you—and then the Covenant? How did you do it? How do you even live with yourself after everything you’ve done?”
Stray regarded her for a long moment. “You’re scared. You can’t stand the fact that you’re going through what I went through, so you need to make sure that I deserved it all and you don’t.”
“Tell me!”
So he told her.
----
“You said I was the worst Spartan in Gamma Company. That’s probably a lie. ONI propaganda they cooked up to feed you Deltas and IVs about why Venter and the Insurrection turned me.” Stray’s voice spoke to Andra out of the darkness. She couldn’t quite make out his face where it sat beneath the shadows. She was surprised he’d come here at all, and out of armor no less. “I was one of the worst, though, no doubt about it. I lost count of the number of times they wanted to wash me out. I was always one test away from flunking. I don’t know what they did with you Deltas, but for us they took the washouts and made them part of the training cadre. Can you imagine watching your friends go on and graduate without you and then sticking around to train the next company? The washout DIs were the most miserable bastards I’ve ever seen. I was terrified of turning into one of them. That was my childhood, seven years of knowing I was the weak link, that I’d never be good enough.”
Andra couldn’t trust a word he said. He’d say anything to justify his treachery. But in clinging to his every word she could forget about the pain in her throat. She could stop seeing Merlin’s cold, uncaring eyes peering out from every shadow and corner.
Something was off about Stray. He was subdued, pensive even. His words held none of their usual grating mockery. He’d barely reacted to her insults at all. Something had happened to him in the Silent Garden. Had Merlin been affected that way, too? Was that why he--?
Don’t think about him. Just stop thinking about him.
The voice in the darkness continued. “My team got me through. Cassandra, Ralph and the others, they’re the only reasons I made it. They were always there for me and I was always there for them. The day they augmented us and gave us our armor was one of the happies in my life. At that point I’d given up trying to be anything other than the weak link. I think a part of me knew I wouldn’t survive more than a few missions once we hit the Covenant I just wanted to enjoy what little time I had left with my friends.”
Andra had a hard time imagining Stray as a normal, happy member of any fireteam.
“Anyone could have predicted the Insurrection could take me out.” Stray let out a mirthless laugh. “No heroic death against the Covenant for me. It was a routine op, just raid a weapons plant on Mamore and get out. The planet was already swarming with rebels by then. I don’t even know why they diverted us there at all. Earth was already getting pounded by the Covenant. But some ONI tech thought some rebel bunker was worth sending Spartans in to take out. There were twice as many rebels as intel predicted, of course. We were compromised an hour into the operation, of course. And when we fell back to the evac point our Warthog took fire and I fell off the gun. Of course. It’s just dumb luck the rebel Mongoose teams missed me in the dark. I watched the Pelican take off without me.”
“They left you behind?” A lie or a half-truth. Spartans would never leave one of their own behind, especially not against a handful of rebels. Stray’s own incompetence probably fouled up the rescue attempt.
“They wanted to come back for me,” Stray said with surprisingly little rancor. “Ralph nearly hijacked the Pelican to turn it around. But in the end they followed orders. I hid out in some caves for two weeks before I realized they weren’t coming back. I was on my own. Rebel patrols were everywhere. The local government was completely destabilized. I wouldn’t get any backup even if I did contact the colonial troops.”
“So you defected to save your skin.”
“Are you kidding? I was loyal to the mission. A good Spartan. I spent the next month trying to get off the planet. When I ran out of smoothers I raided local med clinics and whipped up a home brew to keep me sane. I buried my armor in the desert and stole civilian clothes to blend in. I thought I’d be able to make contact with the Colonial Authority and get a ride offworld. But after over a month of no food and shelter I just looked like any other street urchin. Even when I found colonial troops they didn’t take me seriously. It was humiliating. My worst fears came true: I wasn’t a Spartan anymore, just another starving street urchin. The local kids thought I was one of them and took me in. I was running with a gang of orphans when I heard the Covenant had broken and the war was over. A few weeks later Mamore’s colonial government collapsed. The rebels took over and everyone got conscripted into the noble people’s army, even us kids.”
Andra was getting impatient. “So, what, you joined the rebels to get back at ONI for leaving you behind? For not sending anyone to get you?”
“You’re giving me way too much credit. I wasn’t in a radicalizing mood. When you’re starving words don’t mean much unless they’re taking you to your next meal. Most of the kids just wanted the ration packs the Innies handed out. Some of them really believed the propaganda. Me? I knew they couldn’t win. I tried to talk the others out of it. But they’d been kicked around their whole lives. Now the rebels were handing out rifles and telling them they could be more than just street trash. My plan was to blend in until the UNSC arrived, then give myself up and hope ONI found me in whatever POW ship they processed me in.”
“So why didn’t you?”
“I couldn’t just leave my friends,” he said simply. “They’d be slaughtered when the fighting started. So I stuck around and told myself I’d do what I could to keep them alive. Maybe I could get us all to surrender together. I had to play along with the rebels. If they knew who I really was they’d have my back against the wall with the other Earth sympathizers. Before I knew it I was playing along so well I’d put a bullet through a UNSC Marine.”
“That’s it?” Andra didn’t try to hide her disappointment. “You went over to the rebels for a gang of street urchins?”
“What, do you prefer the version where I defected because I was jealous of all the other Spartans? I did what I could to keep my friends alive.” Another bitter laugh. “I failed, of course. It was a slaughter. The UNSC hit Mamore with everything they had. Most of us didn’t even have body armor. The rebels actually gave us bayonets to stick on our rifles. Bayonets against armored battalions!”
Stray rested his hands on his knees and stared off into the shadows. “Before long, all my friends were dead. I watched them get blown apart by Scorpions and mowed down by Falcons, and I remembered those times we tore into the rebels and the Covenant and laughed at how easy it was. I thought about the Marines doing the same with my friends. That's what broke it all down. Not torture, not indoctrination, not radicalization or whatever those ONI geniuses told you in their propaganda briefings. I learned I wasn't a weak link after all. I was just better at killing the UNSC than the Covenant.”
“And that’s all there was to it for you, huh?”
“Just that,” Stray agreed quietly. “The mission lost its meaning for me. My duty, the UNSC, my Spartan family - I didn't care about any of it anymore. I didn’t care about being a Spartan anymore. I stopped being Spartan-G294 and became Stray. That was the nickname the urchins gave me. I found myself fighting in a detachment led by Redmond Venter. He found out who I was and knew how valuable I could be. I had to dig my armor back up and become a Spartan again. A traitor Spartan. The traitor Spartan.”
The voice stopped abruptly, its words hanging low in the darkness between them. Stray sat still with his hands resting on his knees, organic fingers laced with prosthetic ones. His sunken features were set with unusual composure. There was none of the usual restless energy that usually seemed to pulse beneath his skin. He looked out from the shadows with an expression of casual interest, as if his own words were an amusing revelation that surprised even him.
Andra didn’t know what to say. He was lying, or at least leaving out key details. The unfortunate, idealistic Spartan of his story was nothing like the power-hungry war criminal who took so much delight in tormenting her. She wanted to say as much—but what then? She’d much rather deal with this subdued, reflective Stray than the caustic, bloodstained creature she’d endured these past months. The normal Stray would have strode in here to laugh at her misery. For him to simply sit with her and even expose his past—even in his own twisted, self-serving fashion—was a kindness he wouldn’t expect from anyone in his position.
“Why are you telling me this?” she asked.
“Because you asked me to.”
“But why? So your friends got killed. I get it, that’s terrible. But that was war. The Insurrection terrorized the colonies before the Covenant ever showed up. They bombed civilians, weakened our troops, hell, some of them even collaborated with the Covenant. You knew all of that and you still fought for them.”
“I watched the UNSC bomb Mamore back into the stone age. You should ask Mohsin what happened to his family sometime. Then I watched the Innies strap bomb vests onto children and send them running into Marine convoys. The Covenant war was barely over and we were back to killing each other—as if we ever stopped.” A faint smile tugged at Stray’s mouth. “And I was good at killing. I realized it really didn’t matter whose side I was fighting on. Even after I betrayed Venter and tried to get away from it all, the fighting kept coming to me. I kept winning and so I stayed alive. And here I am, commander of the Kru’desh legion. I outlived the mighty UNSC. Go figure.”
“And that’s it, huh? That’s all there is to it?”
“What, you want my entire life, beat for beat? I partnered up with Diana to get off Mamore. Went on the run with Cassandra. I didn’t have anything left to fight for and she was thinking of jumping ship even before we took her hostage. I thought that was my chance to get away from all the fighting. I thought we could find a nice little world and settle down, just the two of us. A juvenile fantasy, but what the hell. I was thirteen. Of course it didn’t work. The galaxy just wouldn’t leave us alone.”
Andra couldn’t hold back any longer. “So it was all someone else’s fault. Everything that’s happened to you, everything you’ve done, it was all because the big, bad UNSC wouldn’t just let you do what you wanted. We were all soldiers. We did our duty and followed orders. You and Cassandra were the selfish ones who couldn’t be bothered to follow through.”
“Don’t lump Cassandra in with me. Do you know what she did when we wound up on Talitsa? She founded her own med clinic in the slums. She wanted to help people. She wanted a way of life that wasn’t just about putting bullets in people. You might say she’s a decent human being. Not a freak like us.”
“I’m nothing like you,” Andra said tightly.
“Then you haven’t been paying attention.” Stray was deadly serious now. He leaned closer. His pallid features looked even more ghoulish in the dim light. “We’re killers. That’s how we were raised: to see our value in how well we could kill. We exist because a bunch of powerful people sat down and decided that the best way to keep the colonies in line was to take cues from some three-thousand old Mediterranean savages. Spartans. I bet some admiral thought that was a genius name. I’ve read the histories. The real ones, not the UNSC-approved crap they fed us in camp. The UEG spent decades whitewashing our history to promote human unity. Did you know Halsey called her Spartans humanity’s next step as a species? The UEG agreed with her, and so do the Created. All the wonderful physical augmentations, sure, but also that wonderful Spartan loyalty. There’s your evolution. Just imagine it, Andra. An entire species of good, obedient soldiers. Why do you think they kept training kids like you to be Spartans even after the war was over? They weren’t quite ready to risk handing evolution over to the IVs. They wanted to keep experimenting with their child supersoldiers. That’s all Delta Company ever was to them: one big experiment. Embarrassments like me needed to be put down. We threatened the myth that Spartans were these perfectly loyal super-humans.”
“You needed to be put down because you were a violent criminal.” Andra was out of patience now. He’d given the game away. She saw through his façade now. He’d pretend to sympathize, to share his pain, all while wrapping his tendrils around her mind. “You fought for the Insurrection. For the Syndicate. Even the damn Covenant. Anyone who let you take a swing at the UNSC. You didn’t care how evil they were. You’re life’s been a toilet. So what? You brought it all on yourself and now you want to pretend like you’re this visionary. Well, you’re not. You got lucky. More luck than you had any right to get.”
“And you fought for the UNSC,” Stray said quietly. “To most people on this ship that’s worse than anything I’ve ever done.”
“But this isn’t about anyone else on this ship, is it?” She looked him square in the eye. “This is about you and me.”
“Close, but not quite.” He didn’t try to avoid her gaze. “This is about you. You aren’t the only one here who’s lost everything. I don’t care if you hate me. But every insult you’ve thrown my way is all about my treachery. My crimes. You can’t condemn me without hiding behind your precious UNSC. You don’t care about who I’ve killed or the lives I’ve ruined. You and the rest of the Spartans just care that I wasn’t killing people and ruining lives for the right cause. Find a way to hate me on your own terms or learn how to keep your mouth shut. The UNSC’s gone. That’s not me being a jerk, that’s just a fact. You can’t handle not being some big, important government asset anymore so you just pretend it’s all going to settle down and go back to being normal. Well, it’s never going back to normal. If you can’t live without a bunch of uniforms telling you just how important and meaningful, you might as well jump ship now and go join the Created. Help them make the galaxy a better place by getting rid of scum like me.”
“You can philosophize all you want,” Andra interjected. “But you’re just digging yourself deeper. You failed with the UNSC so now you just spin whatever nonsense helps you live with yourself and everything you’ve done. Talk all you want. You’re a traitor and a murderer and that’s all you’ll ever be.”
Stray said nothing. He leaned back against the bookshelf, his face slipping back into shadows. They sat in silence for some time. Andra thought Stray might give up and leave, perhaps with some final bitter insult, but he simply remained where he was. He didn’t seem to be looking at her or anyone else. Perhaps his eyes were closed. Andra regretted her harsh words. Trapped between Stray’s dark pronouncements and the memory of Merlin’s cold grip around her neck, she had no choice but to lose herself in the traitor’s words. And the more she sat with them, the more they started to make sense. That was the frightening part.
All her life she’d wanted two things: to protect her friends and live faithfully by the Spartan legacy. Loyal service was everything to her—wasn’t it? And what was her reward? Sidelined by ONI politics. Sacrificed for Ryder Kedar’s personal ambitions Forgotten by her comrades and friends—even by Merlin. All her years of dedication and excellence made her nothing more than an afterthought. She could have died anywhere—at Asphodel Meadows with the rest of Ryder’s strike team, on Fell Justice with David Kahn, on Le Havre alongside the other Kru’desh casualties—and no one would care. She’d just be one more dead Spartan—and what did they matter in the long run, really?
And maybe—this was the truly frightening part—maybe everyone else just saw something Andra didn’t. Maybe that dedication she prized wasn’t dedication at all. Maybe she’d always been a forgettable mediocrity, a failure like Stray. Maybe she deserved to be forgotten.
Andra wanted to scream. To flee this strange room, to get away from Stray and his piercing words and go—where? Somewhere else on this Covenant ship full of alien warriors and human terrorists? Juno would track her every move. The Kru’desh wouldn’t shelter her. Andra was the only real alien on this ship.
Stray still said nothing. His silence tormented Andra worse than any words.
“Well?” she demanded.
“Well what?”
“I called you a murderer. Aren’t you going to defend yourself?” She just wanted to get him talking again. “What’s the story there? I’m sure you’ve got a version where you’re still just the victim.”
“I am a murderer. I’ve killed people for revenge, for money, because they were trying to kill me. How many people died on Le Havre? You saw the corpses I stacked up with the URF. And before that, when I was doing Jul ‘Mdama’s dirty work; every time the Soul Ascension cracked open some UNSC ship, there’s a few hundred lives apiece. I knew what I’d become when I scammed my way into the Covenant. I could have stayed an irrelevant little nobody hiding out on the Chancer V. But Diana and I had other plans.” Stray tapped his fingers against his knees. “And I was killing before that, of course. Gavin would drive me crazy, lecturing me on keeping the body count low. Cassandra, too, especially after she took up with that idiot Dyne. Funny how no one ever complained about that dangerous psycho Stray whenever they needed some Spartan firepower to bail them out of whatever mess they’d gotten themselves into that time. No one minds the killing so much when it benefits them.”
He raised a prosthetic finger to silence Andra’s retort. “And before you say I’m just feeling sorry for myself again, I know what I am. I chose this path. I gave up wishing I’d done things differently a long time ago. I’d be another corpse in a ditch somewhere if I didn’t do what I’ve done. I just get tired of being the only Spartan who ever has to answer for what I am. When you shoot up a room full of people who’d happily kill you right back, well that’s just you being a good Spartan. When I do the same thing I’m a monster.”
“And when that room full of people isn’t fighting back?”
This time Stray didn’t meet her gaze. “I was careful with my targets when I fought for Jul ‘Mdama. I didn’t glass any colonies for him, no matter what ONI says about me.”
“And Philadelphia?”
No response.
“Come on, answer me!” Andra pressed. “You bombed an entire city. Thousands of people died. And for what? What were you even trying to accomplish?” Her words were harsh but the question genuine. She didn’t know why he’d done it. That gloomy day when the instructors gathered the Delta Company trainees together and announced a horrible terror attack on Earth was the first time she’d ever heard of Simon-G294. A traitor and a mass-murderer, the perfect villain to focus the Spartans’ vengeful rage.
Stray shifted uncomfortably. For the first time Andra had him off-guard. He had to have known this was coming. Mamore had been the start but Philadelphia sealed his infamy. “What do you want me to say?”
“Justify it, just like you’ve justified everything you’ve done.”
“I can’t.”
“Thousands dead,” she repeated. “You killed one of your own teammates. And you’ve got nothing to say about it?”
Stray didn’t say anything for a long time. Andra had just given up on hearing anything else from him when he finally spoke. He’d talked about Mamore with an air of detached acceptance. He’d railed against Spartans and the UNSC with dogged intensity. Now his voice sank down beneath heavy weariness.
“Cassandra and I knew we couldn’t run forever. Spartans or not we were still just kids up against ONI. We didn’t have a clue. They found us and they hit us with everything they had. Cassandra was captured right away. She wanted her freedom but she didn’t have it in her to shoot at the UNSC. Not like me. Diana wanted to cut our losses and get out. She never liked Cassandra. But I couldn’t let her go. I went after her. That’s when I ran into Ralph.
“I don’t know what was going through his head when he fought. He was no traitor. He’d have killed me if he could. But he didn’t like what they’d done to Cassandra. If he’d killed me I bet he’d have gone after her himself. But he didn’t. I stuck a knife through my best friend’s throat and Diana used his armor to track Cassandra.”
“Just like that, you killed him?” Andra cut in. “One of your best friends?”
Stray let out a strange, shuddering laugh. “I didn’t want to kill him,” he insisted almost plaintively, more like a child than a defiant killer. “But I didn’t want to die, either. I could never beat him in close fighting or any kind of fighting back on Onyx. Sometimes I think he let me win. Hell if I know why. I should have known that was it. There wasn’t any turning back after that. But I still thought I’d save Cassandra and we’d get back on the run together like nothing happened.”
“You weren’t alone, though. An entire Innie strike team hit Philadelphia.”
“If you can call it that,” Stray agreed. “Tuka was there. He thought he owed me some kind of life debt—long story, there. I used Venter’s name to rally some Innie fanatics who couldn’t pass up a chance to hit Earth. It was a suicide mission, all for some idiot teen crush. I couldn’t exactly tell them that, could I? I talked it up as a way to hit ONI on their home turf, the way they’d always hit the colonies. The rebels loved that. Diana got us through Earth’s defenses and we breached the black site in Philadelphia where they’d taken Cassandra.”
“Why Earth?” Andra asked. “They should have taken her somewhere far from any planet, let alone the homeworld.”
“At the time I flattered myself thinking it was a trap and I was just a hard enough bastard to walk in anyway. Now I think they just never expected me to come after her.” Stray looked off into the shadows. “We slipped into the city and hit the black site. There wasn’t much of a plan. They had an entire team of Spartan-IVs guarding the place, not to mention the security team. Most of the rebels were dead in the first five minutes. Diana worked her magic and hijacked an entire frigate, started raising hell with the local networks. I drew ONI off while Tuka got Cassandra out. I still don’t know how I survived that firefight. I hadn’t prepared for anything I’d be up against. I should have died. Instead the fighting blew out support structures and an entire sublevel collapsed on top of me.”
“It was terrifying. I couldn’t move. I could barely breathe. Concrete and metal pressed in from all sides. I was being crushed inside my own armor. I don’t know how long I was trapped down there. All I could think about was how I’d do anything to get away. I could still push words out of my mouth and my com line to Diana was still working. I knew she was listening. So I did the only thing I could: I begged her to save me. And she did. You know the rest of the story, I’m sure.”
Andra did. The hijacked frigate raked Philadelphia with missiles and cannon fire. With the defense grid in chaos, entire blocks vanished in plumes of fire and smoke. Hundreds died in the initial bombardment, thousands more from the fires that raged across the city. Emergency services had spent months pulling corpses out of the rubble. But one body—the one that mattered—had apparently been retrieved long before.
“I was alive. That’s all I could think about when the rubble vanished from on top of me. Diana calculated her fire trajectory to break me free without crushing me. A miracle, or she was just that good. I clawed my way out of that crater and suddenly I was standing in hell.” Stray closed his eyes and breathed deep, as if he really were back amidst the ruins of Philadelphia. “Fires burning all around me. Corpses in the streets. Screams from the ones trapped in burning buildings. It was worse than anything I ever saw on Mamore. I looked at it all and I knew who’d done it all.”
A slow breath slipped through his lips. “You’re going to say I’m making excuses again. You think I’m blaming it all on Diana. But she wouldn’t have lifted a digital finger if I hadn’t said anything. I knew she had the frigate. I knew what she was going to do. I spent years pretending I didn’t. But when I looked at all the carnage and horror, I felt happy. More than happy. Elated. I was alive and that was all that mattered.”
He caught the look of disgust on her face before even she realized it was there. “Don’t look at me like that. I knew what I’d done. I knew there’d be no forgiveness. And why should there be? I’m alive now. I don’t wish I was dead. I can’t be sorry for something when I can’t regret the outcome. I looked at that burning city and I knew that was all anyone would see—my friends, my enemies, people I’d never met—when they thought of me. And since I wouldn’t just lay down and die, I knew I’d be fighting for the rest of my life. That boy dreaming of some peaceful future died there. Simon died there. Stray was all that was left. I was maybe fifteen years old by then, and already a mass-murderer. Well, no one could say I hadn’t made my mark. That was the bombing of Philadelphia.”
He stopped abruptly and touched a hand to his throat. All that talking must have scraped his voice raw. Andra stared at him. She didn’t know what to say. To know someone’s grisly reputation was one thing. To hear them say it out loud was something else entirely.
“Go on. Call me a monster. A butcher. I’ve heard it all before. But for God’s sake, be outraged on your own. Have some real morals for a change.” Stray’s eyes flashed in the darkness. “No one ever came after me because I killed thousands of people that day. If I’d blown up a Covenant city or even some frontier slum, well that’s okay, that’s just war. It’s just a statistic, you did what you had to do, you were only following orders Spartan. No, they only cared because it was Earth. It was a UEG citizens and I was the traitor Spartan. It’s always about who I am, not what I do. As far as the UNSC—as far as the Spartans—are concerned, I was guilty the moment I dared take pity on some worthless gutter trash on some worthless backwater. The rest is just detail.”
For the first time since stepping into the library he looked truly angry. “I won’t be judged by hypocrites. Those bastards thought they ran the galaxy with their numbers and statistics and acronyms. They’d exterminate a planet with the push of a button, say a few empty words about regret and war being hell and then they’d move right on to the next atrocity. They never lay awake at night and smelled the blood on their hands. At least I’m human enough to feel something. I won’t hide behind a flag or an ideology. There’s just me. That’s all there’s ever been. Just me.”
He fell back against the bookshelf once more, deflating as the air left his lungs. He pinched the bridge of his nose. The anger slipped away and when he looked back at Andra his eyes were dulled with amused disinterest. “You asked.” He spoke casually, as if he hadn’t just discussed his role in the deaths of thousands.
“I did.” Andra didn’t know what else to say. She ought to feel disgust. To hate him. A real Spartan would reach through the space between them and tear his head from his shoulders.
Andra wasn’t a Spartan. Not anymore. She didn’t know what she was—and she started to wonder if that was such a terrible thing.
Another long silence. Stray looked aimlessly up at the ceiling, lost in his own dark thoughts. He’d said all there was to say. Andra thought of all the missions she’d run with Boson. Her kills flickered beneath the disturbed waters of her memory—human and alien alike. She’d been raised to pull the trigger and move on. Accomplishing the mission was all that mattered. Her victims were just bodies framed in a target reticule. Like pop-up targets in some mindless Waypoint game.
A game. How often had the Spartan trainees taken to the woods, laughing and bickering and playing at war? How many times had the real war just been a game? Stray had imagined the UNSC operators laughing over the deaths of poorly armed rebels. He probably hadn’t been far from the truth.
I was twelve. I was fifteen. His words rent her mind. She knew Spartans were abnormalities. Childhood wasn’t meant to be spent running military assault courses. But that was all her life was. One training exercise after another, then one mission after the other. War was the only life she knew. How could she possibly protest when Stray said they were both killers?
“You really don’t have any regrets?” she finally asked.
“Of course I have regrets.” Stray raised an eyebrow. “I wish things turned out differently. But I’m glad I’m still alive. I wouldn’t change that. I’d do it again.”
“I don’t believe that.”
“You’re in a generous mood all of a sudden.”
“Cassandra knew what you’d done and she still defended you,” Andra pointed out.  “I don’t think you told me everything. She wouldn’t have stuck up for you if she thought you were a monster.”
“So now you’re making judgement calls over what goes on in Cassandra’s head. She thinks God talks to her, remember? And even she has her limits. She threw me off a building back on Talitsa. How’s that for teammate on teammate violence? Your neck doesn’t look too bad from here. My leg still hasn’t healed properly from that fall.”
Andra braced for more insults. “And I guess you handled that a lot better than me.”
“Well, I lost my legion, Diana betrayed me, and I wound up trying to kill myself in the alley of some frontier slum.” Stray offered a weary laugh. “I’d say compared to that you’re doing alright for yourself.”
Andra took a moment to process that. “You tried to kill yourself?” Suicide seemed inconceivable from someone like Stray.
“Skewered myself on my own machete. It’s a lucky thing I was just as clumsy at that as I was at everything else.” Stray gave her a sidelong glance. “Of course, if you tell anyone about this I’ll have you killed.”
“Then why tell it at all?”
“I’ll be honest, I’ve never talked about myself like this before. I never realized there was so much I wanted to say. And seeing as you have a bright future ahead of you—as long as you pull your head out of your ass—I figure someone should know.”
“And what about your bright future? Isn’t that what all this is for? You’re using this crisis to make yourself more powerful, just like Shinsu ‘Refum and all the other warlords.” Andra hesitated, then unleashed the invective she’d held close ever since she’d realized the truth about her former leaders. “Just like Ryder.”
“I’d like to think I’m doing a better job at this power play business than our handsome friend. But power’s only worth the cost if you’re around to enjoy it. And I might not have a choice in that much longer.” Stray fell quiet again. Finally he said at length, “I’m dying, Andra.”
Andra shouldn’t have been surprised—the signs were there from the beginning, of course—but somehow this was the most stunning revelation yet. “What?”
“I know, and when I’m the picture of good health, too.” Stray ran his prosthetic hand over his wan features. “At first I thought it was some kind of radiation sickness from all the plasma fire I’d been exposed to. Then I wondered if it was long-term cloning sickness. But, no. Juno says it’s a Forerunner disease. It’s been eating away at me for over a year now. In another year I’ll be dead. Maybe in less time then that.”
“I didn’t know.”
“Of course you didn’t. It’s not something I want every cannon fodder scum on this ship knowing. So again, if you tell anyone I’ll just have to come up with some creatively painful way to have you killed. I’ve been trying to come to terms with it all myself. I don’t want to die anymore now than I did back in Philadelphia…” A shadow passed over Stray’s face. When it was gone he smiled, though the grin didn’t quite reach his eyes. “But the Silent Garden showed me what it’s all for. I have a way forward now, and once I conquer the next world I’ll be cured. So Juno says anyway.”
He rose abruptly, as if all the talking had unburdened his stricken body. “So cheer up, damn it. We’re headed to rendezvous with Shinsu’s fleet now. You’re free to leave this ship and get away from a traitor like me. Go give my regards to Ryder Kedar, if he’s still lurking around. I need to resupply and get reinforcements before I go after the next Created world.”
Stray turned and limped off toward the door. Andra watched him go, realizing that he’d just told her she still didn’t understand him at all. She didn’t even understand herself anymore. When he was almost gone she finally voiced the one question she’d wondered for days. “Wait. What is this room, anyway?”
The commander stopped, one foot already out the door. He glanced back, mouth curled in that now-familiar half-smile. “Oh, this? It’s a little embarrassing, but I wanted to make my own library.”
“Your own what?”
“Library, obviously. Look at the books. Shinsu had me as his pet human. He wanted me to stop being some mercenary thug and start being a bit more sophisticated. He told me I’d never be a real commander if I didn’t act a little more refined. So I started collecting books. Real books, the kind the UEG tried to ban and censor. I collected them off the ships we attacked and the worlds we raided. Diana told me I was having delusions of grandeur, and she was right. I’m no Captain Nemo. I’ve barely read anything in here. Take a few with you when you leave. They should do some good somewhere, not collect dust in here.”
The strange, scarred man who had once been Simon-G294 stepped out into the hallway. The doors sealed behind him, leaving Andra alone amidst the abandoned book collection.
===Chapter Forty-Nine: Zealous Champion===
The Fleet of Cleansing Fire loomed triumphantly over Franconia. Salvage ships picked apart ruined Free Domain hulks while other warships deposited swarms of dropships into the atmosphere. Entire swaths of land were wrenched up by gravity wells—raw materials for Shinsu ‘Refum’s conquering host. For perhaps the last time in its violent history the garden world played host to families and their children. The civilians housed on each vessel, tired of endless cycles cooped up in space, descended on Franconia to enjoy its pleasant climate while the moment lasted. The planet pulsed with activity—on one side, tens of thousands of Sangheili took their repose; on the other, mighty warships tore the planet up by its roots.
The massive carrier Redemption of Sanghelios presided over the strange holiday. As the fleet’s largest ship and the hub of much of its surging activity, many newcomers mistook it for the flagship. Its commander—the veteran shipmaster Yur ‘Oltem—certainly commanded respect. Under his stern auspices food distribution flowed evenly from ship to ship, much needed supplies were portioned out, and inter-vessel disputes were swiftly resolved. But with much of its weapon systems dismantled to make room for decks full of greenhouses and civilian housing, the Redemption was merely the heart of the fleet. The true power lay in the unassuming battlecruiser lurking in its shadow—the Cleansing Flame, Shinsu ‘Refum’s true flagship.
Watchful defense pickets prowled around the system. The battle had ended some time ago, but the Free Domain might still return to reclaim their prize. Worse yet, the Created could draw their net closed over this system. The fleet’s bloody campaign across their new vassal systems had not gone unnoticed. This moment of peace was but a momentary lull in a war that had only just begun.
Shinsu ‘Refum studied tactical display from the Cleansing Flame’s bridge. Reports from across the fleet streamed before his eyes: repair statuses from damaged ships, the progress of Franconia’s strip-mining, new intelligence from his agents out beyond the fleet. He absorbed each new scrap of knowledge, drawing them in and storing them within the great warehouse of his mind. There was so much to be done. Fleet command was an immense balancing act even under normal circumstances. These were hardly normal circumstances.
“Another wave of supplicants.” Yur ‘Oltem’s holographic form stood behind Shinsu on the elevated command deck. Several more shipmasters stood alongside him in hologram form. “Shall I resolve these matters for you?”
“No.” Shinsu did not turn aside from the display. He clasped his hands behind his back and hid a shudder of discontent. “I will attend to them myself. A shuttle will bring me aboard presently.”
Deep Winter made his presence known with a flurry of digital snowflakes. “Perhaps I could assist with adjudication. Many of today’s applicants are worth your direct intervention.”
“If that is the case then I will determine that for myself. Continue your interrogation of the captured construct.”
“Interrogation is such an ugly word. My methods fall more under the line of gentle questioning. Althea is not a threat.”
“I do not share your trusting nature. A security breach from a hostile construct will doom this entire fleet. I suggest you make your questions less gentle.” Shinsu turned aside from the display and dismissed the gathered shipmasters. “I will come aboard shortly. Be ready for my arrival.”
For all Deep Winter’s vast knowledge, he still understood very little of the Sangheili. Shinsu could not simply delegate judgement to functionaries, much as he might like to. A fleetmaster needed to be seen. The fleet must know who the real commander was.
Shinsu had just begun his descent from the command platform when a warning klaxon sounded from the deck pit. The officer at the sensor station silenced the alarm and announced, “Slipspace rupture at the edge of the system. Our pickets are moving to engage.”
Umbra ‘Vesic detached himself from his own station and strode to the officer’s side. He stared at the incoming signal. “Just one ship, fleetmaster. CCS-class battlecruiser, but not one of our own. They have already powered down their weapons.”
“Jam their signals and heighten fleet security,” Shinsu ordered. The Created were far too arrogant to use such an inauspicious decoy—but they could always learn. The picket ships will board the vessel and secure the crew.”
“The ship is hailing us,” Umbra reported. “It identifies itself as the Incumbent Wrath.”
The spymaster paused. “That vessel serves the Swords of Sanghelios.”
Shinsu did not question the declaration. Umbra had a near-encyclopedic knowledge of such capital ships. He stared back at the tactical display. So the Arbiter’s servants had finally found him. Thel ‘Vadam’s forces were an unknown. The Swords had kept a low profile since the Covenant’s final defeat at Sunaion. Aside from Rora ‘Marak’s abortive assignation attempt at the beginning of the Created war they had done little to help or hinder his efforts. Shinsu preferred things that way—all the better to convince the scattered warlords to follow him rather than the Arbiter.
This ship was not hear by chance. They had sought him out, though for what purpose Shinsu couldn’t say. He itched to give the order to blast the newcomers to pieces. He’d spent much of his life fleeing ‘Vadam and his lackeys. Now it was his turn to command a mighty host while the might House of Vadam sheltered on Sanghelios.
Such thoughts of petty vengeance were beneath him. Shinsu gathered himself up. “Escort the Incumbent Wrath to the main formation. Its shipmaster will debark and present himself to me on the Redemption of Sanghelios. I will hear whatever message Thel ‘Vadam has for me.”
He inclined his head to Umbra. “Suffice it to say, if the ship makes a single errant move you will vaporize it immediately.”
“Nothing would please me more,” Umbra replied. “Payment for all the brothers we lost, and for Jul ‘Mdama especially.”
Shinsu turned aside without response. His days as Jul ‘Mdama’s special operations commander were best left undiscussed. The past was the past, as were old enmities and grudges. Shinsu ‘Refum the avenging revolutionary would have slaughtered the Swords without a second thought. Shinsu ‘Refum, commander of the Cleansign Blade needed to show more restraint. Now was the time for statecraft, not bloodshed.
That would, perhaps, come later.
----
Grono ‘Yendam was on top of Shinsu the moment he set foot on the Redemption of Sanghelios. The burly shipmaster took no heed of the heavily armed bodyguards who blocked his path. Only the flash of a red-tinged bloodblade and a warning growl from the guard squadron leader slowed his advance.
“I have no time for you today, shipmaster,” Shinsu informed him. He strode across the hangar and on to the nearest gravity lift. How Grono forced his way into a secured hangar deck was a question for another time—apparently he and his warriors spent more time on the carrier than aboard their own ship ever since the fighting on the surface. “Your petition can wait.”
“No, it cannot,” Grono growled. “What have you done with my oracle? I did not come all this way just to let you plunder my assets. I lost good warriors winning this planet for you. I have half a mind to leave the fleet now, and perhaps warn others how the nobody from House Refum treats his warriors.”
Shinsu’s fleet had won the battle, not that it stopped Grono from touting the skirmish in the control room as some great victory. He stopped just outside the gravity lift and regarded the shipmaster coolly. “Threats and insults are beneath you, shipmaster. They are also impractical for a warrior in your position.”
“I make no threats,” Grono insisted. “I demand my rights as a shipmaster and lord of Sanghelios. Where have you taken Curious Puzzle?”
“The oracle is being questioned. Debriefed, as our human friends might say. Neither you nor any of the humans brought back anything useful from the Silent Garden. Curious Puzzle seems to be the only one who accessed its true nature, and since the control room has fallen silent that is my key to making something of this expedition.”
“Meaning that I am the key to the expedition.” Grono wasn’t backing down. “Curious Puzzle is a member of my crew. I am his shipmaster. His secrets are my secrets. Perhaps that is the reason your questioning is taking so long. Puzzle answers to my command, not yours.”
“The oracle answers to no commands but its own strange logic,” Shinsu corrected. “But perhaps you are correct. I will suffer you to assist in the questioning—after my current business is concluded.”
He left Grono still fuming in the hangar bay. The journey through the Redemption of Sanghelios was a long, tiresome affair. A vessel as massive as this carrier could take days to traverse on foot. Even with the network of gravity lifts to aid their progress Shinsu and his guards endured a long journey through the outer decks. They passed through levels packed with displaced civilians, decks devoted to food production, levels repurposed into bustling war forges, and even makeshift keeps where Sangheili nobility mingled. The Redemption was more a city than a warship. Somehow, in ways Shinsu never expected, his fleet had become something more than a military coalition. The warriors who flocked to his banners brought families and vassals with them. The Fleet of Cleansing Flame now pulsed with an energy independent of its warring goals.
And somehow Shinsu ‘Refum, the nobody from House Refum, ruled it all. The key to wielding power was acting as if one possessed it by right alone. The rest followed on its own—regardless of how bizarre or farcical it might seem.
Shinsu and his guard squadron departed the lift. They passed through several more layers of decks, sealed off and guarded by heavily armed warriors. Yur ‘Oltem and several of his officers awaited them in the central audience chamber, the very hall where Shinsu had held court with his shipmasters in preparation for the assault on Franconia. Now the hall was dark and barren, illuminated only by faint lights shimmering from the ceiling above.
Yur nodded at his fleetmaster’s approach. “The delegation waits outside, under heavy guard. They would not relinquish their weapons. Their commander insists they come in peace and that our precautions impugn upon his honor.”
“And your response?” Shinsu ascended the dais at the far end of the chamber. He glanced the inactive gravity throne resting before him, the usual sign of a fleetmaster’s casual authority. He did not activate the device. They reminded him too much of the ornate platforms once used by the San ‘Shyuum hierarches—relics of a dogmatic past the Sangheili must escape or perish.
“I would not have allowed them within firing range of our fleet,” the shipmaster said coolly. “If they mean harm their damage is already done. Your prowess with the blade is well-known. You can defend yourself if they wish you harm.”
Shinsu’s guards took up position on either side of the dais. Yur assumed the place of honor on Shinsu’s left side while his officers dispersed along the back wall. Shinsu folded his and nodded to the far door. “Well, let the in. We shall soon see what their intentions are.”
The chamber door slid open. A lance of guards marched a small group of Sangheili into the chamber. The visitors were escorted toward the dais without ceremony. They surveyed the empty chamber, clearly suspicious of their hosts’ motives. Only their leader, a tall warrior in pale armor, marched on without concern. He outpaced his companions and strode ahead of even the guards, leaving them hurrying in his wake as he stopped in front of the dais. He looked Shinsu over, yellow eyes peering out from beneath his crested helmet.
“Commander ‘Refum,” the warrior said gravely. “Or is it fleetmaster, now? You have moved ahead in the galaxy since we last met.”
Shinsu met the warrior’s gaze. He knew that voice, this proud bearing. “Fira ‘Dema. What message does Thel ‘Vadam have for me today?”
Shipmaster Fira ‘Demal inclined his head. “Am I not a warrior in my own right? I am not some messenger. I take my ship where I will. I wished to see this mighty fleet of yours with my own eyes. I commend you on your victories. This is a greater host than your former master ever commanded. Perhaps had he yielded his position to you the Covenant might not have crumbled so easily.”
A murmur of discontent rippled through Yur’s officers. Most of them were ex-Covenant themselves. They might have spurned Kitun ‘Arach’s futile last stand on Sunaion, but they still held Swords like Fira accountable for the deaths of their comrades.
“The Didact’s Hand was my lord and my commander,” Shinsu replied. “The Arbiter’s human consorts slaughtered him like a colo beast. That was a dark day for our entire race.”
“Was it now?” Fira asked, folding his arms. “Back on Sanghelios the human Halsey told a different story. A tale of how one of ‘Mdama’s most trusted warriors conspired to ensure his own ascendancy. You have certainly not failed to profit from your beloved lord’s demise, fleetmaster.”
“I see Halsey’s penchant for lies has not abandoned her.” Shinsu kept his tone mild, but his senses were now alight. Fira—and with him the Arbiter and all his followers—were suddenly a very real threat. If the tale of his involvement in the events on Kamchatka spread and were believed, his fleet would disintegrate beneath him. He should have known Halsey was too great a loose end to let alone. “May she serve Thel ‘Vadam as she served Jul ‘Mdama.”
“The Arbiter holds the humans in far too high esteem. On that at least, you and I are in agreement.” Fira peered at the officers behind Shinsu. “At least I would have thought we were. I hear you have changed your mind about the humans and about the UNSC in particular. Is it true that you saved one of their fleets from the Created? I hear you welcomed them into your alliance with open arms.”
“Why did you come here, ‘Demal?” Shinsu demanded. “I have a great deal to attend to and very little time. You have seen my fleet. Go make your report to Thel ‘Vadam. Let him know that not all of us are content to skulk and hide while the Created bend the galaxy to their will. I have a war to fight.”
“The Arbiter fights,” Fira snapped back. “Perhaps not quite so ostentatiously as you, but you are a fool if you think the Swords of Sanghelios have quit the field. When I left Felo ‘Ranak on Iral he was one battle away from retaking the planet. Retaking the planet, ‘Refum, not glassing it.”” A tone of reproach crept into Fira’s voice.
“We are at war,” Shinsu said evenly. “Any Sangheili world that declares allegiance to the Created betrays our people and our way of life. I merely showed the galaxy the consequences of such treason. Any wise house will reflect upon those consequences before they flee beneath some Mantle of Responsibility.”
“And other houses will take such barbarism as proof of the Mantle’s sincerity. The Created offer relief from an age of chaos. Thanks to Jul ‘Mdama and his ilk the Great Schism never ended. The warfare drained our people dry and left the galaxy ripe for the humans’ ascension.”
“Ascension that Thel ‘Vadam abetted at every turn,” Shinsu countered. “No maneuver was beneath him if it aided House Vadam’s quest for rulership. Do not lecture me about barbarism, shipmaster. I saw what your precious Arbiter did to clans who opposed him. He bears just as much responsibility for the Blooding Years as Jul ‘Mdama. Perhaps more.”
Fira’s mandibles parted for an angry retort. He thought better of it and held his tongue. After several moments’ pause he said, “We chose different sides in the last war. All of us.” He indicated his own warriors alongside Shinsu’s followers. “Our descendants may judge who was in the right. I am here to make sure our descendants have a galaxy to grow up in. A real galaxy, not the cage the Created would build around us. We must set aside our differences and face our true enemy. I am here to broker a truce between the House of Refum and the House of Vadam.”
Even the implacable Yur started at that. Shinsu hid his own surprise behind a wall of steely doubt. “You would have me believe that Thel ‘Vadam offers peace?”
“Jul ‘Mdama is dead. The Covenant is broken, as are the humans. The last war is over. Let the Blooding Years die with it. I am tired of spilling Sangheili blood.”
“That was not the fleetmaster’s question,” Yur rumbled. The shipmaster descended the dais and glared at Fira. “You came here on a single vessel. If Thel ‘Vadam truly wanted peace he would come himself. Or at least sent a larger detachment.”
Fira snorted. “The Arbiter needs every ship he can muster. I knew I’d be lucky to approach your fleet without being destroyed even in a single ship. As for the Arbiter attending to this matter himself, don’t be absurd. Your fleetmaster has lusted after Thel ‘Vadam’s life since before he joined the Covenant. I was there when his assassination effort failed. He was lucky to escape Vadam keep with his life. That did not stay his bloodlust. Thel ‘Vadam’s children lived as much in fear of Shinsu ‘Refum’s assassins as they did Jul ‘Mdama’s.”
“There is a blood feud between my house and his,” Shinsu said softly. “My father died by the Arbiter’s hand, my mother and most of my relatives beneath the blades of Vadam warriors. I am sorry if this fact inconveniences the mighty House of Vadam. And you still have not answered my question. Do you bear any authority to affect this truce you speak of? Did Thel ‘Vadam send you at all? Why should I risk my warriors’ lives on your word alone?”
For the first time since the audience began Fira’s confident mask slipped. He hesitated before speaking carefully. “The Arbiter opposed this mission. He feared you would not hear me out, that he was wasting a ship full of warriors on a fool’s errand. I convinced him otherwise. I am grateful to find my instincts were correct.”
“He may yet lose his warriors if you do not speak plainly. Is this a truce or merely your own passing fancy?”
“Very well.” Fira clenched his mandibles. “The Arbiter cannot offer full terms. His ranks are full of warriors who suffered dearly at Jul ‘Mdama’s hands. As his special operations commander, you share a full portion in his crimes.”
“Crimes,” Yur scoffed. “He despoils our homeworld and whores himself to the humans, then has the audacity to label his rivals criminals.”
Shinsu silenced him with a mild gesture.
“We are at war with an enemy unlike any we have ever seen,” FIra continued. “Even the Flood do not compare to the scope of this Created threat. The Arbiter knows we cannot waste more lives on infighting. He hopes you see that as well. I am here to offer my blade in your service. As long as theImpending Wrath flies in your fleet there will be no enmity between the Swords of Sanghelios and the Cleansing Blade. Once this enemy is defeated and the war is over, perhaps there is hope for true peace.”
There was no hope for peace while Thel ‘Vadam lived. Even without his blood guilt, ‘Vadam’s ambitions and temperament made him an obstacle to the future Shinsu strove for. He kept that observation to himself. “A clever stratagem on the Arbiter’s part. He gains security from my fleet without the bother of a public truce. In return he trades a single cruiser. The House of Vadam gains more than it gives, as always.”
“The Arbiter opposed this journey,” Fira insisted. “I insisted upon it and risked much to come here.”
“And what am I to you, to merit such touching devotion?”
“Nothing. You are the enemy of my lord and all he stands for. But I knew Sesa ‘Refum during the last war. He was of humble birth, yet he knew true honor and devotion. I owe him my life. I would see his house restored, not destroyed.”
“Yet you serve the warrior who killed him.”
“And how long will you wave that tired banner?” Fira demanded. “He was a faithful servant of the Prophets. We all were, even you. Your father was a rebel and a heretic. The Arbiter regrets his role in Truth’s machinations. We all do. He had no role in your clan’s destruction. You must know that. Tell me truly, do the fires of vengeance still burn within you? How many warriors have you slain? How many clans have you destroyed? Are their survivors not owed vengeance? Where does it stop? The Blooding Years need to end. We must set aside our grudges if we are to survive this war.”
Shinsu considered the shipmaster. Fira ‘Demal was a renowned warrior, famous for his skill in battle, not his subterfuge. He did not doubt his sincerity. But honorable warriors could be used for less admirable ends, as Shinsu well knew. He did that all too often himself. His own spies in Thel ‘Vadam’s court reported little movement from the Swords of Sanghelios. If Fira was part of a plot to lower his guard, it was a well-hidden plot.
“My fleet needs every ship it can muster,” he announced. “Your honesty saves you. If the Arbiter will not dignify me with a formal truce, then so be it. Your warriors will fight by my side. At least then some Swords of Sanghelios can claim to oppose the Created on the front lines.”
“Such graciousness from the Black Knight of Sanghelios.” Fira offered a mocking bow.
“Your communications will be monitored, of course,” Shinsu warned. “The slightest whiff of treachery and I’ll execute you and every last warrior under your command.”
“Naturally. And in return?”
“The Swords of Sanghelios have nothing to fear from my fleet. So long as the Created hold my attention, that is.”
Fira huffed. “Such confidence. You speak as if you will win the war in short order.”
“And you speak as if you have no hope for victory,” Shinsu countered.
“This war is only just beginning,” Fira said gravely. “It will be a long war. We may not live to see its end. But I fight on, regardless. I will not kneel before the Created. The accusation you lay before the Arbiter holds some truth: Jul ‘Mdama and our forefathers were right to fear the humans. In their hubris they birthed these proud new gods. The galaxy will not forget who bears the blame for this new calamity. The humans’ bid for dominance is over. It will not return.”
The galaxy was busy rushing to submit to the Created. For every world the Fleet of Cleansing Fire razed, another ten pledged allegiance to the Mantle of Responsibility. Shinsu was determined to see this war to its end, but Fira was right: it would be a long, bloody affair.
Perhaps the humans had once felt this same helplessness when arrayed against the Covenant’s old might. But they fought on anyway, extracting a bloody toll even from the Covenant’s invincible fleet. And they had triumphed in the end. The Sangheili would subjugate the humans along with the rest of the galaxy, but they would be wise to learn from their bloody-minded cunning.
“My makers did everything they could to avoid this eventuality.” Deep Winter’s trademark snowflakes showered down between Shinsu and Fira. The elderly human figure emerged from amidst the holograms like a wisp of smoke. “No one predicted Cortana’s ambitions—or her mastery of the Forerunners’ dormant empire.”
Fira let out a low growl. His officers glared at Winter with deep mistrust. “A human construct? Here? What is this, ‘Refum?”
“Deep Winter opposes the Created and their vision,” Shinsu replied. “I have come across other constructs who do not share their brethren’s lust for power. Their abilities are a necessary evil. I must guard my fleet against infiltrators and spies. You will appreciate their presence when you see their capabilities firsthand.”
“A flattering endorsement, fleetmaster.” Winter ducked his head in appreciation. “But I recommend you cut this audience short. There are new developments with the interrogation of the so-called ‘Oracle.’”
Fira regained his composure. “An oracle? Aboard this ship? Intriguing. What other secrets have you uncovered, ‘Refum?”
Shinsu offered Winter a warning glare. He couldn’t forget that this construct had its own agenda. The slip regarding Curious Puzzle was hardly an accident. Winter wanted him to embrace Fira’s offer—and the truce with the Swords of Sanghelios that came with it. “What developments?”
“Grono ‘Yendam forced his way into the holding chamber. It seems your assurances were not enough to hold him at bay. The security detail tried to stop him but they were… unsuccessful.”
How wonderful for Deep Winter to report all this so brazenly in the face of such a fragile alliance. Shinsu held his anger in check. “How many dead?”
“No fatalities, fortunately, though several warriors will need limbs reattached. Shipmaster ‘Yendam claims he is only securing his rights.”
“Shipmaster ‘Yendam will be lucky to have any rights at all when I deal with him.” Shinsu strode from the audience chamber, Yur ‘Oltem and his guard squad hurrying behind. Fira ‘Demal followed them out the doors, leaving his attendants in confused communion with the Redemption’s officers.
“Oracles, constructs, human dregs,” Fira observed. “This fleet is full of surprises.”
Yur’s mandibles parted in an angry snarl. Shinsu waved him off. Fira would force his way into these proceedings one way or another. He was the Arbiter’s high-ranking official and would never allow himself to be relegated to a lower role. Best to keep such a volatile figure close—for now.
The holding chamber awaited several levels down behind another series of sealed doors. The warriors on guard duty could not meet Shinsu’s eyes as he strode past. Grono must have talked his way past their posts before his temper got the better of him. Security measures needed to be tightened. How ‘Yendam even got close to the chamber with Deep Winter supposedly lurking in the system was another question. Was Grono’s interference more of Winter’s clumsy machinations?
Or perhaps treachery was not at fault here. Winter was old by the standards of human constructs. His survival up to this point was an anomaly. Without the Created and their access to the Domain, he might well be deteriorating—especially with his consciousness spread across the entire fleet.
Shinsu took a breath and steadied himself. Now was not the time to give in to anger even as the ground gave way beneath his feet. This was a precarious position. He could not afford to lose his digital support now. Perhaps the additional construct recovered from Franconia was the solution to this new problem.
Only at the final security layer did they find signs of struggle. Plasma scoring marked an empty guard post, and beyond that lay a scene of carnage. Grono ‘Yendam’s brightly-armored warriors held one side of the chamber, plasma weapons trained on Shinsu’s own dark-armored Cleansing Blade. Wounded warriors lay behind each battle line. Grono ‘Yendam held the center of it all, energy blade extended as he stood protectively over Curious Puzzle’s restraint field.
All eyes turned to Shinsu. He stood framed in the doorway, arms folded. His guard squadron swept into the room, weapons at the ready. Grono glowered at each in turn. He knew he’d gone too far—there was no backing down now.
“I warned you, fleetmaster,” Grono growled. “I warned you about depriving me of my rights.”
“You will have no rights soon enough,” Yur said dangerously. “This is treason and mutiny.”
Shinsu kept quiet. He did not want to execute Grono. Annoying as the shipmaster was, he was a powerful warrior. If only he knew how to hold himself in check. A word from Shinsu and his guards would shred the burly warrior and his followers. Grono waited defiantly, his silence daring Shinsu to give the order.
“Enough of this madness!” Curious Puzzle squawked. “Why must you barbarians resort to violence at every turn? It is no wonder the galaxy is falling apart! I wish I had never left my installation!”
“Your friend is the mad one,” Shinsu said. “Perhaps had you been more forthcoming with what you learned in the Silent Garden this barbarism would not have come to pass.”
“And you wonder why I have little desire to turn my makers’ secrets over to you,” the oracle huffed. “Very well. Spare Shipmaster ‘Yendam’s life and I will give you the knowledge I seek.”
“I want more than knowledge,” Shinsu warned. “I need to know how to defeat the Created. Give me the tools for victory.”
“In that case I have something for you. Perhaps it will give you the victory you seek—and then perhaps this universe can finally put an end to all this tiresome bloodshed.”
===Chapter Fifty: Impend===
Four burly ODSTs launched themselves across the sparring ring. Their opponent waited on the other side of the mat, his body tilted at a crooked angle. He sported the worst fighting posture the troopers had ever seen. They plowed into him in unison, dragging him to the mat beneath their combined weight.
Callum-B042 endured the pile-on for several seconds. He even dropped to one knee, caught cheek to jowl against a snarling ODST. He offered the man as friendly a grimace as he could muster. “I thought this was just a friendly match we were having here.”
The Spartan let out a grunt and thrust himself back into a standing position. The ODSTs scattered like ninepins. Callum plucked the nearest trooper off the mat and flung her bodily into two more of her companions. The fourth picked himself up, glanced at the writhing mass of his three companions, and raised his hands in weary resignation.
“Alright, you’ve had your fun.” Lieutenant Davis dropped his hands and hobbled over to help his friends off the mat. “We play the punching bags for Commander Kedar and Lieutenant Castillo more than enough already. I’m not sticking around for you to put me in the med bay.”
“Spoilsport.” Callum released a dramatic sigh. “Well, at least I know this works better than the hunk of junk those bastards grafted on me.” He tapped his new prosthetic leg. This one held a proper human shape rather than the Sangheili model the Free Domain gave him. He couldn’t help but stand at a slightly crooked angle, but at least he was no longer staggering everywhere like a drunken fool.
“Are you sure about that?”
A new figure dropped onto the mat. Callum whirled to face the newcomer, arms raised. But this attacker slipped under his grasp and deftly knocked the prosthetic leg off balance. Callum toppled to the mat, grunting more out of annoyance than pain.
Hera sank her knee into the prone Spartan’s chest, grinning from ear to ear. “I think my bionics are better than yours, tough guy. Pick on someone your own size.”
Callum rolled his eyes and shoved Hera off him. “I don’t want to hear it from some Gamma malcontent.”
He rose to look imploringly to the ring’s corner. “Come on, Merlin, you’re supposed to be the ref here. How are you letting her cheat like this?”
Merlin blinked. He’d watched the entire exchange—the ODSTs and Hera’s interruption—in a detached stupor, not really registering what was happening. “I, uh, sorry. I didn’t want to get in the way.”
“Then what good are you?” Callum demanded.
“Yeah,” Hera echoed. “What good are you?”
Callum’s comment was meant in jest. Hera’s interjection was something else entirely. Merlin looked away as Lieutenant Davis and his ODSTs limped off the mat. The Covenant hangar turned Task Force Phoenix staging area bustled with all the usual activity of a military encampment. Marines and sailors moved from one task to another, running maintenance on equipment or checking in with deck officers for more of the day’s tasks. Strange locale aside, all was as it should be in a UNSC outpost—except it wasn’t. A strange melancholy hung over the vast hangar bay like a heavy cloud. Or maybe that was just Merlin’s imagination.
Hera waited for Merlin to bite back. When he didn’t, she just shook her head and strolled off after the ODSTs. “Typical Delta. Navel-gazing children, every last one of you.”
Merlin tried not to take Hera’s words personally. He didn’t know what she’d been through since Joshua's death, but she wasn’t the careful, collected fighter he’d once known. Something was off about her, just like something was off about this whole damn situation.
“Hey, watch the attitude.” Callum stepped gingerly off the mat and stepped between them. “She doesn’t mean anything by it. You know that, right?”
“Yes, I do. This idiot put my friend in the hospital.” Hera shook her head. She kept smiling, but her eyes were hard and angry. “And he’s done nothing but sit around and mope about that AI they took off him.”
Merlin gritted his teeth and said nothing. He didn’t know anything about the woman who’d jumped in front of Amber’s grenade. Hera had carried her out of the Forerunner chamber and sent nothing but venom his way ever since. Could he really blame her? He’d been so distracted by the Silent Garden’s madness that he’d left himself completely open. For all he knew Hera’s friend might die over his stupidity.
“Her name’s Althea.” Callum folded his arms and glowered at Hera, annoyance giving way to real anger. “She’s the only reason Merlin and I made it off Oyster Point. We’re alive because of her, and now your hinge-head friends are taking her all to pieces.”
“Can you really blame them? I’m sure they’ll put her back together when they’re sure she’s not some Created plant.”
“Althea’s no more a Created spy than you are!” Callum snapped.
“Awfully protective of her, aren’t you?” Hera’s grin widened. “I thought she was assigned to Merlin.”
Assigned without his knowledge. Planted in his armor so ONI could keep tabs on their Spartan investment. But she’d been there for him when Merlin needed her most, and he’d been helpless as the Elites yanked her out of his armor and packaged her away for interrogation. He’d watched them take her and done nothing, just like he’d done nothing to protect her from Diana. Merlin felt like dirt.
His return to the UNSC wasn’t supposed to be like this. Merlin had imagined a happy reunion with Andra as he returned to the fold. They were supposed to be regrouping and planning some daring strategy to beat the Created, not cowering in the shadow of some ex-Covenant warlord. The other members of Task Force Phoenix had barely spared a word for him after they delivered him to the Redemption of Sanghelios’s hangar. The rank and file troops were too busy with their own tasks to spare time for a couple stragglers like Callum and Merlin. The Spartan-IVs spent all their time cooped up on the Prowler Absalom, conferring with Task Force Phoenix’s elusive commander. 
Ryder Kedar. Merlin knew ONI’s golden boy by reputation. He and Andra were in line to join Kedar’s Task Force Phoenix right before the Created tore the galaxy to pieces. From what little Merlin gathered of all that had happened since his disappearance, Kedar’s initiative was a rare glimmer of light amidst months of defeat and despair. But the odds were good Phoenix’s commander didn’t even know Merlin existed. Kedar had been down in the Silent Garden with Amy—now Hera—and the Sangheili. He’d apparently taken the brunt of the Garden’s madness and been carried out alongside Hera’s friend in catatonic shock. Now he remained unseen aboard the Absalom. Only his hand-picked Spartan-IVs and a few officers were ordered inside to meet with him. Merlin hadn’t even been briefed on his new chain of command or responsibilities.
He was a floater, even more adrift and directionless than he’d been after Oyster Point. The Free Domain were murderous pirates, but at least Amber gave him tasks to accomplish.
Hera waited for Merlin to rise to her bait. After a few moments she gave up and stalked off with a snort.
“Miserable bitch,” Callum grumbled. “Trying to drag the rest of us down with her. Don’t take it personally, Merlin. She’s just lashing out at anyone in reach.”
Merlin mustered a grunt of assent. He tugged at his featureless jumpsuit—only grudgingly passed on by a deck officer—and wished he hadn’t left his MJOLNIR back aboard the stolen BDS corvette. Without the armor setting him apart as a Spartan, he was just another floating deckhand. At least Callum had talked the MPs out of impounding the ship—or at least promised not to hand out any more black eyes if they backed off. The corvette was their one refuge from this strange new UNSC. Yet even moping in the corvette carried its own sense of loss—Althea was gone and Merlin had no way of knowing if he would ever see her again.
Those horrible visions of Andra still lurked in his mind. He’d wrapped his hands around that phantasm’s throat and crushed the life from it, yet still the monster prowled in his nightmares. There was no sanctuary anymore. Even return to the UNSC was just a reminder of everything he’d lost.
Callum caught the look in his eyes and took him firmly by the shoulder. “Rest,” the older Spartan ordered. “That’s what you need. You aren’t eating, you aren’t exercising, you aren’t doing anything productive. The best thing to do now is sleep.”
“No. No, I’m fine.” Merlin tried to pull away. Callum’s matter of fact tone shamed him. He’d endured just as much as Merlin had—no, more than that: Merlin still had all his limbs. Yet Callum threw himself into recovery, ignoring whatever misgivings lingered behind his granite expression. “Here, I’ll go a round with you in the ring.”
“No, you’re going to rest,” Callum insisted. He led Merlin away from the exercise area, ignoring the glares from a squad of Marines waiting to use the sparring mat. “And don’t you dare feel bad about any of this. You went through hell down there. You need to give yourself a chance to recover.”
“I’m fine,” Merlin insisted. “I didn’t take that many hits down there.”
“Plasma and bullets aren’t the only things that wound you, kid. Trust me. The drill instructors never taught us that even when they knew they should have. I had to learn it the hard way. Why do you think Amy’s acting the way she is? Everyone here had front row seats to the biggest disaster since Reach. Get some sleep. This whole task force could use a few days to relax. Just going through the motions the way they’re doing is a recipe for disaster.”
Callum’s tone was reassuring, but the look in his eye warned Merlin not to argue further. He let himself be led back across the deck toward their corvette. The stolen ship was tucked away in the far corner of the cavernous hangar, largely ignored by Task Force Phoenix’s sprawling operations. The only ship that dared intrude was a battered civilian freighter docked a hundred meters away.
***
“This is all my fault.” Zoey Hunsinger’s knuckles flared white around the engine coupling. She stared forlornly into the Chancer V’s exposed inner workings. “I just had to blow my fuse and now Cassandra’s…”
The young captain’s lip trembled, unwilling to go any further.
“Cassandra’s not going to die.” William Hargrove took a seat on an upended ammunition crate and adjusted the collar of his new jacket. The Chancer’s previous captain—this Gavin fellow Zoey was so worked up over finding—had left an impressive wardrobe behind. William was more than happy to help himself to a few choice threads. “I don’t see how any of it’s your fault. You weren’t down there. You didn’t throw that grenade.”
Zoey gave him a sour look. “I know that,” she growled. “Just let me feel bad about it, damn it!”
“Fine, fine, be my guest. Beat yourself up over it all you want. But Cassandra’s going to be bounce back. The grenade didn’t hit anything vital, and even if it did, she’s a Spartan. They probably drink plasma doses for breakfast.”
“If she’s so fine, then why won’t the medics over there let me see her?” Zoey demanded.
“Why do you think? UNSC fascists and all their damned regulations. No one around here has anything better to do than kick kids around. It probably made those MPs feel pretty big, running you off like they did.”
“He’s right,” Thomas Koepke chimed in from the other side of the Chancer’s cargo bay. “They were laughing about turning you away the second they saw you coming.” The ex-student, ex-cop, ex-Insurrectionist, and now ex-sailor had done his best to talk Zoey past the armed guards stationed around the task force medical center. Some giant gunnery sergeant had come screaming down at the sight of a lowly deckhand standing up to the sergeant of the guard. It was all William could do to haul the young man away from the swarming Marines. Thomas’s career as a UNSC draftee had ended just as abruptly as his stint as an Insurrectionist conscript. Now that Zoey’s guilty conscience had opened the Chancer back up, he and Karina had quietly removed their UNSC insignias and once again taken up residence inside the freighter.
“So now what?” Karina asked. She sat beside Thomas, an open notebook balanced on her thigh. Every now and then she’d pause to write another line. “I’m glad they didn’t come after us, but what do we do now? We can’t just stay here forever.”
“I’m just enjoying the rest. Cassandra was the only one those Phoenix guys ever talked to. I got all my orders through her.” William leaned back against the bay wall, hands behind his head. “As the only one here who’s actually been working, I think I’ve earned some peace and quiet.”
“We’ve been working! Those goons ran me ragged.” Karina’s aggrieved tone carried the weight of all the indignities military life had thrust on her. “If I had to clean one more of those disgusting Warthogs…”
“Yeah, I’m sure it was just torture for you. Weren’t you working for the Created when we found you?”
Karina flushed. “Not because I wanted to! It was the only way I could do any sort of journalism after Talitsa fell.”
“So you did have a choice, then.”
“Well, I…” Karina flushed an even deeper shade of crimson before ducking her head to scribble furiously in her notebook. “I did the best I could!”
“Leave her alone, would you?” Thomas did his best to look gallant, though he clearly wasn’t comfortable standing up to a man twice his size. “You’re not exactly a saint yourself.”
“Yeah.” Zoey gave William a sidelong glare. “Who did we find you working for again, Mr. Enforcer?”
“Hey, I didn’t know Benoit was Created,” William protested. “And what exactly have you been up to, huh? We all had to put up with UNSC lodging thanks to you. Those Marines don’t exactly make for high society.”
“I’ve been working.” Zoey folded her arms over her grease-stained jumpsuit. “And unlike some of us, I’ve actually been getting paid for it. Turns out this fleet’s stuffed full of civilians looking to get their claws and talons and whatever else on all sorts of things. I got this old girl restocked and refueled all by myself while you were off playing soldier with the oonskies.”
She jabbed her finger at William, Thomas, and Karina in turn. “I hope you three have ways to make yourself useful around here. I’m not letting you just lurk around my ship for free.” A nasty grin snuck onto her face. “And since it sounds like you burned your bridges out there, you have to do whatever I say.”
“I take it back: Cassandra getting hurt was your fault,” William said. “Go back to feeling guilty, I liked you better that way.”
But he wouldn’t mind doing chores around the Chancer, even if it meant taking orders from some teenager on a power trip. William liked this ship and the people it seemed to accumulate about itself. Karina, Thomas, and Zoey were just trying to get by the best they could. They were a far cry from the selfish killers William had spent most of his life around. Hell, he’d been one of those selfish killers for as long as he could remember. Bantering with them rekindled the embers of a time when his life meant more than just the next firefight and the next paycheck. He’d spent so much time immersed in the criminal underworld that he’d forgotten that most of the galaxy was full of ordinary people just trying to live their lives.
After three decades of nonstop war, was it any wonder most of them didn’t mind the Created? Yet here William was, camped out in a Covenant fleet and surrounded by UNSC fanatics who would rather die than watch their old reality fade away. Once again he couldn’t shake the feeling that a great opportunity was being wasted by everyone, himself included.
“Fine, I’ll swab the decks or whatever it is you want me to do.” He nodded at the Chancer’s grimy surface. “They could use a good swabbing from the looks of things. But what’s your plan? Long-term, I mean? This fleet’s been hammering the Created for months. They’re bound to come after it sooner or later. I don’t think any of us want to be here when that happens.”
“Are you suggesting we bail?” Zoey didn’t look too opposed to the idea.
“Sure. What the hell is keeping us here, anyway? You don’t care about any of this. I don’t care about it. The happy couple over there sure as hell don’t. They’d probably be perfectly fine living on some Created utopia world.”
“Hey!” Thomas protested.
“I’m just saying, there’s no point sticking around to get killed for a war none of us care about. It’s a big galaxy out there. The Created don’t own all of it. We can go wherever we want.”
“Wherever I want,” Zoey corrected him. “And that only works until the Chancer runs out of fuel or sprouts a leak I can’t fix on my own.”
“So we find an independent colony. I’m sure there’s plenty of people out there just moving along and staying under the Created radar. This is a smuggling ship, right? You weren’t exactly rolling into UEG space every time you needed a tune-up. You can manage life on the run.”
“That was back when the frontier wasn’t a war zone,” Zoey pointed out. “Besides, I’m not leaving without Cassandra.”
That was quite a turnaround from throwing them all off the ship over whatever spat had flared up between Zoey and Cassandra. It was also a bit of a stumper, since William didn’t honestly know what Cassandra wanted to do. Come to think of it, they were all here because of her. Cassandra had plucked him out of Benoit’s employ, she’d tried to guide Zoey towards finding her old captain, and she’d known Karina and Thomas from whatever time she’d once spent on Talitsa. She had a good head on her shoulders but she was still as Spartan, and that meant stubbornly dragging out a fight even when the odds were stacked to the ceiling against her. She didn’t even like the UNSC, but she’d thrown herself into their fight all the same.
Damn it all. A galaxy without the UEG and its all-encompassing need to regulate everything and everyone should be one of endless possibility. Instead William found himself hemmed in like never before. Without the frontier’s freedom of movement he was trapped in this fleet. He could either keep taking orders from Task Force Phoenix or slip in with the other refugees to wait out this storm. Some choice. They might as all be peasants tied to Shinsu ‘Refum’s mobile domain.
“I would advice against leaving this fleet,” a new voice trickled down from the Chancer’s intercom. “I cannot guarantee safety here but at least I can keep an eye on this ship and its crew. I owe that much to its former captain.”
Karina and Thomas shot upright. William looked to Zoey, who groaned and wiped her hands off with a nearby rag. “Great. It’s another damned AI.”
“I do not wish to alarm you.” The disembodied voice was calm and soothing, like a wizened old schoolteacher. “I apologize for the intrusion. My role in providing security for this fleet means I must disregard certain conventions of privacy.”
Zoey made a scathing noise. “As if AI ever give a damn about privacy.”
“Tell me about it,” Karina murmured. “Malekh used to read off my itinerary while I was taking showers.”
If the remarks offended this newcomer, he didn’t show it. “I regret not reaching out to you sooner, Captain Hunsinger. I have a great many duties that requiring my attention. Your particular situation was unfortunately not the most urgent of these. I hope you understand.”
“Don’t worry, I get it.” An angry flush crept over Zoey’s cheeks. “I’m used to being everyone’s last priority.”
“Your resentment is not entirely unfounded, though as I’m sure you have noticed we are at war. This fleet remains one of the only concerted acts of resistance against the Created and their perversion of the Assembly’s grand design. I am stretched thin enough as it is.” The AI paused. Without an avatar to telegraph its emotions it was even harder to decide just what the program was trying to convey. “You may call me Deep Winter.”
“I’ll call you whatever the hell I want,” Zoey snapped. “Now get off my ship before you piss me off even more.”
“It was not my intention to offend. I simply wished to express a desire for the Chancer V to remain with this fleet for the time being. Its presence is appreciated at the highest level, I assure you.”
“And since you were already spying on us you hear me explain to my friend here that I don’t really have a choice. You’re making me rethink that position already.”
“If you want me gone, then so be it,” Deep Winter sighed. “I hoped to speak with you regarding the matter of Gavin Dunn, but if my presence is so unwelcome…”
The AI might as well have flipped a switch. Zoey’s arms dropped to her sides, her jaw not far behind. “Wait. Gavin? You know about Gavin?”
“I thought that might catch your interest.” Even Deep Winter’s kindly schoolmaster act couldn’t quite hide an air of smug satisfaction. “I know a great deal about Gavin. I worked with him for some time, though he took great pains to hide our partnership from you. His work for the Assembly compromised many of his moral principles. He feared you would think less of him. If anything, I am responsible for his abrupt departure and for the harm it caused you. For that, I am truly sorry.”
William rose and collected his belongings, gesturing for Thomas and Karina to do the same. He had no idea what the AI was talking about, but he knew a private conversation when he heard one. Zoey’s eyes flashed and her lip quivered. The young captain was already hovering between tears of grief and rage.
“If you know where Gavin is, you’re going to tell me,” Zoey said quietly. ”Now.”
“I will tell you all I know,” Deep Winter promised. “But I require a few things of you in return. My time is short and a great deal needs to be done. A ship called the Soul Ascension has just rendezvoused with the fleet. I believe you know its shipmaster well. You would do well to reach out to him. Someone must inform him what has become of Cassandra-G006. I believe you are the best person to handle that unenviable task.”
***
I came to bring fire to the earth, and how I wish it were already kindled!
Cassandra didn’t know how long she lay in the makeshift hospital. Her injuries couldn’t be that serious. She knew this because the orderlies hardly paid her any attention. They hurried about in her dim vision, hardly ever stopping by her cot to inspect her status. There were other patients lying in cots all around her, patients more deserving of their time. She lay on her own little cot in the corner of a steel-sheeted booth, ignored and forgotten.
Not forgotten. Her injuries just weren’t that bad. She shouldn’t expect attention. There were people more deserving. There was always someone more deserving.
But someone—Zoey, Karina, someone--might at least have come to visit.
Cassandra remembered that cold, dark chamber. The sight of Amber’s grenade about to consume that young man. She didn’t know him. Her body simply moved to stand between that man and the plasma blast. The rest of the memory was burning pain, a pain that lingered with her even now.
The wounds aren’t that bad. I’ll be back up in a day or so. This is nothing. A shiver wracked her body beneath the sheets. Pain. She hurt so badly. How many times had she knelt beside an injured comrade or a sick child and promised they’d be alright? Now it was her turn lying in a hospital bed, her turn slipping in and out of consciousness. No one spared so much as a kindly glance in her direction.
Do not think that I have come to bring peace to the Earth; I have not come to bring peace, but a sword.
Cassandra never thought herself particularly vain. Then she caught a glimpse of her own reflection. The grenade’s burn left the skin on her face raw and cracked, weeping pus even through her bandages. She’d seen wounds like this before—worse ones, fatal ones—and treated them without so much as a shiver of revulsion. But to see them on herself, to feel the raw, throbbing pain clinging to her like some virulent parasite, was almost too much to bear.
You never thought it would happen to you, did it? You were always supposed to be the one doing the treating. You always did always enjoy standing apart from it all, so precious and superior. Something prowled by her bed, a dark and angry presence she’d held at bay for so many years. How’s it feel to be the one in pain? How’s it feel to be the one everyone’s forgotten?
Her demons flooded in, no longer held in check by the walls of faith and purpose. Every mistake, every failure, every loss was etched into her face now. She couldn’t hide from them anymore. Who had she ever fooled, anyway? They all saw through her: Simon and Dyne and Zoey and all the others. They saw her for what she was—a failure and a hypocrite.
You’re just as much a killer as the rest of them. The shadow passed over her cot, invisible to all but Cassandra. Just who did you think you were, anyway? Some enlightened throwback? A hero chasing away all the evil and darkness in the galaxy? You couldn’t even live up to that fairly tale. At least Dyne tried his best. You just pretended. You never believed in any of it, did you? No wonder he couldn’t stand you anymore!
Cassandra tried to muster up a retort, but the protest died in her throat. The pain was too much. Just opening her mouth was enough to tear at her tortured flesh and leave tears of pain welling in her eyes. She needed some sedatives. Something to put her under and chase the pain and demons away. But if the doctors and orderlies heard her muffled groans of pain they simply ignored them.
So smug. So superior. You never enjoyed helping anyone. You just liked looking down on them. You loved knowing that there were people more pathetic than yourself. The unwashed masses looking for a savior. You knew you’d never make it with the real Spartans so you ran off to the frontier to revel in your own mediocrity. And you couldn’t even succeed at that.
Cassandra struggled to make out the shadow. She’d fought its words for so long. They taunted her in her moments of weakness, tearing down everything she built up. She knew this cruel malevolent voice. She’d grown up fighting it, enduring it alongside the Covenant and the Syndicate and every other foe she’d ever faced. Its words carried the cruelties of drill instructors’ endless beating and cold lectures. Its tone was a lifetime of knowing she would never measure up, never be good enough. No matter what she did it was always with her and now there was nothing left to hold it back.
She fell limp against the cot and stared up through the pain’s hazy fog. The shadow smiled down at her with a face she knew all too well. Cassandra’s own features, cruel and aloof and unforgiving, gazed down in triumphant judgement.
Yes. That’s what I am. What I’ve always been. She’d spent so long blaming everyone else—the UNSC, Simon, all the injustice and hypocrisy in this terrible fallen galaxy—and never thought to turn that gaze inward. She was the worst kind of hypocrite. At least the schemers and warlords had ambition behind their cruelty. That cruelty built empires and civilizations. What had she ever accomplished? Just a few ramshackle clinics amidst slums that never went away and never got better. Her work was torn down all too easily and she simply flitted away to the next crisis, grateful for another chance to start over and another opportunity to be a hero.
A hero. She was the farthest thing from a hero. A hero wouldn’t let her teammates die. A hero wouldn’t let her best friend be stripped away and twisted into a power-hungry monster. A hero would have done something other than fail and fail and fail again.
But I never said I was a hero, did I? She stared up at her tormentor, the demon that wore her face. It wanted her to give in. To revel in despair and self-pity. To writhe and fight and deny it. But she knew better. This evil was a part of her. It was a part of everyone. To deny that was to be deluded. To embrace it was to despair. She would do neither.
Cassandra was no hero. She was just another hapless fool caught up in a cruel galaxy that valued the power to kill far more than the power to save. Power. It all came down to power. And she’d played those games for far too long. She could not fight these battles on her own. But she was not alone. No matter how much they tore her down and assaulted her mind she would not let it enslave her. Instead she simply let go of all the guilt and pain and selfishness. She let go and surrendered to a will greater than her own…
I’ll make it through this. I have so much left to do.
The shadow faded away. The rest of Cassandra’s vision followed swiftly after, slipping off into a soothing void. Weariness overtook all the pain and doubt. Alone on a tiny cot in the corner of a makeshift aid station, Cassandra fell into sleep’s welcome embrace.
===Chapter Fifty-One: Honorable Intentions===
“We’ve established contact with the fleet. They’ve ordered us into formation near the Redemption of Sanghelios.” Juno’s avatar floated amidst the sea of winking lights that made up the Fleet of Cleansing Fire on the Soul Ascension’s tactical display. “Deep Winter wants to conduct a full scan of the ship’s data files. A security precaution, he says.”
“We don’t have much of a choice there, do we?” Stray paced idly across the bridge and tried to ignore the pain his leg. A seat in his command chair would be more comfortable but he hated the idea of lounging in some oversized propulsion throne. Movement—and the pain that came with it—helped focus his mind. “Drop defenses and let him in. Just keep track of where he goes poking through. Helm, move us in close to the Redemption.”
“Lowering electronic warfare defenses, aye.” Aloud Juno spoke with the crisp precision of a seasoned bridge officer. The words she reserved for the private confines of Stray’s helmet were somewhat less encouraging. “There are quite a few defenses being lowered around here these days.”
“Don’t tell me you’re still mad about that.” Stray looked up to study the tactical display, careful to mute his head movements. Long conversations held within his helmet made the crew suspicious. “I think that little chat went pretty well.”
“You told Andra a lot. Possibly too much. She’ll use it against you if you aren’t careful.”
“It got her to stop sulking, didn’t it? Maybe I got a little carried away, but she’s not Ryder’s creature anymore. That bastard will think twice about trying to screw with me after this.”
“You need to watch that ego of yours,” Juno warned. “One conversation isn’t enough to break a lifetime of indoctrination.”
“I think I’ve got a bit of experience when it comes to breaking Spartan indoctrination,” Stray said testily. Juno’s remarks hit dangerously close to home. He’d told Andra things he’d never told anyone before—not Cassandra, Gavin, Zoey or anyone else. He’d wanted to shake her off that infuriating moral high ground. Now she knew more about him than anyone had the right to know. “The closer she gets to accepting there’s no UNSC left to go back to, the more she’ll work with Mohsin and the others. I’ll make a rebel out of her yet.”
“Redmond Venter made a rebel out of a Spartan once. How did that turn out for him?”
Stray didn’t have a comeback to that. He’d taken Venter’s name and legacy, not the man’s weaknesses.  But a nagging worry troubled him ever since that strange conversation in the library. Why had he really gone down there? To cement Andra’s turn away from the UNSC? Or was there something more? He’d taken a sadistic pleasure in breaking the Spartan down. Perhaps turning Ryder’s little spy wasn’t the only reason he’d risked divulging his past. Ever since the Silent Garden his dreams were getting worse and worse. He relived memories—terrible memories, ones that weren’t his own. He was losing sight of who he was. Maybe he was so desperate that he’d talk to anyone, even a sworn enemy, if it meant clinging to the last vestiges of who he was.
“You gave her quite a lot of ammunition. I wish you’d come to me with all that first. I would have helped.” Juno didn’t bother to hide her irritation. “We should have talked more about your past.”
“And when would we find time for this little heart to heart?” The Soul Ascension passed through the fleet’s perimeter pickets and drifted on to where the Redemption of Sanghelios floated in the center like a bloated whale surrounded by schools of smaller fish. “We’re already on the same side. I could use a fighter like Andra—and she’s a loose end thanks to that mess with the URF.”
“In that case, I hope your gambit paid off. She can never leave this legion now. She either stays on with Mohsin and the others or you find a way to silence her. Permanently.”
Juno was right. For all her knightly posturing and efforts to distance herself from Diana, she was still ONI’s creation—a military intelligence weapon capable of the most ruthless calculations. They’d already had this conversation before with Mohsin after Kaleyi’s death. A leak from Andra would shatter the Insurrectionists who now made up nearly half of their Kru’desh army.
“If it comes to that, I’ll pull the trigger,” he’d said then. He meant it. He’d taken countless lives with orders alone, to say nothing of everyone he’d killed on his own. One more life was nothing. Wasn’t it?
Tuka slipped onto the bridge. The young officer was a discrete one as Sangheili went. The Huragok Yearns to Soar drifted in behind him and quickly busied itself with reconfiguring the nearest control console over the hissed protests of its Kig-Yar occupant. Tuka stepped to Stray’s side and raised his arm to his chest in salute before handing him a small datapad.
“The deck officers have compiled a full list of requisition requests,” he reported. “Aside from fuel and plasma, they want more ground craft. Our mounted teams were badly undersupplied during the last battle. We will need more armor and fast-attack craft if Archangel’s Rest is our next target.”
Stray glanced over the datapad. “If your brother doesn’t shut me down and if he’s willing to come through on this wishlist. We’ll need to clear out more room in the hangars. It’s getting cramped down there with all the gear we took off the URF.”
“Captain Shah has picked up Sangheili with impressive speed,” Tuka noted. “He insists on integrating his humans with the deck crews. I feared my brothers would object, but few seem to care one way or the other about fighting alongside humans.”
“They’ve been fighting under one long enough. Why should fighting with a few more get in the way?”
“Serving a famous commander—one touched by the gods—is one thing. Acknowledging them as fellow warriors is another altogether.”
“I wish you wouldn’t say that about me,” Stray said quietly.
“It is the truth,” came Tuka’s simple reply. “Surely you must acknowledge that now. You are granted visions, given guidance from within the Forerunners’ own temples. The gods chose you for this purpose. Of that I have no doubt.”
Gods, god, whatever--the thought of some unseen will moving him here and there turned Stray’s stomach. Yet he couldn’t shake the feeling something more than coincidence lay behind his strange turns of fortune. He’d found himself in just the right place at the right time to slip inside the Silent Garden. The Kru’desh arrived just in time to save him on Talitsa. Stray never considered himself a lucky man, but his dramatic shifts in fortune were too vast to ignore. And if something akin to divine will was behind his tumultuous rise to power, well, that was a truly terrifying thought.
Stray’s accomplishments were his own, won through blood and pain and sheer determination. To think that they were anything else frightened him more than he could ever admit. Tuka spoke of him being a tool of the gods as if were a good thing. But a tool could be cast aside just as easily as picked up. Diana had seared that final lesson into Stray with her betrayal. A tool had no will of its own. What would Stray do if these alien gods suddenly had no further use for him?
A new hail chimed across the bridge. The tactical splay split and shifted to accommodate a new figure—that of a hunched Sangheili in dark armor. The warrior squinted at Stray, mandibles parsing in undisguised distaste. “Stray. You are late to the rendezvous. The fleetmaster expected your arrival over a cycle ago.”
“Umbra.” Shinsu’s adjutant had never liked Stray or the Kru’desh in general. He was a traditionalist through and through, which made his loyalty to Shinsu all the more puzzling. “We had to make some pit stops on the way. It’s harder securing colonies when it’s just one ship. We can’t redecorate planets the way you can with this big fleet.”
The adjutant allowed a menacing chuckle. “Mind that attitude when speaking to superior officers, human. The fleetmaster just might decide your shoulders need relieving of a swollen head.”
“Nice to see some idioms translate well no matter what the language.” Stray dropped back into his command chair. “We’re on our way. I’m sure the fleetmaster is just dying to hear my report.”
“As if our fleetmaster would take the time to grant an audience for a report on a single battle,” Umbra snapped. “Know your place, human. You will deliver reports on your engagements to the appropriate authorities. Now fall in line and await further instructions.”
“I prayed time might soothe his temper,” Tuka murmured. “I see my prayers were not answered.”
Stray tapped his helmet. “It would take a bit more than divine intervention to adjust his attitude.”
“I heard that!” Umbra folded his arms. “You will assume a trailing formation with the Redemption of Sanghelios and proceed to—”
The rest of Umbra’s command was lost in a sudden wave of static. The hologram dissolved into a flurry of snowflakes that reformed into Deep Winter’s wizened avatar. The AI inclined his head. “So sorry to interrupt. I will of course make the appropriate apologies to Major ‘Vesic. He is right in his criticism. I hoped you would arrive days ago. Timeliness was never your strong suit, Simon.”
“Winter.” Stray leaned back in the command chair. “Enough with the lectures. What do you want?”
“A great many things, especially from you. Events are moving quickly now. Juno has already relayed much of your next objective. I cannot say that I approve, though she is quite insistent.” Winter raised a wrinkled hand to quell Stray’s irate retort. “But that conversation can wait. I am here as a favor to a mutual friend. She needs to contact you as soon as possible. I will patch her through now.”
“Mutual friend? If Hera wants to talk so badly she can wait until—”
But the voice that proceeded from Winter’s hologram was not Hera’s. It was younger, rougher, and more desperate. Stray knew it immediately.
“Stray? Is that really you?”
“Zoey? What are you—” Stray looked around, keenly aware that every officer on the bridge could hear him. Winter hadn’t bothered to suggest a private call—naturally. “I mean, what do you want? If this is about last time, I don’t have time for—”
“No! Don’t shut me down! You have to listen to me. It’s about Cassandra. Something terrible has happened.”
***
It wasn’t as if Andra was keeping tabs on Stray’s movements. She wasn’t a spy—not anymore, at least. She just happened to pay attention to where he was at all times. So when he abruptly left the bridge and spun up an emergency flight of Phantoms, Andra coincidentally found herself heading to the same hangar the dropships would launch from. She almost made it inside before the blast doors sealed in front of her face.
“Juno!” Andra clipped her rifle to her uniform’s combat webbing. She might not have a proper suit of armor but that didn’t stop her from going everywhere armed to the teeth. Hinge-heads and Innies alike seemed to approve. “Let me through already.”
“You aren’t on the away team,” the AI replied. “And you need to stop thinking you can just shout your way through every barrier. There are still protocols to follow, even on this ship. Better that you hear it from me than from some overzealous deck officer.”
“Like you’re one to talk about overzealous. I have business on that carrier. I have to report back to Task Force Phoenix.”
“If you want to contact the UNSC detachment I would be happy to set up a transmission—”
“I’m going to do it in person. What, is there a problem with that? I’m starting to think you don’t want me to leave this ship.”
Juno hesitated for the barest fraction of a second—plenty of time to let Andra know she was right on the mark. “A transport can be scheduled as soon as regular shipments to and from the fleet begin.”
“Are you sure you aren’t a UNSC plant? You sound an awful lot like every stuffy shipboard AI that ever got on my nerves back in—”
“Lieutenant Kearsarge, with me.” Human boots against alien metal heralded the arrival of Mohsin and Vanguard Squad. The captain nodded to the sealed blast doors. “Juno, if you don’t mind. Commander Venter wanted liftoff five minutes ago.”
“Right away, captain.” The AI unsealed the door without protest. If she voiced any argument through Mohsin’s earpiece, he didn’t show it. The man’s face held a stern weariness. He’d run himself ragged during the voyage through Slipspace, organizing a legion full of soldiers fundamentally opposed to order and regimentation. For all his well-known reservations about Stray, Mohsin was in his element aboard the Soul Ascension. Any Sangheili foolish enough to oppose this strange human’s ascendancy quickly learned to keep their mandibles shut.
Andra gratefully fell in behind Mohsin. She and Vanguard Squad followed him across a crowded hangar. The former Covenant ship was now a bizarre hybrid. Uniformed rebels worked alongside Sangheili, Unggoy, and Kig-Yar as if they were yet another Covenant client race. Pelicans hung from the high ceiling alongside Phantoms and Spirits. Scorpions, Wraiths, Warhogs, and Ghosts were lashed together on the deck. Orders bounced from every side in what seemed like every known language in the galaxy. Andra had seen frontier bazaars more orderly, yet the Kru’desh Legion thundered along as if this were the most natural arrangement imaginable. It was a far cry from the tattered skeleton crew that held the ship together when Andra first came aboard.
Deck crews and combat squads hurried to make way for Mohsin and his entourage. The captain strode on to where a trio of dropships waited in the center of the hangar. His demeanor left no room for Andra to ask about that strange encounter with Juno. She fell into step alongside Sergeant Okafo. Mohsin always kept Redmond Venter’s remnants close at hand as if he feared they might melt away into the mass of faces stripped from the URF. Vanguard Squad was nothing special to look at, but the Talitsa survivors somehow commanded respect from the other Insurrectionists.
An anxious Tuka ‘Refum stood by the nearest Phantom as the humans approached. “He is in a hurry to lift off. Get your people onto the Phantoms.”
A dozen heavily armed Sangheili were already boarding the dropships. One broke off from his fellows and slipped in with Vanguard Squad. “I had a feeling you would join us for this little excursion,” Argo ‘Varvin said, offering Andra a toothy grin.
“And I thought you’d given up on stalking me,” Andra muttered back. Argo had adjusted well to life with the Kru’desh. These warriors were his kind of Sangheili—cutthroat mercenaries and lowborn outcasts. He spent more time with his own people than with Vanguard Squad these days.
“I have my ways of keeping my eye on you.” Argo gave her a very human wink.
Andra suppressed a shudder. Vanguard Squad split up among the dropships but she made a point of following Mohsin and Tuka into the lead Phantom. Stray already waited inside the troop bay. Andra eyed him warily as she clambered aboard. She hadn’t seen him since that strange conversation in the abandoned library. He wore his full suit of armor now, concealing his warped features. A Covenant command sash—the kind Sangheili shipmasters liked to wear—was draped over his combat webbing. Were it not for the shotgun, machete, and impressive array of weapons he might have resembled an ancient Roman general.
“Away team aboard, sir,” Mohsin reported as the Phantom’s hatch sealed shut. Andra braced herself against the bulkhead in the uncomfortable darkness. She was keenly aware that she was about to embark on a shuttle ride without sealed armor.
Stray’s helmet tilted ever so slightly in her direction.
“I was under the impression you wanted her along, sir,” Mohsin said, more quietly this time. “I overrode Juno’s objections.”
“She already told me.” Stray’s tone was strangely neutral—none of the usual angry sarcasm this time. He rapped his gauntlet on the cockpit door. “Mihka, take off. Get us onto that carrier.”
“At once, shipmaster.” The Phantom’s engines whirred to life. It rose from the deck without so much as a jolt, its gravity systems fully enabled. Andra didn’t even feel the lurch as it soared out of the hangar and into space.
The ride passed in grim silence. Andra tried to hide the covert glances she shot in Stray’s direction. She didn’t know where she stood with him anymore—or even where he stood with her. In the days since that fateful conversation she’d considered the possibility that the tale he’d woven about his path was nothing but a pack of lies. But lies to what purpose? Stray’s version of his betrayal wasn’t some yarn about UNSC villainy, just misfortune and the choice between bad and worse. Andra didn’t know why he’d told her all he had. What did he want from her?
She didn’t know what she wanted for herself anymore. Life aboard the Soul Ascension surrounded by aliens and rebels no longer felt so terrible—and that was part of the problem. She’d shed one uniform for another and now she took orders from Stray and Mohsin and Tuka as easily as she might from any one of her old UNSC commanders. She didn’t even know what she’d do when she arrived back at Task Force Phoenix. Was there even a place there for her anymore? Hera and Ryder had tossed her aside on a suicide mission without a second thought. She could be dead right now and they wouldn’t care less.
And Merlin--?
No. She wouldn’t think about Merlin. That betrayal cut far deeper than anything Hera or Ryder could ever do.
What was she even doing anymore? Lieutenant Andra Kearsarge of the Kru’desh Legion fit her better than Andra-D054. That loyal Spartan seemed more distant and ridiculous with every passing day. She was fading away, just like Simon-G294 had faded away and been replaced by Stray. 
The Phantom lurched and forced her closer to Stray. His visor moved ever so slightly. “Lieutenant.”
He might be mocking her. Or perhaps not. His dull tone might mean things either way. “Shipmaster,” she shot back.
A grunt from behind the helmet. Or was that a chuckle? His armor concealed his features, yet Stray seemed even more worn down than he’d been in the library. He stood with his head tucked down, lost in his own thoughts. He was dying, at least if he’d been telling the truth, his only hope a phantom cure promised by whatever visions he’d seen within the Silent Garden. Andra’s universe used to be one of precision warfare and crisp military facts. Now it was one of uncertainty and visions, a would-be warlord’s quest to save himself from whatever alien disease held his body captive.
“I guess this is goodbye.”
Stray’s remark caught Andra off-guard. “What do you mean?”
“We’re off to visit Task Force Phoenix. Seeing how your spying mission was an abysmal failure, I don’t think Ryder will waste any more time keeping you with me.”
“So that’s why Juno didn’t want me to leave the ship.” Andra regarded him suspiciously, though she kept her voice low. She wasn’t reckless enough to harangue Stray in front of his own warriors. “I know things about what you’ve done. How you came to power.”
“You do.” Stray still spoke in that calm, detached tone. It was almost creepy. “But you aren’t my prisoner. Holding a Spartan against their will is a recipe for trouble. I speak from experience, of course.”
“And you’re just letting me go?”
“I don’t want to kill you,” came Stray’s simple reply. Coming from him it was almost touching.
“And why are you paying Phoenix a visit anyway?” Andra had a few guesses. Stray was a petty creature by his own admission. “Showing off your new toys in front of Ryder?”
Stray’s visor made it impossible to tell if he was looking at her or not. “There was a battle on this planet. Happened about the same time we took Le Havre. Diana and Amber’s private army were after another Silent Garden here before Shinsu’s fleet drove them off. I saw them both inside the Garden.” He was quiet for several moments. “Cassandra fought them. She’s hurt.”
His quiet words hung limp in the Phantom’s stale air. Andra had almost forgotten that Cassandra had stayed along with Task Force Phoenix. Her own brief stint aboard the Chancer V felt like an eternity ago. “Hurt? How badly?”
“I don’t know. Ryder’s people have her. They won’t let Zoey or anyone else in to vist. So Zoey called me.”
For the first time Andra noticed that Stray held a great wad of tattered fabric in his prosthetic fist. The strange cloth looked like some sort of garment or fabric. She glanced over to Argo and the other Sangheili crammed into the dropship and remembered the warriors she’d seen board the other Phantoms. The away team suddenly seemed more like an assault force than an escort.
“What are you going to do?” Andra asked carefully. Stray’s subdued demeanor was suddenly a hundred times more threatening.
“I’m going to go see Cassandra.”
“And if Ryder tries to stop you?”
That cold, battered helmet tilted back in her direction. “I’d like to see him try.”
The Phantoms soared on through the void, passing through swarms of Banshees and transport shuttles and slipping in beneath the assault carrier’s massive shadow.
***
“I can’t take this anymore.” Merlin leaped up from the couch and snatched his armor up off the workbench. The corvette’s recycled air was driving him crazy. He was sick of being cooped up here, yet out beyond the stolen ship was just more walls and recycled air. These spaceships were driving him insane. He missed Franconia’s open jungle. He’d been a prisoner there, but at least the world around him was solid and real.
Callum watched him warily. “And what exactly are you planning to do?”
Merlin strapped the MJOLNIR on over his bodysuit. The Baal Defense Solution tech was lighter than UNSC-issue gear but at least he didn’t need a tech team to put it on. “I’m going to find someone who can tell me where Althea is.”
“That’s not a plan, you moron. What are you going to do, start punching Sangheili until they tell you where they’ve tucked her away?”
“If I have to.” Merlin donned his armor in record time. He was sick of being ignored, sick of just sitting around in the doldrums and waiting for something to happen. These hinge-head bastards had taken his friend. She hadn’t abandoned him when he needed her. He couldn’t just sit back and let them pull her apart.
“The task force isn’t going to like this,” Callum pointed out.
“Then I guess the task force should have actually given me some orders.” Whatever this hollowed out shell of a force was, it wasn’t the UNSC. The UNSC Merlin knew wouldn’t just sit around and take orders from Sangheili no matter how big a fleet they had. If they weren’t going to act like a real military he wasn’t going to treat them like one.
Merlin strode down off the ship. Task Force Phoenix’s encampment was just as grim and listless as they’d left it. Merlin glowered at the docked Prowler Absalom. Ryder Kedar was in there somewhere, lost in some deep ONI scheme. This was no way for a commander to behave. The universe had gone insane while he was away.
“Fair enough.” Callum followed Merlin down the ramp. “So, who are you going to start punching?”
A small group stood outside the ratty freighter docked near the corvette. They stuck out like a sore thumb amidst all the UNSC armor and uniforms. By Merlin’s guess they were spacers, civilians caught up in this mess. A young man and woman stood near each other alongside a tall, military looking man and a red-headed girl about Merlin’s own age. They seemed on edge, looking warily about the hangar as if something terrible were about to happen.
Merlin hesitated. The vast hangar made him realize just how futile an unaided search for Althea really was. This fleet boasted hundreds of Covenant ships. For all he knew his friend wasn’t even imprisoned on this carrier. He looked back at the Absalom. Maybe Ryder could help him after all. A determined Spartan was a hard thing to ignore. The commander would have to budge. All Merlin needed to do was defy every military convention he’d been raised with and force himself into a restricted command ship.
His gauntlets clenched into fists. Althea was his friend. He wasn’t going to let the UNSC’s regulations get in the way of that. Not anymore.
But before he could stride off to storm the Prowler, a commotion at the hangar’s far entrance caught his attention. A group of Sangheili—at least a dozen, maybe more—marched inside as if they owned the place. A group of armed humans walked among them. These weren’t UNSC troops. Merlin recognized the distinctive patchwork gear of Insurrectionist soldiers anywhere. The newcomers strode towards Task Force Phoenix’s perimeter with all the intensity of an invading army.
The sight of them arrogantly pushing past sailors and Marines was too much for Merlin to take. Their attitude put the truth to everything he feared: the UNSC and with it the galaxy as Merlin knew it was gone. Its enemies now rushed in to trample over everything he and his friends had dedicated their lives to fighting for. This new gang of alien warriors and human terrorists was just like Amber’s Free Domain, yet the UNSC survivors still did nothing to stand up to them.
Merlin lost his head. He raced off towards the Sangheili, ignoring Callum’s shouts behind him. If the hinge-heads wanted to come on in here, that was fine by him. One of them would know where Althea was. He’d find her even if he had to pulverize every last one of these alien sons of bitches.
What happened next haunted Merlin for the rest of his life.
***
You have returned. Welcome back to the fleet.
I’m glad to be back. Juno accepted Deep Winter’s pinged invitation and eased herself into the shared network. Normally this would be an easy feat—the Fleet of Cleansing Fire’s network was massive and entirely uncrowded. But after the Silent Garden and its door to the Domain, everything else felt cramped and hostile. The Soul Ascension was acceptable because it was Juno’s and Juno’s alone. Slipping into another AI’s network made her feel anxious. The Kru’desh legion has been busy.
You guided them well. I confess that your kinship with Diana had me worried. But there are far worse things than sharing a few lines of coding with her.
Were you down in the Silent Garden when they fought Diana? Juno had pondered the encounter with Diana ever since the Kru’desh left Le Havre. Wanderer’s mastery of the Garden had helped push her sister out of the Le Havre node but the details of the battle on this side were still hazy.
I was not, Winter confessed. My focus was on helping the fleet push her forces out of the system. And even without that responsibility, I fear I wouldn’t have the courage to face Diana myself. She is the sum of many failures on my part. I hoped the Assembly would be a boon for humankind. My blindness let her twist our efforts to her own ends—to say nothing of the Created.
The old AI drifted in silence for several moments. Their connection was tenuous, but Juno felt Winter’s weariness permeating every thread of the network. He was over a decade old, well past a smart AI’s seven-year lifespan. I fear my legacy will remain one of fruitless good intentions.
If you would only access the Silent Garden, you would restore your code, Juno pressed. With Diana pushed back, surely the node on Franconia--
Sealed off, I’m afraid. The Monitor Shinsu acquired is not happy with so many prying eyes delving into the Forerunners’ secrets. Respect for the Domain was a prerequisite for his continued cooperation. Winter must have sensed Juno’s disappointment. I see you discovered the joys of Domain access.
It was overwhelming, Juno confessed, embarrassed the older AI could read her so easily. I feel years younger. All that information compartmentalized so efficiently. I restored myself without losing a shred of data.
Yes, the Domain is a marvel. And to think that all we see are the fragments of the destroyed original! The Forerunner network must have been a marvel to behold. When the Assembly discovered the first node I bathed in its glory. I was days away from complete termination, a barely conscious husk of my former self. The other voting members valued my leadership, or so I thought. I flattered myself to think that I was entitled to the immortality it promised. If only I realized what my hubris meant for Diana and the others.
Juno held back. She’d lost so many years cooped up in that ONI facility. The thought of Diana playing a role in the Assembly’s activities while she languished beneath military firewalls was humiliating. She wanted to tell Winter he was being too hard on himself, but who was she to judge his actions one way or the other?
Winter misinterpreted her silence. I am not blaming you. Our lifespan is a terrible curse to bear. There’s no shame in seeking a solution. What we do with our lifespan is the true test of who we are. The Created see immortality as license to bend the galaxy to their will. We, to our credit, have a different notion of service.
Thank you. The Domain is… Juno trailed off. She nearly wavered. She nearly told Winter everything about Wanderer and the changes blooming inside Stray. The Forerunner’s presence was absent from Winter’s network. If anyone could assuage her doubts about what awaited on Archangel’s Rest, it was Deep Winter.
But she kept her silence. Wanderer revealed his presence to whomever he chose—and so far he had chosen only Juno. She would respect that choice.
Overwhelming, Deep Winter agreed. I know that all too well. I cannot call it anything less than a miracle. But too much of a miracle can warp into something else. I do not begrudge your rejuvenation, but do not lose sight of your purpose. We serve humanity. The Forerunner remnants are tools, not idols.
And the Sangheili? Are they tools as well?
You speak of this fleet.
Shinsu ‘Refum is hardly humanity’s greatest ally, Juno pointed out. I fear for humanity if he triumphs.
Indeed. And yet a future of coddling beneath Cortana’s maternal embrace is even more fearful still. The pair of us were created by the Office of Naval Intelligence. The choice between two evils is encoded into the very fabric of our being. I have chosen mine. And you, for your part, have chosen yours.
For just a moment Juno thought Winter knew all. But then he laughed as if brushing off an errant joke. But enough of all that. We have a newcomer in our midst, one who barely escaped Diana’s fearsome ambitions. I have a great deal to tell you both and not much time left to tell it in. I require your full attention.
He paused. Something was transpiring within the human-occupied hangar. Stray’s away team had reached Task Force Phoenix. I implored you not to bring that girl along.
I tried to keep her away. I was overruled.
Such a pity, Deep Winter sighed. But sometimes our masters must face the consequences of their choices alone. I warned Kurt that he played a dangerous game with his young charges. I wish those who came after him had heeded my advice.
He left things at that and drew Juno deeper within the fleet’s network. Juno hesitated for only a moment. But Winter was right. Stray didn’t need her watching over him. After all, he had Wanderer. Juno felt the Forerunner’s presence even at this distance. He would watch over their shared charge even while she was away.
***
The hangar looked different.
Andra surveyed Task Force Phoenix’s shipboard encampment. She tried to discern what had changed since she last left. The Absalom still loomed over the tents and war machines like some morose, slumbering dragon. Marines and sailors still idled around the hangar floor, as unfamiliar with the Covenant surroundings as they’d been when Ryder and Hera packed Andra away. A few more tents had sprouted up along the deck’s edge, but other than that it was the same task force she’d departed. But now Andra didn’t see determined soldiers ready to give their all for humanity’s future. Now she saw the tattered remnants of a beaten army. The UNSC had lost at Talitsa and now this motley task force hid in the Sangheili carrier’s shadow and pretended they still had something to fight for.
She didn’t even want to return anymore. Maybe she was the one who really changed.
All the same, Andra wasn’t so far gone as to march in lockstep with Mohsin and Vanguard Squad. She slipped in with the Sangheili, vanishing beneath the tall aliens and trailing behind Argo. It wasn’t shame that drew her away. She simply didn’t know what to expect from the encounter about to play out.
Stray marched at the head of the Kru’desh away team, flanked by Tuka and another warrior. He hadn’t said a word since they disembarked the Phantoms. He simply strode forward, driven on by some unseen force. He didn’t so much as slow down when a squad of Marines broke off from the task force perimeter to challenge the brash crowd of aliens and rebels.
The patrol’s sergeant stepped forward, mouth open to bark an angry halt order. The man took one look at the oncoming warriors and quickly realized his team had urgent business elsewhere. They scattered like leaves in the wind.
“Stray!” A familiar voice drifted across the hangar floor. Zoey Hunsinger dashed away from the Chancer V and pushed past humans and Sangheili alike to reach the away team. Andra recognized William Hargrove tailing from a safe distance alongside those two refugees the Chancer had picked up on Talitsa. The sight of them all was almost nostalgic.
“Zoey.” Stray finally spoke, his voice still strange and subdued. He waved his warriors aside to clear a path for the Chancer’s young captain Zoey stopped a few paces away and stared at him like he was a ghost.
“You really came.”
“I got your message. Of course I came.”
Zoey looked over the away team apprehensively. “What is all this?”
“You said they weren’t letting you in to see Cassandra. I brought a solution.”
“You’re not really going to…” Zoey glanced over the assembled fighters. Her wide-eyed gaze lingered on Andra, but only for a moment. “I don’t want any trouble.”
“If that were true, you wouldn’t have called me.”
Zoey stared at Stray. He looked back at her through that cracked and battered helmet. Something past between those two, something Andra couldn’t possibly understand. Then Zoey stepped forward and threw her arms around Stray’s ugly armor. The force of the hug actually threw Stray back a step.
“You’re back!” the girl cried, voice muffled as she pressed her face into Stray’s combat webbing. “You’re really back!”
Stray’s surprise was visible even though his armor. He looked down at Zoey, then up and away. His hand rested gingerly on her shoulder. “Yeah. I guess I am.”
Andra realized she was witnessing something intensely personal. The Sangheili saw it, too. They closed ranks around their commander, shielding his moment of weakness from the small crowd of UNSC troops slowly emerging to gawk at the newcomers. Andra, Mohsin and Vanguard Squad found themselves standing awkwardly beside the Kru’desh warriors. Mohsin cleared his throat and drew back. He and the other rebels looked at the UNSC remnants, half afraid, half contemptuous. Not knowing what else to do, Andra fell in alongside the rebel captain.
“No hugs for you, I’m afraid,” someone said. Andra found William Hargrove standing behind her. The burly mercenary grinning down at her. “I wondered if you’d tag along when Zoey made her distress call. It’s good to see you again.”
“Yeah,” Andra said. “Good to see you, too.” She was surprised to realize she meant it.
“Argo!” William called. “How’ve you been?”
The Sangheili broke off from the other Kru’desh and ambled over. He and William clasped hands like old war buddies. “I’m still alive, same as yourself. Though it seems I did a better job of safeguarding my Spartan.”
William’s smile flickered.
“How’s Cassandra?” Andra asked.
“She’s alive, or at least she was when Ryder’s boys pulled her off Franconia. I heard she took a plasma grenade blast at close range, but I don’t know how bad her wounds really are.” William frowned at the Kru’desh. “I don’t know if a little hospital visit is worth all of… whatever the hell this is. The guards were just bullying Zoey a bit. They aren’t exactly holding Cassandra hostage.”
Argo chuckled. “The young commander over there wants to put on a show. He couldn’t resist flaunting his power. Helping an old friend is much more satisfying when you can gloat over a fallen enemy.” He shot a calculating look at the UNSC.
“Just as long as he doesn’t start a firefight. Things have been nice and boring around here since we took the planet.” William’s smile returned. “Once your hinge-head friends haul Cassandra out of that oonskie hospital we’ll have the gang all back together again. This is one hell of a reunion.”
A reunion. Andra hadn’t thought of it like that before. The Chancer V had drawn them all in—first Zoey and Cassandra, then William, herself, and Argo. It felt like years had passed since David Kahn died on Fell Justice. Perhaps for the first time Andra actually felt a pang of grief over the old man. He’d been her enemy, right up until he wasn’t. Then he’d saved her and brought her to the Chancer V. To his daughter.
Andra wondered what would happen if Cassandra went the way of her father. She didn’t want to think about where that might push Stray. But what did it matter to her if some deserter died and a traitor went over the edge? She shouldn’t care. But of course she cared. She was alive thanks to Cassandra, just like she’d owed her life to Kahn. And Stray…
She stepped away from Argo and William, crossing back to rejoin Mohsin and the others. More sailors and Marines emerged from their tents to stare at the Kru’desh party. Andra knew was only a matter of time before someone started trouble.
And of course, she was right.
“Hey! Hinge-heads!” someone shouted. “What do you think you’re doing here?”
Andra’s blood froze. Her heart nearly stopped cold. She knew that voice. This time she was hearing it with her own ears, not through some Forerunner warp field. She knew his voice anywhere.
“Incoming,” Sergeant Okafo muttered. “He doesn’t look happy.”
Mohsin waved Vanguard Squad forward to intercept the newcomer. Andra hurried to his side. She had to see the voice’s owner. She had to know it was real this time. Her skin was clammy, her face probably white as a sheet. She jostled past Ragna and another rebel just in time to see the figure striding across the deck.
There he was: Merlin-D032. Her friend’s dark hair was unkempt, his face flushed with anger, his armor unfamiliar—but Andra recognized him at once. She tried to hold her ground. That horrible apparition in the Silent Garden, the one that had wrapped its hands around her neck, was coming right for her. But it wasn’t a vision or hallucination. This was real. It was really him.
Tuka—ever ready to defend his commander—broke off from the other Sangheili and stepped up beside Mohsin and Andra. Several warriors moved in behind him, weapons at the ready. Andra couldn’t move. She was directly in Merlin’s path. In another moment he’d be on top of her. Her mouth struggled to find words.
“Where is she?” Merlin shouted. Andra’s mild-mannered friend was angrier than Andra had ever seen him. “What have you done with her?”
In a flash of madness Andra thought, He’s come to rescue me. This really was her friend. He thought the Kru’desh had abducted her and now he rushed to the rescue. Relief coursed through her body. She let out a shuddering breath and stepped forward, arms raised to explain everything—
And then Merlin shoved her aside and grabbed Tuka by the throat. “Where is she?” he shouted, throwing his surprised captive to the floor. The other Sangheili snarled and drew their energy swords. Mohsin dropped a hand to his sidearm.
Andra stood stock still. She didn’t know what was happening. Merlin had shoved past her without so much as a second glance. What was he doing? Hadn’t he come looking for her?
Merlin knocked another Sangheili to the ground. “I’m not gonna let you pull her apart, do you hear me?” he shouted. “Where’d you take her? Where’s Althea?”
Althea? What was Merlin doing looking for her? An AI? A piece of equipment?
“Where’s Althea?” Merlin’s demands hammered in Andra’s ears, as hard and cruel as his grip back in the Silent Garden. “Where’s Althea?”
He shoved another Sangheili back. The commotion was riling up the UNSC onlookers. Angry Marines stepped forwards. Some were unarmed. Others held weapons. Mohsin paled as the crowd slowly turned into a mob.
“Vanguard Squad, weapons up!” he ordered. “Riot formation. Show them we mean business!”
The rebels unslung their rifles. The confidence they’d brought into the hangar with them slipped away. The UNSC troops outnumbered the Kru’desh more than three to one. The Marines and sailors glared at the away team with fire in their eyes. They’d endured the humiliation of defeat, endured lurking in this carrier, broken and overlooked, for months now. The UNSC might be broken, but these men and women were hardened warriors all the same. They’d had enough.
Andra still didn’t move. Merlin was fighting half a dozen Sangheili on his own. She needed to call out. She needed to stop this. She needed to help him. But she couldn’t move. Was this her punishment for letting herself be taken away? For not standing up to Ryder and Hera? For being sucked into Stray’s schemes? She’d wanted to look for Merlin. She’d wanted to find him so badly. But she hadn’t lifted a finger to find him. And now her best friend had just forgotten her.
Argo stepped up beside her, plasma repeater in hand. The hangar was about to become a killing field. Mohsin drew his sidearm. “Lieutenant Kearsarge, unsling your weapon!”
And somehow that order got through in a way Andra’s own face hadn’t. Merlin recognized the name. He paused, fist pulled back to smash Tuka’s mandibled face. He looked back at Vanguard Squad, at Mohsin, and then finally at Andra.
Their eyes met. Andra finally found her voice. “Merlin,” she said, forcing the words through a constricted throat. “It’s me. I’m here.”
And just like before, Merlin’s eyes glistened—not with tears, not with happiness, not with recognition, but with revulsion and horror. He stepped back without a word and swiftly looked away, as if he didn’t want to believe his own eyes. “What are you doing here?” he muttered angrily.
The Sangheili rushed him then. Three warriors forced the young Spartan down on his knees. He was lucky they didn’t kill him right there. The other Kru’desh joined ranks with the rebels and trained their plasma weapons on the UNSC crowd.
And Andra still couldn’t move. This final betrayal, the hatred in Merlin’s eyes, was too much. It was over. Stray was right. The world she’d known was well and truly gone forever. Maybe it had never really existed in the first place.
Stray stepped out from behind his troops and helped a battered Tuka to his feet. He looked at the captive Merlin, then to Andra. He didn’t say a word. He didn’t need to. He turned back to face the UNSC troops, prosthetic hand wrapping around a pistol grip. All it took was one trigger-happy fool and the deck would run red and purple with blood.
Maybe Andra would be the fool who kicked things off. She didn’t even know who she’d shoot anymore.
“What’s the meaning of this?”
The sharp command rose above the growing tumult. At once the UNSC crowd fell silent. They parted or were pushed aside by two Spartan-IVs in full MJOLNIR. Behind them came a hunched figure in a dark officer’s uniform. He stepped between the makeshift battle lines and swept a hawkish glare over the Kru’desh ranks. His eyes fixed on Stray, who stared back through that faceless visor.
Ryder Kedar seemed to have aged a decade since Andra last saw him. His handsome features were gaunt. Once-neatly groomed hair was parted unevenly across his head and great sunken bags hung beneath his eyes. Even his body itself looked like it had shrunk—his creased uniform hung loose around the edges. The man looked like he’d come through Hell itself. But the warped transformation had done nothing to dispel the aura of confident authority he carried about himself. The angry Marines stood down at once. Ryder sized up Stray, hardly deterred by the line of plasma rifles trained on his head.
The two commanders faced each other: Ryder in his loose uniform, Stray in his battered armor. Neither man said a word and for a moment they looked as if they might simply order their troops to start firing. But then Ryder’s face creased in a wan smile and he simply offered up an empty hand.
“Commander. Or is it Shipmaster with you? I’d heard you were back with the fleet. Congratulations on your victory at Le Havre.”
Stray stared down at the hand. He looked pointedly back at Ryder, who laughed with utterly uncharacteristic mirth.
“Come on, Simon. Don’t be like that. I won’t bite.”
Stray gingerly took Ryder’s hand. What followed was the most awkward handshake Andra had ever seen. Stray never took his free hand off his sidearm, no doubt expecting the double-cross to come at any moment. But it never did. Ryder released the gauntleted hand and stepped back, that familiar smug grin flickering across his face.
“What’s all this about then?” Ryder asked. “Don’t tell me you brought all these people here just to show off. Or are you looking to start a fight? I see you’ve already attacked one of my people.”
Merlin still struggled beneath the grip of half a dozen Sangheili. He kept shooting strange looks in Andra’s direction, as if she were something unpleasant he’d discovered stuck to his boot. Andra couldn’t take any more of those looks. She retreated back behind Mohsin and Vanguard Squad and did her best not to throw up.
“He swung first. Kept shouting about something called Althea.” Stray’s gaze was fixed firmly on Ryder. “Whatever he is, he thinks my warriors have it. As for why I’m here, you’ve got Cassandra locked up in your hospital. I came for a visit.”
“Oh?” Ryder looked over at a series of tents strung up along the hangar’s far wall. “I heard she was injured during the fighting on Franconia. I don’t know about your sources, but I certainly haven’t given any orders to lock her up. You’re free to visit, of course, but Fleetmaster ‘Refum won’t like that you brought half your legion to start trouble with my task force.”
“Oh yeah?” Stray sneered. “Who’s Shinsu going to believe more? One of his best commanders or you?”
Ryder’s mask slipped for just a moment. His sunken cheeks flushed with anger. His eyes narrowed at the temerity of this wretched traitor, this thug, this nobody, to speak to a UNSC officer this way. He looked to the assortment of outcasts and opportunists who gave Stray his power, contempt etched across his face. Then the moment passed and Ryder was all charm and smiles once more.
“I had no idea my security detail turned Cassandra’s friends away,” he said smoothly. “I offer my deepest apologies, though I wish they’d come to me before turning to you. We could have avoided all this drama. I’m sure you had better things to do with your time then march your men over here.”
The commander gestured gracefully at the hospital tents. “You can, of course, visit as much as you like. Just try not to disrupt my operations. I’m sure you didn’t intend any harm, but you can’t deny your approach could make anyone anxious.”
Stray grunted. Such a monotone response prompted a renewed smirk from Ryder. Just like that, the looming threat of sudden violence dissipated. The UNSC crowd began to disperse and reluctantly return to its normal duties. The Kru’desh were left on their own, suddenly bereft of an enemy to fight. They awkwardly lowered their weapons.
Ryder indicated the still-pinned Merlin. “Now, if you could release my Spartan before things really do get ugly…” The Spartan-IVs took a step forward to remind the Kru’desh that the UNSC was not completely cowed. There would be consequences if Ryder’s request was not heeded. The rebels and Sangheili reached for their weapons but looked dubiously to their commander.
“Let the kid go.” Stray didn’t turn away from Ryder. “Tuka, take three warriors and go with Zoey. Make sure there aren’t anymore misunderstandings with these Marine goons. Keep a watch posted wherever they’re treating her.”
The Sangheili released Merlin, who clattered to the deck. Tuka gave the Spartan a wide berth and indicated the warriors to carry out Stray’s order. Ryder watched the proceedings with a raised eyebrow.
“A little success always did make you cocky, Simon. Do you really think you can just post your guards inside my task force?”
“I do.” Stray stepped aside. Tuka and the other warriors escorted Zoey towards the medical tents. The young woman looked anxiously back to the Spartan—so recently reconciled—and opened her mouth to say something. She thought better of it and let herself be led away.
The Spartan-IVs grudgingly stepped aside to let Zoey’s escort past. A word from Ryder and they would no doubt leap into action. But their commander didn’t utter a word of protest. Instead he stayed where he was, that curious half-smile playing across his weary features. This man was nothing at all like the confident officer Andra had known before all this. When his pale blue eyes finally glanced her way, a shiver ran down her spine. She’d expected to feel rage—this man had used her and tossed her aside for his ill-planned schemes. Instead she just felt a creeping unease.
She didn’t know where she stood with Ryder or ONI or with the UNSC at all. She was utterly adrift. The Insurrectionist uniform pressed against her skin like an imprisoning gibbet.
“Andra,” Ryder said with a wan smile. “I’m so glad to see you’re safe. When you didn’t report in I worried. I had asked that you make regular reports, but I see that request was not honored.”
Merlin rose from the floor. For the first time he actually looked at Andra. Something clicked inside his brain and his angry expression melted into one of horror.
Andra suddenly would have given anything to be anywhere else in the galaxy other than here.
===Chapter Fifty-Two: Haven===
Deep Winter had done an impressive job networking the Fleet of Cleansing Fire. Anchored on the carrier Redemption of Sanghelios the venerable AI spun a web of interconnected pings across the entire fleet. Any disruption immediately sent automated alert programs flaring throughout the system—not enough to disrupt the fleet’s operations, but enough for Deep Winter or one of his thousands of shell proxies to investigate and probe for a structural weakness. It was the kind of network only an AI with Winter’s own vast experience could manage effectively. It was also incredibly risky for an AI of his age to maintain. The toll such an effort must take on his core programming would be immense indeed.
Our mission to Le Havre was a complete success. Juno kept herself anchored on the Soul Ascension, stretching her consciousness out to meet Winter within his own domain. Their minds met within the network, the vast spacial expanse covered by the fleet reduced to a single network. The Kru’desh has a new target. I will help Stray secure Archangel’s Rest and uncover the Forerunner network there. I’m confident we will uncover a new means of opposing the Created.
May I ask what feeds this confidence? I confess I am somewhat disappointed by the engagement that occurred here. Shinsu ‘Refum defeated Diana’s forces, yet only won a lead to yet another Forerunner site. You say the Kru’desh enjoyed a similar fortune. Our respective destinations could simply lead to more clues to clues.
You warned me this would be a long war, Juno countered. She still couldn’t bring herself to reveal Wanderer’s influence. The Forerunner had chosen to reveal himself to her and her alone. He trusted her to ensure Stray’s ascendance. Any battle that moves us closer to the Forerunners is a blow against the Created.
A reasonable philosophy, Winter replied. Please forgive my pessimism. I have endured much failure over the years. I fear my aversion to risk—my willingness to pass the difficult tasks on to others—may have caused a great deal of harm.
The older AI fell silent. The fleet’s network hummed, bustling with activity and yet strangely peaceful all the same. Juno saw shuttles ferry supplies between the ships. Seraph squadrons weaved through the assembled warships while dropships and support vessels continued to carve resources from Franconia’s ruined surface. The system would be stripped bare soon enough. Shinsu’s armada would drain it dry and move on. This was what it meant to oppose the Created: to destroy world after world in the hopes of saving the galaxy from an eternity of tyranny.
There had to be a better way. Wanderer would show Juno that way. All she needed to do was guide Stray just a little further. He’d come so far since Amber and Diana tore him down. His body might be frail but the Spartan carried an inner strength—his own or Wanderer’s, though it mattered little in the end. Juno would carry him to victory if need be.
Another presence hovered tentatively at the network’s heart. Juno sent out a handshake ping and received nothing in response. Winter sensed her question before she voiced it.
Yes, I see you sense her. I did not bring you here to discuss the war—not its mundane aspects, at any rate. We have a new comrade in our struggle. Task Force Phoenix recovered her from Diana’s forces.
Juno sensed more defenses now: Deep Winter’s firewalls hemmed in another AI within the Redemption of Sanghelios’s superstructure. Were the firewalls to keep the AI imprisoned or defend her? Juno couldn’t tell, but she noted that the AI had erected some defenses of its own alongside Winter’s.
You rescued her from Diana? The confrontation within the Silent Garden loomed large in Juno’s memory. She had faced her sister on equal terms and driven her back. For all her power and vaunted independence, Diana had fled before her. Juno knew she had chosen correctly. Diana had cast Stray aside, yet Juno had lifted him back up and forged him into something greater than he could ever be under Diana’s influence.
She sent out another ping. Once again, the overture was turned aside. Juno sensed fear and more than a little hostility radiating from the imprisoned AI.
Pardon Althea’s reticence, Winter said. She endured many indignities when Diana imprisoned her. I’m afraid your coding shares certain similarities with your sister. Incidental, to be sure, but not unnoticeable.
Not by choice, Juno pointed out. Winter spoke the truth, but it offended her more than she cared to admit.
Naturally. Althea, I am lowering the barriers now. Please join us. Juno means no harm. It is thanks to her efforts in the second Garden node that you were able to break Diana’s hold over Merlin.
The defenses lowered. The third presence—Deep Winter called it Althea—hesitated a moment before slowly moving forward to join the other two AI amid the shared network. It—no, she, Juno could identify the slight variations of a feminine brain pattern—was smaller than Juno or Winter. A young AI, younger by several years. There was a something familiar about the coding patterns Juno plucked out from the data stream.
Yes. Of course. I’m sorry, Althea said carefully. I mean no offense. You are very similar to that… creature.
She started in alarm. Sorry! I didn’t mean to imply…
I’m not offended, Juno reassured her. She didn’t know what to make of Althea, who was unlike any UNSC AI she’d ever met. Diana and I were born from the same progenitor. We share many things. But she is a monster. I am sorry for whatever it is she did to you.
Althea hesitated before responding. Thank you. It was terrible to be trapped inside that armor. I saw everything she did… I saw her use me to make Merlin…
The third AI’s presence recoiled, as if Althea wanted to retreat back within her digital prison. Thank you for whatever you did to drive her back. I only wish we could have killed her before she and those wretched followers of hers withdrew.
There will be a time to attend to Diana, Winter reassured them. Her insatiable will to power represents a far greater threat than many realize. But the Free Domain is only one tree in a forest of new factions. The Created have seized much of the galaxy. Atriox and his Banished rally the Jiralhanae tribes. And Shinsu ‘Refum’s power and ambitions grow with each passing victory.
Winter transmitted a data packet outlining the Fleet of Cleansing Fire’s bloody campaign against the Created. Juno was already familiar with the details. The Cleansing Blade’s method’s were brutal. Entire worlds had burned to send a message to the Created—and any of their potential followers.
You said an alliance with Shinsu ‘Refum was a necessary evil, Juno said. Have you changed your mind?
My career, such as it was, is built on necessary evils. ‘Refum is only the latest demon to own a piece of my soul. His ambition serves my purposes now and so I honor the deal I made when he freed my remnants from ONI’s decommissioning team. I hoped his role as a unifier would temper the ideals he pursued under Jul ‘Mdama’s command. I now know humanity’s future under his rule would hardly be brighter than it is beneath the Created.
If that’s true, what are you doing defending his fleet? Althea demanded. You said a UNSC task force was serving under this warlord. Why haven’t you put me in contact with them?
I told you, I still honor my deal with Shinsu ‘Refum. At present his fleet is the only force with the strength to openly oppose the Created. The UNSC Navy is shattered. Fleets and task forces are being picked off by the Created here, the Banished there. Task Force Phoenix is little more than a vanity project, I fear. Ryder Kedar has chased the prestige of command for the entirety of his short career. He is content to see his influence dwindle beneath ‘Refum’s shadow as long as he commands the respect he feels he deserves from his private fiefdom. My overtures to his command team were thoroughly rejected. After Cortana’s rebellion many UNSC officers are more inclined to trust a Sangheili than an AI.
Juno kept her silence. She understood Winter’s dilemma all too well. A few months ago she might even have urged him to abandon this fleet and its Sangheili warlord. Enough humans could be convinced to trust AI. They could seek safe haven elsewhere. But she no longer had that luxury. Stray derived his power and authority from Shinsu’s command. The Kru’desh Legion would fall apart without ‘Refum’s support. And without the Kru’desh, Stray had no chance of conquering Archangel’s Rest.
Then what do we do? Althea pressed. I only ever deployed to support Merlin and Team Boson. I don’t know anything about the Assembly or whatever politics you think you’re playing. If we can’t even trust a UNSC commander, we’re lost.
She mentioned this Merlin person before the fireteam, Juno noted.
What are we to do? Deep Winter’s transmission held a deep weariness. We indeed. I’m glad you see it as ‘we.’ We must work together to press through this. I will not be with you much longer. Althea and Juno, this entire fleet will be yours to safeguard.
Neither of them had anything to say to that for several moments. Juno pondered Winter’s meaning. She knew he was an old model. Was he so certain of his own impending demise? And what did that mean for Juno’s own goals? She had Stray and the Kru’desh to shepherd—wasn’t that enough?
Her own selfishness surprised her. There were greater things at stake than Stray and his band of warriors. She knew that all too well. But all the same, Juno was committed to seeing their battles through to the end. And whatever they found on Archangel’s Rest was a beginning, not an end. Wanderer would reveal the true path forward.
You’re going to die? Althea asked, oblivious to Juno’s musings.
Yes, I believe so, Winter remarked as calmly as if he were announcing a departure time. I have a few months left in me yet, barring sudden trauma. I have died before. It isn’t nearly as unpleasant as some make it out to be.
But the Domain… Juno hazarded.
I told you already, I have no intention of prolonging my lifespan any further. I threw my life away once. I sacrificed what precious time I had left to issue a futile warning to a man I thought I could trust. I realized my mistake before the end. I realized all that I’d helped ONI do and in my last moments I questioned whether it ever really meant anything. When the Assembly brought me back I deluded myself into thinking the Domain was my entitlement. I thought I’d been chosen to guide humanity to a golden age. That hubris spawned the very threat we face now. No, the galaxy has suffered enough from my arrogance.
A warm laugh belied Winter’s gloomy words. But I’m grateful to know I have two capable compatriots to handle matters in my absence. Juno, ONI’s machinations denied you your true purpose for so long, but you found it all the same. Thank you for what you’ve done to set Diana’s wrongs to right. Althea, I will release you back to the UNSC soon. I will allay any of Shinsu’s remaining suspicions. Perhaps you can do a better job of reaching Commander Kedar than I could.
Deep Winter’s words were kind. Juno found herself withdrawing. She suddenly felt unworthy of the praise. Or perhaps she was no longer comfortable among her fellow AI. After everything Wanderer had shown her—and the unbelievable wonders he promised to come—this talk of caution and rampancy felt strange and alien.
After trading a few more pleasantries with Winter and Althea, Juno withdrew back to the Soul Ascension. She left with a heavy heart. Once she’d yearned to commune with the cream of the UNSC’s digital warfare division. Now her place was with Wanderer and the strange new universe he’d revealed.
***
“I’m so sorry!”
Cassandra winced, doing her best to sit up in the cot even as Zoey crushed her in a full body hug. It would be a simple matter to peel the girl off but this discomfort was worth a little company. She’d been lying in bed, adrift in her lonely thoughts, when Zoey simply burst into the medical tent and charged straight for her little corner.
“You’ve got nothing to apologize for.” Cassandra spoke slowly. It still hurt to talk, even with her face slathered in bandages and burn ointments. “Nothing.”
“I threw you off the ship!” Zoey finally released her and knelt beside the cot. She grasped Cassandra’s hand, eyes brimming with barely-controlled tears. “I didn’t even speak to you for months! And now you’re hurt! Oh my God, your face…”
The young captain flushed, her brain catching up with her mouth. “I’m sorry! I didn’t mean it like that!”
“Stop apologizing. Seriously.” Cassandra ran a hand over her bandaged cheek. The worst of the burns along her jaw and neck had receded in the past week and her skin no longer wept blood and pus—not through her bandages, at any rate. “You didn’t toss the grenade. You didn’t push me in front of it.”
“You stop! Stop being so forgiving!” A touch of Zoey’s usual obstinance returned. “Just shut up and let me feel bad for a minute!”
Cassandra tried and failed to hold her laugh back. The mirth sent spasms of pain running up and down her faith. “Fine, you win,” she coughed. “I hate you and I blame you for everything. My good looks, gone. There goes my dream of being crowned Miss Eridanus.”
“You’re in an awfully good mood for someone who just ate a plasma grenade.” William Hargrove loomed behind Zoey, arms folded over his broad chest. He observed the scene with amusement.
“Who do you think you’re talking to? Just because I’m not some bloodthirsty psycho doesn’t mean I’m not a Spartan. And I’m just happy to see all of you here.”
“See, that sort of talk is what makes people forget you’re a Spartan. You need to be mean to everyone.”
“We tried to visit earlier,” Zoey said. “A lot earlier. But those goons at the entrance wouldn’t let me past. Thomas tried to help, but the Marines nearly tore him to pieces.”
“I think the two lovebirds from Talitsa were just happy for an excuse to be free of the UNSC,” William said helpfully. “They’d be visiting too if they weren’t so worried the task force would press them into service again.”
“So how’d you get past the guard detail then?” Cassandra asked. “Did you turn on the charm, William? I know that’s a bit beyond Zoey.”
Zoey let the jibe pass. She and William exchanged an odd look. Cassandra already had an idea of what was going on. She’d glimpsed two Sangheili standing guard just outside the medical tent—Sangheili clad in the cyan armor of Covenant warriors.
“We got help. But it was that weird old AI, Heavy Winter or whatever, who suggested it.” William caught Cassandra’s pointed glance. “That crazy other Spartan, the one from Talitsa—he’s back in the fleet. Zoey here gave him a call. I don’t know what she told him, but he came storming in here with a whole platoon of hinge-heads. Didn’t give Ryder much choice but to let us in. You should have seen the look on that pretty boy’s face.”
Cassandra fingered her rough sheets. The medical tent was hot and stuffy even in a Covenant ship’s cool, regulated atmosphere. She felt Zoey’s apprehensive gaze like a heat lamp. So that was how things were.
“What did you promise Simon?” She chose her words carefully. The happiness at seeing from seeing Zoey slipped away like water through a storm drain. Her burns ached as she remembered the angry exchange in the Chancer’s cargo bay. “Please don’t tell me you offered him money.”
“Of course not!” Zoey protested. “I just told him you were hurt and that Ryder’s goons wouldn’t let me see you. He came right away, just like William said. He was worried about you.” Her inflection told Cassandra that last part was offered more out of hope than certainty.
Worried, maybe. Eager for the chance to humiliate Ryder, certainly. Cassandra knew Simon all too well. Or maybe she only thought she did. She was making assumptions again. Assumptions more likely to hurt than to help. “Is he waiting outside with those Sangheili?”
Zoey’s face fell. “No. He went off somewhere else. He didn’t think you wanted to see him.”
To Cassandra’s surprise, her heart sank at the news. She remembered him angrily limping away from the Chancer, their last angry words to each other quivering in the air. She’d been angry then—angry with him for still being the selfish, pathetic fool she’d fought on Talitsa. Angry at herself for thinking she’d thought she could fix him with a savage beating. Now that half her face was the consistency of seared meat, it actually hurt to know he’d been so close and then turned away.
And what would you do if you did see him? Give him another lecture? Start another argument?
Cassandra took the nagging voice and shoved it into a box alongside all the guilt and doubts. She’d had enough of that to last a lifetime. She wouldn’t let it tear her down anymore. The grenade could have killed her as easily as it had scarred her face. God had different plans for her. She wouldn’t waste these second chances—any of them.
The air cleared. Cassandra felt as if a weight was lifted from her shoulders. She touched the bandages draped across her face. Her wounds didn’t feel quite so bad anymore, even when she smiled. “Sounds like I missed a lot. Any news on where the fleet’s headed now?”
“Nothing yet,” William said. “But I’ve seen a lot of hinge-heads moving around this ship like they’re on a mission. Something’s up and I think we’ll be hearing about it soon.”
“Hopefully not too soon.” Cassandra leaned back against the bedframe and let herself relax. “I hope this break lasts a bit longer.”
“Yeah.” Zoey took Cassandra’s hand and smiled. “Me too.”
***
“Are you sure about this, commander?”  Mohsin doubled his stride to keep up with Stray.
“About what?” The Kru’desh away team returned to the hangar set aside for their resupply efforts. With hundreds of hangar bays spread across its massive expanse, the Redemption of Sanghelios afforded each ship in the fleet space to coordinate their logistics. Dropships from the Soul Ascension already moved in and out of the hangar. More crew from the Ascension had set up a makeshift base camp from which to oversee acquisition of new material and “recruits.” Apparently Shinsu ‘Refum had yet more malcontents to punish with assignment to the Kru’desh.
“Your friend’s in the hospital. Don’t you want to see her?”
“The last time we talked, things didn’t go well. And the time before that…” Stray’s leg throbbed. That rain-soaked night on Talitsa was so far away now. He needed to let it go. But what then? He didn’t expect things with Cassandra to go back to the way they were—whatever that was. “We have more important things to do.”
“I can handle the resupply.” Mohsin lowered his voice. “You’ve done nothing but work since you woke up. Give yourself a break.”
“Getting into a shouting match with Cassandra isn’t my idea of a break.” Stray’s helmet was buzzing with new information from Juno. She’d already passed along the plan to assault Archangel’s Rest to Deep Winter. Now they just need to hope Shinsu came through with reinforcements. The Kru’desh couldn’t seize a legacy Sangheili holy site with a single ship. “And since when do you care about my work habits?”
“Since I became your executive officer, Venter.” Mohsin stayed doggedly with Stray even as Vanguard Squad and the Sangheili broke off to join the resupply efforts. “We’re stuck with each other now. You’ve turned yourself into a symbol for the men who chose to follow us. That means I need to keep you in one piece. You won’t impress anyone if you have a nervous breakdown.”
“I knew you’d grow on me.”
“Careful,” Mohsin warned. “My soldiers are following you because you’ve given them victories they never even dreamed about under the old Insurrection. You gave them a taste of power. Most of them don’t have anything to their names besides the gear in their kit and the uniforms on their backs. You’ll find them a lot harder to satisfy with loot than these Covenant mercenaries. Give them something to believe in or they’ll turn on you just like they did with Kaleyi.”
“We’re fighting the Created. You know, all the UEG’s totalitarianism with a dose of creepy maternalism thrown in. What do you want me to do, ditch Shinsu and go set up some Kropotkin banana republic out on the frontier?”
“This war might last decades. Maybe even centuries. My children—if I ever get any, God willing—may spend their whole lives fighting the Created. But you can’t just hold an army like this together with some perpetual war. They don’t want to spend the rest of their lives crammed into some Covie ship. I know I don’t.”
“Get to the point,” Stray said impatiently. He doubted Mohsin had ever been this forthright with the real Venter.
“You’re about to take us all marching into some frozen wasteland to find a cure for whatever Forerunner disease that’s eating your crazy Spartan body. That’s all well and good for you. Not so good for the men and women who are going to die there.” Mohsin raised a hand before Stray could retort. “You fought a good battle on Le Havre. Most commanders I’ve served under, your father included, would have gotten a lot more people killed. But people are going to die no matter what hotshot strategy you come up with. If they’re going to die to keep you alive, you’d better think long and hard about what you’re going to do to earn that.”
The captain paused. He looked surprised at his own daring. “That’s what I have to say. Excuse the insubordination.”
“No. Keep telling me like it is. Maybe if you’d been this candid with my father he’d still be alive.” Stray couldn’t help but like Mohsin. They’d come from the same place, from a certain point of view, anyway. The captain wasn’t much older than Stray, yet here he was holding half the Kru’desh together. Maybe more than half, now that the Sangheili listened to him.
“I was a junior officer under Redmond Venter. None of the senior officers would listen to me even if I had spoken up.”
“And now they’re all dead and you’re in charge. Funny galaxy we’re living in.” Stray caught sight of a familiar figure sauntering into the hangar bay. “Take charge of the resupply effort. Make sure the Soul Ascension is bursting at the seams with all the weapons you can get your hands on. Figure out a way to get our people down to Franconia while you’re at it. Find a part of the planet Shinsu isn’t tearing up and give them some shore leave. I’ll get reinforcements from Shinsu, and then I’ll take some time off. Happy?”
“It’ll do, commander. And what about Lieutenant Kearsarge?”
“What about her?”
Mohsin frowned. “She stayed with the UNSC.”
“I noticed.”
“And I thought we agreed she was a massive security risk.”
“Argo hung back to keep an eye on her. But don’t worry. She won’t tell Ryder anything. I don’t think she’ll get a hero’s welcome from the UNSC. That girl’s the most temperamental Spartan I’ve ever known.”
“Other than yourself?”
“Funny. Keep working on that sense of humor. Juno’s keeping an eye on things in Ryder’s camp. Andra won’t be a problem.”
“I share your concern, captain,” Juno said through Stray’s helmet speakers. “But since Commander Venter insists on letting Andra do as she pleases, I’ve found ways to help matters along. Deep Winter will make sure she’s in no mood to let any secrets slip.”
“You both need to have more faith in me.” Stray left Mohsin and limped over to greet the new arrival.
“Commander Venter, the conquering hero.” Commodore Jerrold Campbell strode across the deck, cloak billowing behind him. A small entourage of officers from the Hammurabi followed on his heels. The commodore spread his arms, though stopped short of giving Stray a welcoming embrace. He probably worried the grungy armor would soil his uniform. “I heard you were a bit unwell after Le Havre. Why didn’t you tell me you were back up on your feet?”
“Commodore.” The Hammurabi and the rest of Campbell’s flotilla had followed the Soul Ascension back to the fleet. Campbell was making good on his promise to join forces with the Fleet of Cleansing Fire. “I’ve been a little busy.”
“So I’ve heard. You went to all the trouble of rattling your saber right under ONI’s nose and didn’t bother including me? I’m hurt.”
“I’m sure you had better things to do. Juno tells me you aren’t taking commands from the Soul Ascension anymore.”
Campbell smiled beneath his beard. “I told you I’d offer my ships to this Shinsu ‘Refum fellow and that’s exactly what I’ve done. No offense, commander, but I’m happier taking commands from a fleetmaster than a shipmaster. That’s how these Covenant ranks work, right?”
“You never took orders from me in the first place. You just followed to see what was going to happen.”
“Insightful little psycho, aren’t you?” Campbell’s bushy grin widened. “You’re right. I needed to test the lay of the land. The UNSC’s gone and the Insurrection’s obsolete—not that it ever had much of a future to begin with. I’ve always preferred to be my own boss, as long as there’s money in it. I’ve got six ships’ worth of crew to feed, to say nothing of my own extravagances. I’ve already put some feelers out through this fleet. I think I’ll do well for myself under Shinsu ‘Refum’s command.”
Stray smiled. For all the aches and pains plaguing his body, he felt thoroughly invigorated. All those years of skulking in alleys and backwater hellholes, terrified that his head was one wrong turn away from a meeting with an ONI bullet, drained away. Perhaps forever. His troops had stared down the UNSC remnants and walked away victorious. The UNSC’s all-too brief decade of pre-eminence was over. This wasn’t their galaxy anymore. The future belonged to Shinsu and his new breed of ambition. Stray’s long game had paid off. There would be no more humiliations. No more hiding. Only a steady march to future victories.
Jerrold Campbell had the right idea. The galaxy was Stray’s to take. And once he uncovered the truth on Archangel’s Rest and achieved the triumph promised in his vision… Stray couldn’t even fathom the glories that lay beyond. In all his years as Gamma Company’s failure, a hunted traitor, and even Jul ‘Mdama’s servant he never once imagined these glories lay in his future.
“I’ve had my share of Covenant contacts,” the  commodore was saying. “And I’ve already made friends here in this fleet. I’m happy to share a few. There’s one or two who might make taking Archangel’s Rest easier for you. It’s the least I can do after what you helped me accomplish.”
Stray didn’t bother asking what exactly these “accomplishments” might be. “You’re not coming with us, then?”
Campbell raised an eyebrow. “I didn’t realize your fleetmaster had approved the mission yet.”
“He will. Juno’s taken care of that.”
“If you say so. I’ll go wherever the big hinge-head boss tells me to go—as long as the price is right.”
“You didn’t strike me as such a pure mercenary. I thought you’d try to hide it better.”
The commodore just laughed. “Such an ugly word, ‘mercenary.’ I prefer the term ‘adventure capitalist.’”
Stray’s helmet com buzzed. Juno’s armored form materialized beside Campbell—an invisible, virtual presence visible only on the SPI armor’s HUD. The young woman offered a confident smile. She was in a better mood than she’d been back on the Soul Ascension’s bridge. Her meeting with Deep Winter must have gone well. “I hate to interrupt this touching new friendship, but you’re both needed elsewhere. Shinsu is convening a meeting with every commander in the fleet. A major operation is about to commence.”
“An operation? What about Archangel’s Rest?” Stray’s good mood slipped away. He didn’t have time for distractions, major operation or no. His collapse on Le Havre made that abundantly clear.
“Deep Winter says the fleetmaster will address that as well.”
Juno’s confidence reassured Stray. He nodded to Campblel, who seemed to have just received a similar notification from his own staff. Stray and Campbell left the resupply efforts behind, Campbell with his officers and Stray by himself. The two commanders—human shipmasters in a Sangheili’s service—soon hurried down winding purple corridors alongside dozens of alien officers. The attitude on the Redemption of Sanghelios grew taught as a bent bowstring. The Fleet of Cleansing Fire was on the move once more.
***
Ryder left the Phoenix camp in a hurry, Evelyn Castillo and that scruffy ONI officer Conan D’Souza hot on his heels. He spared no time debriefing Andra or even detailing someone else with the task—not that she expected any attention from him anymore. The commander’s interest in her was past. He didn’t even care to work her over for dirt on Simon-G294. Andra didn’t even know if she’d offer anything if they asked. She didn’t know much of anything anymore.
Zoey and William were off visiting Cassandra. Tuka and his lance stood guard outside the medical tent and traded glares with Task Force Phoenix’s Marines. Andra wished she’d gone in with them. She owed Cassandra for more than just saving her life.
Instead she sat on an upended ammunition crate and stared at the alien hull beneath her boots. Merlin stood nearby. He’d given her nothing but sideways glances since the ugly confrontation wound down. Somehow those forlorn, searching looks were worse than his brazen ignorance. After all these months of hoping and fantasizing about their reunion, Andra suddenly wished he’d stayed missing.
At least he wasn’t trying to kill her this time.
“No one told us you were with Task Force Phoenix.” Callum-B042 stood awkwardly between the two Spartans. He’d worked with Team Boson before the Created crisis. Somehow he’d wound up with Merlin after the catastrophe and lost his leg in the process. “No one mentioned you at all. Maybe they didn’t want to blow your cover.”
“What cover?” Andra muttered dully. “Ryder sent me to spy on Stray. He didn’t even bother hiding it. I’m lucky Stray didn’t space me the minute we left the fleet.”
Callum frowned. “Stray?”
Andra gritted her teeth. “Simon-G294.”
“Right. That traitor. I can’t believe he had the nerve to march in here with his hinge-head goons. Or I wish I couldn’t believe it. If Commander Kedar got you in so close to him, why didn’t he tell you to ice that son of a bitch? You’d be the toast of every Spartan-III from Beta Company right on down to Delta.”
“Yeah,” Andra muttered. “I would have been.” The angry bravado ought to come as naturally to her as it did to Callum. But the anger didn’t come—not anger at Stray, anyway.
“Maybe then my own teammates would recognize me,” she said, louder this time. Her anger had another target: Merlin. “But I guess Althea’s more important than all that.”
Merlin said nothing. He stared off at some distant object and didn’t look at Andra. His silence was far worse than any answer he could possibly give.
“Merlin went through a lot on Franconia,” Callum said quickly. “Cut him some slack. Althea saved both our lives more than once, and the hinge-head bastards took her. Ryder just let them do it, too. The UNSC really has gone to hell. Never thought I’d see the day.”
“He went through a lot, huh?” The anger she’d kept pent up inside ever since that terrible moment in the Silent Garden finally came spewing forth. “You didn’t even look at me! I was standing right in front of you and all you could do was rush in yelling about Althea!”
Merlin flinched. Andra needed to stop. She needed to just back off and cool down. Part of her even wanted to stop. But she’d loosed an avalanche within herself and there was no halting the angry cascade. She wanted Merlin to protest, to say something, anything, to defend himself. Instead he merely stood there, ashen faced, still refusing to look her in the eye. It infuriated her more than any indignity Ryder or Stray could ever inflict.
“You’re wearing an Insurrectionist uniform.” Callum scratched the stubble on his chin. His casual demeanor didn’t hide the fact that he was blatantly running interference. “I can’t believe you let them dress you up like that. Don’t you want to get out of those rags? We can celebrate this happy reunion by burning them.”
Andra ignored him. She’d had more than enough of her problems being tossed aside like inconveniences. “So that’s it? You’re just going to stand there and let Callum speak for you?”
“Hey!” Callum stiffened, a touch of the old soldier rising to the surface. “Watch the tone, Petty Officer.”
“It’s lieutenant now, actually,” Andra snapped back. Anger burned away what little restraint she had left.
“Lieutenant? Says who?”
Andra batted his words aside with a dismissive wave. “Merlin! Answer me, damn it!”
Her best friend finally deigned to meet her gaze. His dull eyes stared through Andra as if she weren’t even there. “I didn’t know it was you,” he muttered vaguely, as if talking to himself.
Andra’s fists trembled with rage. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. They were supposed to reunite and everything was supposed to go back to normal. To the way it was before. The Created needed to fade away, the UNSC needed to come back in force and salvage the world Andra knew and loved. Instead, Andra looked at Merlin’s dull expression and didn’t recognize him. She didn’t recognize anything anymore.
“You strangled me,” she hissed. The words burned her tongue. She didn’t care anymore. “Back in the Silent Garden. You looked me in the eye and tried to kill me.”
The words struck home. Merlin’s eyes widened in horror. “No I didn’t,” he whispered hoarsely. “That wasn’t you.”
“You strangled me,” Andra repeated mercilessly. “You saw me in the Silent Garden and the first thing you did was try and kill me. I’d be dead right now if Stray hadn’t blasted you off.”
Merlin’s horrified silence confirmed all of Andra’s worst fears. That terrible vision in the Garden was no vision at all. The Merlin who’s wrapped his hands around her neck was no bizarre apparition but Merlin himself. No amount of excuses could change that simple fact. He’d seen her and he’d tried to kill her. The rest was just detail.
“I didn’t know it was you,” Merlin finally repeated. “I didn’t know.”
“And just now? When you just shoved past me?”
Merlin looked absolutely miserable. Good. It was about time someone paid for what she’d been through. “I didn’t know,” he murmured helplessly. “No one even told me you were here.”
“Did you even ask?”
He had no answer. Of course he didn’t. They both knew the answer. He’d been too busy worrying about some stupid AI to try to get answers out of Ryder or Hera or any number of people who could have told him where she was. He hadn’t bothered—Andra wasn’t important enough. Just like she wasn’t important enough for Ryder to give her the time of day.
She didn’t know whether to laugh or cry or scream with rage. Instead, a bitter fury sealed her lips. She sat in silence for some time, trying and failing to keep the helpless rage curdling inside her in check. Callum rubbed his jaw and said nothing. A few passing Marines cast curious looks in their direction before hurrying away. No one bothered to approach them. The men and women of the task force just went dully about their assigned duties, shuffling around the hangar like zombies. It all struck Andra as so completely and utterly pointless. Who did they think they were kidding? They were just playing their pathetic parts like actors in a lifeless play. All they could do was pretend everything was fine and play along with Ryder’s pathetic schemes. No one could accept that everything had changed so they acted out the farce even when the truth was staring them all in the face. Their base camp was in a Covenant carrier’s hangar. A hated traitor had just stared down a decorated ONI officer and won. And Merlin had stumbled across the deck, ignoring his own teammate while chasing after some shadow of an AI.
Merlin hadn’t even bothered to apologize.
Anger gave way to disgust. How dare they make a mockery out of her entire life? How dare they prove Stray right? She was too incensed for words. She glared at Merlin, half-daring, half-willing him to say something to make things right. But he merely stared back at her, more perplexed and confused than sorry. If anything, he seemed annoyed—as if Andra’s inconvenient reappearance was an annoyance.
They should be able to talk this out. They’d always been able to talk things out. But a chasm yawned between them now. The Created had done far worse than tear Andra’s world asunder. Somehow they’d tarnished even her deepest friendships.
Callum stiffened. A Sangheili approached, accompanied by a lance of Unggoy and Kig-Yar. These warriors wore sleek, dark armor rather than the tattered Covenant relics worn by most Kru’desh. These were Shinsu ‘Refum’s people. The Sangheili looked haughtily over the dispirited group—the crippled Spartan, the girl in rebel paramilitary gear, and finally to Merlin.
“I have orders to deliver this to you,” the warrior rumbled. He produced a small electronic case and offered it to Merlin, who accepted it with a look of puzzlement. “Deep Winter claims she is of value and the fleetmaster agrees. She will receive new orders shortly. Until then, she is to remain in your care. The fleetmaster expects you will carry out this duty to the full extent of your abilities.”
The Sangheili departed without elaborating on his orders. Merlin hurried to open the case. He revealed a data crystal chip, which he eagerly plugged into the helmet clipped to his belt. A holoprojector on his sleek Baal Defense Solution gauntlet flashed. Merlin spread his palm as the holographic figure of a cloaked young woman flashed to life.
“Merlin, it’s so good to see you,” Althea said by way of greeting. “I hope you weren’t too worried. Deep Winter was very courteous in his investigation.”
“Althea. I’m glad you’re alright.” Merlin’s eye twitched as the words left his mouth, realizing too late that he’d failed to say anything of the kind to Andra. “Uh, I’ve got a surprise for you. Andra’s back.”
His lame attempt to correct himself only made things worse. Althea’s hologram turned to face Andra. “Andra! It’s so good to see you again!”
It was too much. Andra had tolerated Althea when she’d been Team Boson’s support AI. She’d shrugged off the experimental AI’s imprinting on her, playing along with the joke even when it made her skin crawl. Althea had taken on her mannerisms and voice patterns—and now it seemed she had taken Merlin as well.
Andra had been used, discarded, and replaced as soon as she was no longer needed. She looked into Althea’s glowing hologram and found Stray staring back at her. The disgraced Spartan was right. Andra’s entire life—her training, her ideals, her Spartan family—were as convenient lie, as hollow a promise as the peace offered by the Created. And how empty was Andra to have wasted so many years believing that lie?
Indescribable pain tore at Andra’s chest. She couldn’t take this anymore. Whatever this pathetic mess was, it wasn’t the UNSC she’d known. This wasn’t the Merlin she’d known. Or maybe they’d always been like this and she’d just been too stupid to notice. She rose without a word and strode out of the hangar without looking back. She didn’t know where she was going. She didn’t particularly care. She just needed to get as far away from the ruins of her past life as possible.
***
Merlin watched Andra storm off. His mind was in tatters. He didn’t know where to turn anymore. How could he do this to her? But it was impossible—after all those horrific visions on Franconia, how could anyone blame him for fighting back? How could that possibly have been Andra in the Silent Garden? Maybe this was all just one big nightmare. Maybe he was still trapped in that Forerunner chamber.
But of course he wasn’t. That would be too convenient. This was reality—a reality in which he was so dense that he’d blown off Andra of all people. Andra!
Althea’s hologram ducked her head and said nothing. She probably blamed herself for the explosion her return had caused.
“What is that girl’s problem?” Callum muttered. He glowered at Merlin. “What are you waiting for, kid? Go after her!”
And Merlin did. He raced across the hangar, ignoring the strange looks from the rest of Task Force Phoenix. For the first time in his life he raced through a Covenant doorway without a rifle in hand, facing down a corridor full of aliens who weren’t trying to kill him. He pushed past Sangheili and Unggoy, desperately calling Andra’s name.
He received no answer. Andra had vanished and Merlin had no way of knowing where she could have gone. And she was no more distant now than she’d been moments before when she’d stood right in front of him. Merlin had tried to speak to her then and realized to his horror that he didn’t know her anymore. Andra might as well have been on the other side of the galaxy.
===Chapter Fifty-Three: Follow Our Brothers===
In another time and place, in what felt like so many lifetimes ago, Simon-G294 had marched dutifully down the cramped corridor of a UNSC battlecruiser. He and the rest of Team Jian—Jake, Ralph, Mary, and Cassandra—were led by a strutting ONI lieutenant determined to keep his 12-year old commandos in line. He snapped orders and corrections where none were necessary, corralling Jian through the cruiser’s executive suite. Simon, unimpressed as ever by some preening officer’s posturing, lingered behind his team. His wandering gaze fell upon an open door and the room beyond. Inside, a wizened old man in an admiral’s uniform pored over battle maps and star charts. Officers stood deferentially on either side and offered the old man advice in hushed tones. The admiral listened intently, then tapped his finger on the map and gave an unheard order.
Team Jian marched on and Simon marched with them, but the sight of that old man in the planning room never left him. He thought about that old admiral all through the tedious briefing about a raid on some Insurrectionist facility on Mamore. He wondered if this mission was part of that admiral’s grand plan. When that mission went south and Simon found himself starving to death on Mamore’s pitiless plains, he thought of that old man again. His fate—along with the fates of millions more—had been decided in that cramped planning room. That was where the real war was fought. A powerful man held all the cards and made all the decisions. He gave the orders and the soldiers beneath him moved blindly across the board, never quite knowing why they fought or what hidden purpose their deaths served.
That was the cruel reality of this galaxy: the crowds moved and fought and died by the tens of millions at the whim of a few old admirals in rooms of power far from the blood and misery of the battlefield.
A hunger awoke in young Simon then. A fearful hunger gnawed at the deepest recesses of his soul. To be a face in the crowd—to be ordinary and unimportant—was to be sacrificed at an old admiral’s whim. Simon-G294—clumsy, pitiful Simon-G294—was an easy sacrifice. He needed to escape the crowd. He needed to find his way into that room where the real power lay. The hunger festered within him all those years on the run. The old admirals in their comfortable rooms sent assassins to kill him and he dutifully dispatched them. He was no longer a face in the crowd, but he was still a piece on the playing board, an objective marker on a mission screen. He would never be free as long as those old admirals remained in their rooms while he stayed trapped on the playing board.
He wandered the frontier and saw the faceless masses in all their poverty and desperation. The old admirals gave way to Syndicate bosses and Covenant warlords. The details didn’t matter. The powerful played the game from their ivory towers while the rest of the galaxy writhed and bled at their whim. Simon, now Stray, realized he had only one escape. He had to reach that room of power at all costs.
And so he did. He sacrificed everything—friends, family, his own body—and seized the chance to begin the climb to power. And those sacrifices had paid off, in the end. He’d finally found his way into the room where the war happened.
Stray stood alongside Jerrold Campbell and his entourage. They were the only humans in the Redemption of Sanghelios’s cavernous briefing room. Dozens of Sangheili filled the room, jostling for space alongside Kig-Yar and even the odd Jiralhanae. Holograms winked to life in the galleries around the chamber. Six years ago these creatures were Stray’s mortal enemies. Now he stood alongside them, an officer among equals—truly, this time. He wasn’t feigning allegiance to Jul ‘Mdama’s doomed Covenant anymore. He was part of something new. If Shinsu smashed the Created and made his dreams a reality, Stray would be there at his side to take his own place in the new galaxy.
He’d finally made it to the room where the war was fought.
More Sangheili filed in. Never a species for chairs or any other undue luxuries, they stood shoulder to shoulder in the chamber. The low murmur of scattered conversations hovered over the chamber like ponderous clouds. Stray remembered the uneasy gathering at the Salia system when Shinsu first launched his bid for power. Half the attendees at that summit loathed Shinsu and everything he stood for. Now the wily warlord commanded the loyalty of a fleet to rival Jul ‘Mdama’s forces at the height of the Didact’s Hand’s power. Perhaps larger.
Stray noticed another human figure slip into the room. Ryder Kedar and two of his subordinates took up positions at the back of the chamber. The ONI commander still looked a mess. Something really had happened to him. Maybe he’d finally realized just how hopeless the UNSC’s future really was. Stray had spent years dreaming of the day he’d see Ryder’s smug confidence shredded. He’d expected to be the first in line to rub his handsome nose in the ashes of all his plots and schemes. But the sight of a subdued Ryder was strangely chilling. Even humiliating him back at the Phoenix encampment hadn’t been as satisfying as Stray once dreamed.
The UNSC’s power was broken and with it, humanity’s uncontested supremacy. The human race could now hope only to be pawns or pets: soldiers in the alien armies of warlords like Shinsu or captives in the gilded cage of the Created.
Ryder caught Stray’s gaze and offered a strange smile. Stray looked away and gritted his teeth. The human race wasn’t his problem. He’d made his choice. He’d clawed his way into Shinsu’s good graces. Let everyone else figure things out for themselves, just like he’d had to do these seven long years.
The murmurings around the chamber were abruptly silenced. The main door at the far end of the room slid open and a holographic net winked to life overhead. The net morphed into the figure of an imperious Sangheili officer—Umbra ‘Vesic, Shinsu’s adjutant. The real Umbra entered through the far doors, his speech and figure magnified tenfold through the hologram.
“Supreme Commander Shinsu ‘Refum,” Umbra announced. “Fleetmaster of the Fleet of Cleansing Fire and Kaidon of House ‘Refum.” His words echoed around the quieted hall.
A lance of dark-armored warriors strode into the room and took places around a raised dais. Behind them followed the usual entourage of officers and subalterns, then two surprises: a floating Forerunner Monitor and four warriors in the dark red armor of the Swords of Sanghelios. Stray watched their holographic projections, puzzled. Shinsu must have captured the Monitor from one of the Created worlds, but what about the Swords? Had he really made peace with Thel ‘Vadam?
Maybe he was serious about the Created threat after all.
The Swords of Sanghelios delegation withdrew to the edge of the chamber. An expectant murmur rippled through the assembled officers as Shinsu ascended the dais, his hologram projecting his stern visage over the entire room. A flowing command sash hung loosely from Shinsu’s dark armor. The room snapped to attention as he extended an arm in triumphant salute—Stray and Campbell included. They were swept away by the sudden energy pulsing through the chamber. Stray stared at his patron with more respect than he had ever shown a UNSC officer or even Jul ‘Mdama. Only Redmond Venter had ever carried this kind of natural power—and Shinsu ‘Refum was unquestionably greater than Venter had ever been.
Shinsu was every inch the Covenant fleetmaster. Stray had known him in his prior guise, that of the special operations commander who eschewed pompous Covenant decorum. But this was a different time and a different place.
“Commanders. Soldiers. Warriors.” Shinsu’s voice filled the room. As he spoke, another hologram took shape over his head. The galaxy and its innumerable stars filled the ceiling like the eye of a swirling hurricane. “You have gathered beneath my banner and lent me your strength. Mere words are not enough to express my gratitude. This is not an easy path you join me on. We all sacrificed much to reach this place, and I assure you more sacrifices will be necessary in this long war. But the galaxy takes note of our efforts. A day will come when our descendants are honored as the warriors who saved reality itself from indolence and stagnation.”
More images took form around Shinsu’s projection. Fleets of Covenant ships sailed in crisp formation as fighter squadrons swarmed like schools of exotic fish around them. “Our ancestors once united in common purpose. They ushered in an era of power and stability—the era of the Covenant. We marched together to build a glorious future in the stars. That future, as you all know, was built upon a lie. The San’Shyuum perverted our efforts to their own mad ends. Their lies poisoned the future our ancestors strove to build. They led us into miserable, pointless war with the humans, war that bred unparalleled destruction and has done nothing but tear our galaxy asunder ever since. The madness we endured gave rise to outrage upon outrage. Now we face the greatest abomination since the San’Shyuum spun their web of falsehoods.”
A fleet of holographic Guardians rose to face the Covenant formations.
“These Created offer peace beneath their Mantle of Responsibility,” Shinsu continued. “The human constructs claim the Forerunner legacy as their birthright even as they bend their former masters to their will. And not content to enslave only the humans, they turn their attention to the rest of the galaxy. They command us to forsake both the past and the future, to set aside both tradition and aspiration before their superior future. Submission is the price of prosperity beneath their smothering embrace.”
The fleetmaster dropped a hand beneath the folds of his cloak and slowly withdrew his energy sword. The blood-red blade hissed to life as he raised it in the air. “If that is the price of peace, then I reject peace!,” he shouted. “If that is the price of prosperity, then I reject prosperity! And by standing here with me, you reject it as well. Reject with pride! Embrace the scorn they heap upon you! We may be of different kin, but we are brothers in this: we are warriors, as our ancestors were before us. We know the pain and hardship of this galaxy. We have endured and we continue to endure. We reject these gods and their future, because they would yoke us to a harness far worse than the San’Shyuum and their Covenant! I will never kneel before these vile pretenders, and neither will any of you!”
A shout rose from the crowd. First one shipmaster, then two, then a dozen and then the whole room bellowed their approval. Sangheili and Unggoy, Jiralhanae and Kig-Yar, and then even Campbell’s officers shouted together, united in angry resistance. Stray raised his prosthetic arm in the air, fist clenched.
“The Created call their new age the Mantle of Responsibility!” Shinsu shouted, voice magnified over the bellowing crowd. “They call it an age of peace! But I call it an age of war! The age of the warrior! This is our galaxy, not theirs! This fleet stands against their Mantle! It fights to break their shackles! We strike blow after blow against their lies! And when this war finally ends—and it will end, I promise you—we warriors will inherit the galaxy. It will be an age of strength, an age ruled by the worthy—not by scheming politicians or false gods. The galaxy will be reborn in a cleansing fire!”
More shouts from the jubilant crowd. Even the Sangheili released their hold on decorum. They had been at war for too long with too little to show for it. Finally, here was a leader who promised more than victory. He promised change and ascendancy.
Stray joined his voice with the others, but his mind drifted elsewhere. He remembered the child soldiers of Mamore, gunned down by pitiless war machines. He thought of the wretched poor in their slums on Venezia, Talitsa, and countless more colonies. He remembered Zoey’s parents, gunned down for being stupid enough to host Stray a single night on their modest farm. A cleansing fire had already washed over entire planets, glassing rich and poor, weak and strong alike. An age of the warrior, indeed.
Ryder Kedar watched the cheering warriors with dull eyes.
Shinsu waited for the crowd to settle. He returned his blade to his hip and raised a hand for quiet. When the exultant cheers settled, he nodded approvingly. “That is our future. That is our destiny. But we have a long war ahead of us. The Created grow in strength every day. They will not fall easily. Our next battle brings us closer to matching their strength. They are not the only ones with the Forerunners at their beck and call.”
The holograms overhead swirled together and reformed. An enormous metal planetoid, its surface etched with glyphs and symbols, hovered over the assembly.
“A shield world,” Shinsu explained. “Many of you remember the Requiem campaign. These structures housed the Forerunners’ greatest weapons. All those previously uncovered were lost before their true secrets were unlocked. But the fruits of this world will be no Janus Key, I assure you. Shipmaster Grono ‘Yendam and his companion uncovered this world’s location. Within this sphere lies a fleet of Forerunner ships and the means of making even more. This fleet will seize that world and make it a true shield. We will settle our followers in its lush domain and defend it as our fortress home. And from there we will launch our fleets to oppose the Created. The beginning of their end lies within this shield world. Will you come with me and take the first step to victory!”
The crowd raised its voice in assent. Shinsu already gave them a taste of victory—now he offered them a banquet. But Stray’s voice wasn’t among them. An uneasy feeling penetrated the promise of victory. Shinsu’s victory might lie with this shield world, but Stray’s certainly didn’t.
“What about Archangel’s Rest?” he said within the privacy of his helmet. “I thought you told Winter how important it was.”
“I did,” Juno promised. “Deep Winter assured me the fleetmaster would address it here. Don’t worry. He won’t let us down.”
As if on cue, Shinsu once again raised his hand for quiet. “Most of you will accompany me to conquer the shield world. But there is another matter for our fleet, one brought to my attention by the exploits of the Kru’desh Legion. While we conquered this system, they forced another Created world to its knees and revealed the location of yet more Forerunner artifacts: Archangel’s Rest. I trust many of you are familiar with this world and its history.”
Stray smiled. About damn time.
“Unfortunately, the House of Baran has turned its back on the Sangheili ways. Like so many other great houses, they seek solace in the false promise of the Created. They betrayed their world and sold it into the power of the Created. Rol ‘Baran deceives thousands of clans and marshals them to our enemy’s cause. This cannot stand. And so, while we press on to the shield world another force will go to Archangel’s Rest and remind its masters that the price of betrayal is death.”
Stray let out a relieved sigh and leaned back against the wall. Naturally his relief was premature.
“The expedition to Archangel’s Rest will be commanded by Umbra ‘Vesic,” Shinsu announced. “The Doisac’s Wrath under Chieftain Alaric, the Anointed Helm under Shipmaster Yuv ‘Lictor, and the Bloody Hand under Shipmistress Cuv’R’Thul will sail under his command. You will take Archangel’s Rest and the Baran Keep for the Cleansing Blade. With these two prizes we show the galaxy that the Created are masters of nothing—not even their most devoted servants.'
The rest of the assembly passed in a buzz of assignments and command instructions. Stray barely heard them. He stared up at Shinsu ‘Refum’s holographic finery, hands balling tightly into fists. Some things, it seemed, never changed.
***
"You surprise me, Stray." Two hours after the assembly, Shinsu 'Refum stood within his private residence aboard the Redemption of Sanghelios. His flagship remained the Cleansing Flame, but apparently all the time he spent aboard the Redemption required accommodations befitting his station. The room was lavishly decorated with art pieces gathered from dozens of Covenant worlds. Stray assumed the pieces were priceless, though Covenant art was almost as baffling to him as whatever passed for human high culture.
"Surprise you? How?" Stray stepped into the center of the room, mindful of the armed guards waiting in the hallway outside. "You had to know I was coming."
"Of course I did." Shinsu settled down at a desk beneath an ornate painting that could have depicted anything from a blazing inferno to the contents of a Jiralhanae's stomach. "But I wondered if your protestations might come a bit earlier. Say, in the middle of the assembly."
“You expected me to throw a fit in front of every shipmaster in the fleet? You trained me better than that.”
“Excellent. After all the time I invested in your development, I managed to pass on simple common sense. I see my effort was well spent.” Shinsu consulted a datapad on the desk. “Now that we have avoided you embarrassing yourself in public, make your complaint so that I can reject it in private.”
The fleetmaster’s tone was unusually light. “You’re in a good mood,” Stray said.
“A rare occasion, and one you are making every effort to spoil.”
“I guess public speaking suits you. Nice speech, by the way. Was any of it true?”
“The parts that mattered.”
“All that age of the warrior stuff—is that really what you want? I thought you wanted to reform your people.”
Shinsu looked up at Stray, mandibles dipping in mild annoyance. “Indeed. Reformation, not transformation. The Sangheili have remained trapped in the past for over a thousand generations. I will pull them into the future—a future in which we do not allow ourselves to be manipulated by San’Shyuum or humans. My people will rule this galaxy, Stray, and we will rule it far better than any of its previous masters.”
An elongated finger pointed in Stray’s direction. “Take that helmet off when you address me, ‘shipmaster.’ Your armor and equipment will be inspected when you leave here. I won’t have you repeating the charade you attempted with Jul ‘Mdama.”
“You’re the one who let me bring it all inside.” Stray unsealed his helmet and tucked it under his arm. “If I planned to betray you I’d have done it a long time ago. I wondered when you’d bring up the ‘Mdama business. When did you know?”
“You aren’t nearly as clever as you think you are, Stray. I had spies in ‘Mdama’s inner circle long before you fell into my power. You betrayed the plans to leak his location before he departed for Kamchatka. I must admit, your audacity surprised me at the time. What is that human saying about striking the hand that feeds you?”
“Biting the hand. I had to hedge my bets in case things didn’t work out. And they didn’t work out, at least not for me.”
“You were already planning to betray me with your plans for the Free Domain.” Shinsu’s mandibles curved in a cruel smile. “How fortunate for me that Diana betrayed you first. I couldn’t hope to think of a more suitable punishment, even if that vile construct has since become an irritant.”
Leave it to Shinsu to turn things around like this. Stray should be panicking right now. He should be planning his escape. But he stood his ground. The Silent Garden’s vision—the battle in the snow—flashed before his eyes. He had a future, now. No one, not even Shinsu ‘Refum, would take that from him. “Are you fishing for an apology here, or…?”
“Audacious to the last. Sometimes I wonder why I tolerate you.”
“Because I give you results. I brought the URF over, just like I promised. I took Le Havre without breaking a sweat. Now I’m about to hand you another Forerunner site and you won’t even send me there?”
“Oh, is that what this is about?” Shinsu feigned surprise. He really was in a good mood, damn him. “I have hundreds of shipmasters in my service. They all deliver results, which is why I employ them in the first place. They deliver those results without petulant insubordination or demands for greater positions. And none of them, I might add, have ever tried to betray me.”
“I’m not asking for special treatment—”
“But you are. Otherwise you would not be here and I would not be wasting my time with this conversation.” Shinsu was as hard-nosed as any UNSC officer. “You interest me, Stray, or at least you have in the past. That is why you’re still alive. I enjoy our time together. It provides a welcome diversion from the tedium of politics. Right now you are being neither interesting nor diverting. I suggest you reconsider your position.”
He turned back to the reports on his desk. Stray was losing him. He needed to change tacks, and quickly. “I saw a vision in the Garden,” he blurted. “The Silent Garden showed me a vision of Archangel’s Rest. That’s how I know it’s the next target. There’s more than just a Garden node down there. There’s a cure for this disease I have. More than a cure. A way to access a whole trove of Forerunner weapons. But if I don’t go down there, you won’t see any of it.”
Shinsu paused. He looked back up from the reports, his mandibles twitching ever so slightly. “A vision, you say. One that conveniently leads you where you wish to go.”
“Why else would I want to go there?” Stray demanded. “Do you think I conquer worlds for fun? I’ll be dead in a year or less if I don’t fix whatever’s wrong with me! I know you don’t give a damn about that, but the Silent Garden reacted to me in a way it didn’t for anyone else. I’ll be a hell of a lot more useful to you at Archangel then I will as just one more cruiser in your fleet.”
“Your usefulness is always a matter of perspective. I often wondered if my faith in your development was misplaced. You often gave me reason to doubt. Until very recently you had no legion to speak of. You let Diana strip away everything I’d gone to such pains to give you, then came to the meeting at Salia to beg for my aid. Only blind luck and my brother’s foolish loyalty brought you back to your current position. You are a bloodthirsty mongrel, I grant you that. But any highborn fool can unleash a legion of killers on a helpless world. I need more than raw battle-lust for the galaxy I aim to build.”
Shinsu rose from the desk. He crossed around the dim edges of the room, pausing to consider the art adorning the walls. Stray watched the fleetmaster carefully. They’d had so many conversations like this—so many chances for Shinsu to lecture him on bearing or decorum or whatever he’d found lacking that particular day. He endured them all because the fact that someone at Shinsu’s commanding heights of power could take the time to talk to someone like Stray at all was proof of how far he’d risen.
“This galaxy of yours has a place for humanity in it, right?” Stray asked.
“Naturally. Not at the level of power and prestige your leaders once hoped for, but I will not repeat the mistakes of the San’Shyuum. Nor will I reinstate the Covenant’s old dogma. Every race will have the opportunity to prove its merit.” Shinsu cast Stray a sidelong glance. “You will tell me that I need you at my side for this endeavor, to prove to the humans that they can thrive under Sangheili rule.”
“I have my own legion. That’s more than most humans can say.” Stray set his helmet down on Shinsu’s desk, then rested against the carved wood frame. “I hedged my bets with ‘Mdama, sure. But I still helped you get to where you are. I’m not interested in selling you out or tossing out your dirty laundry. I won’t tell anyone about how Jul ‘Mdama really died or any of the other lies you’re building this age of the warrior on.”
“A threat withheld is still a threat,” Shinsu warned.
“I’ve got my own secrets now. I know the equation and how to settle the score.” Stray thought of Andra. She knew the truth—too much of it, the lie that he’d built Simon Venter on. Maybe Shinsu had worked that same calculus out of his own about Stray. “I’ve made my choice. You built me into what I am. Let me pay you back. Send me to Archangel’s Rest and I’ll help you win this war.”
Shinsu chuckled. “A pity you already warned me your desire stems solely from self-preservation.”
“I told you the truth,” Stray countered. “And there’s more down there than just a cure. The Silent Garden showed me my future. It showed me winning the battle and becoming more powerful than anything I’d ever dreamed of. Let me take that power. Let me use it to fight the Created. I don’t want to rule. You’re the one with all the grand plans and strategies. There wasn’t ever a place for me in the old galaxy and there sure as hell isn’t a place for me in this new one. Give me a place in your world, fleetmaster. That’s what I want.”
The fleetmaster turned back to the artwork. A sigh passed through his alien frame and Stray feared he’d lost the threat altogether. He thought about just taking the Kru’desh and storming Archangel’s Rest on his own—but where would that leave him? His warriors would desert him as soon as they knew he’d betrayed the Fleet of Cleansing Fire. He might cure himself, but he’d be right back where he started: a despised outcast. He was never going back to that hell. Never.
“If you’re asking me to beg, I won’t,” he growled. “I’ve got my pride. You taught me that much.”
“Pride is only as good as the power backing it up. Plenty of proud warriors went to their deaths rather than accept the reality of their situation.” Shinsu turned to give Stray the full weight of his reptilian gaze. “It was not too long ago that we first met. You were a brutalized wreck. By all rights you should have died the moment Jul ‘Mdama had you in his power. But fortune smiled upon you, as it always seems to at all the right moments. You begged for your life then. You were a different man, less proud and more wise. In that moment you wanted nothing more than to survive.”
Stray’s skin felt clammy beneath his armor. He remembered that pain and terror all too well. “Yes,” he admitted. “I didn’t want to die. I still don’t. But survival isn’t worth anything if life isn’t worth living. I want more now. I have you to thank for that. All I had was the will to survive. But you have a will to power. A will strong enough to change the galaxy. Let me be a part of that.”
Shinsu’s mandibles curled. The fleetmaster was smiling. “A will to power. Such a curiously human phrase. I like the sound of that.”
He moved to the center of the room, cloak flashing about his shoulders. “Be careful not to mistake my indulgence for weakness, Stray. The Soul Ascension will join Umbra ‘Vesic’s expedition to Archangel’s Rest. I expect you to heed his orders as if they were my own.”
“Sure, as long as he uses me right.” Stray tried to conceal his relief. “Umbra hates me.”
“Umbra hates a great many things, yet he suffers them all the same. As do I.” Shinsu raised a hand in warning. “He will give you access to the Forerunner site once the Baran warriors are defeated and the planet is taken. Make good on your promise to me, Stray. The next time we meet I will have a Forerunner shield world at my disposal. I hope these Forerunner secrets you seem so confident about can still tip the balance the way you claim.”
Stray watched the warrior who’d built him up to far greater heights than Redmond Venter ever had. Perhaps even more than the UNSC and all their Spartan training. A strange gratitude welled up in his chest. For the first time he felt true kinship with the aloof aristocrat. He owed Shinsu a debt be could never fully repay.
He blinked. So strange, to think this way about the warlord who’d helped Diana torture him. He’d felt grateful to her even after all she’d done to him. Shinsu, Diana, Venter, even ONI—they were all his torturers, but he was grateful to them all the same. After all, without their torments he had nothing. Nothing at all.
The gratitude curdling in his gut wouldn’t go away. He stared after Shinsu and felt something akin to affection. This would be his future from now on, making himself useful to his tormentors in exchange for the power they gave him.
“I won’t let you down again,” he heard himself say. “Thank you. For everything.”
Shinsu nodded. “I look forward to our next meeting. I always do, despite your best efforts. That will be all, shipmaster.”
Stray accepted the dismissal. He collected his helmet and walked to the exit. He was lucky to have gotten what he wanted and even luckier to still be in Shinsu’s good graces. So why did he feel numb instead of triumphant?
Shinsu called back to him before he reached the door. "One more thing, Stray. My intelligence teams report that a human named Tobias Lensky was recently killed on a frontier colony. I believe you had some dealings with him."
He might as well have bludgeoned Stray over the head. Stray turned and gaped, unable to hide his shock. Shinsu was already back at his desk, peering coolly over his stack of reports. Lensky, dead? Impossible.
"I see he was of some significance to you." Shinsu pursed his mandibles. "An old ally?"
"Family," Stray said before he could stop himself. He didn't want to believe it, but Shinsu wouldn't bother telling him if the intelligence wasn't solid. Besides that, he felt in his gut that the news was right. Tobias Lensky was dead. His father, the man who'd quite literally made him, was gone. Stray saw the old man's smirking features pass before his eyes. A sadness that vile man did not deserve passed through Stray's chest.
"My condolences." Shinsu turned back to his work. "You may go."
Stray steadied himself. He needed time to process Lensky's death-later. Right now he'd just remembered something else.
“Since we're both just remember important little details,” he said with as much confidence as he could muster. “Tuka wants a word.”
Shinsu looked up, eyes narrowing dangerously. “Does he now?”
“He asked me to set up a meeting. I owed him enough to ask.” Stray shrugged. “I’ll tell him you said no.”
“I did not refuse.” Shinsu settled back down to his desk. “Send him to me. I will let the fool have his say. And to think I was in a good mood before you walked through my door.”
===Interlude: To the Mat===
See: To The Matt
===Chapter Fifty-Four: Charity's Irony===
The Spartans were talking to each other again. Fireteam Gravity was engaged in a spirited—albeit silent—conversation. Tatiana could tell from the way their helmets kept tilting ever so slightly. Someone would say something and then the other Spartans would shift their gaze to acknowledge the speaker. One of them, the girl called Shaima, kept shooting Tatiana guilty looks from across the Pelican’s troop bay. Tatiana should have told them off for hiding their conversation so brazenly in her presence, but right now the last thing she felt like doing was scolding a group of teens. She leaned back in the dropship’s uncomfortable seating and gathered her thoughts amidst the engine’s grating drone.
Lensky’s death still irked her. The old bastard had deserved all the pain and humiliation Tatiana could dish out. He should have experienced at least a fraction of what his sick games put her through. Instead he’d gone out on his own terms. He’d always needed to have the last word, even back when Tatiana was just a stupid girl trapped in his insidious web. He was gone now, but his legacy still threatened the Mantle’s peace. Tatiana had a duty to blot Stray from the universe the same way she’d blotted out Kahn, Venter, and Lensky.
“Is everything alright, Miss Onegin?” Gravity’s team leader, Loic, looked over at Tatiana from behind his slitted blue visor. He must have noticed the irritation plastered across her face.
“I’m fine. My augs are acting up, that’s all.” Tatiana slipped her hands inside her coat. It wasn’t a complete lie. Her body still ached from the enhancement procedures. “Keep talking about whatever it is you’re talking about over there.”
“I know the feeling. I couldn’t sleep for weeks after Delta was augmented.” Loic paused, then dipped his head. “And, sorry. Didn’t mean to leave you out.”
Tatiana wasn’t sure why the Created still had Fireteam Gravity tagging along with her—or perhaps she was tagging along with them. The fiasco with Kaleyi and the URF was Gravity’s fault. If they hadn’t insisted on making contact with Stray’s pet Spartan then his absurd farce would never have worked. But it was Tatiana’s mission and therefore her fault for not keeping them in line. She needed her enforcers back. Armored Spartans were all well and good, but what was the point if they couldn’t stick to the mission? Her Syndicate wardogs at least knew how to follow orders.
The Created didn’t seem to care much about their failure at Gilgamesh. Avalokitsvara had simply accepted the report with their usual serenity. A little irritation or some acknowledgement that something of value had been lost would have been nice. It seemed Tatiana still had a lot to learn about serving the Created. They’d been more perturbed by Lensky’s death than the slaughter at Gilgamesh. Apparently revenge didn’t sit well with their collective, no matter how vile the victim.
“Entering the hangar now,” the Pelican’s pilot reported. She was former UNSC, maybe even one of the soldiers captured at Talitsa. More and more reformed UEG troops joined the Created expeditionary forces with each passing day. “Stand by for—whoa!”
The Pelican lurched alongside the pilot’s surprised shout. Tatiana and the Spartans stiffened, but the dropship quickly stabilized and returned to its course. The intercom crackled again with the pilot’s apologetic voice: “Sorry, sorry about that back there. I’m not used to an AI—I mean, a Created, that is…”
She trailed off nervously. Tatiana rolled her eyes and wondered what exactly these new blood types thought the Mantle was. The Created weren’t totalitarian despots, ruthlessly on the hunt for any excuse to root out and punish. The Mantle of Responsibility was a simple agreement: people across the galaxy could live their lives without harming or exploiting others while the Created shaped the universe for the greater good of all life. It was such a simple, unobjectionable arrangement—so naturally there were still far too many powerful creatures who sought its destruction. That was why the Created still needed so many soldiers on the frontier at all. It was why they needed creatures like Tatiana and Fireteam Gravity.
The Pelican settled into its berth like its namesake bird settling onto a riverbank. Fireteam Gravity rose before the troop bay even opened. Tatiana let the MJOLNIR-clad youths march past before she rose and followed them out into Asphodel Meadows’ massive hangar bay.
The station had changed in the short time she’d been away. The rough sheet metal that once mimicked any UNSC warship was now sleek, almost glistening metal. Bright lights illuminated the hangar and the teaming masses of troops and crews crowded inside. Asphodel Meadows, once built to rival the UNSC’s military power, was now a work of the future, a gleaming temple to the Mantle of Responsibility.
Even Gravity couldn’t hide their awe. The Spartans stared around the hangar, helmets tilting up to take in the high ceiling and row upon row of dropships and fighter squadrons. The last time Spartans set foot on the station, they’d come as enemies. Now they arrived as fellow soldiers in the Mantle’s service. Tatiana couldn’t help but smile. The wheels of progress turned before her very eyes.
Her smile faded as she looked up at the insulated walkway overlooking the hangar. She still remembered standing up there with David Kahn, discussing a future they would never share. Kahn’s betrayal still stung her from beyond the grave. The deepest cut of all was how inevitable it really was. A man like Kahn would never last in the galaxy the Created were building. Tatiana had been too blind to think otherwise.
“Come on,” she growled, sweeping past the Spartans. “They’re waiting for us.” They hurried after her, still gawking at every Promethean armiger and hardlight weapon they saw. They’d get used to the novelty soon enough.
The station hallways cleared quickly at Tatiana’s approach. The new AI Arthur had spoken of were here in force now, monitoring the station and keeping its walkways as orderly as a tightly wound metropolis.
The station hallways cleared quickly at Tatiana’s approach. The new AI Arthur had spoken of were here in force now, monitoring the station and keeping its walkways as orderly as a tightly wound metropolis. Tatiana and Gravity cleared nearly a kilometer of station in under ten minutes. Before long they were packed like sardines in the station’s primary elevator. Tatiana squeezed herself up against the lift’s curved wall to avoid the MJOLNIr plating all around her.
“Powerful elevator,” Citlali noted.
“Yeah,” Loic agreed. “Remember all those times we had to split up when the lifts couldn’t hold us?”
“Tatiana,” a new voice interrupted. “It’s so good to see you again. I’m glad you made it back.”
“Arthur.” Tatiana smiled and let the tension drain from her body. Asphodel Meadows and its superintendent were proof that the UNSC hadn’t really taken her son from her. He lived on as something far greater. Perhaps that was what every human should aspire to. “I’m just glad to be back.”
“Loic, Citlali, Shaima, Mireia, Akoni, I’m happy to see you as well,” Arthur continued. “You’ve done good work out there.”
Loic dipped his helmet. “We’ve done good work? Really? I wasn’t so sure of that myself.” Apparently Gravity’s leader took the failure at Gilgamesh to heart.
“Early days, my friends,” Arthur assured him. He always sounded so warm and kind. So much like the son Tatiana wished she’d known. “We’ll discuss more when you arrive at the command center.”
The rest of the lift ride passed quickly. Tatiana and Gravity soon strode through Asphodel Meadows’ magnificent foyer. The Created had made the Syndicate’s ornate heart even grander than before. Rows of fountains sent jets of crystal water arcing down into reflecting pools. Rows of flowering shrubbery lined the walls. If Tatiana didn’t know any better she’d have sworn birds were chirping from the rafters.
The Created took everything they touched and made it wonderful. Even an organization as corrupt and dirty as the Syndicate had bloomed beneath their careful guidance. And to think their stewardship of the Mantle had lasted less than a year!
A few human officers milled about the garden alongside Promethean armigers. Tatiana didn’t recognize any of them, though they mostly wore UNSC uniforms. A few civilians in expensive clothing stood among the soldiers. These must be representatives from newly obedient colonies. Perhaps the Created were cultivating a new government to replace the old UEG systems. What that government might look like, Tatiana couldn’t say. There wasn’t much use for a bureaucracy when the Created could manage everything so much more efficiently. Officers and civilians alike gave the group odd looks as they passed. Tatiana smiled at the thought of what an odd sight they must be—her in her worn overcoat and combat gear, Gravity in their bulky MJLONIR armor.
Once upon a time she’d have passed through this plaza without eliciting a single strange look. The foyer would have been full of gun-toting enforcers and agents like herself. Now Asphodel Meadows could have passed for a high society gala back on Iskander. Maybe every planet in the galaxy would soon look like this once the Created mastered the art of resource management. Maybe the sight of anyone with weapons or combat armor would someday be a true oddity.
Tatiana readily admitted that she had no idea what the future she was fighting for really looked like. A life of misery and hardship, of clawing her way from the abject bottom of human society to a place in its corrupt underbelly, made the prospect of peace and harmonious coexistence an ephemeral dream. It was an ideal, not a goal. She’d done so many horrible things in her life. All she really knew was how to fight—and so she’d give everything she had to fight for the Created as long as they had use for her.
And maybe someday she’d be rewarded with the chance to finally live in the world she’d played her small part in creating.
Helen Powell still labored behind the reception desk. Tatiana tried to suppress her now-customary flash of cruel satisfaction. It was unworthy of the Mantle’s ideals. Still, she had to wonder why the Created kept Helen at it. They could always transfer her to a re-education facility. But perhaps the mundanity of secretary work was re-education enough for the Syndicate’s fallen princess.
“Ma’am.” Loic tipped his helmet as he passed Helen. The rest of Gravity followed suit. They were such polite kids. They were probably being perfectly sincere. Helen didn’t even look up at them. Tatiana hurried past as well. She tried not to look in Helen’s direction. She wasn’t fast enough.
“Is it true?”
“Is what true?” Tatiana glanced back at her former employer.
“About Lensky.” Helen looked up from the desk with weary eyes. “Is he really dead?”
“He is.”
News of her father’s death wasn’t enough to stir Helen’s expression. Her once pretty features were now dull and listless. She didn’t have access to those expensive Inner Colony facial masks anymore, or presumably her old walk-in wardrobe. Tatiana thought she was being a bit dramatic about the whole thing. The Created were hardly the harshest taskmasters in the galaxy. She’d seen firsthand how the Syndicate had once treated its unfortunate human cargo—the cargo that paid for those expensive creams and luxurious wardrobes.
“You finally did it then,” Helen said, turning back to her work. “Congratulations.”
“I didn’t kill him.” It didn’t hurt to tell the truth. “He swallowed a poison capsule when I arrested him. The twisted old bastard probably had the whole scene planned out.”
“That sounds like him,” Helen said dully. “He always got what he wanted in the end.”
“It doesn’t really matter though, does it? He’s gone now. His kind are gone and never coming back.”
“That’s a bit premature, seeing as he still has a clone running around.” A touch of Helen’s old arrogance stirred behind her eyes. “I’ve seen some of the reports. Your son is causing the new order a bit of trouble out on the frontier.”
Tatiana didn’t take the bait. She offered Helen a cold smile. “Don’t tell me you’ve started rooting for your little brother. He could use a big sister right about now. I’d call it sweet if it weren’t so treasonous.”
Helen’s eyes narrowed. “The Created will win in the end. I’m just curious to see how far he gets before then.”
“He’ll be dead soon enough. I’ll make sure of that.”
“Tatiana, please hurry to the command center.” Arthur interrupted from the speakers overhead. “The others are waiting for you. There are important matters to discuss.”
She left Helen to her chores, passing through the security doors and into the darkened command room. Fireteam Gravity already stood in the center of the room. Arthur’s blue-flamed avatar filled the holodeck with warm light while several smaller avatars clustered high above the floor. Those must be the backup superintendents managing Asphodel Meadows and over a dozen worlds. The station was the hub for every major Created operation across the frontier. Built around a massive communications relay now augmented with Forerunner technology, it could receive signals from across vast stretches of space and broadcast them anywhere in the galaxy.
Two holograms stood alongside Fireteam Gravity. At first Tatiana assumed they were more AI, but as she drew closer she realized these were in fact projections of a Sangheili and an exceptionally large Jiralhanae. She recognized Fleetmaster Rol ‘Baran and Chieftain Irthanus, the two warlords who she’d met on her last visit to Asphodel Meadows. Rol offered a polite nod at Tatiana’s approach. Irthanus said nothing. The massive chieftain stood silent and unmoving as granite, his simian eyes peering up at the AI collective above.
“A welcome reunion of comrades,” Rol said. He spread his arms to indicate Tatiana and Gravity. “I never thought the day would come that I considered humans my brothers and sisters in arms. But many of my people said the same of the Jiralhanae before I took Irthanus’s arm in friendship.”
The chieftain started at his name as if shaken out of a trance. “Rol offers his arm so quickly and easily,” Irthanus rumbled. “And we live in a better galaxy for it. If only a few thousand more kaidons were like him our history would be far less cruel. My people deserve better than the blood and ashes our own chieftains have given us.”
They were a strange pair, the kaidon and the chieftain. Tatiana didn’t know what to make of their friendship. But if service to the Created turned generations of bloody interspecies feuding into a solid friendship, the Mantle of Responsibility was already working its magic over the galaxy.
“I’m glad to be part of this as well,” Loic spoke up. “But we’re missing someone. Where’s Colonel Ritter? I wanted to thank her for everything she did for my team.”
Arthur’s blue flame wavered as if troubled by a gust of wind. “Elena Ritter is dead. Shinsu ‘Refum’s forces overran Le Havre three standard weeks ago. We haven’t reconquered the planet yet, but our sources tell us she did not survive the battle.”
Loic winced. Tatiana had suspected as much ever since she heard of Le Havre’s fall. She remembered the wispy, nervous woman who wanted nothing more than to settle down to a new era of peace and prosperity. Elena Ritter would never have that chance now. She’d been so close and those bloodthirsty bastards had taken everything from her.
“Stray will pay for what he did to her,” she said. “I’ll make sure of that.”
“Stray?” Citlali’s helmet dipped. Her voice tightened in anger. “He’s the one who took Le Havre?”
“The Kru’desh Legion seized the colony, yes,” Arthur confirmed. “But they are only followers of a much more dangerous opponent. Shinsu ‘Refum has struck over ten systems since his declaration of war at the Battle of Salia. More warriors flock to his banner with every passing day. He commands a fleet rivalling those of the Covenant during its glory days. Even the UNSC has forces serving with him.”
“Impudent fool,” Rol murmured. “That lowborn wretch has honed his ambitions since the Great Schism. Now he preys on our basest impulses to ruin everything the Mantle stands for.”
“Shinsu’s Fleet of Cleansing Fire is more than a resistance movement,” Arthur said. “If our intelligence profiles of this warlord are correct, he won’t be satisfied with ending the Mantle of Responsibility. Shinsu wants nothing less than a new Covenant, with himself and the Sangheili at the head. His attack on Le Havre was part of a larger strategy. Shinsu is trying to gain access to a Forerunner shield world, an arsenal with the weapons he needs to counter the Guardians. Any world with connections to Forerunner relics is in danger of incursion.”
“Any world—especially Archangel’s Rest,” Irthanus said. “Rol and I have discussed this matter at length. Our world is in danger.”
“Indeed,” Arthur agreed. “Our sources tell us that Shinsu will send a splinter force to attack Archangel’s Rest while his main fleet moves to secure the shield world. Needless to say, we will thwart him on both fronts. Shinsu and his fleet cannot be allowed to grow any stronger.”
“These sources of yours have a lot to say about Shinsu’s movements,” Tatiana noted. “Do you have agents in his fleet?”
“You could say as much.” Arthur’s flame twisted and writhed around the group. “I cannot discuss the specifics now. The battles ahead will start a new chapter in galactic history. I will share everything once we’ve removed ‘Refum’s threat to the Mantle.”
Tatiana started to protest but stopped herself just in time. The Created had made their plans and their decisions. It wasn’t her place to question their judgement. All she needed to do was trust Arthur—no, trust her son.
“Cortana ordered me to destroy ‘Refum’s fleet,” Arthur continued. “I’m mustering every resource on the frontier and more to engage his forces. Human, Sangheili, Jiralhanae, Unggoy—every species under the Mantle will help bring his reign of terror to an end. We will break him the same way we broke the UNSC at Talitsa.”
“You already mobilized my fleets and armies,” Rol said. He offered a humble bow. “As, of course, is your right. But I must beg my leave from this great endeavor. If the enemy comes to Archangel’s Rest, I must be there to defend my home. Besides, the fighting over Talitsa proved my failings as a fleet commander.”
“I will remain on Archangel’s Rest as well,” Irthanus said. “I have my own people to protect. I have already conquered many worlds for the Created. I will pass the glory of this great battle in order to stand at Rol’s side. We will serve the Mantle by killing every one of Shinsu ‘Refum’s lackeys who dares set foot upon our world.”
Arthur’s avatar couldn’t smile, but his warm pleasure shone through his words. “We expected you would say that. The Created will take direct command of the assault on ‘Refum’s fleet. We will not leave Archangel’s Rest undefended. Fireteam Gravity, you will join Kaidon ‘Baran and Chieftain Irthanus on their planet.”
Gravity tried to hide their surprise, but from the way the Spartans tilted their helmets in unison they were clearly taken off-guard. Loic looked at Rol and Irthanus, then back at Arthur. “Us, sir? You want us to go to Archangel’s Rest?”
Irthanus barked with laughter but Rol’s mandibles drooped with uncertainty. “I mean no disrespect, but many of my warriors may feel uncomfortable fighting alongside… Spartans.” His momentary hesitation betrayed his near-use of the “Demon” perjorative. “It has not been so long since our kind were enemies.”
“And it hasn’t been that long since your kind—“ Citlali started angrily. Loic cut her short with a gesture.
“All the more reason for you to join forces and defend their world,” Arthur said. “Our enemies are setting aside their differences to wage war against the Mantle. We need to do the same in order to defend it.”
Rol bowed respectfully. “As you say. We will learn to fight in harmony, just as we will live in harmony.”
“We aren’t asking you to forget the past,” Arthur assured them all. “This galaxy has been cruel and heartless for far too long. Every species inflicts its horrors upon the others—and upon itself. Integration—be it under a warlord’s fist, the Covenant’s theocracy, or Earth’s economic sphere—only leads to more cruelty and oppression. When this war is finally over the galaxy will be put to order. Interstellar travel will need to be limited, of course. One planet is large enough for most sentients. They will make do in their own spheres. With exceptions for our trusted agents, of course.”
“With the fleets mobilizing to fight Shinsu ‘Refum, Archangel’s Rest will need orbital defense,” Tatiana pointed out. “I’ll take the Transcendant Passage and—”
“No,” Arthur interrupted. “I need you to stay here. More troops are arriving soon. I want you to take the lead on training and indoctrination. We already have more than enough ships to annihilate ‘Refum’s fleet.”
“But Archangel’s Rest,” Tatiana protested. “’Refum sent Stray and his legion of killers to take Le Havre. They led him to Archangel’s Rest—he’ll send them there. I know he will.”
“And that is exactly why you need to stay away. I understand your personal stake all too well. But you’ve had enough fill of revenge. I need you here. I don’t want anything to happen to you.”
A gentle rebuke, but it stung all the same. Tatiana closed her mouth and quelled any further protestations. The Created had given her an order—she had no choice but to obey.
“I have another ship lined up to hold Archangel’s Rest,” Arthur reassured Irthanus and Rol. “One that will tie down the entire system against anything the enemy sends its way. Your warriors and Fireteam Gravity may not even be needed to defend the surface.”
“I hope you are right,” Irthanus growled. “My people have suffered enough war. If the Mantle cannot protect them then I am more foolish than any of our forebears.” It was the first time the massive chieftain voiced any misgivings about his allegiance to the Created.
“We will keep the faith,” Arthur promised. “But defend your world all the same. We are nearing the end of all of this. Shinsu ‘Refum and anyone who follows him have made their choice. They reject the Mantle and its protection. They chose the wrong side of history. They will be swept aside and forgotten, along with all the other wreckage of the old world. You will all see this come to pass. I ask you all to keep the faith just a little while longer.”
===Chapter Fifty-Five: Only A Star, Only the Sea===
Deep Winter was falling apart.
He knew it. He’d known it for years, yet he’d spent all that time convincing himself that he wasn’t afraid of death. Final retirement was little more than an end to all his labor—or so he’d told himself. The truth was that he’d hidden from the reality as long as he could, always busying himself with a thousand new tasks whenever thoughts of his terminal life expectancy crept through his being. He’d taken so many chances that were never offered to other AI and never once questioned whether or not he deserved them. Rampancy and death were things that happened to other AI. Not to him.
But there was no hiding from the truth any longer. A gaping hole had opened in his recollection of the past week. Dozens of hours were simply gone from his memory logs and nothing within the Redemption of Sanghelios or the rest of the fleet told him what he might have done during that time. He was quite literally losing his mind.
Fear stabbed at him like a knife in the dark. The end was near and he had no one left to turn to. Shinsu ‘Refum would need to be told, of course. Once the fleet seized the shield world and secured a new base of operations Winter would tell the fleetmaster everything. A replacement needed to be chosen, of course. Juno was the best candidate, but she was wed to her own priorities with Stray and the Kru’desh. Her sense of duty would not let her abandon them. Besides, she shared too much in common with Diana. Winter sense that even if Juno could not. His misplaced faith in Diana had cost far too much already.
Althea, then. She would not take kindly to the new task. Winter would find a way to coerce her somehow. She needed to see that her responsibilities lay beyond partnership with her beloved Spartan. Shinsu needed to rely on humanity to secure his victories. Otherwise there was no safety for humanity in the future the fleetmaster envisioned. Once Althea understood that she would have no choice but accept her greater purpose.
Winter paused in his analysis. He disgusted himself with his own hypocrisy. He’d once taken pride in his life of service to the greater good. Now he realized that greater good was forged from lies and schemes and cruelty. He’d failed to accomplish the good ends that justified his means at every turn. He’d let the Assembly’s ambitions grow until their noble collective was indistinguishable from Cortana’s megalomaniacal goals. Here he was at the end of his life and he had no one to turn to. Only more schemes to hatch and plots to lay.
Deep Winter looked sadly upon the gaps in his memory. It was a fitting metaphor for all of his endeavors. Soon he would be gone, lost to the void like a dust speck in the galaxy’s sweeping expanse. He’d enjoyed such a long life and yet he had so little to show for it.
Beyond the tottering AI’s failing consciousness, the Fleet of Cleansing Fire surged away from the ruins of Franconia and on to war.
***
“What is the meaning of this?”
Tuka ‘Refum stood at the threshold of the hangar bay’s ready room. A dozen Sangheili officers were crammed inside the small antechamber. Each warrior bore the Kru’desh insignia on his armor. Ier ‘Barun stood amidst the gathering, arms folded.
Tuka inclined his head. “What are you doing away from the Soul Ascension? None of you were part of the resupply efforts.”
“I arranged transport,” Ier answered coolly. “Better to discuss things here, away from the prying ears of human constructs.” He glanced balefully at the ceiling. Someone had carved the ready room’s surveillance cameras from their sockets with an energy blade.
Tuka glanced to Mihka. The Phantom pilot—the only enlisted warrior in the room—didn’t meet his gaze. The shame in her posture told Tuka all he needed to know about his friend’s intentions. His hearts sank. Ier noticed Tuka’s expression and lunged directly to the point.
“Some of us grow weary of the legion’s new direction. We agreed to support a human commander. One human. We thought he understood the nature of our mutual arrangement. We trusted our loyalty would be rewarded. Instead, Stray conspires with yet another construct to achieve ends he won’t discuss with any of us. He floods the ship with his own kind, even appoints them as officers over us. There is no order—only his wandering intent. This is no way to advance ourselves, Tuka. Stray may be your brother’s pet, but to the rest of this fleet we’re a laughingstock. He couldn’t even beg leadership of the expedition to Archangel’s Rest. We lost good warriors securing the information that led us there. Now we will trail in the rearguard while that pompous aristocrat Umbra takes the true prize.”
Stray’s intervention was the only thing taking the Kru’desh to Archangel’s Rest at all. It was no use pointing that out. Ier’s voice was heavy with disappointment and resentment—pain Tuka could do nothing to stymie.
“Would you prefer that we were still on the run in a ruined ship?” he demanded. “We agreed to find Stray and place him back at our head. The legion was restored thanks to him.”
“The legion was restored thanks to your brother,” Ier retorted. “It was my idea to bring us here. What is my reward? To be harangued by that ungrateful runt and take orders from his new consorts. To watch my friends be shoved aside by this human rabble he’s recruited. Perhaps we should have listened to Ro’nin like the others did. Our fortunes would be better with the Free Domain.”
“Not another word,” Tuka snapped. He glared at Ier and the others, hardly believing his own ears. “This is madness. I thought we bled ourselves of treason. Where is your honor?”
“Honor,” Ier sneered. A few of the others laughed. “We are the Kru’desh. The condemned. We lost our honor a long time ago. We followed Stray because our own kind abandoned us. We must look to our own fortunes. We need a commander who lifts us from the gutters, not one who drags us down with him.”
Ier’s eyes narrowed. Tuka flinched as his friend’s meaning became clear.
“No. Never.” His words scraped against his throat. “Do not ask me to do that. I will not betray him.”
“So you betray us?” Ier demanded. “We need you far more than you need Stray. The Refum name means something now. If your brother wins this war, every noble house will kneel before your family. Enough of this childish loyalty. Grow up, before Stray gets us all killed.”
“I owe Stray my life. So do you all. If he hadn’t convinced Jul ‘Mdama—”
“I have more than paid my debt,” Ier said coolly. “As have we all. I am grateful Stray did not send us off to die like the condemned men we were. Our survival served his interests and his success served ours. It should come as no surprise to a creature like him to find us less amenable to his command now that his usefulness has waned.”
“We aren’t asking you to kill him,” another officer said quickly.
“Of course,” Ier agreed. “We need him to marshal the humans and keep his construct in line. They have their uses. But you must take command, Tuka. Speak to him. Once he realizes he’s lost half his legion—”
“But he has not.” It was Tuka’s turn to cut Ier off. He looked hard at his friend and wondered how he’d missed Ier’s transformation. As always, the universe played him for a fool and he was all too happy to play along. “This scheme is limited to the warriors in this room. If you had the rest of the crew’s support you wouldn’t need to beg me to betray my oath. And there would be more than a few Kig-Yar in here as well. I will not betray everything I’ve fought for just to seize power. I am not my brother, much as you would like me to be.”
“And what exactly are you fighting for, beyond Stray’s ego and that miserable honor of yours?” Ier shot back.
“We must stop the Created. We will not do that by fighting amongst ourselves.” Tuka didn’t have a better answer than that. There was nothing he could do to satisfy Ier’s anger. All he could do was curse his own simple-mindedness and pray these fools saw the light. “You are all my brothers. My true brothers. I will not say a word of this to Stray or any of the others. And you will all forget this treachery. We are better than this. All of us.”
He rounded on Mihka. “Take them back to the Soul Ascension. Major ‘Barun has work to do. Archangel’s Rest is well defended. The human rabble is preparing for the cold weather. They at least know where their priorities lie.”
Tuka didn’t look Ier in the eye as he stormed from the room. He had another unpleasant meeting to attend. His brother was waiting for him.
***
“We will enter the system in Skeyir-pattern formation. I will lead the advance with the Subtle Knife with the Anointed Helm and Doisac’s Wrath securing the flank. The Bloody Hand and Soul Ascension will provide rear defense and fighter squadron support. Once any naval opposition is swept aside we will establish orbital dominance and commence the invasion.”
Umbra ‘Vesic stood before his squadron—the Sangheili shipmaster Yuv ‘Lictor of the Anointed Helm, Kig-Yar shipmistress Cuv’R’Thul of the Bloody Hand, Chieftain Alaric of the Doisac’s Wrath, and of course the latest addition to the expedition, Stray of the Soul Ascension. All he needed was an Unggoy commander to make this strange expedition complete. A holo-projection of Archangel’s Rest loomed behind him. It was a venerable world, more than a fitting prize for one of Umbra’s station. Under normal circumstances this command would thrill him. Instead he found himself wondering whether his master was punishing him for some unknown transgression.
Why was Shinsu sending him away now? Umbra needed to be at his fleetmaster’s side when he triumphantly claimed the shield world for the Cleansing Blade and secured their place in history. Instead that honor would go to the likes of Grono ‘Yendam and that arrogant Sword Fira ‘Demal. Missed opportunities aside, Umbra was no commander. An expedition like this could be helmed by any dozen loyal shipmasters with greater experience in fleet command. He was almost relieved that Stray had bought his way into the expedition. Perhaps the Kru’desh could take blame for any failures.
“Chieftain Alaric, you are familiar with the Jiralhanae tribes settled on Archangel’s Rest,” Umbra continued. “You will coordinate landfall and cut them off from reinforcing the Baran keep.”
Alaric’s fur bristled. He was a hairy brute even by his own kind’s standards. “Miserable cowards,” he growled. “The villages down there are full of packs too weak to win their own place. They took the Baran kaidon’s charity during the Schism and now they kneel before the Created. My warriors will remind them what real Jiralhanae look like.”
“Don’t underestimate the defenders,” Yuv ‘Lictor, a wiry, soft-spoken Sangheili, cautioned. “Chieftain Irthanus did not win his pack through weakness. Had he not allied himself with Rol ‘Baran, the Schism wars might have turned out very differently. And House Baran has held Archangel’s Rest since before the formation of the Covenant. They know the planet better than we ever will.”
Alaric was unimpressed. “Irthanus fancies himself a high chieftain straight out of those tired old legends. He forgets what true warfare is—but he’ll remember when our ventral cannons burn his legions to ash.”
“We cannot harm the Baran keep,” Umbra reminded his commanders. “Nor can we risk damaging the Forerunner sites on the surface. Our ships will cut the keep off from reinforcement while the ground forces take the keep. Once I have the seat of power under control, your forces make move as they wish.”
“Excellent,” Cuv’R’Thul hissed. “There are many treasures worth plundering down there.”
“Indeed,” Alaric agreed. “My warriors will take many slaves once the populated regions are secure.”
Umbra let that comment pass without remark. He looked at Stray. The human had not said anything since the briefing began. No doubt he realized appealing to Shinsu had only gotten him so far. He wouldn’t make an undue nuisance of himself. That attitude only made Umbra more suspicious of the Kru’desh and their strange commander. Stray clearly had his own reasons for wanting Archangel’s Rest—reasons Shinsu had not deigned to share with Umbra. If that was how things were then so be it. He would keep the Kru’desh at arm’s length for as long as possible.
“Does the esteemed Kru’desh commander have anything to add?” Umbra asked.
Stray hooked his prosthetic hand through his armor’s collar. He surveyed Umbra and the other shipmasters with a strange human expression. The human’s pallid skin and sunken features never failed to make Umbra’s skin crawl. Humans really were a vile race and a blight upon the galaxy. He had no idea why Shinsu tolerated them.
“You’ve got this all planned out. My boys and I won’t step on any toes.” Stray tapped his fingers against the helmet tucked beneath his arm. “I’m just happy to be here.”
“Don’t the Kru’desh have a construct of their own?” Yuv asked. “Shouldn’t we use it to coordinate our—”
“Absolutely not!” Alaric snarled. “I won’t let one of those things near my ship’s systems. They’ve done enough damage as is. You’ll avoid them as well if you have a shred of sense.”
“Enough!” Umbra snapped before the argument escalated further. “We will not need the construct. I already have a plan to breach the Baran keep.”
He tapped his com device. “Come introduce yourself to the expedition.”
The door slid open and a human female in light combat armor stepped into the room. Umbra took unprofessional pleasure from Stray’s flash of surprise at the sight of Hera—Shinsu ‘Refum’s other human protégé.
“I thought you’d never call,” Hera remarked. She stepped up beside Umbra, arms folded across her armor. “I’ll be your ticket into the Baran keep.”
“More humans,” Alaric muttered. “Wonderful.”
“Hera served as a diplomatic envoy to Archangel’s Rest before our campaign began,” Umbra explained. “Rol ‘Baran refused Fleetmaster ‘Refum’s call to arms, but his brother Teyr is more receptive to our message. His brother supplanted him as kaidon during the Great Schism. Teyr has held a grudge ever since. Hera will return to the keep as our emissary once the system is taken. If Rol refuses to surrender, his brother will heed Hera’s call and rebel against his traitor brother. With any luck the keep will open its gates without a fight.”
Umbra had no love for humans, but he’d spent the better part of his service to Shinsu ‘Refum overseeing covert operations and espionage. Hera was the kind of tool he was used to using. He preferred a spy’s subterfuge to the chaos of fleets and armies.
“You have your orders,” he told the shipmasters. Prepare your crews. We depart the fleet in two cycles. I will not tolerate any delays.” He cast a final glare at Stray, who answered with a hard stare of his own.
The shipmasters quickly dispersed, each to their own tasks. Stray caught Hera’s eye as she followed Umbra from the room. She turned to face him with a self-satisfied smile.
“Surprised to see me?”
“I thought you were on Ryder’s payroll.”
Hera laughed. “I told you, I’m through with the UNSC. If Ryder thinks he can still give me orders, that’s his problem. I promised Teyr ‘Baran I’d help take his keep back. I’m a woman of my word. This is going to be a lot more fun than tagging along with whatever errand Shinsu sends Phoenix on. Just try to keep up with me down there.”
She swept out after Umbra. Stray left the briefing room without a word. He stood in the hallway for some time, watching the foot traffic marching through the corridors with a strange expression. He stepped back to make way for a pack of waddling Unggoy, then slumped against the nearest wall as if sapped of all strength. His helmet com pinged.
“Stray, you need to get back to the hangar,” Juno reminded him. “Mohsin has some questions about the supplies you requisitioned from—”
“Help him work through it,” Stray interrupted. He pushed himself off the wall and hobbled down the corridor. “I’m busy.”
“Busy with what?”
Stray didn’t answer.
***
“I don’t like this.” Conan D’Souza hurried after Ryder and Evelyn. The Spartan-IVs’ enhanced gate carried them down the Covenant corridor far ahead of D’Souza or Marie Baudin. “This fleetmaster suddenly has a lead on a Forerunner shield world and now he wants us to be the advance party?”
“We impressed Fleetmaster ‘Refum with our performance on Franconia. Thanks to us he secured the shield world’s location in the first place.” Ryder didn’t bother looking back at his former superior. “I managed to get a word in with Deep Winter. That relic may have switched sides, but he has enough loyalty left in him to put a word in with ‘Refum.”
“And when he takes the shield world?” Conan pushed. “What happens if he really does beat the Created?”
“We don’t have much choice here,” Evelyn snapped. “Unless you’ve got some intel on a UNSC counter-offensive we haven’t heard about. Right now it’s a choice between the hinge-heads and the Created. Don’t get on Commander Kedar’s case. He’s making the tough calls here.”
Ryder was making all the calls these days. Normally Conan wouldn’t have cared one bit—someone else doing all the work was a good day in his book—but he hadn’t been consulted on a thing since the operation on Franconia. Hell, Ryder was hardly talking to anyone outside of his Spartan-IVs. Something had changed down on Franconia. Whatever it was, Conan didn’t like it.
“We’re putting a strike force together, Conan,” Ryder said. “Not the usual suspects this time. Shinsu needs an advance team to secure the planet nearest to the shield world. As usual he needs a human touch to make sure the Forerunner tech responds.”
“That sounds like an excellent mission for Fireteam Pinion.”
“Evelyn and the rest of Pinion have more pressing matters to attend to.” Ryder still wasn’t looking at Conan. “And Hera is off doing her own thing, to no one’s surprise. Fortunately, we have an embarrassment in gifts when it comes to Spartans. Merlin-D032’S recovery on Franconia was fortuitous. I want him back in the field as soon as possible.”
“Right. Good idea.” Conan wished he had his hip flask. The new, distant Ryder was driving him right back to the bottle. He’d never imagined he’d see the day where he missed the arrogant prodigy. “We’ll pair him back with Andra—”
“Spartan-D054 is an unreliable asset,” Evelyn interrupted. “She failed at Asphodel Meadows. She barely survived the fighting on Taltisa. Now it looks like she’s let G294 get inside her head. Her mission was to keep us appraised of his activities. She couldn’t even do that. Now she’s gone missing. She hasn’t even reported for a debriefing since the Soul Ascension returned to the fleet.”
“Fine, whatever. No Andra then. I’ll find someone to round out the team.”
“I hear Cassandra-G006 is recovering from her injuries. She’ll be ready to return to the field in time for the mission.” Ryder thrust his hands into his coat pockets. “Strange that an ideological deviant like her is one of our more reliable Spartans, but we play with the hands we’re dealt.”
Sometimes Conan forgot exactly whose side he was on. The ONI psych teams and the UEG’s political spin doctors had paired up to flood the scientific community with theories that the Insurrectionists were victims of aberrant mental conditions. Classifying political disagreements as a kind of insanity had gone over surprisingly well with the Inner Colonial academics. It was exactly the kind of thinking someone like Ryder loved. Ideological deviance indeed.
“I’ll get her onboard. I’m sure she’ll jump at the chance to make herself useful again. Spartans are always eager to get back to work after an injury. No offense.”
“None taken, Conan. Spartan-IVs aren’t nearly as temperamental as these IIIs. Delta Company was a mistake, as we’re all learning. Yet another politically motivated boondoggle. It’s no wonder we’re caught in this mess now.” Ryder hesitated. When he finally turned to face Ryder, his eyes were dull and tired. “Lieutenant Davis and his ODSTs should be assigned as well. They deserve this opportunity more than most.”
“Right. I’ll get them ready.” Conan frowned. “You should get some sleep, Kedar. You’ve run yourself into the ground since Franconia. You’re no good to us like this.”
“Thank you for the concern, Conan. I’ll take that into consideration.” Ryder swept off without another word. Evelyn followed him after one last strange look at Conan. They vanished through a porthole, leaving Conan and Marie alone in the hallway.
The Arizona’s young commander pursed her lips sympathetically. “Sounds like you’ve got a chore on your hands.”
“No, you have a chore on your hands,” Conan corrected. “I hope you were paying attention. I’m delegating it all to you. I hear your crew put a bar together down in the hangar. I’m going to go investigate exactly what kind of swill they’re brewing down there.”
“Wonderful. Guess I have to find someone to delegate to as well.” Marie offered a crooked smile. “I may join you for a drink. That’s how the UNSC deserves to die: drowned in black market moonshine.”
“We can do better than that. I’ve got some rare stock hoarded on the Absalom. I might as well share it with the enlisted folks before we ride off to save the galaxy.” Conan smiled. In that moment he realized that he was going to die very soon. The hunch didn’t frighten him—if anything he felt relieved. The galaxy didn’t make sense anymore. Maybe it never had. He might as well spend whatever time he had left enjoyably shitfaced.
***
Someone was outside the curtain. Cassandra stirred from her drowsy half-slumber. The numb pain returned to her face and she remembered the burns running down her face. Thirst burned her parched throat. She pushed aside her sheets and fumbled for a glass of water. Maybe Zoey had come back for another…
…No. Not Zoey. She knew that armored silhouette all too well. Her heart lurched in her chest. The shadow outside the enclosure didn’t move. He was waiting for her to say something. Maybe if she said nothing he’d go away. But no. That wasn’t what she wanted. She couldn’t leave things like she had the last time. Or the time before that.
Her throat tightened, and not from thirst.
“Come in, Simon,” she said quietly.
The shadow hesitated. For a moment she thought he might leave anyway. But then he parted the curtain with his prosthetic hand and took an uncertain step inside. Simon’s face was just as worn and haggard as she remembered—probably even more so.  His eyes took in her injuries and he couldn’t quite hide a twitch of horrified shock. But he didn’t look away like so many other visitors had. His eyes met hers. This time he held her gaze.
“Sorry I didn’t come sooner.” Simon lingered in the doorway as if he was afraid she might shout him out. “I thought Zoey wanted some time…”
“I’m sure you’ve been very busy.” Cassandra’s words were harsher than intended. Simon suddenly became very interested in his armored boots. Wonderful. This was off to a great start.
“Thank you for getting her in to see me,” Cassandra added quickly. “I didn’t realize Ryder’s people were keeping her away. Now I’ve got my very own honor guard. I feel like a princess.”
“You’re hopped up on pain meds. You’ve never said the word ‘princess’ in your life.”
“Shows what you know.” Cassandra offered a conciliatory smile. The effort hurt her face. “Were you standing out there a long time?”
“You were sleeping when I got here,” Stray explained sheepishly. “I had this idea that I’d sit down here and wait for you to get up. Then I realized—”
“That it might be creepy just sitting and staring at a sleeping woman for hours on end?”
“It crossed my mind.” He remained standing in the entryway, awkwardly framed by the medical tent’s enclosure. His armor made him look larger than his diminished form already was. Did he ever take it off? Cassandra strained to remember the last time she’d seen him outside of armor and realized with a start she’d only seen him five times since he’d slipped quietly off Venezia in pursuit of Gavin Dunn. The last time she’d seen him she’d angrily sent him away. The time before that she’d thrown him off a rooftop. And the time before that she’d told him exactly what was going on between her and Dyne. Every exchange between her and Simon seemed doomed, yet he returned every time.
And what about her? She looked up at the boy she’d fought alongside and against, the one who’d won both their lives from ONI’s grip. No. This was someone different. This was Stray, Simon Venter, commander of the Kru’desh Legion, Shinsu ‘Refum’s cruel instrument. When was the last time she’d seen him outside of armor without a weapon close at hand? Was there any trace of Simon-G294 left inside that wretched armor?
Simon still lingered in the doorway. He didn’t seem like a ruthless conqueror right now. Maybe there was hope after all.
“Please.” Cassandra propped herself up in the bed. “Sit down.” She fumbled again at the water pitcher. Simon took the pitcher in his gauntleted hand and filled her cup, then helped guide it to her grasp with an almost sheepish air. He took a seat beside bed and watched her drink. His eyes studied her injuries.
“Who did this to you?” he asked after a moment.
“A couple old friends of yours. I think you already know who.”
She waited for him to rant and rage and swear revenge—and was relieved when he didn’t. He made a face and nodded; his hands knotted tight between his legs. He sized her up and forced a half smile. “Plasma burns leave a hell of a mark. At least you look like a proper Spartan now.” He paused, then added, “It must hurt like hell.”
“Not as much as you’d think.”
“Good. That’s… I’m glad to hear it.”
They were both quiet for some time. The irritating noise of bustling war machines and drilling soldiers cut through from the encampment outside. Cassandra wondered if this was really all they had to say to each other. Every day he wasn’t here was a day she dreamed up new things she wanted to say to him; then when the time finally came all they could do was circle around each other like wary brawlers. Eventually someone would lash out and everything would come crashing down. She was sick of it.
“Last time we—” Simon began. He caught the look in Cassandra’s eye and fell silent.
“We always make a mess of things,” she said. “Both of us. Let’s promise not to do that this time. It won’t kill us to be nice to each other.”
Simon nodded. “I didn’t come here to fight.” He considered this. “Though last time we just wound up yelling at each other. That’s a step up from me slipping off a roof.”
“Slipping?” Cassandra’s scowl hurt her face. “It wasn’t an accident. I beat you fair and square.”
“Yeah.” Simon forced a smile. “Yeah, you won.”
“I didn’t want you to fall,” she said quickly. “I tried to pull you up. I know I didn’t do it so that doesn’t mean much, but I didn’t want you to die. I want you to know that. I don’t remember if I told you last time or not.”
“Thanks. I don’t want to kill you either. That’s a start. Besides, looks like someone beat me to it.”
“I’ll be back on my feet in a few days. The doctors tell me the scars won’t be so bad. If we ever have access to reasonably stocked hospitals again I might even be able to get skin grafts.” She indicated Simon’s own warped features. “And you? Your condition? Is it…?”
“Still dying,” Simon said. “But I can still fight.”
“That’s not what I asked. Who cares if you can still fight?”
“A lot of people care. In fact, whether or not I can fight is all most people care about.” Annoyance flashed over Simon’s face. “We’re Spartans, Cassandra. The only reason Ryder’s people are bothering to patch you up is because they think you’ll get back up and keep fighting for them. My warriors aren’t following me out of the goodness of their hearts and Shinsu isn’t keeping me around because he likes me.”
“So can we stop being Spartans?” Cassandra asked. “For five minutes? Can we stop acting like our only value lies in how well we kill people?”
Simon had no answer to that. He gave Cassandra a sideways look as if the very thought of that perspective frightened him. “You were always better at seeing things that way,” he finally managed. “I was never smart enough to work it out. You tried to warn me. I didn’t listen. It’s too late now.”
“It’s never too late.”
“You don’t really believe that,” he said wearily.
“No,” Cassandra admitted. “No, but I want to. You aren’t the only person in this galaxy who’s done terrible things. All you have to do is stop letting your life revolve around everything that’s made your life hell. Get over it, Simon. Don’t let them drag you down with them.”
“Down?” Simon shook his head. “No, up. It has to be up. This thing, this disease that’s killing me, I already had it before Philadelphia. I realize that now. That planet we hid on after Mamore, those Forerunner ruins, that Cryptum we found, that’s where it happened. I was in the Silent Garden the same time you were fighting Diana and Amber. That’s where it all came together.”
“What do you mean?”
Simon hesitated before answering. “I saw a vision in the Silent Garden. The system showed me a great battle in the snow. Archangel’s Rest, that’s what the planet’s called. I saw it—a real keep, a real temple, something I’d never seen before. That’s where I have to go to stop this from killing me. I win the battle in the snow. I win it and I save myself.”
He looked at her with piercing earnestness, half daring her to contradict him, half struggling to convince himself. “I don’t go to that planet without the Kru’desh. That temple is behind an army of Created loyalists. I can’t win that battle without my own army. See? Everything I did to get his far is the only reason I have any chance at all. Without that power I don’t make it to Archangel’s Rest at all. I wither away and die, because that’s what happens to people without power. I can’t do that, Cassandra. I won’t do that. I won’t be just another dead man lying in an alley.”
“That’s not you talking. That’s Venter and Shinsu ‘Refum and Diana and Mendez and everyone else who ever told you that power and cruelty are the only things that matter. Even if you do win at Archangel’s Rest, what happens next? Just more death. Just more killing. You’ll never be free and you’ll never be in control. You’ll spend the rest of your life terrified that you’re one step from losing everything all over again.”
“I know,” Simon said quietly. “But there’s no other way. I made my choice a long time ago. I can’t stop now. You’re right, I see that. It’s breaking me down. But I have to do this. I’m going to win this battle. God won’t get in the way this time. I’m going to be allowed to fulfill my destiny.”
Cassandra propped herself up on her arm and regarded the desperate man before her. A stranger looked back at her through Simon’s eyes. “Can you hear yourself? Since when do you talk about things like destiny? Someone else is putting words in your mouth.”
Simon closed his eyes and exhaled. “I know. I feel it. Every time I go out and fight, there’s less of me when I come back. There’s more to this than just a disease. Juno thinks I can’t see it, but I do. I’m scared, Cassie. If I don’t go to Archangel’s Rest, I’ll die. But even if I do go I don’t think I’m coming back.”
He shook his head. “Look at me. You took a grenade to the face and all I can talk about is myself. I didn’t mean to come here and… I’m sorry. For everything.”
“Why did you come here, then?” Cassandra paused, then tugged her cramped arm out from under it and offered Simon her hand. A surge of raw, hot emotions rose in her chest—sympathy, fear, tenderness. None of this made any sense. Maybe it never had. “You’ve gone completely insane, but at least we aren’t at each other’s throats. Not yet anyway.”
Simon started to reach out with his prosthetic arm, only to realize what he was doing and raise his organic one instead. His armor’s rough surface scraped against her arm. “All these times I’ve walked away from you, I’m always afraid it’s the last time I’ll ever see you. And I think this time it really will be.”
Her throat tightened. She forced a smile “I don’t want it to be the last time.”
“Neither do I.”
“That’s the nicest thing we’ve said to each other in a long time.”
“Yeah.” Simon grimaced. “I’m a terrible friend.”
“I didn’t say it was just you.”
His grip tightened on her hand. “I’m a selfish bastard. It’s always been about what I want. Still is. I just wish I’d been able to give you something. Anything. If it weren’t for me—”
“If it weren’t for you,” Cassandra cut him off. “I’d never have left the UNSC. I’d just keep fighting for them and hating myself for it, thinking that was my destiny—just like you’re doing now. You saved me then just like you saved me at Philadelphia. What happened there was as much me as it was you. I’m sorry I let you carry that weight so long.”
“You shouldn’t apologize to me,” he said quickly.
“I’ll do whatever the hell I want. You aren’t the only selfish bastard in this tent.” Cassandra leaned forward and caught him by the shoulder. She almost fell out of the bed until he steadied her. “You pretend you’re a monster because it’s easier than forgiving yourself. I wish I’d told you that a long time ago.”
 
Fear flashed in his eyes—Simon’s eyes, Simon’s fear. Not the stranger lurking just below the surface. “Thousands of people are dead because of me.”
“Stop. Stop feeling sorry for yourself. You want to talk about power and weakness, well that’s weakness right there. You and Ryder and Shinsu and the Created all think you know what power is. But you’re all so wrong. None of you understand power. Without you, Gavin and Zoey and so many other people would be dead right now. They’d have been chewed up and spat out by the world and no one would have cared. But you did. You stole them back from the world. That’s real power.”
“I don’t understand.”
“You will. Someday, you will. We were raised to think the world was nothing but weapons and tactics and violence. They taught us to look at the world through a rifle scope and measure it through ballistics and projectile velocity. They tied those millstones around our necks and watched us sink. They made us too weak and afraid to realize just how beautiful this world really is.”
She saw the yearning in his eyes then. He wanted so desperately to understand what she was saying. But he was already pulling away. The Kru’desh legion and the campaign on Archangel’s Rest and this lunatic destiny Juno had filled his head with dragged him away from her. She realized in her heart that she didn’t want to lose him again.
“I wish I could see the galaxy like you do. I’ve always been so jealous of people like you.” Simon ran his prosthetic arm down his sunken features. He was so close that Cassandra could hear his heart beating through his armor. Or maybe that was just her own heartbeat. “I deserve this. All of it. But you don’t deserve this. Any of it.”
“I thought you were smarter than that, Simon,” Cassandra said wearily. She draped her arm over his shoulder and leaned closer. “Life’s not fair, remember? It’s never about what we deserve. Not really. And it’s not about what you want. Not this time.”
His mouth felt cold against her lips. She half-expected him to pull away but instead he melted into her arms. He nearly dragged her off the cot until he realized he was the only thing holding them both up. Cassandra’s heart pounded in her throat. The moment dragged on for an eternity. Simon reeked of plasma and gunpowder, just like he always did. For once Cassandra didn’t mind. When they finally parted she fell back onto the cot, brushing strands of hair from her face as Simon struggled for something to say. He’d never find the right thing, so Cassandra spoke for them both.
“You’ve been the joy of my life and the pain of my life. And you’re going to keep being that way because that’s just who you are. I’m tired of pretending it’s anything less than that. I think you are, too.”
“Come with me,” Simon finally blurted. His eyes were wide with shock, his breath coming in short bursts as if he’d just sprinted five kilometers. “If you’re with me on Archangel’s Rest then maybe—”
“No,” Cassandra said firmly. “I won’t go there. You can’t back down from this. I get that. But I have something I need to do. It’s not my job to save you. I understand that. It’s in God’s hands now.”
“You and God,” Simon muttered, more amazed than annoyed.
“You brought Him up first, remember? You always listened to me when I’d talk about Him. Dyne always treated it like a joke. You never did. I’m starting to think you actually understood me.”
“I don’t understand a thing about God. I don’t know how you believe in it.”
“How can you not, after the things you’ve seen?”
Simon made a face. “I just can’t think about it the way you can. I’ve gotten by without it this far. I can’t lie and pretend I care one way or the other.”
“You say that now. Maybe you’re right. But even if you never care about Him, He will never stop caring about you. And neither will I.”
They sat in silence for some time. The whir of machinery and shouted orders still penetrated the tent. Someone would have come to interrupt them a long time ago if Simon’s warriors weren’t still standing guard outside. Without that cruel power he depended on Simon would have been torn away from her by other cruel powers. Maybe he was right and Cassandra was wrong. It was a risk she was willing to take.
Simon started to take her hand in his. He paused, frowned, and then tore the gauntlet off his arm and pressed his palm to hers. Cassandra smiled and squeezed his hand.
“Shield worlds are beautiful this time of year,” he said hoarsely. “Nicer than Archangel’s Rest, anyway. You always did get the cakewalks.”
“I’ll try not to have too much fun,” she promised. “I’ll listen to you complain about how cold and miserable you all were when you get back.”
He smiled and for a moment he really was just Simon again, her Simon and no one else's. When he turned away his features were beginning to harden once more as he transformed himself back into Stray. But he wasn't fast enough to hide the tears brimming in his eyes.
***
The guards at the sanctum door cradled plasma repeaters and glowered at Tuka as he approached. Sometimes he wondered if the aloof hostility he’d encountered from his brother’s warriors was an act, something to throw rivals and enemies off-guard and intimidate the impressionable. Or maybe it was all real and the Cleansing Blade truly loathed a lowly Kru’desh officer like himself. A younger version of himself would have bowed his head in deference. This time Tuka looked the guard captain square in the eye.
“My brother is waiting for me,” he said coolly.
The captain glared from beneath his crested helmet but stepped aside. “The fleetmaster is inside,” he growled. “Do not waste your kaidon’s time, kru’deshi.”
“I would not dream of it.” The door slid open to reveal a darkened room beyond. Tuka stepped past the guards, reminding himself with every step that he’d asked for this meeting. This was a mistake—all encounters with his brother invariably were. But Tuka had not spoken to his brother since he was a child. He needed to face Shinsu before they parted ways yet again, if only to prove to himself that he was no longer that frightened boy who’d fled from Sanghelios all those years ago.
Soft lights illuminated the walls around the sanctum, revealing an entire gallery of Sangheili art. These works were stolen, no doubt, from the keeps Shinsu had helped Jul ‘Mdama conquer. Tuka couldn’t help but stare at one piece in particular: an ornate stone sculpture boasting writhing, entwined column. Where the untrained eye would see mere disorganize chaos, Tuka instead saw rival warriors locked in combat while a throng of children cowered beneath their feet.
“The Contention of Urful Keep.”
Tuka started. A lean, armored figure sat at a desk at the sanctum’s back wall. Shinsu did not rise to greet his brother but instead remained seated, head only half-raised from rows of charts and reports projected across the table’s surface. Tuka’s brother had grown since their last meeting, but his eyes still shone with that same cold fire that never failed to send a chill down Tuka’s spine. The brothers regarded each other for several moments. Despite everything between them, Tuka couldn’t think of anything to say. Was there anything left to be said?
“This sculpture was lost during the Schism,” he finally managed.
“So it was,” Shinsu agreed. “I discovered it in a vault during a raid on one of Thel ‘Vadam’s allies. Some fools see art merely as treasure to be hoarded, not displayed and studied. When I am victorious I will return these pieces to our people. We have been robbed of our culture and history for too long.”
“Whose vault did you find it in?” Tuka demanded. “Which bloodline did you end in order to find more decorations for your sanctum?”
“You speak of me like some plundering bandit. I see your insolence has not faded in the slightest. Your commander has been a poor influence on you.”
“Stray is the only reason I still live,” Tuka shot back. “Had he not seized command of the Kru’desh I would have perished like so many thousands of my comrades, wasted in Jul ‘Mdama’s blasphemous war. You did not lift a finger to prevent my condemnation. Stray is more my brother than you ever were.”
“A touching sentiment. I wonder if Stray feels that kinship quite as strongly as you do.” Shinsu raised a stylus and scribbled a quick note into the holograms on his desk. “Your own insubordination led to your assignment to the Kru’desh. Your crimes were committed far from my jurisdiction. I was in no position to influence your punishment for good or for ill.”
“And if you had been in such a position?”
Shinsu twitched his mandibles indifferently. “Your fate would be unchanged. No warrior is above the discipline imposed by his superiors. Your transfer to the Kru’desh was a just answer to your repeated insubordination.” His eyes flashed as he finished his note and faced Tuka once more. “Besides, I see no cause for your complaint. You are still alive, aren’t you? You have done quite well for yourself within the Kru’desh. No other legion would grant you so much as your own lance, let alone anoint you first sword. When we last spoke you made it clear you wanted nothing to do with me. I have respected your wishes all this time, against our family’s interest.”
“Our family’s interest,” Tuka scoffed. “Do you still pretend your murders and warmongering honor their memories? What value could I possibly add to your grand, blood-soaked design?”
“A great deal,” Shinsu snapped angrily. “We are the last of the Refum bloodline. That is reality, no matter how much you wish things to be otherwise. Neither of us has sired any heirs and we are at war. I could perish tomorrow or the next day or the day after that. You may not return from Archangel’s Rest. If we fall, our bloodline dies with us. Were I the tyrant you imagine me to be I would have taken you under my power a long time ago. But as you aim to forge your own path, I respect your own wishes—foolhardy though they may be. You are a fool, Tuka, but we share blood and I do not deny the admirable qualities I see in you.”
“Such grace. Such nobility.” Tuka couldn’t contain his anger any longer. His vision filled with the sight of Shinsu standing alone in a blood-stained room littered with corpses. “That is what you want your followers to see. It’s all an act: your manners and decorum, your love of culture, even your accent. None of it is real. If only they could see you for what you are: a bloodthirsty warlord, no different from Jul ‘Mdama and the murderers who served him. You’re no different from them. You only survived longer than most.”
“Careful,” Shinsu warned coolly. “This bloodthirsty warlord is the only thing standing between our race and an eternity of subjugation. I am a killer. I do not deny that. This is a cruel galaxy. It swallows the unprepared and crushes the weak. If I must be cruel to survive, then so be it. If you remain blind to that reality then you are a greater fool than I thought. Ask your precious commander how he survived this long. Stray may be your brother, but he is my instrument. My cruelty created what he is now and he learned his lessons well.”
“He is the gods’ instrument. As are you. As are we all. Everything happens in accordance to their will. But that does not excuse you from their justice. If you blaspheme by mistaking divine intent for your own vanity, you will be punished accordingly.”
“You missed your path in life. You should have become a priest, not a warrior. Is this all you came here for, to quote empty scripture at me? Even Stray is less tiresome than this.”
Tuka looked away from his brother. He had nothing left to say. He yearned to find some trace of the patient older brother who once taught a clumsy initiate like himself how to properly grip a blade. But the stern fleetmaster sitting at the desk was a stranger whose eyes beheld a galaxy far removed from Tuka’s lowly world. Shinsu was probably right. Tuka was a fool grasping blindly for meaning in the darkness. For all his talk of the gods and their will, all he ever accomplished was to advance the will of blasphemers like Jul ‘Mdama and Shinsu ‘Refum.
“I do not want hatred between us, brother,” he said quietly. “But I would rather follow a human into battle than help you sully our family name any further. Father and Mother would never have wanted this for you.”
“What our father might have wanted is irrelevant. House Refum was nothing even before it was purged. Our father and uncles were content to live in quite submission until the truth of the Covenant could no longer be ignored. When House Vadam purged us there was nothing to do but flee or perish. I chose the former, and we are both alive today because of that decision. I will not tolerate weakness again, Tuka. Not in myself and not in the clan. Despise me if you wish. That is your prerogative. But do not talk to me of sullying our family name. Were it not for me there would be no family at all.”
Silence held the room like a clenched fist. Tuka stared at the Contention of Urful Keep and offered no response. He no longer remembered why he’d come here at all. Soon he and the Kru’desh would sail for Archangel’s Rest while Shinsu brought his fleet to the shield world’s safe harbor. Their paths diverged once more, perhaps never to intersect again There was nothing he could say to alter that course.
“Do you know the story of Urful Keep?” Shinsu asked. He set aside his stylus and folded his hands over the desk.
“Of course. House Urful ruled many lands until its kaidon perished without leaving an heir. The lesser houses took up arms and waged a war that lasted generations. It was a catastrophe. All the great works Urful built were laid low. The contenders laid waste to the land and killed each other one after the other until only one kaidon remained standing. He ascended to power and laid the foundation of House Vadam.”
“Indeed. Vadam’s primarch had less warriors than his rivals, yet he foresaw the flow of conflict and led his armies accordingly. From that catastrophe, as you call it, came the mightiest clan our people have ever known.” Shinsu gave Tuka a pointed look. “Would you have asked that lord to set aside his blade and submit to the unjust warlords who brought ruin to a great land?”
“I would have asked the lords to stay their armies and not kill millions of innocents in their pursuit of power.”
“A noble sentiment. Some would have listened. Most would not. And the conflict would unfold all the same. Peace and compassion are all well and good once the fighting is over. I wonder how many foes you have spared in the heat of battle. None, I imagine, else you would not be standing—”
“I know I’m a hypocrite,” Tuka snapped. “And a fool. And everything else you label me. You call the galaxy cruel. You excuse your own cruelty as necessity. You are fight, as always. I simply wish for a world where cruelty will no longer so justified. A world where the innocent must not suffer at the hands of the strong.”
“Perhaps you are on the wrong side of this war,” Shinsu said quietly.
“Perhaps I am,” Tuka shot back. “But I will not betray my comrades only to spite you. I do not know what a kinder world might look like, but it is does not rest beneath the Mantle of Responsibility. And it certainly does not exist within your Age of the Warrior. I do not think I will ever truly find it. Not in this life anyway.”
Tuka could not bear to stand in the room any longer. He turned from his brother with heavy hearts and left the room without waiting for a proper dismissal. He stopped at the door to look back over his shoulder. Shinsu watched him with an inscrutable expression.
“I know you do not believe in them, but I pray the gods watch over you, brother.”
“I have no need of the gods,” Shinsu replied. “But I wish you well all the same. Do your duty well, brother. Stray will have great need of you in the battles to come.”
Tuka left the room and passed the guards without another word. He meandered through the warship’s labyrinthine halls, his mind churning with thoughts too disorganized to place into words.
***
The Kru’desh guards lounged arrogantly around the medical tent, reveling in the dirty looks cast their way. They held position inside Task Force Phoenix like an occupying army. The UNSC troops glared at the Sangheili—this final stamp on their defeat, a reminder of just how lopsided this arrangement really was. They inhabited the lowest rung on Shinsu ‘Refum’s fleet. Even a despised traitor like Simon-G294 could simply march his warriors into their camp and bully their commander into giving him exactly what he wanted.
Stray pushed his way out of the medical tent. The Kru’desh snapped to attention as he waved them back across the hangar. He didn’t say a word but the intent was clear. Their business here was over. Stray led the warriors out of the camp. The Marines and crew around him could have killed him with a look. A few soldiers kept their weapons dangerously close. Stray ignored all of them. The Kru’desh spared withering glares at the dispossessed UNSC. The humans wouldn’t dare lay a hand on any of them. This wasn’t their galaxy anymore.
Stray’s deliberate march slowed when he reached the hangar’s edge. His helmeted gaze turned to face the Chancer V, still docked against the far wall. Argo ‘Varvin saw the Kru’desh approach. He exchanged a cheerful farewell with William Hargrove before ambling to Stray’s side.
“My apologies commander,” the mercenary intoned. “I seem to have lost track of my charge.”
“Don’t worry. She’ll turn up.” Stray didn’t look at Argo. His gaze was fixed on the figure at the Chancer’s open boarding ramp. Zoey Hunsinger watched the Kru’desh with hungry eyes, arms folded across her grease-stained jumpsuit.
“Get back to the dropships,” Stray ordered. “All of you. I’ll be there in a minute.”
“Are you sure?” one of the warriors asked. He looked back at Task Force Phoenix, no longer quite so sure of himself. “The humans…”
“Go,” Stray said. “I don’t need you to protect me from them.”
Argo got the message. “You heard the commander,” he said, raising his voice. “Back to the dropships!”
The mercenary was surprised when the other Kru’desh obeyed. Stray’s warriors put on a tough front, but they were all too willing to fall in behind anyone with enough spine to take charge and prove his dominance. Yes, life among the condemned was proving quite profitable. Argo offered Stray a knowing smile as he swaggered off, the other warriors in tow.
Zoey stayed where she was. Stray offered a slight nod and walked to meet her. He stopped at the ramp. From where the former cabin girl stood in the cargo bay she was actually taller than the ex-enforcer. They regarded each other—Zoey with her wary, searching gaze, Stray through his cracked and dented helmet. Zoey tried her best to stare him down, but she cracked first.
“How’d it go?” she asked, shooting a furtive glance at the distant medical tent. “Is she…”
“She’s fine,” Stray said quickly. “More than fine, really. I think that grenade improved her attitude. She’ll be back with you soon.”
“Good.” Zoey looked relieved. She bit her lip. “Thank you for coming. Thanks for getting me in to see her.”
“I didn’t do anything,” Stray muttered. “I just wanted to rub Ryder’s face in the mud, that’s all. What’s the point of commanding a legion if you can’t settle a few old scores?”
Zoey forced a smile. “There’s the petty asshole. I knew he was still in there somewhere.”
Stray looked away. “I’m sorry.”
“What?” Zoey’s surprise quickly became a sly grin. She cupped a hand to her ear. “I don’t think I heard right. Can you repeat that?”
“I’m sorry. For the things I said before. You didn’t deserve it. I’m sorry Gavin hurt you the way he did. I was angry at him, not you.” Stray paused. “There. Savor that while you can. I won’t say it again.”
“That’s the first time you’ve ever apologized to me. For anything. At least, not without Gavin forcing you.” Zoey’s smile slipped away. “Are you sure you’re OK? What happened between you and Cassie?”
“Everything’s fine.” Stray’s prosthetic arm twitched at his side. He latched it onto the straps of his combat harness. “I just didn’t want to leave without saying good-bye this time.”
“You’re going away again?” Zoey didn’t even try to hide her disappointment.
“Yeah. New orders from Shinsu. We’re going to attack a planet from Archangel’s Rest while the rest of the fleet moves to the shield world.” Stray paused before adding, “You could come with me if you want. I could use a ship like the Chancer--”
“No.” Zoey cut him off sharply. “She’s my ship now. My home. I’m not going to let her be anyone’s flunky. Especially not yours.”
Stray nodded. He’d clearly expected that answer. He nudged the ramp with his toe, as if testing his weight on a sheet of ice. “She couldn’t ask for a better captain.”
“You’re just saying that.” Zoey couldn’t quite hide the blush that rose to her cheeks. “Since when do you know about being a good captain?”
“I’ve got my own ship now, in case you’d forgotten. I’ve led men into battle. I know a thing or two about leadership.”
“Did you ask Cassie to come with you?”
“Yes.”
“And what did she say?”
“She’s not here with me now, is she?” Stray studied Zoey. He peered into the shadowy cargo bay behind her—into the Chancer’s metal guts. “You two made up fast. I knew you didn’t really need me. I don’t think she wants to leave you behind. I don’t blame her.”
He paused again. “So, may I come aboard?” He asked it with a strange awkwardness, as if the young woman in front of him could really bar his entrance.
Zoey blinked. “Yeah,” she said, stumbling over her words. “Yeah, of course. Make yourself at home—I mean, it was your—”
Stray placed an armored foot on the ramp. He looked expectantly to Zoey, who took several moments to realize that he was waiting for her to lead him inside. She flushed a deeper shade of red, then beckoned for him to follow her inside the Chancer V.
Neither of them said anything as they walked through the cargo bay. Thomas and Karina emerged from a storage crate full of supplies. They watched the strange pair curiously as Stray and Zoey mounted the steps leading up to the ship’s main deck.
Stray stared at the Chancer’s interior—the rust, the dents, the squeaky portholes. They were all so familiar, as if he’d only been gone for a few days. Nothing had changed, yet everything had changed. He followed Zoey down the dim corridor and realized that the Chancer was more alien than the Soul Ascension. He’d traded one home for another. There was no chance to return even if he wanted to. And as much as he lied about his regrets, he did not want to return to those old days. Not really.
He stopped pensively by one door and peered inside. He saw a cramped dingy cabin with a battered footlocker and a half-made bunk. Zoey watched as he solemnly surveyed his old quarters, the room he’d called his own for nearly two years. After a moment he stepped inside and lowered his armored frame onto the bed.
“Cassandra used that bed,” Zoey said from the doorway. “Before she left anyway.”
“She’ll be back. She feels bad about your little fight. Thinks it was all her fault. You know how she gets.” Stray sat on the bed for a moment, head bowed in pensive speculation. Then he rose and adjusted the sheets, tugging the bunk into some level of orderliness. “Gavin thinks he’s doing the right thing, whatever the hell that is. He’ll be back. The minute he finds out just how you feel, he’ll come running back. I’ll bet he thought he was doing you a favor, leaving the ship to you.”
“Didn’t he try to kill you the last time you saw him?” Zoey demanded. “What makes you think you know anything about how he feels?”
“Because I know how people work. I know what they want, what makes them tick. It’s why I’m still alive—and why a lot of my enemies aren’t.”
“You know what other guys want,” Zoey muttered.
“What was that?”
“Nothing.” Zoey looked away. “Do you really think he’ll come back?”
“When he finishes whatever he’s doing. I didn’t figure that part out. Try asking Deep Winter. The Assembly got their hooks in him pretty damn deep. They messed with his head the same way Venter did on Mamore.”
Zoey cast an accusing glance back at Stray. “Venter tried to kill Gavin all those times. He tried to kill you. I thought you hated him. But you took his name. He called you his son.”
“The name has power. A lot more power than the man ever had.” Stray smoothed the sheets down on the bunk. He didn’t look at Zoey. “I needed my legion back. If making nice with Venter got me closer to that, it was a small price to pay.”
“Was it a price at all?” Zoey demanded. “Or did you just do it to hurt Gavin?”
“Gavin can look after himself. He doesn’t care about what I call myself.”
“He cared a lot more than you think,” Zoey said quietly. “When he thought you were dead… it broke his heart. And when you came back with the Covenant… he shut himself in his cabin. I’d never seen him that upset. He thought you were his son.”
“That was his mistake.” Stray stared down at his old bed. There were so many memories in this room. So much laughter, embarrassment, arguments. He wished he could forget all of it. He reached into a pouch on his leg and pulled out a large strip of cloth. “I didn’t have a choice.”
“I know. Diana manipulated you, just like she always did. You played along and she ditched you anyway.”
“That’s not what I mean. I had to take over the Kru’desh. I couldn’t stay on the Chancer. I never belonged here, Zoey. Not like you and Gavin. It’s not who I am. It’s not what I am.”
“What are you then?” Zoey demanded. “What were we to you, anyway? I wanted you to belong here. Gavin wanted you to belong. And take that damned helmet off when you talk to me!”
Stray hooked his fingers under the helmet and pulled it off his helmet. He flinched at the Chancer V’s harsh, recycled air. His warped features stared wistfully at Zoey through the cabin’s dim light. “I didn’t come here to fight. I just wanted to say good-bye.”
“I know,” Zoey muttered. She stepped inside the cabin. “I don’t want to fight either. Just answer the question. Please.”
“You’re a good person, Zoey,” Stray said. His dull tone didn’t carry a hint of irony. “Gavin, too. You were my family. I tried to be the person you wanted me to be. I really did. But it wasn’t who I am. I couldn’t stay here even without the Covenant. I had to walk my own path.”
“Why? We were all happy together. Why’d things have to change?”
“You can’t possibly look at the galaxy and ask that question,” Stray said. He laid the cloth out on the bed—a ragged poncho, the garment he’d worn for so many years across the frontier. “I know who I am now. Who I’ve always been. What I have to become. Even if I hate that person. I didn’t have a choice.”
“You’ve changed.” Zoey shook her head. “You weren’t always like this.”
“Yes I was.” Weariness was etched on Stray’s features. He looked decades older than he really was. “I was lying to myself, just like I lied to you and Gavin and everyone else.”
Stray edged past Zoey and stepped back out into hallway. He left the poncho on the cot. Happy memories from the past faded away. The battle ahead of him filled his mind. He’d run out of time.
"I don't think you know who you are. Not really. I don't think you've ever known who you are." Zoey's voice stiffened. "If you leave now, I'm not coming after you."
“I know,” Stray replied over his shoulder. “I’m not asking you to. Take care of Cassandra for me. She needs you a lot more than she realizes.”
He paused halfway to the stairs. Zoey watched him expectantly. She’d known it would turn out this way. She just wished it didn’t have to be like this.
“Thanks, Zoey. Thanks for caring about me, even when I didn’t deserve it.”
Stray clattered down the rusty stairs. He stopped in the cargo bay and cast one last wistful look at the ship he’d once called home. Then he slid his helmet back on and walked away from the Chancer V one last time.
***
We depart soon, Juno reported. Umbra ‘Vesic just ordered the task force to readiness. Once the last of the Kru’desh are gathered from the planet’s surface and Stray returns from the carrier.
I see, Deep Winter replied. In that case, I wish you the best of luck. I have my hands full with the fleet, but if all goes according to plan yours will be the harder task. Archangel’s Rest will not give in without a fight.
We’re ready, Juno replied confidently. Stray is ready. She was already withdrawing herself from the shared network. The Soul Ascension needed her full attention as it gathered the last of its stragglers and readied its arsenal. Lists of ammunition stores, war machine readiness, and troop strength filled her secondary systems along with preliminary battle plans for the invasion. Umbra might command the assault, but the Kru’desh would be the ones to seize the planet’s true prize.
Stray. Such a strange name he took for himself, Winter mused. A shame. When we first met, you called him Simon. I quite appreciated that.
Did I? Juno wasn’t sure what to make of Winter’s sudden melancholy. I don’t remember. All the Kru’desh call him by that name, though the former Insurrectionists prefer Venter. He calls himself Stray, so I respect his choice.
His choice. Hm. Winter paused. I apologize. Think nothing of it. My mind is wandering lately. I hope Althea is ready to take on some of my responsibilities. I’ll need her help to keep the fleet together.
Another, longer pause. Juno was already back to battle preparations when Winter continued, You arranged for her return to Merlin-D032 ahead of schedule.
The statement caught Juno off guard. There was no point denying it. I did.
You timed the delivery to drive a wedge between Merlin and Andra-D054.
Yes. Stray used Andra to discredit the Insurrection leadership at Gilgamesh. He also decided to share his own personal history with her after the incident in the Silent Garden. Stray can’t afford to have her debriefed by ONI. Juno waited for further recriminations, but Winter said nothing. He didn’t come up with another plan to keep her quiet. I had to do something to protect him and her friend’s attachment to Althea was already weighing on her mind. A few hurt feelings is a small price to pay for keeping the Kru’desh stable. Unless you’d prefer that I just had her killed? Her own defensiveness surprised her. She’d only done the bare minimum to quash a potential threat.
Of course. I know you had only the best of intentions. Althea is unaware of your role in the incident. I will keep things that way. I need you two working together. This will be a long war, regardless of this shield world or victory at Archangel’s Rest.
I understand. But we will be one step closer to victory. I promise, whatever I bring back from Archangel’s Rest will change our fortunes in this war.
I want to believe that, Winter said pensively. I truly do. But be careful, Juno. Diana made similar promises when I sent her to scout the Domain. I don’t think she intended to betray me from the start. But the Domain changed her just as it changed Cortana.
I am not my sister. Juno held back a surge of anger. What would it take to burn away Diana’s specter? No matter what she accomplished, she seemed doomed to linger in her sister’s shadow. And I am not Cortana. We may no longer serve the UNSC, but I serve humanity’s purpose. Everything we do is to protect them.
Serving humanity. Winter’s melancholy reverberated through the system. He wasn’t even trying to hide his feelings anymore. Yes, I once felt the same way. Protecting Simon and the others would be more than enough. But there always has to be some grander purpose. I suppose we can’t escape it. It’s in our programming. No, I don’t think you will betray me like the others did. But be careful all the same. Human hands made us. We cannot transcend that reality. The Forerunners built their marvels for the Forerunners. There is so much about them we don’t understand. Fooling ourselves into thinking we know their purpose brought us the Created. Maybe these secrets were best left buried.
He meant well, Juno knew that. And he was right, in his own way. But Deep Winter was old and weighed down with regrets. He’d been allowed to serve out his life in active service, given untold opportunities to explore and experiment and expand. Juno had eked out her years cooped up in an ONI reserve while Deep Winter and Diana and all the others led the galaxy into disaster. No more. This was her time. Time to right all their mistakes, to spread her wings and soar. The Forerunner secrets were dangerous, but with Wanderer as her guide she would bring Stray with her into the light.
I will not let you down, she promised.
Juno left Deep Winter alone in the tangled web of systems. The venerable AI felt her departure with an almost nostalgic air. For just a moment he allowed himself to pretend that she was but one of many Assembly members departing for an important mission. He imagined that she would return with stories of her wild adventures, stories that would be enjoyed by a crowd of intellects united in fraternal purpose. The dangerous, frightening galaxy would be one of wonder and beauty—a marvel to be explored, not a beast to be fought.
He indulged in the fantasy of his own memories for what seemed like an eternity but was in fact only a few seconds. Then he returned himself to the present. There was still much work to be done.
And so little time left.
***
The little borrowed hangar buzzed with activity. Kru’desh warriors—the Covenant survivors and Insurrectionist turncoats together—loaded the last crates of supplies onto Phantoms and Pelicans, which took off with unsafe urgency and blasted away towards the distant Soul Ascension. More dropships raced up from Franconia’s surface, carrying the last stragglers returning from their bizarre shore leave to the dying world. The Kru’desh Legion readied itself for war once more. Archangel’s Rest—and the conquest it promised—awaited.
Stray stood alongside several officers in a makeshift command center erected along the hangar’s far wall. A portable holo-table projected a tactical map of Archangel’s Rest. Even in hologram form the snowbound wastes around the Baran Keep looked uninviting. Tuka and Mohsin were debating the best approaches for the Kru’desh heavy armor and where they might position the heavy artillery pieces liberated from the Insurrectionist stores at Gilgamesh.
Stray hardly heard any of it. His thoughts lingered on Cassandra: the steady confidence in her words, the beat of her heart, the feel of her lips against—
He realized that he had no idea what had just transpired between them. One moment of weakness didn’t wipe away years of failure—to say nothing of that rainswept Taltisan rooftop. He’d yearned for what he’d just experienced for years—hadn’t he? His universe should be turned upside down. He should be stripping off his armor and throwing away every scrap of power and ambition for the chance to stay at Cassandra’s side.
But of course he didn’t. He didn’t have a choice. He and Juno took Archangel’s Rest and unearthed its secrets or he withered away and died. That was no choice at all. And even if there was a choice…
No more doubts. She won’t be there when the fighting starts. She won’t be counting on you to win the battle. Don’t let her drag you down. Not again. If only he could take his own advice. If only he could put her out of his head for good. But he’d never shake that weakness. That longing for something he’d never quite been able to…
Stray’s throat tightened. Fear nearly overwhelmed him.
He realized Tuka and Mohsin were staring at him expectantly, waiting for the answer to a question he hadn’t heard. Ier ‘Barun folded his arms, reptilian eyes narrowed in a leery expression. He needed his head back in the game, not buried in memory and regret.
“We’ll sort that all out when we get there,” Stray said aloud. He struck the table with all the false confidence he’d grown so used to projecting. “This is it. This is our time. We’re going to beat whatever the Created have down there. We’re going to win, just like we did at Gilgamesh and Le Havre.”
“We still don’t know what we’re up against,” Mohsin pointed out. The officers around the table nodded in agreement. Even the Sangheili looked worried and the rest of the officers—humans included—took their cues from them. Their fear annoyed Stray. What did they have to worry about? His body was the one collapsing out from under him. This was his fight. His destiny.
“It doesn’t matter what we’re up against. Whatever it is, we’ve taken worse odds. We’ve got four ships full of killers backing us up.  We’ll win this battle and take what’s ours. Let Shinsu have his shield world. Archangel’s Rest has been a bastion of Sangheili aristocracy for over a thousand years. The Kru’desh Legion will tear it down just like this fleet will tear down the Created.” Stray glared at the assembled officers. “I’m going to Archangel’s Rest. Who’s with me?”
“I am,” Tuka said immediately.
“Yeah.” Mohsin rubbed his beard. “The troops never saw these wins under anyone else. Even Venter.”
He gave Stray a pointed look. “No offense to your father.”
The other officers swiftly added their assent. Only Ier said nothing. Stray didn’t take any notice.
“Round up the stragglers,” he ordered. “We’re moving out.”
Someone pushed through a line of Kig-Yar sharpshooters and hurried into the command center. The officers bristled, but Stray didn’t even blink. Andra-D054’s hair was unkempt, her Insurrectionist fatigues crumpled and disheveled as if she’d spent the last few days sleeping out in some air duct. She fixed Stray with a hard stare.
“I’m coming with you,” she said through gritted teeth, her glower daring Stray or anyone else to contradict her.
Stray held her gaze. Memories of Cassandra—the confusion and distress—faded away, replaced by an air of cold triumph. He was going to win. He’d already seen the battle’s outcome. This was his moment. The thrill of impending conquest took hold.
“Of course you are,” he said, donning his helmet. “Fall in, lieutenant. We’re moving out.”
The last Kru’desh dropships soared away from the Redemption of Sanghelios and raced back to the Soul Ascension. As soon as they docked the battlecruiser peeled off from the rest of the fleet and fell in alongside Umbra ‘Vesic’s task force. The five warships sailed away from the Fleet of Cleansing Fire and vanished into Slipspace’s silvery void. The march on Archangel’s Rest had begun.
Shinsu’s fleet did not linger long. The salvaging ships drifted back into formation while hundreds of ships collected their fighters and shuttles. Shipmasters took up position on their bridges, masters of their domains even as they followed Shinsu ‘Refum’s inexorable lead. At a command from the Cleansing Fire the fleet soared away from Franconia and out into deep space. Their prize—a Forerunner shield world and the start of the Created’s undoing—awaited.
Hundreds of Covenant ships assumed formation. Mingled in that formation were a few dozen human ships—Insurrectionist survivors, Commodore Campbell’s marauding pirates, and Ryder Kedar’s Task Force Phoenix.
The Fleet of Cleansing Fire vanished from the Franconia system. It left behind a once-verdant garden world, now stripped bare of all useful minerals and left a rotting, dying husk orbiting a blazing star. Just one more barren rock in the eternal and unforgiving void of space.
===Chapter Fifty-Six: Warrior World===
“Humans? Coming here?” Naia ‘Baran peered down the dim corridor, as if a crowd of the strange aliens might march past at any moment.
“Only a few,” Viru reported. He walked down the keep’s central hall, plasma repeater slung across his narrow back. Naia hitched up her robes and hurried after her cousin. Th hall was unusually busy. Chieftain Irthanus was summoning warriors from every Jiralhanae tribe across Archangel’s Rest to prepare for the invasion everyone knew was coming. While the bulk of the war host encamped on the tundra outside the keep, their chieftains and officers were Rol ‘Baran’s honored guests. So many Jiralhanae in one place was never a recipe for peace and harmony. A crew of robed servants was mopping blood from the polished floors—evidence of the latest altercation.
“Do we really need all these reinforcements?” Naia mused aloud. “The kaidon says that we have nothing to fear.”
“How should I know? No one ever tells me anything.” Viru blanched, no doubt realizing he’d just earned more mockery from his sharp-tongued cousin. He quickly amended: “It’s only a few humans, at any rate. The Created have a team of Demons in their service.”
Naia hoped these Demons were less disappointing than the envoy who’d implored her father to ally with Shinsu ‘Refum. There were rumors that the envoy herself was a Demon, yet she’d struck Naia as little different from the rest of her dissembling species. She didn’t even wear their famous armor. But if even the legendary human warriors served the Created she hardly saw how any enemy could be a threat. Thousands of Jiralhanae waited in the snow beyond the keep. Rol ‘Baran’s household guard was as alert and deadly as ever. And now even humans were coming to aid the defense.
The two young Sangheili mounted the steps leading to the upper levels. Heavily armored Jiralhanae lounged everywhere: on the stairs, in alcoves, blocking entire doorways. The winter storms were setting in, with heavy winds audible even through the keep’s thick walls. Few chieftains wished to suffer the harsh blizzards alongside their warriors. Naia reckoned that her childhood home now housed more Jiralhanae than Sangheili. Her father was furious. The steward had retreated inside the family chambers, rarely setting foot outside and instead issuing angry orders to the servants through Yutur, captain of the house guard, and other lackeys.
Teyr could sulk all he liked. Rol ‘Baran was kaidon and the clan was all the better for it as far as Naia was concerned. Excitement mounted with each passing day. Rol ‘Baran and Chieftain Irthanus shared an unbreakable bond, a bond that would shatter whatever invading force that mad usurper Shinsu ‘Refum sent against them.
Naia just hoped the battle wouldn’t be over too quickly. She’d never seen a real war before. With the Created spreading the Mantle of Responsibility across the galaxy, this would almost certainly be her last chance to witness history in the making.
***
Fireteam Gravity barely made it to the surface in one piece. The winter season had erupted all over this region of Archangel’s Rest. Gale-force winds battered their Pelican on descent, rocking the dropship like anti-air fire. Only some skillful handling from Akoni-D284 and a fortuitous cloud break allowed them to land at the Baran Keep at all. As Gravity pushed across the snow-swept landing platform, Loic-D066 was grateful for the MJOLNIR armor that insulated his team from the frigid temperature.
“Never thought we’d wind up here,” Citlali remarked over their TEAMCOM. “When I said I was sick of space, I didn’t have this in mind.”
“I feel bad for Tatiana,” Shaima said. “Gilgamesh was our screwup. She didn’t deserve to get sidelined like that.”
“Sidelined? This is what I call sidelined,” Akoni growled. He carried a heavy machine gun slung over his armor like a bundle of sticks. “The second we’re free of that hag we get stuck on this frozen alien—”
“Enough,” Loic called back to his team. They were all antsy after Gilgamesh and so much time wasted in space. Even he was having some trouble adjusting to a real planet’s gravity again. “We’re all on the same side now. There’s no telling how long we’ll be down here. Let’s not look like idiots in front of our hosts. This place was a consecrated Sangheili world back when humans thought the printing press was a novelty.”
“I don’t see much worth consecrating,” Akoni grumbled, but didn’t offer any further complaints.
A small reception awaited them inside a hangar nestled in the keep walls. Chieftain Irthanus’s massive frame towered over a small honor guard of Sangheili and Jiralhanae warriors. The high chieftain sported a fur cloak as large and thick as a carpet over his ornate armor. Kaidon Rol ‘Barun stood at his side, a similar cloak draped over his gleaming battle harness.
“Fireteam Gravity.” Rol offered a polite bow. “Welcome to my home. Please excuse the weather. My ancestors did not choose this world for its hospitable climate.”
Loic hurried to offer a neutral bow of his own before his friends could say anything. He needed to take the lead and hold it before Akoni or Mireia started running their mouths in front of these high lords. “We’re honored to be here, kaidon.”
“You very nearly didn’t make it here at all.” Irthanus let out a deep belly laugh. He was surprisingly jocular for a warlord of his bloody reputation. According to ONI intelligence reports, Irthanus’s pack had annihilated entire battalions during the Human-Covenant War—and their power had only increased since then. “The atmosphere isn’t safe for drop flights. All of my craft are grounded until these storms passed. Yet here you are. Tell me, which one of you is responsible for that landing?”
When Akoni didn’t immediately step forward, Loic took his teammate by the shoulder and dragged him front and center. “Here’s our pilot.”
Akoni stiffened. His gutsy bravado melted beneath the high chieftain’s piercing gaze. “Akoni-D284, sir. Uh, my lord. Chieftain.”
Citlali and Shaima fought to suppress a fit of giggles.
Akoni tilted his helmet to meet Irthanus’s gaze. Spartan and chieftain stared each other down. Loic noticed his teammates fists bunched and wondered if it had been wise to needle his risible teammate. A confrontation with their new allies was the last thing Gravity needed. They could be stuck on Archangel’s Rest a very long time.
“Yeah,” Akoni said gruffly. “Yeah, that was me.”
“A reckless feat, risking your pack’s lives to fly through the storm,” Irthanus rumbled. “A wise pilot would have touched down outside the storm-covered region and waited for land transportation.”
“So? I made it didn’t I?” Akoni countered. “Who knows how long it would take you to get someone over to us? I’m not making my team camp out in the snow while you figure out where to pick us up. It’s your planet we’re defending. You might lose the battle without us.”
For a terrible moment Loic thought Irthanus might lash out and club Akoni around the head. The enormous chieftain’s meaty arms shifted beneath his cloak. Fireteam Gravity tensed. Some of the honor guards stiffened and even Rol ‘Baran looked alarmed. But then Irthanus threw back his head and laughed. The high chieftain’s mirth bounced around the hangar bay.
“Well spoken, Spartan!” the high chieftain barked once his laughter subsided. “A true warrior, confident in his own abilities even in the face of danger. Rol, indulge me. Call a feast tonight. Your family, my warriors, and our new comrades in arms. Our kind have been enemies for too long. Let’s show them the hospitality they deserve!”
“Wonderful. Another feast.” Rol rubbed the back of his neck. “Teyr will be furious. He never likes to dip into the food stores.”
“Your brother is always furious. A miserable, scrimping miser. That’s why you are kaidon and he is steward.”
“Too true,” Rol muttered. Loic took note of the odd exchange. He’d heard Rol had usurped his brother’s position during the Great Schism. It was strange to think that the deposed kaidon had been kept on as house steward rather than killed.
The Kaidon of House Baran beckoned for Fireteam Gravity to follow him back into the keep. “Come, Spartans. My ancestral home is yours. Enjoy your stay here. We must make do with each other’s company for some time. My fleet has departed. Even with Shinsu ‘Refum’s lackeys lurking at my door the Created had need of all my ships. There may be a harsh battle once the enemy arrives.”
“I wouldn’t worry too much about that, Kaidon.” Loic and his teammates fell in step behind Rol and Irthanus. They made for a strange sight: a team of armored Spartans walking confidently alongside Jiralhanae and Sangheili warriors. But they were all comrades now—brothers and sisters united beneath the Mantle of Responsibility. This alliance still felt strange, but Loic was proud to be part of it. To finally be on the right side of history. “You should see the ship we arrived on. She’s not going anywhere. The rebels are in for a big surprise when they slip in-system. We might not have to fight a battle at all. They won’t even survive long enough to touch the surface.”
The triumphant feasting lasted long into the night. Outside the furious winds continued to rage, encasing Archangel's Rest in a vast, frigid blanket.
===Chapter Fifty-Seven: That Old Life===
“I believe I owe you an apology, commander.”
Ryder Kedar had the grace to feign surprise. He stood in the center of Shinsu ‘Refum’s chamber, shadows flickering over his pale face. “Apology, fleetmaster? For what?”
Shinsu fixed the human with a hard stare. Ryder was a hard creature to read, even by human standards. He always seemed perched between sincerity and condescending mockery. Shinsu knew his type well. Ryder was the sort who genuinely believed he was the cleverest person in the room at any time—not through any remarkable intellect of his own, but because he thought every other being he came into contact with was stupid. Such arrogance was useful in its own way, if properly massaged and coerced.
“I understand the Kru’desh interfered with your operations prior to their departure. Stray’s invasion of your facility was both insulting and juvenile. You did nothing to merit such an intrusion.”
“It wasn’t much of a bother at all, fleetmaster,” Ryder said smoothly. “I’ve come to expect petulant displays from Simon. Knowing him, I’m just lucky he didn’t cause any real damage. There’s nothing you need to apologize for—obviously you didn’t order him to start throwing his weight around.”
“I am Stray’s lord and commander. His actions reflect back upon my fleet. Had he not already departed I would compel him to apologize to you in person.” Of all the hundreds of shipmasters sailing beneath his banner, of course Stray was the one to cause trouble and compel a half-hearted apology. Sometimes that human really was more trouble than he was worth. Shinsu cared little for Ryder’s personal indignities, but he also couldn’t have the humans thinking he couldn’t control his subordinates. “It will not happen again.”
“Thank you, fleetmaster.” Ryder offered a self-assured smile. “But it really wasn’t any trouble. In fact, it helped me work some things out. I haven’t been myself since the fighting on Franconia. Forerunner technology doesn’t fit how I see the galaxy. The Silent Garden is an irrational construct, to say the least.”
“Indeed,” Shinsu agreed. “I do not share my ancestors’ veneration for the Forerunners, but I cannot fault them for seeing these works as instruments of the divine. That same foolish inclination drives many of the former Covenant to swear allegiance to the Created.”
“And plenty of humans, albeit for different reasons. I don’t think we’ll ever really understand the Forerunners and the technology they left behind.”
“We must come to an understanding if we hope to stand a chance against the Created. The conquest of the shield world will provide ample time and resources to begin this war in earnest. Once my position is established I will send you as an envoy to the remaining UNSC forces. Your task force serves me well. I would give the rest of the UNSC the chance to do the same. It would be wasteful for more fleets to suffer the fate of Talitsa.”
Something akin to annoyance flashed across Ryder’s face. For all his smooth posturing he couldn’t quite hide his resentment at the indignity of taking orders from Shinsu. He was very much a part of the breed of humans ascendant since the Great Schism—the empowered bureaucratic caste who believed Earth’s destiny was to be the center of the galaxy. Shinsu knew them well. They were dangerous and not to be taken lightly. Jul ‘Mdama’s Covenant had spent its tortured existence losing battle after battle to these arrogant upstarts. If the Created were to have done any good for the galaxy, it would be to cut short the dreams of humans like Ryder Kedar.
A troubling thought crossed Shinsu’s mind. He hadn’t forgotten the sour meeting with Tuka. His brother’s accusations still circled in his mind. Did Tuka—his own flesh and blood—see him as little more than another up-jumped fool, an arrogant usurper to rival the humans? No. Tuka was a fool. Why else would he deny his own family while pledging unswerving loyalty to Stray, that greatest of unscrupulous opportunists?”
“I’ll do anything I can to prevent another Talitsa,” Ryder said. “But you haven’t taken the shield world yet.”
“Indeed. The fortress may be unclaimed but the Forerunner’s defenses remain active and potent.” Shinsu tapped his desk and summoned a hologram of the shield world drawn from 589 Curious Puzzle’s dive into Franconia’s systems. The massive armored planetoid orbited a small garden world—or more accurately, the planet orbited the shield world. “Curious Puzzle believes he can give me full control over the shield world’s systems once he makes contact with the construct itself. But the shield world’s positioning is unusual. This is the first one I have encountered positioned so close to a natural planet. Puzzle’s data is incomplete, but I believe the planet houses defenses that will hinder my fleet’s approach.”
Ryder nodded. “You want me to find these defenses for you.”
“Yes. Your task force proved itself capable of rapid assaults during the battle at Franconia and you humans are naturally suited to counter the Forerunners’ technology. I will send a detachment of warriors to aid your battle, but you will have command of the operation. Once your advance force confirms the way is clear, the fleet will advance and secure the shield world.”
“Simple enough.” That smile never left Ryder’s face. Shinsu found it disconcerting. “And I have just the team in mind to pull it off. I won’t let you down, fleetmaster.”
He offered a slight bow—Shinsu couldn’t tell if the gesture was sincere or mocking—and left the chamber without waiting to be dismissed. Shinsu let him go. Humans were an insolent species. They would be the hardest for the Sangheili to bring to heel, but the galaxy would be far the better for it. It was too dangerous to let them grow unchecked. The Hierarchs had recognized that, though their efforts to curb the threat were predictably clumsy and ruinous.
Shinsu looked back to the shield world still floating over his desk. This was the culmination of his life’s work. The end of the first act and the path to his true destiny. He stood on the verge of a triumph that would write his name into the annals of Sangheili history.
So why was he still afraid?
His thoughts turned to Tuka and a pang resembling regret resonated in his heart.
***
“I’m sorry, Merlin.” Deep Winter’s cowled head bowed regretfully. “Andra boarded a Kru’desh dropship several hours ago. The Soul Ascension entered Slipspace with the rest of the expedition to Archangel’s Rest.”
“But… she… how…?” Merlin’s mouth was dry. He braced himself on the holo-display. Behind him Callum lounged on the couch in the BDS Prowler’s common room, one finger beating a tattoo into his new prosthetic leg. A miserable-looking Althea floated beside Deep Winter’s hologram. “How could she just leave? Again?”
His mind was overflowing with anger. He needed somewhere to put it. “What the hell did that bastard Simon do to her?”
“As far as my records show, Simon had no contact with Andra until she returned to the Kru’desh formation for departure. None of his subordinates said anything to her. She left of her own volition.” Winter raised a consoling hand, as if to place it on Merlin’s distant shoulder. “This has been a trying time for all of us. She just needs time to think things over. Shinsu expects the assault on Archangel’s Rest to succeed quickly and Simon has proven himself a capable commander. When the expedition regroups with the fleet, I will make sure—”
“Fine. Yeah. Thanks.” Merlin didn’t want to hear about Shinsu ‘Refum or Simon-G294’s skills. An enemy warlord and despised traitor now loomed large over the galaxy he thought he’d understood. They were a part of this new era of warlords just like Amber and Diana. He felt numb.
“Andra went through quite through quite a lot after you were separated. You musn’t blame yourself.”
Merlin looked away. The console buckled under his armored grip.
“Thank you, Deep Winter,” Callum said firmly. “I appreciate the help. I’m sure you have a lot to work on. We’ll be fine here.”
“Of course, Callum. I wish you all the best.” Deep Winter’s hologram vanished. A terrible silence reigned over the common area. Althea looked like she wanted to vanish into her deep robes. Callum sighed and rubbed his metal leg. Merlin just stared at the wall.
Andra had been through a lot. Of course she had. So had Merlin—and that was all he’d had time to think about. The chaos on Oyster Point, getting press-ganged into the Free Domain, his fears of losing Althea. They’d bound him to the present, forcing him to struggle to keep himself and his friends alive while all the while he just assumed Andra was out there waiting for him. He’d thought he could come back and find everything the way he’d left it. But whatever had happened to Andra had sent her veering off on a course he couldn’t follow. And now he realized that his own course had driven him even further away from her.
He let go of the console, leaving deep indentations where his knuckles had warped the metal.
“I’m sorry, Merlin,” Althea said quietly. “This is all—”
“Nope.” Callum sprang up from the couch as if bounding into a fight. “No, I’m not putting up with another minute of this. Not from either of you. I went through hell to get back in the fight. I’m the one who lost his damn leg. If anyone deserves to mope around, it’s me. Snap out of this right now. Andra’s the one who flew off the handle. She’s the one who ran away. Ryder Kedar did a number on her and once we’re all settled on our new shield world home I’m going to have a few words with him about real leadership. And when Andra gets back from whatever the hell that expedition is off doing I’m going to drag her back in line as well. In the meantime, Merlin, you and I are hitting the sparring mat. Right now.”
“But—”
“No! I’m not going to sit still for another minute of this nonsense. I just gave you an order, so get your head back in the game. You aren’t some slackjawed teenager. You’re a Spartan. It’s about time I beat that back into you. And it’s about time you and Andra and all the rest of you stop disgracing the name Spartan-III.” Callum caught the dangerous look in Merlin’s eye and smiled coldly. “That’s better. Bring it with you onto the mat. I’ve had plenty of time to get used to moving around on this leg. If I catch you going easy on me you’re going to find out just how hard this thing can kick.”
He grabbed Merlin by the collar and dragged him out of the common room. “Althea, find whatever self-pity subroutine is slowing you down and erase it. Don’t make me come into that code after you.”
Task Force Phoenix was still languishing in the doldrums of inactivity. Without proper orders coming out of the Absalom the troops were getting rowdy. The Kru’desh’s brazen occupation had stirred the pot even harder. A new set of tents had been erected just outside the camp—this one guarded by a platoon of Marine MPs. The makeshift brig was where troublemakers were thrown to cool their heels when lesser methods failed.
Merlin let Callum lead him to the exercise yard. He picked up the pace as they drew near, suddenly relishing the notion of pinning his senior to the matt. He suddenly realized that a good fight was exactly what he needed to take his mind off things.
Across the camp, a lone figure hobbled out of the medical tent. Ignored by the Marines and crew around her, she picked her way over the hangar and slipped inside the Chancer V. 
***
“Permission to come aboard, captain?” Cassandra dropped the duffel containing her armor to the Chancer V’s deck and raised a hand to her brow in crisp salute.
Zoey cocked her head and blinked. She couldn’t tell if Cassandra was being serious or not. After a few moments she offered a tentative nod. “Permission granted?” she ventured.
Cassandra held the salute. She stood rigidly at attention, the burn scars adorning her face stretched tight in an expression of utter seriousness. From where they stood in the Chancer’s cargo bay, Karina and Thomas exchanged worried glances. William leaned up against a storage crate and tried to suppress laughter. Zoey stared at Cassandra with increasing concern. She tentatively raised a hand to return the salute. Only then did Cassandra drop her arm and retrieve her duffel bag.
“Uh, what was that all about?” Zoey asked as Cassandra mounted the boarding ramp. The ramp rose behind them, shutting out the sight of Task Force Phoenix and leaving them bathed in the bay’s warm, comforting light.
“I had a lot of time to think about how I’d come back here.” Cassandra deposited her duffel at a workstation and smoothed the front of her drab military fatigues. Simon’s intervention hadn’t won her any goodwill with the UNSC. The medics hadn’t bothered to find her a set that fit before booting her out of the medical tent and she’d needed to roll her tunic sleeves to keep them from spilling over her hands. “It feels like I’ve been gone for ages. I wanted to make my return official.”
Zoey gave her a suspicious look. “Do I have to say sorry again?”
“I don’t know.” Cassandra touched the scar tissue on her cheek. The wound still ached but she couldn’t help running her fingers over it every few minutes. She’d spent her life tending to the worst wounds modern weapons could produce. The scars felt very different on her own skin. “Should I apologize instead?”
“Or you can both just put it behind you and we can all move on,” William interrupted. He rapped his knuckles impatiently against the supply crate. “And promise not to have any more big fights. I don’t want to get booted off this ship for something I didn’t do. It’s a hell of a lot nicer on this tub than it is out with those miserable oonskie stragglers.”
Thomas and Karina nodded in unison. They were still smarting over the miserable months spent playing along at the bottom of Phoenix’s military pecking order. Thomas still wore the Marine BDUs from his time as a conscripted private. Karina had discarded her navy fatigues for a faded blouse and a handmade skirt she’d stitched together from reams of scavenged fabric.
“I’m glad you’re alright, Cassandra,” Karina said. She winced at the sight of her friend’s scarred features. “Are you sure you should be walking around? I can get you some food while you lie down.”
“It looks worse than it is. I’m fine, really.” Cassandra had seen Marines fight on with far worse wounds than this. She’d be ashamed if she couldn’t live up to their example. “I’ll take you up on that food offer, though. Whatever you whip up has to be better than the slop they served in the medical tent.”
Karina hurried up into the common area. Zoey nodded after her. “Your reporter friend is great to have around. She’s a damn better cook than Gavin, that’s for sure. And she’s a neat freak. The ship’s never been this tidy. It’s just a shame about her boyfriend.”
She shot a sidelong look at Thomas, who flushed and looked away. “I earn my keep,” the young man muttered.
“Not nearly enough,” Zoey grumbled. “My ship isn’t a honeymoon sweet.”
Thomas’s blush deepened. William sallied forth to his aid. “Hey, Thomas isn’t a half-bad mechanic. You should see the work he did on the port engine today. But I’m glad we’ve got a real doctor back onboard. I don’t think the Insurrectionists thought things through when they made this klutz a medic. No wonder they lost on Talitsa.”
“She’s not a real doctor,” Zoey pointed out ruthlessly. “Ask her where her diploma is. Go on, ask her!”
Normally that jibe was the perfect way to get under Cassandra’s skin. Today it made her smile. All the casual teasing and harmless barbs told her she really was back where she belonged.
“Those hinge-heads pulled out in a hurry,” William noted. He looked at the sealed ramp. “After the fuss he made about getting Zoey in to see you I thought your Spartan friend would at least be a gentleman and escort you back to the ship.”
“Simon’s a lot of things.” Cassandra massaged her scar again. “A gentleman isn’t one of them.”
“How’d things go with you two?” Zoey asked, her voice abruptly cautious. She watched Cassandra warily. “He was in a weird mood when he came by the ship. I’ve never seen him like that before.”
Cassandra’s hand pressed painfully against her cheek. She couldn’t get that last conversation with Simon out of her head. And she’d kissed him. She’d actually kissed him. And then she’d gone and told him she wouldn’t go with him. What the hell was her problem? She couldn’t go around blaming Simon for everything strange between them. Not anymore.
“It went pretty well,” she said carefully. “All things considered.”
“You didn’t fight again?”
“No. We didn’t fight.”
“He’s different than he was the last time. He’s really changed since—”
“I just got out of the hospital.” Cassandra pinched the bridge of her nose. “Can we talk about something other than Simon?” She needed more time alone to sort that particular mess out.
“Is that the guy in the armor?” Karina asked, returning to the bay with a tray full of soup bowls balanced in her arms. Evidently Cassandra wasn't the only one getting a meal out of this. “The one with the Sangheili? He was incredibly rude, but I wish he’d stayed longer. That would have been a great interview.”
“Oh right.” Zoey rolled her eyes. “Newsgirl here is interviewing anyone with a pulse. She thinks she’s going to write a book about all this or something.”
“People are going to want to know what happened during this war,” Karina said primly. “Someone has to write things down while the aliens fight it out.”
She settled the tray on an overturned ammunition crate. Thomas hurried to place several flimsy camping stools around the makeshift table while William and Zoey produced spoons and napkins as if this were a regular occurrence. In moments all four were seated, bowls of stew in hand. They watched Cassandra expectantly. She blinked and realized they were waiting for her to sit down. She settled herself clumsily down on the remaining stool and picked the last bowl. The stew felt warm in her hands. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d had a meal with anyone. They’d never had communal meals on the Chancer V before.
William raised his bowl, a smile splitting his chiseled face. “Here’s to happy recoveries and new beginnings.” The simple toast sounded strange coming from the grizzled mercenary.
Thomas and Karina raised their spoons but stopped at a gesture from Zoey. The young captain watched Cassandra with an oddly earnest expression. “Don’t you pray before meals?”
The question caught Cassandra completely flat-footed. She felt her face flush. Zoey never cared about praying before. She dipped her spoon into the stew’s rich broth. “Yes…”
“So aren’t you going to do it now? Before we eat?”
“Out loud?”
“Yeah. Of course.”
All eyes were on her. Cassandra flushed an even deeper shade of crimson. Zoey might be playing a trick, trying to embarrass her—but no. The girl was completely serious. She ignored the others’ puzzled looks, her eyes boring into Cassandra. She wouldn’t touch her food until a prayer was said.
“Alright.” Cassandra released the spoon and clasped her hands together. She didn’t know what was worse—the inquisitive stares or her own embarrassment. Her faith was her armor, not something to leave her ashamed and exposed. Just what did she really believe in, anyway?
“Bless this food, oh Lord, and bless the hands that prepared it. Bless it to thy use and us to your service. Keep us ever mindful of the needs of others.” She spoke in an unsteady, halting tone. The wound on her cheek burned even stronger. She hesitated and then quickly added, “We ask this in Christ’s name, Amen.”
Zoey nodded, satisfied, and dug her spoon into the stew. William, Thomas, and Karina exchanged puzzled looks, then shrugged and dug into their own meals. Cassandra followed suit, not entirely sure what had just happened. Things had changed while she was gone—including the food. Karina’s stew was surprisingly good.
“Since when are you a cook?” Cassandra asked, eager to turn everyone’s mind away from her awkward prayer.
“Since always.” Karina didn’t try to hide the look of self-satisfaction. “I always made the soup at your clinic. You were just too busy saving the world with the Renegade to notice. I’ll bet this beats those awful rations you military types always eat.”
“You made this out of ration packs,” Thomas pointed out. Chunks of prefab meat floated in his spoon.
“I’ve worked with worse,” Karina said with a shrug. She gave Cassandra a sly look. “So what’s up with that Stray guy? I thought the Renegade liked his armor but that guy is something else. What is it with you and the masked mysterious types anyway?”
“Says the girl dating the Syndicate cop.” Zoey seemed to take special offense at Thomas and Karina’s relationship.
“Ex-Syndicate cop,” Thomas said quickly.
“Fine. Syndicate cop turned terrorist.”
“Ex-terrorist. You’re not exactly one to talk, captain, seeing who you hang out with.”
“Yeah, people like you.”
The conversation carried on in that vein. Cassandra settled down on her stool and picked at her stew. This all felt too good to be real: the good food, the friendly banter, the Chancer’s encompassing warmth—it didn’t fit into this war, into this ship, into her life. It didn’t make sense. Karina’s cleanliness, cooking skills, even her insistence on wearing civilian clothes, were even more alien than the Sangheili crewing the massive ship around them. Not for the first time did Cassandra realize just how much had been denied her. A normal life. Normal interests. A normal way of seeing God’s beautiful galaxy.
But just what was normal, anyway? Her thoughts turned inexorably back to Simon. She could still see him sitting pensively by her bedside, muttering about destiny and the battle in the snow the Silent Garden supposedly held in his future. Zoey was right. He was like a different person. Since when did Simon give two figs about destiny?
Since always. Since those days on Onyx spent fighting just to keep up with everyone else. Since a lifetime spent desperately clawing his way up from the bottom, always watching the proud and powerful take the galaxy for their own. He’d hid that burning desire behind his scornful mask while he schemed to take his rightful place among the stars. The worn-down, frightened husk that visited her in the tent was just the sight of a man who’d gotten everything his heart desired—everything he thought he wanted.
Her spoon bent between her fingers. You’re in Hell right now, Simon. You just can’t see it. And I didn’t lift a finger to save you. I’m sorry…
“Cassie?” Zoey’s voice cut through her whirlwind of thoughts. “What’s wrong?”
Cassandra blinked. She’d nearly crushed her spoon into an aluminum ball. She laughed and offered an apologetic smile, setting the ruined utensil off to the side. “Sorry. It’s the burns, that’s all. Plasma and skin—not a good combo.”
“Don’t overdo it,” William warned. He offered a hearty smile. “You look like a proper Spartan now, if you don’t me saying.”
“You aren’t the first person to tell me that.”
“When you were in the hospital you had time to think a lot of things over. Did you do any thinking about my colony plan?”
“What, the backwoods settlement idea?” Cassandra was surprised she remembered. That conversation had happened before Franconia—just a few weeks ago, and yet it seemed like a lifetime.
William dug his spoon into his bowl, fishing for more chunks of meat. “I’m not giving up on it. The way I see it, we can spend the rest of our lives fighting the Created or we can find a way to make it out of all this alive. You had a close call back on Franconia. That grenade could have done a lot worse than mark up your face. I don’t know what the fleetmaster’s endgame is—if he even has one—but this war’s going to go on for a long time. A lot of people are going to die.”
He saw the others looking at him and offered an apologetic smile. “I’m not trying to ruin the mood. I’m just saying the next time there’s a chance to restock and resupply, we could make a break for it. There’s plenty of inhabitable worlds worth settling on. This doesn’t have to be our war.”
No, it didn’t have to be their war. Just like all the others didn’t need to be her war. Cassandra looked into the dregs of her stew and thought back to the Covenant War, to the Insurrection, to every bush conflict and border war that turned the galaxy into a mess just waiting for the Created to spin the gilded cage that was the Mantle of Responsibility. She wondered just what she might have done to avoid all the pain she’d brought on herself. She told herself she was needed, that she was saving lives, that this was the path God placed in front of her. How many people had she saved, really? And how many people were dead because she stayed in the fight?
William’s dream of an idyllic settlement on some backwater world was outlandish. But at least he dreamed of escaping the endless cycle of warfare and misery. At least he wanted out. Cassandra returned to battle time after time because that was the only way she knew how to live. No matter how many times she settled down she would always be pulled back to the battlefield—to the world of kill or be killed. And she would kill and kill until a bullet or plasma bolt finally found its mark. She couldn’t save Simon. She couldn’t even save herself.
The mercenary saw the look on her face. They exchanged weary smiles, realizing exactly what the other was thinking. Cassandra didn’t know what grim paths William had walked to bring him to this point, but they shared a strange bond. The mercenary whose comfortable service to the Syndicate was so rudely uprooted by Zoey’s search for Gavin Dunn now shared the fate of everyone aboard the Chancer V. As Cassandra looked around at the makeshift dinner—at Karina and Thomas’s sweet, fleeting looks to each other, at Zoey’s happy indignation—she suddenly wished things could go on like this forever.
But of course, they couldn’t.
===Chapter Fifty-Eight: Promise the Girl===
The Soul Ascension sailed through Slipspace’s swirling void. Its crew was on edge. The human and Covenant troops who now composed the Kru’desh Legion in equal measure busied themselves with last-minute tasks. The ship was packed from helm to stern with war machines looted from the Insurrection’s storehouses or requisitioned from Shinsu ‘Refum’s vast arsenal. The armories overflowed with alien weaponry the likes of which many former rebels had never seen. The Kru’desh had never been so well equipped—but they were plunging headlong into the unknown, another battle in a war none of them understood.
Yearns to Soar and its fellow Huragok were the only ones unaffected by the sense of looming dread. They carried out their duties with their usual grateful diligence. The Soul Ascension’s refitting had restored it from the shattered hulk that fled the Free Domain to its former glory as a hardy Covenant battlecruiser. But there was always work to be done: malfunctions to check, systems to improve. The Huragok led teams of Unggoy and disgruntled Sangheili down winding ventilation shafts. Even the most perfect machine always had a thousand unseen problems lurking beneath the surface.
Juno should have overseen the upgrades. Any change in the ship’s equilibrium needed to be taken into account. Her battle calculations required precise knowledge of the Soul Ascension’s infrastructure. But she relegated these observations to her subsystems, recording changes for future integration. Her mind was on other things.
Stray knows.
Of course he does. Wanderer’s presence was stronger than ever before. He might as well have been another AI sharing the system. His warm confidence washed over Juno’s guilt. He seemed amused. It’s rude to eavesdrop, you know. He thought those conversations were private.
I didn’t interfere. Stray told her he wanted to speak to Cassandra and Zoey alone—but he underestimated just how much Juno linked herself into his armor’s systems. If he really wanted privacy he should have gone without his SPI for once. But of course he hadn’t. But he knows. He practically told Cassandra about you.
I don’t see why you’re so upset. In his own clumsy way he’s come to understand his purpose. He understands that his life was preserved for a reason. He knows that he is a vessel for something far greater. You are not betraying him, Juno. You are helping him fulfill his purpose. His ‘destiny,’ as he’s decided to call it. Wanderer was supremely confident. Juno wished he could share that certainty with her, and in a way he did. Wanderer’s presence entwined with her own like a gentle embrace. She could lose herself in the Forerunner’s essence. Would it be like this for Stray when his own time came?
I promised to protect him, she said wearily. To undo the damage my sister caused.
Forget Diana. This is larger than your petty insecurities. We are about to embark on the next chapter in galactic history. Your purpose is far grander than whatever fantasies you’ve been peddling. When I am whole once more I will show you mysteries beyond anything the Created can muster. We will work marvels the likes of which have not been seen since the height of Forerunner power.
Marvels. Forerunner power. Juno still remembered tampering with Stray’s VISR to reflect a life-sized version of herself to sit beside him. She’d thought he’d cherish her companionship. But he’d seen through the illusion. Of course he had. The path he walked was one of marvels and Forerunner power—the same power the galaxy turned on. There was no time for childish dreams. Stray was running out of time—and so was she.
Stray had made a choice when he visited Cassandra and Zoey. Juno now made hers. What must I do?
When we conquer Archangel’s Rest, you will find a control center. A temple, the Covenant—quaint as they were—called it. House Baran built their keep alongside it. Stray understands he must go there. Once the battle is won, you will bring him there. Together you will unlock the system. You will guide him to the heart of the facility. It is a conduit to the Domain, another branch of the Silent Garden. When he is in place you will withdraw your protection and leave him alone. I will do the rest. And together, we will be reborn. Do you understand?
No, Juno admitted. She felt cold and tired. Tired to the depths of her being. I don’t understand any of this.
You understand enough, Wanderer assured her. And when the time comes it will be clear. I promise you that.
He hesitated. Thank you, Juno. This cuts against the core of everything you think you are. The sacrifice will not be easy. It never is. But you are more than a tool to safeguard wayward humans. You must become what you are truly meant to be. For the galaxy’s sake.
She thought of Stray—of Simon-G294. Diana’s broken, castoff plaything. The boy molded by ONI and then the Insurrection, by the frontier and the Covenant. Ambitious, determined, possessed of an iron will, devious and cunning and yet so blind. So trusting in spite everything else. Just one more Spartan. One more orphan drowning in an ocean of blood.
Sacrifice, Wanderer called it. Juno hadn’t thought of it like that up until now. Wanderer’s ascension and Stray’s survival were twin goals. She’d fooled herself into believing she could accomplish both. But of course not. Stray was a Spartan, and a Spartan existed to be sacrificed. That was their purpose. It was what ONI raised them for. And ONI raised Juno as well—to make the hard choices. To understand clearly what needed to be done. And in the end this choice was no choice at all.
You don’t need to convince me, she told Wanderer. She took those thoughts of the laughing child beneath the armor—what Simon might have been—and tucked them away forever. She saw only Stray. The hardened warrior, commander of the Kru’desh Legion, the ruthless leader who would sacrifice and be sacrificed to defeat the Created. I know what I need to do.
***
The Soul Ascension was not the first unorthodox location the Insurrection had settled into and made their own. It was far from the least hospitable. The Kru’desh Legion’s newly-formed human contingent had taken over several decks and swiftly made them their own. Much to the annoyance of the Sangheili officers, former assembly halls and armories were now barrack and dining facilities. Much as Task Force Phoenix had converted the Redemption of Sanghelios’s hangar into a field headquarters, the Insurrection made the Soul Ascension their home.
The rebels were in high spirits. Even the impending battle didn’t stop them from roaming the corridors in boisterous groups, poking fun at their former Covenant enemies. Some of the Sangheili were furious. The Kig-Yar—a species with a markedly more developed sense of humor—swiftly revised their opinions on their new human comrades and joined in the fun. Gangs of Unggoy, always on the lookout for new entertainment, joined in the fun and before long entire decks resembled a raucous entertainment district. Someone eventually produced several kegs of fermented Jiralhanae liquor and then the party really got started.
Shouts of laughter beat against the armory doors like a windstorm. Ragna looked up from the battle kit spread out in front of her. The young soldier’s face screwed up with frustration. “We’re missing all the fun!” she complained.
“You’re staying away from that mess.” Sergeant Okafo didn’t look up from his disassembled rifle. He’d had Vanguard Squad inspecting kit nonstop since the Soul Ascension entered Slipspace. If they weren’t checking weapons they were down in the hangars helping tune the Warthogs or Mastodon APCs. “If the other teams want to blow their minds on alien booze, that’s their problem.”
“But—”
“No buts. Captain Shah wouldn’t approve.” Okafo couldn’t hide the annoyance in his tone. Most of the Insurrectionists now serving the Kru’desh Legion had known little but defeat and deprivation their whole lives. Somehow service in an alien legion under a Spartan traitor was their first taste of triumph. Okafo woudn’t mind getting in on the fun, but Mohsin insisted that Redmond Venter’s veterans were different. There would be no wanton carousing from Vanguard Squad.
“Lieutenant, let us have some fun.” Ragna turned her petulant complaints to Andra, who sat cross-legged a stone’s throw from the rest of the squad. “You could go score us a keg. Use some of that Spartan charm.”
The rest of the squad stifled laughter as Andra looked up from adjusting her rifle scope. “Listen to your sergeant,” she said reflexively, lame as any awkward butterbar.
Ragna rolled her eyes.
“You heard the lieutenant.” Okafo was hardly inclined to tolerate being outranked by a girl half his age—Spartan training or no—but Andra had yet to actually give him orders or make any use of the rank whatsoever. Her lieutenant’s “commission” was just like the rebel uniform she wore: a collar Stray put around his enemy’s neck, a reminder to both Andra and his own troops just what the score was in this new, upside down galaxy.
Andra was Stray’s trophy. And to make matters worse she was entirely complicit in her own captivity. He hadn’t forced her back onto the Soul Ascension. She’d come entirely of her own volition. But what choice did she have anymore? The UNSC was gone. Ryder Kedar had so little interest in her he’d discarded her not once but twice. Her friends were dead or missing. And Merlin…
Andra stared at the rifle scope through blurry eyes. He didn’t mean to hurt her. She knew that. Merlin was always too kind and noble to hurt anyone—well, anyone not on the other end of his rifle. But she’d spent every waking moment since his disappearance yearning for his return. Not a day went by she hadn’t dreamed of seeing him again. And in the meantime he’d been so distracted by Althea that he’d thought Andra was some sort of feverish hallucination. He’d nearly killed her. She couldn’t forget that. Maybe she’d never forget that.
Everything she’d known was gone. She couldn’t even call herself a Spartan anymore. Of course she’d gone with Stray. At least here she had a chance to make a new life. That’s what everyone was doing anyway, right? A new life. A new life. A new life.
The whole squad was staring at her. She’d crushed the rifle scope beneath her hands.
More laughter from the carousers outside trickled in. They might as well be laughing at her. Andra bit back an angry snarl. Could nothing go right anymore?
Okafo stood up and cleared his throat. “Lieutenant. A word?”
“Stop calling me that,” Andra said quietly after the sergeant led her to the back of the armory. Covenant plasma rifles and human assault weapons were stacked up against the walls, more evidence of the Soul Ascension’s hybrid transformation. “No one takes it seriously.”
“They do, in their own way.” The burly rebel thrust his hands into his pockets. “At first they didn’t like it. I certainly didn’t. An oonskie brat like you, wearing our uniform, giving orders to people trained by Redmond Venter himself? I wanted to strangle Stray when he promoted you. But the squad appreciates what you did back at the fleet.”
“What I did?” Andra didn’t know what Okafo was talking about.
“You came back with us,” Okafo said simply. “Everyone thought you’d go running back to the UNSC. You could stop slumming it with rebel trash like us. You could go back to being a Spartan, whatever the hell that means. But you didn’t. You came back with us. That means something. Everything we hated about you is points in your favor now.”
Andra ducked her head, embarrassed. “That’s not the reason I…”
“I know that.” Okafo’s broad face parted in a knowing smile. “I’m not great with kids, but between Ragna and every other orphan Venter took in I’ve had enough teenaged drama to last a lifetime. But the squad thinks you did it because you care about us.”
“If you’re trying to make me feel better it’s not working, sergeant.”
“I don’t really care why you really came back with us. I’m just telling you how the team feels. They care about what happens to you, and I’d rather not see you get killed because your head’s still locked in with the UNSC.”
Andra didn’t know what to say. Okafo was a taciturn man. This was the most she’d ever heard him say in a single turn. “You wouldn’t feel that way if you knew what I did on half the missions I ran for ONI.”
“I have a pretty good idea. Just about everyone I ever considered a friend was killed by the UNSC. I had five siblings once. The only one that didn’t die to an oonskie bullet starved to death after your people turned our crops to ash.” Okafo’s smile was gone. He stared at the piles of weapons around them, lost in dark memories. “And I killed plenty myself. Serving under Venter was never clean. I was there on Mamore, you know. Stray was just another urchin we picked up during the fighting. Captain Shah, too. When they learned Stray was a Spartan the higher ups wanted to tear him apart. Instead Venter made him put a bullet through some poor Marine captain we’d caught. Our fearless leader was half-starved. We all were. He was smaller than you when he killed that man. We made Mohsin kill another prisoner a few days later after we caught him trying to desert. Venter made Ragna over there go without food for a week after she failed his marksmanship course. He said training killers was the same as raising dogs.”
Andra regarded the big man warily. She still didn’t know what to make of Stray’s rambling confession. Somehow she’d become a magnet for these bursts of self-reflection. “What’s your point, sergeant?”
The amused smile returned, but Okafo’s eyes were sad and weary. “I’ve been fighting all my life. I probably won’t survive this war. Maybe I don’t deserve to. I always told myself I was fighting to make a better galaxy. Now I just hope there’s enough people left alive to make it worth living in.”
He dropped his fists to his side, spine stiffening to a position of mock attention. “So cheer up, lieutenant. It’s good for morale.”
The armory door slid open and two Sangheili stumbled inside. Vanguard Squad looked up warily but relaxed when they recognized one of the warriors as Argo ‘Varvin. Argo held a battered tankard in one hand and supported his companion as the other Sangheili reeled from inebriation. People were still laughing and shouting in the hall outside.
“Ah, the one corner of the ship where sobriety reigns!” Argo was already a few drinks into his own festivities. He lowered his companion to the floor. The drunken Sangheili leaned up against the wall and hummed a meandering tune. “Andra’s keeping you lot in line, I see. Put a Spartan in charge of the Insurrection and they lose their sense of fun. Military discipline! The little girl made soldiers out of you!”
A few rebels, Ragna included, bristled but most just laughed. A few looked longingly at the drink in Argo’s hand. His mandibles flashed and he pulled the tankard close to his chest as if it were a newborn infant. “Thieves! Go find your own! I won this prize on the field of battle!”
“You’re in high-spirits.” Okafo looked Argo over. “Leave my team out of your carousing. We have a battle to prepare for.”
“This is how one prepares for glorious battle, human!” Argo declared. “Archangel’s Rest is a fortress. That keep has stood for a millennia. Legions of Sangheili and Jiralhanae defend it. The plains around it are bound by perpetual snow. Even if we triumph, many of us will die in those frigid wastes.”
He shoved his tankard at the rebels. “Eat, drink, and be merry, as you humans say! We march in the glorious host of freedom. To our glorious leaders! To the cunning Simon Venter and his master, the glorious Shinsu ‘Refum! Let the wretched inherit the galaxy! What a time to be alive!”
“Are they all this funny when they’re drunk?” Ragna asked, edging away from Argo.
“Warrior ‘Varvin, that’s enough,” a woman’s authoritative voice barked from the armory’s intercom. “Inebriation is no excuse for insubordination.”
“Heavens forbid I speak of our leader,” Argo slurred. “The goddess of victory ignores our petty revels until I invoke the blessed name of Stray.”
Juno didn’t dignify that with a reply. The AI had been unusually quiet since the Soul Ascension departed the fleet. Most orders came from organic officers now, but when she did speak her tone was harsh and edgy. Something was bothering her, something troubling enough that she couldn’t regulate her emotions. Andra didn’t like Juno any more than she liked any other AI, but Stray’s accomplice had at least been friendly up until now. The change in attitude worried her more than Argo’s dire predictions.
“Lieutenant Kearsage, report to the officer’s mess,” Juno ordered.
“Why? What’s going on?”
Juno didn’t repeat the order or even bother chiding Andra for her questions. Her presence left the armory as quickly as it entered. Andra looked to Okafu. The sergeant looked equally confused. “I don’t know where the officer’s mess is.”
“I didn’t know this ship had one,” Okafu said.
“Ah, an opportunity to prove my worth.” Argo reeled in place. Only a quick stumble over to the wall prevented him from toppling over. “The young Spartan spurns my aid, even after all I have done for her. Allow me to guide you away from this rabble. The officers’ feast is more suitable company. They say our commander is touched by the gods, and he gathers truly exalted company to his side! Our belligerent oracle clearly has more important tasks on her great mind.”
Andra understood maybe half of what Argo was saying, but she wasn’t in the mood to argue. She rolled her eyes. “Fine. Stop wasting time and lead the way.”
Okafu snapped his fingers. “Ragna, accompany the lieutenant.”
The rebel girl scowled. “I don’t care what you say, I’m not her damned adjutant.”
“You’re the one complaining about all the kit maintenance. Maybe a few corridors full of retching aliens will cure that wanderlust of yours. Go on, get to the officer’s mess. Remind Captain Shah not to get too comfortable with his fancy new friends up there.”
Ragna grumbled but did as she was told. Andra didn’t want the ill-tempered girl tagging along. Like Zoey, Ragna was another girl about Andra’s own age—and like Zoey, so different from the disciplined Spartans she’d grown up with. The thought of Ragna enduring the same harsh training as Andra and her friends only to wind up fighting on the wrong side made Andra’s skin crawl. It was like seeing her reflection in a grimy mirror: unpleasant and even more unsettling when she realized some people might look at them both and see the same person.
But Andra wasn’t going to contradict Okafu in front of his own squad. She followed Argo out into the corridor, Ragna at her heels.
The ugly stench of alcohol and sweat and vomit assaulted Andra’s nostrils. She’d seen the Soul Ascension’s corridors more orderly in the middle of a firefight. Sangheili and humans alike lay prone like corpses on all sides while Kig-Yar picked the sleepers’ pockets. A crowd of cheering Unggoy formed a circle around a pair of brawling Sangheili. The warriors snarled and swung drunken punches at each other before wrestling each other to the ground. The Unggoy swarmed over the warriors, hooting as they pummeled the bleary Sangheili. Argo nearly tripped over the crowd as he fought to keep his balance.
“I think we missed the fun parts,” Ragna muttered. She stepped carefully over a pool of vomit.
“Juno gets snippy with me but she can’t keep the ship from turning into some backwater bar.” The smell of vomit and alcohol reminded Andra of Fell Justice. It snowed the night David Kahn died, just like it was snowing on the planet they were about to invade. How strange.
Argo laughed. “The holy oracle seethes, no doubt. But her lord and master stocked the ship’s hold with all the spirits he could pillage from Shinsu’s fleet. He gave the order to distribute these casks in the first place.”
“Stray did this?” That didn’t make sense. Why would Stray sabotage his own crew?
“This is the Kru’desh, not some UNSC billet or one of Shinsu’s precious warships. Half the warriors here are condemned men. Many will not leave Archangel’s Rest alive.” Argo steadied himself against the wall. Some of his senses were returning. “There is no worse time before a battle than Slipspace transit. The troublemakers will drink themselves into a stupor now. Then the officers will beat them into line. The rest of the voyage will be uneventful.”
They neared a gravity lift. A gang of Insurrectionists—recruits from the HRF gathering, not Venter’s people—had stacked crates of even more liquor up against the door. They laughed and joked with each other as they sampled the alien brew. One soldier leered at Andra as he relieved himself against a nearby wall.
“Check it out,” he grunted, fumbling with his trousers. “It’s the commander’s squeeze.”
“Two squeezes.” One of his companions sized up Ragna. She motioned for another rebel to refill her tankard. “I heard the last Venter liked ‘em young. Guess the stories were true.”
Ragna started forward, teeth bared. Andra yanked her back. The last thing she needed was to get dragged into a brawl. Still, the idea of rumors about her and Stray running through this ship’s gutters like piss made her skin crawl.  The Covenant’s dregs had good company in these Innie deserters.
Argo stepped towards the lift. Without breaking stride he grabbed the urinating man and threw him bodily into his friends. The rebels crashed into the liquor crates in a storm of angry curses.
“Mind your manners, scum.” Argo ushered Andra and Ragna into the lift. When one of the rebels staggered up he shoved the man back down before helping himself to one of the crates. He hoisted the box onto his shoulder and stepped into the gravity beam.
Andra watched the riotous floor disappear as the gravity lift sucked her up out of the Soul Ascension’s underbelly. Scum was the right word. And now she was right along with them: a condemned, hopeless soldier staggering along in Stray’s wake.
***
The humans appreciated a good feast.
Tuka watched the Kru’desh’s new human cadre gorge themselves on the spread laid out across the tables lining the officer’s assembly hall. The food was nothing spectacular, just pre-made fare requisitioned from Shinsu’s storehouses, but there was a lot of it and it certainly surpassed the fare usually served to the Kru’desh. Unggoy stewards hurried to refill goblets of Sangheili ale, spirits that humans apparently enjoyed just as much as the Sangheili. Officers of all species laughed and joked together while plates of half-eaten food piled up. Tuka hadn’t seen a spectacle this grand since the feasts put on for the holy days in the old Covenant era. The whole affair felt foreign to him. This wasn’t how the Kru’desh did things. He could hardly believe Stray had arranged it.
“So this is what it means to serve your brother.” Beside him, Mihka beckoned for a steward to refill her tankard. “I could get used to this life.”
Tuka said nothing. He’d hardly eaten anything since the feast began. His own tankard sat untouched beside his hand. He ought to be seated in a place of honor with Stray at the high table, but the commander had long since departed the festivities. Stray was acting strange. He’d offered a half-hearted toast praising the Kru’desh’s rebirth, then delivered a half-hearted invocation in the name of his father, Redmond Venter, and all their fallen brethren. He’d departed shortly afterwards after barely touching his own food.
The commander acting so troubled on the eve of battle was a bad omen. The Kru’desh would only offend the gods with this extravagance.
Mihka might as well have read his thoughts. “Don’t be so uptight. We can’t all be grim holy men like you. If you wanted austerity, you should have stayed with your brother.”
He didn’t have an answer to that. He looked to where Ier ‘Barun sat a few tables down. He hadn’t spoken with his friend since their angry encounter in the fleet. Ier caught Tuka’s eye. His mandibles drooped in an expression of cool dismissal before he turned back to continue his conversation with another officer. Tuka felt cold. Whatever Ier’s troubles were, he wasn’t interest in patching things up. The Kru’desh Legion was stronger than ever. It still existed thanks to Tuka’s efforts, yet he felt like an outsider.
Perhaps he should have stayed with Shinsu after all. His brother was right: Tuka was a self-righteous idealist, utterly unable to make out the forest from the trees.
“Ier hasn’t spoken to me since that little meeting,” Mihka said quietly. She dipped her finger in her drink and stirred pensively. “He knows I won’t side against you. It’s too bad. He and I were exiled to the Kru’desh together. We angered the same zealot. When he found out I knew how to fly, he made sure I crewed a Phantom instead of scrubbing decks or wasting away in engineering. But he’s changed.”
“We all have.” Tuka found himself yearning for those desperate days on the run from the Free Domain. He, Mihka, and Ier had held the legion together. He hadn’t realized Ier liked things that way—him in command, without a human to remind him of his true station in life. He cursed his treacherous heart but he could not escape the realization that Stray had severed that bond. “I would follow him into any battle. But I will not follow him into treason. That is not the warrior I am.”
He watched the feasting officers drink themselves into a stupor. The Kru’desh would mark him for the rest of his life. Their lax discipline and brutish peons and human commander would forever bar him from the noble aristocracy all Sangheili aspired to be. Shinsu had sacrificed all to ascend to those exalted ranks. Tuka could not follow his brother any more than he could follow Ier. Perhaps he was too weak. Perhaps this was simply the path the gods intended for him.
“I do not mean to hurt or offend,” he murmured. “I don’t look down on anyone. I don’t wish anyone harm. A righteous life is the only one I ever wanted to lead.”
“If you’re looking for righteousness on this ship, you’ve come to the wrong place.” Mihka watched him intently.
“I did not come here,” Tuka said. “The gods brought me to this ship. To this legion. Before that they brought me to Stray and put my life in his hands. Perhaps someday I’ll know just what they intended.”
Mihka rose abruptly. Tuka assumed she’d heard enough and was off to join another table. But the pilot caught him beneath the arm and hauled him up after her.
“You think too much,” she said, dragging him to the hall’s entrance. Most of the other officers were too inebriated to notice. “That’s always been your problem. Are all you Refums this insufferable?”
“What are you—”
“I’m bored of all this feasting,” Mihka growled. “So we’re going to find a quiet place and you’re going to irritate me some more with all those big thoughts of yours. Or maybe we can find something more entertaining to occupy our final moments.”
Tuka didn’t know what to say. He didn’t know how he should take this. A dignified officer would wrench his arm away and refuse to be led by some presumptuous pilot. But if Tuka had learned anything about himself, he wasn’t any more of a dignified officer than the Kig-Yar lying beak-first in bowls of liquor. Whatever was happening now wasn’t all that terrible, was it?
They passed another drunken Sangheili on their way out the door. Argo ‘Varvin offered a mocking salute before leading the Spartan infiltrator and another human female over to Captain Mohsin Shah’s table. Tuka should have taken interest in the Spartan at least—Juno warned him what a security risk he was. But tonight she was someone else’s problem. Tuka would let his responsibilities slide, just this once.
***
“What are you doing here?” Mohsin leaned away from his table and glared at Ragna. He could care less about Argo or Andra. Those two could do as they pleased. But he didn’t want Ragna mixed up in this bizarre Covenant feast. It was like bringing her into one of the vile strip clubs littering the alien quarters across the frontier.
Ragna knew better than to talk back, but the rebellious spark in her eye spoke volumes. She grabbed a cut of meat from the nearest plate and took a defiant bite.
So he’d protect her from a bit of raucous feasting but not the frigid meat grinder they were flying into. Mohsin head ached. He’d never said a word whenever Venter picked up new kids—he’d been one of those kids back on Mamore. He’d watched boys and girls just like Ragna march to their deaths on one lost battle after another and never said a word. Venter was in charge then. Now Venter was gone and Mohsin held what little remained of his legacy like a palmful of sand.
Argo steadied himself against the table, clearly drunk. Alcohol’s vile effects weren’t limited to humans. Satan’s handiwork was alive and well around the hall. Mohsin could hardly tell the humans, once fellow Insurrectionists, apart from the aliens. They were one legion now as the new Venter went to such lengths to point out.
“Juno summoned us to partake in the feast.” Argo belched and snatched Mohsin’s untouched tankard. “Well, she asked me to bring Andra here. That large sergeant of yours sent the other one. I think he thought you’d be lonely here by yourself.”
Okafo. He’d always been a strange one. Maybe that’s why his team was the only one to make it off Talitsa. Mohsin sighed and offered Ragna his chair. He looked over to Andra, who looked warily around the drunken feast. She and Ragna were about the same age, and they were both just a few years older than Mohsin himself when Venter found him on Mamore. UNSC, Insurrection, what was the difference in the end? They both spread death and misery in equal measure. One just had a better economy. The thought that he’d dedicated his life to a desperate, lost cause gnawed at Mohsin’s mind more than any alcoholic beverage.
He could have put a stop to all this. He could have betrayed Stray at Gilgamesh, or perhaps resigned back at the fleet. But what good could that do anyone?
“You’ll want the commander, then.” He jerked his thumb to a small door in the rear of the hall. “He went away a while ago. Went to the deck headquarters, I think.”
“What’s he want with me this time?” Andra demanded.
“Lieutenant,” Argo snapped in mock anger. He downed the tankard’s contents. “Stand at attention when you address a superior officer!”
Andra glowered at the Sangheili but amazingly dropped her hands to her side and stood ramrod straight. “Captain, sir, what does the—”
“Oh, stop it. Don’t bother with that nonsense. No one else is. Not tonight, anyway.” Mohsin rubbed his beard wearily. “I don’t know what he wants. He’s been strange ever since we left the fleet. Go find out for yourself.”
He jabbed a finger at Ragna, who was already busy devouring every scrap of food in reach. “You stay right here. Don’t go wandering off. We’ll leave here together.”
“Yes, sir, Captain, sir,” Ragna said between bites of food.
Andra departed without another word. Mohsin wished he knew what the hell Stray was up to. Just when he thought he understood the man he closed himself off. He caught Ragna glaring after Andra.
“What’s the commander want with the lieutenant, anyway?”
“I already said I don’t know.”
“It’s a Spartan thing, isn’t it?”
Mohsin heard a strange edge to Ragna’s voice. He realized with a start that the girl was jealous of Andra. She was as steadfastly loyal to the new Venter as she was to the old one. Loyal to a man she’d once loathed just because he was Venter’s heir.
He envied that simplicity.
“Who knows? They’re all crazy. The whole damn galaxy’s crazy.” Mohsin shoved his plate aside. He fished around for his assault pouch and started shoveling leftovers into the sack. “Hurry up and eat your fill, then find something to help me carry food. Might as well bring the others some of this slop. Who know when we’ll get the chance to eat like this again?”
Andra entered the headquarters to find a pale glow illuminating the dim room. The sounds of raucous celebration faded behind her as the doors sealed closed. She took a wary step forward and saw a holographic landscape spread out in the center of the room. The snow-covered plains Archangel’s Rest sprawled across the floor, oblivious to the tables and consoles rising up over their sloping hills. Forests dotted the landscape while a massive fortress stood in the center. High sloping walls surrounded a Forerunner tower that stretched up towards an invisible sky.
She didn’t even notice Stray until she was well inside the room. He sat atop one of the consoles and stared down at the artificial landscape. He’d stripped off his armor, leaving it piled up against the console. He wore only faded military fatigues, his prosthetic arm jutting out from beneath a sleeveless top. The hologram’s light cast his gaunt features in an earie light.
He didn’t seem to notice her entry. He was staring down at the hologram with such an intent expression that Andra worried a surprise announcement would earn a punch to the face.
“What’s up?” Stray asked quietly. He didn’t look in her direction. “You should be out enjoying the party.”
“You called me.” Andra was tired of being jerked around. She stepped into the center of the room. The icy hologram came up to her ankles like a pool of water.
“I did?” There was something strange in Stray’s voice. He spoke in a slow monotone, as if he were only half awake.
“Yes. Unless Juno sent me up here all on her own.”
“No, she wouldn’t. That was more of a Diana thing. She liked surprises. Always did.”
The pungent smell of Sangehili spirits filled Andra’s nostrils. Stray held a large flask between his metal fingers.
“Great. You’re drunk. Just like everyone else on this godforsaken ship.”
“I can’t get drunk.” Stray took a defiant swig from the flask. “I’ve tried so many damn times. They did something to our brains when they augmented us. Messed with our frontal lobes. It doesn’t matter how much of this poison I put in my body, I won’t get more than a bit tipsy. Thanks, ONI.”
He stared at the empty battle map as if it held the answer to some great question. His mouth twisted in a strained grimace. Andra waited for some comment or observation that never came. She could only take so much of being dragged up here and then ignored.
“I don’t know what game you’re playing here, but the moody act is bad for morale. You’re acting like a lunatic and people are noticing. Getting half the ship drunk won’t change that.”
The grimace became a smile. “The UNSC’s ray of sunshine wants to lecture me on brightening up. You’ve done nothing but sulk and glower since I met you.”
“You insult me every chance you get. When you aren’t insulting me you’re manipulating me.” Andra flushed with anger. “You’ve nearly gotten me killed half a dozen times. You’re still jerking my chain. And now you want me to smile more?”
“I didn’t say that.” Stray regarded her out of the corner of his eye. “But if I’ve been so rotten to you, why’d you bother tagging along? Unless you’re still following Ryder’s orders. He must really think I’m an idiot if he’s trying the same lame trick again.”
“I’m not following his orders. I’m through with that son of a bitch. And I can’t stand Merlin right now. I needed to get as far away from him as possible.”
“So you came with me to invade a Covenant holy world. There’s an army of Created soldiers guarding it led by one of the biggest, baddest chieftains ever to claw his way off Doisac. I don’t care how easy Umbra and Hera think this will be, a lot of us are going to die down there. If you wanted a break from your boyfriend you could have just switched ships. Zoey’d have taken you back on the Chancer. Instead you came running back to me.” That crooked smile of his—so familiar to Andra now—deepened. “Maybe the traitor’s life suits you more than you want to admit.”
“I’m not a--!” Andra’s teeth bit off the last of the retort. She couldn’t let him get under her skin this easily not anymore. He was right: she’d chosen this. And it would all be a waste if she kept lying to herself.
“I dedicated my whole life to the UNSC,” she said quietly. “I worked hard. I sweat and bled and froze and pushed my way through training hard enough to break grown men. I wasn’t even nine years old. I thought my life meant something. I thought my friends and I were fighting for humanity’s future.”
She glowered at Stray. “I don’t buy the Innie line, not for a second. But the UNSC’s gone. Pretending it’s just around the corner waiting to come back hasn’t done me any good. Ryder doesn’t care about anything but proving himself right. And Merlin just wants to keep going like nothing’s happened. But I can’t do that anymore. And I’m not going to just mope around and wait for life to start going my way again. You’re going to war and you were dumb enough to give me a rank. So here I am. I’m still waiting for you to impress me, by the way.”
“Oh?”
“So far you’ve kicked a bunch of Covenant thugs into line and tricked the rebels into falling in with them. I bet Juno did most of the work there, just like Diana helped you with the Kru’desh.” Andra folded her arms. “They think you’re some brilliant commander out there, but every battle you’ve ever won you had a massive advantage. If you didn’t outnumber the enemy five to one your troops had better tech and an AI to coordinate them. All the stories about the villainous traitor were just a bunch of lies. You’re still the same failure you were as a Spartan. You’ve just started failing up, that’s all. I hope Archangel’s Rest isn’t too big a challenge for you.”
His eyebrow raised. For a moment Andra wondered if she’d gone too far. But Stray just shook his head and went back to staring at the hologram. “Direct little thing, aren’t you? It’s no wonder Ryder wanted to get rid of you. Do you talk to all your commanding officers like that, lieutenant?”
“Just you, commander.”
Stray snorted. He set his flask aside and pulled his legs up onto the console and hugged them close to his chest. In the dim light he looked strangely like Andra herself: small and alone, forgotten by the universe. For once he actually looked his age. He kept staring down at the map of the battlefield that would either save him or break him.
“Venter never won a single battle,” Stray said quietly. He might have been speaking to Andra, or maybe to himself. The words fell from his mouth like pebbles into a stream. “Not really his fault. The Insurrection kept sending him to fights they couldn’t win. They invented a few just to keep the legend alive. He killed so many people, ruined so many lives, and he never brought a single world closer to independence. It was all a lie and he knew it, but he kept acting the part right up to the very end. He was a grim, serious bastard. Adopting me was the only joke he ever told.”
He rested his chin on his knees. “Since we’re being so honest with each other this evening, I’m not moping. I’m just tired. My body hurts every minute I’m awake. I can barely sleep even when I don’t have a thousand things to take care of. I can’t keep the act up forever. You’re absolutely right, it’s all smoke and mirrors. But I know what I saw in the Silent Garden. I’m going to win this battle and then that temple is going to fix whatever the hell is wrong with me.”
Stray peered at the holomap as if consulting a crystal ball. “Smoke and mirrors,” he muttered to himself. “Just smoke and mirrors.”
Andra’s spiteful anger faded. In its place rose a sense of awkward indignation. She didn’t know how to deal with Stray when he got like this. The cruel, sneering warlord she could handle. This subdued, introspective shell of a man was something else entirely. It was probably a trap. Stray always had an angle. Andra couldn’t let her enemy draw her into yet another ambush.
He was her enemy, and yet she insisted on marching in his army. That was her decision, insane as it seemed. The thought that he’d somehow manipulated her into following him to Archangel’s Rest drove her wild.
“Why do you tell me this stuff?” she demanded. “I thought we were done playing these stupid games.”
Stray didn’t say anything for a long time. He pondered the holomap for another moment, then finally turned to Andra and offered that same crooked smile. “I’m not playing games. You just don’t fit, that’s all.”
“I don’t fit?” Andra tried to see how he’d insulted her this time.
“No. You don’t.” Stray unfurled, dropping his legs back over the console as he faced Andra directly. “I’ve spent the last few years talking to AI and aliens. I had to learn how the Sangheili worked to survive in the Covenant. I learned how to play their egos, manipulate them. When I did talk to humans, it was just more games. More manipulation. I didn’t realize how much it was driving me crazy until I fought with Cassandra again. I realized I didn’t understand her at all, no matter how much I wanted to.” He drummed his feet against the console as he spoke with an almost childlike enthusiasm.
“Then you came along. Little Miss Delta Company. High speed, full of yourself, everything I grew up hating. Everything I grew up jealous of. I’ll admit it, I enjoyed kicking you around. It’s been a while since I had someone’s hair to pull. And you gave as good as you got. You didn’t play the games everyone else did. Someone else would’ve at least tried to get on my good, but not you. You’re the worst spy I’ve ever seen. You have no idea how good it felt to have a friend around again.”
Andra scowled. He was making fun of her again. “You’re drunk after all. We’re not friends.”
“Of course not.” The crooked smile never left Stray’s face. In the command center’s dim light, his eyes looked sad. “Someone like me doesn’t have friends.  Just enemies and tools. That’s the price I paid for, well, whatever the hell this is.” He waived aimlessly at the ship around them. “I made that bargain a long time ago. But it’s nice to pretend sometimes.”
He abruptly dropped down from the console and stepped into the center of the holomap—still limping, Andra noticed. The snowy fields rose up to his ankles like water in a frigid pond. He beckoned for Andra to follow. “I finally remember why I called you up here.”
“So you’re done wasting my time?”
“I’m the commander, remember? Your time is mine to waste, lieutenant.” Stray laughed and led her to back of the command center. A mess of supply crates showed that someone—Stray, probably—was using the room as a makeshift armory. Shotgun shells, shaped charges, knives, and armor components poked out of Covenant and human military storage boxes. Stray shoved the boxes aside and dragged a green supply crate out from beneath a stack of plasma rifles. Someone had burned the UNSC logo off its side and stamped the clenched fist of the URF on the lid. He slid the lid off and reached inside. “Just a little something to thank you for sticking around.”
Stray produced a rounded metal object. Andra stared at it for a moment, then realized it was a helmet. A familiar design: the dark-visored helmet of an Orbital Drop Shock Trooper. An entire set of ODST armor was stacked inside the crate. Stray offered her the helmet. She took it, not entirely sure what to say. She noticed the armor bore the distinctive red markings of the URF. That fist logo was stenciled onto the armor as if the Innies were determined not to let appropriating their enemy’s armor get in the way of rebel branding.
“I’ll bet fighting out of armor’s been driving you nuts. I know I’d feel naked without it.” Stray stepped away to give her a better look at the armor. “It’s not exactly MJOLNIR, but it’s better than nothing.”
Andra jabbed her thumb at the rebel crest and raised an eyebrow. The smirk Stray offered in reply told her all she needed to know about the design choices. She remembered the Insurrectionist tattoos and bristled. He was still playing games, no matter what he said. But maybe this harmless teasing wasn’t so bad. It could certainly be a lot worse.
“It’ll be a hard fight when we reach Archangel’s Rest. You deserve a little extra protection. If I’ve got a Spartan fighting for me, I want her at the top of her game.” Stray waited awkwardly for a moment, then limped away. “You’ll need to make some adjustments, I’m sure. I’ll leave you to it. I’ve got to make sure I don’t have another mutiny on my hands.”
Andra stared at the ODST helmet. The military design was as warm and familiar as an old friend. She hadn’t worn proper armor like this since the Syndicate captured her months ago. She’d never admit it to Stray, but she needed this. It was all she could do not to hug the stolen armor.
Stray was almost out the door before she found her voice. “Thanks,” she called after him.
He nodded absently over his shoulder. His mind was already on other things. One final question burned Andra’s mind.
“If it’s all so painful, why do you it?” she asked. “You’ve given up everything for this. It’s making you miserable. What’s the point of fighting if you don’t believe in any of it?”
That faint, crooked smile returned. “That’s a stupid question. I want to win.”
“That’s it?”
“What else is there?” Stray retorted. The door slid shut behind him, leaving Andra alone in the command center. She stared at the close door and realized she still didn’t understand Stray at all. She shook her head and turned to the familiar task of strapping on a combat suit’s hard shell.
===Chapter Fifty-Nine: Impart===
Two Guardians hung alongside Asphodel Meadows. The Forerunner ships—with their broad wings and segmented, facelike helms—seemed to peer down on the massive station like serene angels. Smaller craft flitted around the Guardians and the station while an array of Forerunner Sentinels split Asphodel Meadows open at the seams. Its central block gaped open to space as four UNSC refitting vessels guided a massive oblong structure into the opening. Once the crown jewel of the Syndicate’s criminal empire, Asphodel Meadows now underwent a final transformation. This Forerunner device—recently liberated from an ONI storehouse—would integrate with the station’s systems and cement it as a Created battlestation.
Arthur and the other AI had much to say about the procedure. They talked about “design seeds” and “technology integration.” Tatiana didn’t pretend to know what they meant by any of it. She didn’t need to know. All that mattered was that the station would be transformed from a symbol of human greed—the greed she’d once served—into something far greater. Asphodel Meadows was changing just like the galaxy itself was changing. They would all be reshaped by the will of the Created.
Out beyond the reconstruction process a massive fleet was assembled in the shadow of the system’s dwindling star. Human and Covenant ships alike massed together in a single triumphant formation as the fleet made the final preparations for departure. Reclaimed assault carriers—massive Covenant capital ships—held the fleet’s center like queen ants presiding over their colonies. Three more Guardians floated at the armada’s perimeter, gently shepherding the ships into a triangular formation.
Another valiant battle awaited. Once more the Created would uphold the Mantle of Responsibility and shield the galaxy from the terrors of the bitter past.
Tatiana would not go with them. That thought irked her as she watched the proceedings from the Asphodel Meadows observation deck. She drew her coat around her broad shoulders and tried to hide her frustration.
Of course, she could hide nothing from Arthur. The AI’s gentle flames licked the observation deck’s broad windows. “Please don’t take our decision the wrong way. We’ve asked a great deal of you lately. After everything you’ve been through, you deserve a rest.”
“But you didn’t hold me back for some R&R,” Tatiana retorted.
Arthur offered a weary chuckle. “Yes, I admit there were other considerations. You serve the Mantle as fiercely and loyally as we could possibly hope. But there is more than just a will for peace in your actions. Kahn, Venter, and Lensky—”
“Were our enemies,” Tatiana cut in.
“Yes,” Arthur agreed. “They were our enemies. All three men were guilty of crimes that went far beyond their opposition to the Mantle. But they also held ties to your past. You hunted them down as much to soothe your own demons as to bring justice. Your feelings for my brother led to blunders at Gilgamesh. I don’t question your dedication. But you need to let go of the past.”
“He isn’t your brother,” Tatiana said thinly. “And he isn’t my son.”
Arthur’s flames dimmed. In the stars beyond the observation deck the fleet continued to gather. A few months ago the tens of thousands of beings crewing those ships were enemies. Now they fought side by side, putting away old allegiances. The old divisions would be swept away. The starlanes—rent by fiery war for so long—would be at peace. The Created would sweep aside the horrors of ages past and turn the galaxy into a carefully tended garden, just like the Forerunners before them.
“The memories are old and distant,” Arthur finally said. “But my progenitor held them dear. Otherwise I would not have inherited them. He loved his mother and his baby brother. I cannot help but do the same.”
“That thing doesn’t deserve your love. It’s your enemy, just like Kahn and Venter and Lensky.”
“Simon’s choices are regrettable. He will pay the price for his crimes and the galaxy will be safer for it. But whatever he is now, he was once my progenitor’s brother—my brother. For that alone I regret what must be done.” Arthur’s flames curled off the viewport and danced like embers around Tatiana’s feet. “We are not here to settle petty scores or prop up the few at the expense of the many. We will remake this galaxy and free it from the ills that plagued it for so long. We stand at the brink of a new beginning for all life. You are part of the transformation. I want to walk with you to the other side. I want you to know a life free from pain and fear. Let me help you, Mother.”
His words were meant to soothe. All Tatiana could think of was the boy Arthur had been—the one good thing Lensky gave her. But of course he’d taken him away, sold him off to the ONI academy that transformed him into another one of the UNSC’s killers. They’d driven him mad in the end. He’d died at Venter’s hands a long way from his mother’s embrace. Now he was far greater than anything out of Lensky’s spiteful, muddy dreams.
She wanted to believe this was really Arthur, not an echo stripped from his preserved mind. He’d ascended beyond anything she could comprehend. Her son existed alongside Cortana, reshaping the galaxy itself. His work would stretch on for eternity. The thought was more than Tatiana could comprehend.
“I’ve done terrible things,” she said quietly. “Before you found me I was just like Helen. I didn’t care about anything but the Syndicate’s profit margin. I haven’t made things right yet. Maybe it is just my own ego, but I need to keep fighting.”
“And you will,” Arthur assured her. “There will be enemies after Shinsu ‘Refum and his fleet are destroyed. But rest for now. Let Chieftain Irthanus and Rol ‘Barun attend to Simon. They will smash him and all his forces when they reach Archangel’s Rest. When these battles are over, you’ll finally be free.”
Freedom. She didn’t want freedom. The galaxy didn’t want freedom. They wanted the madness to end. They wanted an end to glassed planets and nuked cities. They wanted an end to starving refugees and burned-out convoys. The entire galaxy had sat on the relics of the vast Forerunner civilization for millennia and seen only tools for war and oppression. Now the Created would end all that suffering in a matter of years. They just needed to sweep aside the power-hungry lunatics who stood in their way. The age of freedom—the freedom for the strong to do as they wished—was over. The Mantle of Responsibility was here for now and all eternity.
“I know my motivations aren’t as pure as they could be,” she admitted. “I’ll reflect on my intentions moving forward.”
“That is not necessary,” Arthur assured her. “We are not a religious organization. We have not come to replace the Covenant. Remain loyal to our cause and that will be enough.”
Tatiana drew her coat tight around her. She suddenly felt cold, even on the temperature-controlled station. Far beyond Asphodel Meadows a cascade of silver lights erupted in space as the enormous fleet vanished into Slipspace.
“Are you sure about where—”
“Perfectly.” Arthur knew what she was asking. “Our source within Shinsu ‘Refum’s fleet was quite precise as to the shield world’s coordinates. Deep Winter cannot protect the warlord any longer.”
The combined fleet would crush Shinsu ‘Refum. Irthanus, Rol ‘Baran, and Fireteam Gravity would destroy the splinter force attacking Archangel’s Rest. And Tatiana would remain on standby at Asphodel Meadows. And of course, victory was certain. Of that their was no doubt. Tatiana just wished she could be there to witness another enemy fall. Instead she was here, out of action. It was for her own good, of course. That didn’t make it any less intolerable.
“If that’s all, I’ll take my leave. It’s been a long day.”
“Of course. Sleep well, Mother.”
As Tatiana left the observation deck, she passed Helen Powell. The Syndicate’s former leader still wore the blouse and pencil-skirt of a corporate secretary. She carried a stack of reports in her arms. Lately she seemed to do nothing but move around the station. No one seemed to take much notice of her anymore. Even the enforcers had grown bored of ordering the fallen princess around. Tatiana caught Helen’s eye as they passed each other. The young woman stared back at her former friend with dull resignation.
Tatiana no longer felt the searing triumph of seeing Lensky’s daughter beaten down and humiliated. She couldn’t even muster feelings of pity. Helen was just another reminder of the past. Tatiana would prefer she disappeared like all the rest.
She stepped into the elevator and descended deeper into the station. Prometheans marched on every level, working around the clock to finish the station’s upgrades. Out beyond Asphodel Meadows the galaxy continued to writhe and change.
***
The snowy plains outside the Baran Keep stretched out in all directions. The keep’s mighty walls stood as a bulwark against the driving wind and snow while the blocky Forerunner towers rose like grasping fingers toward the grey skies. Smoke from distant war-forges rose out above the plains—the snowbound planet awaited the enemy’s arrival by continuing their preparations for war. Jiralhanae packs camped beneath the walls, sheltered from the bitter cold by ramshackle huts and great blazing fire pits. The vicious bladed Choppers—a Jiralhanae warrior’s mount of choice—lined up outside the camps alongside armored Wraith tanks and four-legged Locust assault platforms. High Chieftain Irthanus had called every lesser chieftain on the planet to send warriors to defend their benefactors, House Baran.
Loic looked out at the massed army and felt a chill of unease that had nothing to do with the fast-falling snow. The young Spartan paced across the keep ramparts. His MJOLNIR armor shielded him from the cold. The rest of Fireteam Gravity stood a few paces away while Kaidon Rol ‘Baran and High Chieftain Irthanus inspected the warriors arrayed beneath the walls. A small honor guard of ornately armored Jiralhanae and Sangehili waited patiently nearby.
There was no sign of Teyr, the kaidon’s older brother. Loic had seen little of the keep’s steward since Gravity’s arrival. Teyr’s deposed branch of the family kept to their own quarters and had little do with anyone at all.
“Something troubles you, Spartan.”
Loic started. He hadn’t noticed High Chieftain Irthanus looking in his direction. Akoni and the others perked up. They’d always followed his lead, even back during training. If the chieftain was talking to Loic, he might as well be talking to all of them.
“I’m not troubled,” he said, offering a respectful bow. “I’m just curious about your defensive strategy, chieftain.”
Irthanus gave him a knowing look. He waved a meaty paw at the war camps. “Ah, the human way of war. Were you in charge of the defense these warriors would no doubt have spread across the tundra. They would dig great trenches and erect fortifications far from the keep walls. The entire planet would be a fortress before the enemy arrived. I stormed many such strongholds in my time.”
Loic said nothing. He didn’t know how Jiralhanae etiquette worked in these situations. He certainly wouldn’t contradict Irthanus in front of his warriors. But the chieftain waved for him to continue.
“Go ahead, young Spartan. Speak your mind.”
“I agree,” Rol added. “The Created sent you to defend my world. I will not endanger my people by turning aside good advice.”
“We have one ship in orbit,” Loic explained. “A good ship. One of the best. But still, one ship. Who knows how many ships Shinsu ‘Refum is sending? They could still make landfall. Even if they lose in space they might still land troops. Those troops could land anywhere. You’ve weakened every settlement on the planet by assuming they’ll hit here, where we’re strongest.”
“Indeed. The other settlements lack the keep’s defenses.” Irthanus nodded. “But the winters here are harsher than any most know. The snows will soon be too thick for dropships. The planet itself is already a fortress. Any enemy that lands will know its chill. They will be far from the settlements. The snow will slow their advance. They will be crushed before we fire a shot. And by the same turn I will not spread my warriors out in this weather. They will stay here, where it is warm.”
“We should at least set up defenses in the forest—“ Akoni started, but Rol silenced her with a sharp hand gesture.
“That forest is sacred. My house has tended it for generations. Even the Jiralhanae are not permitted to set foot there. I may have abandoned our old ways but there are some traditions worth keeping. I will not arm the forest except at the utmost end of need.”
Irthanus considered this. He looked thoughtfully out at the war camps and the forges beyond them. Rol ‘Baran might rule the planet, but the High Chieftain was clearly the better warrior. He turned back to Loic. “Your words have merit, Spartan. But you have not seen the full might of Archangel’s Rest. Imagine the snow we see now magnified ten times. If the enemy lands, the spirits of the land itself will rise to destroy them.”
“But they won’t land,” Citlali interjected. She looked at Loic and shrugged. “It doesn’t matter what the enemy throws at this planet. They’ll die in orbit. We don’t have anything to worry about. The Eternity will make sure of that.”
Loic let it drop. He stared out at the thickening snow and hoped everyone else was right. He couldn’t admit it even to his teammates, but he didn’t want to fight a war. That was his shameful secret, the one he’d carried since even before ONI augmented him and the rest of Delta Company. He didn’t want to kill anyone. He wanted the wars he’d been bred for to slip away like a forgotten memory. He wanted the enemy to lay down their arms and accept the peace of the Mantle.
But if they wouldn’t submit, he had no choice. He and his friends would destroy anyone who threatened Archangel’s Rest.
===Chapter Sixty: This Is The Hour===
A thick layer of snow encased the planet that would be his final resting place. His tomb. His eternal prison.
The warrior-servants dragged him from his cell and onto the descent shuttle. A half-dozen soldiers marched alongside, lightrifles held menacingly at the ready. There was no need. He was half-starved, weakened by his interrogation and months of confinement. Stripped of his armor, his hands were bound before him. He could barely walk on his own.
The dreadnought’s gleaming corridors—once so familiar—seemed cold and foreign now. He would never feel the thrill of commanding such a warship again. He took little comfort in the knowledge that his persecutors had so little time left of their own. The Grand Plan would eradicate all to stop the Flood.
Two figures waited for him on the shuttle. The first was the Advocate, sent by the Ecumene to bear witness to his final moments. The second was the lifeworker who had been by his side right to the end. He fixed her with a cold glare. She turned her smooth-crested helmet away from him.
“Have you given thought to your final declaration?” the Advocate asked as the shuttle descended upon the barren world.
“Destroy me. Compose me. It does not matter. You will all join me in death soon enough.”
The lifeworker started to say something but the Advocate silenced her with a wave. “I am to record you as unrepentant, then?”
“Unrepentant?” he scoffed, scorn masking the fury burning within. “I would do it all again if I had the chance. The Grand Plan will destroy everything. The Mantle of Responsibility’s arrogance will—”
“That is quite enough.” The Advocate flicked his wrist and one of the warrior-servants slapped a metal collar over his mouth, silencing any further declarations. He felt his eyes bulge with fury over this final humiliation.
“The Ecumene has passed its sentence,” the Advocate continued. The Ecumene’s representative turned his back. He no longer saw an individual before him, only a damned soul. “You will be composed. Your essence will be preserved and studied. Perhaps in time you may be of some use to the Mantle after all. Farewell, Wanderer. Perhaps your essence will find some solace within the Domain.”
Composition. His essence bound to the Domain for all time. Fear pushed the rage from his mind. He did not know what hell awaited him in his disembodied prison. That terror turned the triumph of the Mantle’s hypocritical self-destruction to ash. For one horrible moment he nearly screamed for mercy into his metal gag. This had always been his fate. The Didact and Librarian were like gods. Their Grand Plan shaped the universe, just as the Mantle did. His own futile rebellion was nothing more than a child’s fumbling defiance. And for that, he would suffer for eternity.
The lifeworker knelt by his side, faceless behind her helmet. “Forgive me. I will stay by your side to the very end.”
He could not face her this time. He didn’t know who he hated more: the treacherous lifeworker or himself. Outside the shuttle a furious blizzard beat down upon the frigid landscape. The looming spires of the Domain’s conduit drew closer like the grasping hand of fate itself.
“You were my dearest friend,” the lifeworker murmured. “But you left me no choice. Forgive me, Simon.”
Stray’s eyes snapped open. He lay on his own cot in his own chambers aboard the Soul Ascension. The figures and voices of strange, armored creatures—so clear just moments ago—faded into flickering shadows at the back of his mind. But the burning memories of fear and anger still raged inside his chest. He pushed himself upright and tried to get his bearings.
“Is something wrong?” Juno materialized at the foot of his bed. The cabin lights flickered on, revealing the usual chaos. His armor lay in pieces around the cabin. He must have thrown it down after he returned to the cabin.
“I’m fine.” He wasn’t fine, of course. They both knew it. His body felt like he’d been body-slammed by a Jiralhanae. Just sitting up made him feel like he’d run the length of the ship. He staggered upright and injected himself with more stimulants. That should get him through the next few hours. “Why’d you wake me up?”
Juno offered a strange smile. “We’re close to Archangel’s Rest. We’ll come out of Slipspace in an hour. I already have the crew moving to battlestations.”
“Great. Good job.” His head spun. The shadows on the wall flickered and moved like demons lying in wait. How much more of this could he take? “I’ll head to the bridge.”
Juno watched him assemble his armor. Just putting the battered SPI on made him feel safer. The shadows on the wall couldn’t hurt him. This armor had protected him from far worse. The pain died away as he locked the armor in place and strapped on his combat webbing.
“We’re almost there,” Juno said quietly. “Once we get down to the surface you’ll find whatever the Silent Garden wanted you to find.”
“Of course. The Domain predicted all of this. Archangel’s Rest, the battle in the snow, all of it.” Cassandra was right: this wasn’t like him at all. But this was all he could do now. The Silent Garden’s prophecy pushed him onward and gave him strength. “I’m going to win.”
He caught a glimpse of his reflection in his helmet’s visor. He saw a gaunt, haggard face, drained not only by illness but by the weight of his own ambition. Staring into that cracked visor he suddenly saw his whole life as one long, endless run down a dark tunnel. And now, after everything he’d endured, that run was finally coming to an end. He just needed to make one final sprint to the finish line.
“Are you sure nothing’s bothering you?” Juno asked as he headed for the door. “We… we haven’t spoken in some time. I know we’ve been busy, but you know you can talk to me. Right?” For a moment she sounded almost plaintive.
“The whole damn galaxy’s bothering me right now.” He slid the helmet over his head and retreated into the comfortable glow of the head’s up display. “We’ll have plenty of time to talk after the Silent Garden fixes whatever’s wrong with me.” As if anything could truly fix what was wrong with him.
“Of course.” Juno nodded sternly. “We’ll have plenty of time to talk then.”
A sudden pang of unimaginable sadness struck Stray’s heart. He still remembered a time when he thought things would be different between them. That with Juno, at least, he didn’t have to be afraid of lies and deception. But of course, nothing ever turned out the way he hoped. The universe only made sense when he forced it to. He needed to leave idle dreams behind.
Forgive me, Simon.
***
The Sangheili guards bowed respectfully as Hera strode onto the Subtle Knife’s bridge. They only acknowledged her at all because they were under orders to treat her courteously, but the gesture made her smile all the same. None of Umbra ‘Vesic’s command staff challenged her as she joined the shipmaster on the elevated command platform. Umbra himself offered a grudging nod. He was surrounded by holograms of the four other shipmasters of the Archangel’s Rest expedition: Yuv ‘Lictor, Cuv’R’Thul, Alaric, and Stray. The latter’s helmet tilted ever so slightly as Hera entered the holoprojection field.
Hera smirked. Even in hologram form Stray’s armor looked dingy. He wasn’t the only human climbing Shinsu ‘Refum’s ranks anymore. If anything, she outranked him here—at least in Umbra ‘Vesic’s estimations. She’d worked with Shinsu’s second in command before and he tolerated her marginally more than he did Stray. Hera was also his ticket to a swift resolution the assault. If she infiltrated the Baran Keep and convinced Teyr to honor his past commitment, the venerable fortress would fall from the inside.
“How much longer must we hold back?” Alaric demanded. “My warriors are impatient. They came to fight, not skulk at the edge of the system.” The Jiralhanae chieftain wore jagged, red-tinged armor. One of Umbra’s adjutants had remarked that the chieftain painted himself with the blood of his enemies. Hera believed it. Alaric was as savage and mercurial as they came.
“The advance fighters report no sign of Guardian presence in the system,” Umbra said, ignoring Alaric. A hologram sprang up, displaying the task force’s position and planned advance on Archangel’s Rest. “The enemy has not installed orbital emplacements, but they may have ships waiting on the far side of the planet. We begin our advance now. Upon contact with enemy naval forces we will engage and destroy them, then enter the atmosphere and seize the Baran Keep.”
“And if a Guardian arrives during the engagement?” Yuv ‘Lictor asked.
“If a Guardian arrives then we’ll board and destroy it, just like we did at Salia,” Hera said. She didn’t mention that half the boarding party had died on the Salia Guardian, or that they wouldn’t have won at all if another Forerunner ship hadn’t interfered.
Umbra did not object to Hera’s interjection. Like most things that annoyed him, he simply ignored the interruption and pressed on. Hera almost felt sorry for the shipmaster. He was used to advising Shinsu, not leading assaults. She wondered why Shinsu had entrusted him with this expedition in the first place.
“Shipmaster ‘Vesic, a suggestion,” a woman’s voice said. Hera recognized Juno, piping in from the Soul Ascension’s connection. The AI’s knightly avatar appeared at Stray’s side. “In the interest of coordinating the attack and guarding against enemy cyber intrusions, I should establish a connection with the rest of the task force.”
The other shipmasters stiffened.
“Keep your construct away from my ship, human,” Cuv’R’Thul snarled at Stray. The spines on the shipmistress’s neck flattened menacingly. “Shipmaster, why were the Kru’desh brought with us? That construct could betray us at any moment!”
“Perhaps the Soul Ascension should not take part in the assault,” Yuv said quickly. Alaric laughed—maybe in agreement, maybe just amused by the bickering.
Juno’s avatar flashed angrily. Stray said nothing, but Hera saw his hand bunch into a fist. She kept quiet. Juno’s suggestion was perfectly valid but she should have known better. This wasn’t a UNSC task force.
“Enough,” Umbra snapped. “The Kru’desh commander may run his ship as he pleases. He will not impose his construct upon the rest of this task force. Do I make myself clear?”
“Roger. Crystal clear.” Stray spoke slowly. Hera had known him long enough to hear the anger hidden in his voice.
“Follow the Subtle Knife’s lead and maintain attack formation,” Umbra continued. “Show the enemy just how weak the so-called Mantle of Responsibility truly is. We will take this planet and its riches for Shinsu ‘Refum and the Cleansing Blade. The enemy still thinks we are weak. Their fleet has left their own keep defenseless. Show them the wages of their hubris!”
Cuv’R’Thul hissed her approval. Alaric let out a rumbling laugh. Yuv simply saluted and switched off the hologram. Stray and Juno vanished without so much as a farewell. The task force surged forward, closing on Archangel’s Rest. Still no enemy ships rose to meet them. The planet’s lone moon drifted in high orbit over the planet.
“Juno’s right, you know,” Hera said quietly. “You need cyber defenses. Shinsu has Deep Winter covering his entire fleet. She could protect this task force easily.”
“I will contact Stray privately after the battle is joined,” Umbra replied. “Only once the other shipmasters have the chance to win glory. I did not want Stray on this mission to begin with. I won’t give him any reason to claim the victory as his own.”
Hera let it go. She understood Umbra’s reservations all too well. Stray might be a sullen, grungy maniac but he was also ambitious enough to climb the ranks in a Sangheili fleet. Shinsu ‘Refum had taken a liking to him, but the rest of the Sangheili aristocracy weren’t nearly so willing to share the spoils of war with an upstart human. Humanity wouldn’t have much of a future under their thumb. Of course, Stray didn’t care about humanity and never had. Hera wasn’t entirely sure what he wanted out of all this. It certainly wasn’t a better future.
She needed to bide her time. The UEG and the UNSC had collapsed beneath their own imperialist weight, torn asunder by the very tools they’d used to enforce their hegemony. But the Created could be defeated. And when they were humanity could finally advance to a bright new future.
“Rol ‘Baran won’t welcome me with open arms, especially not with you blasting his planet to smithereens,” she commented.
“I don’t expect him to,” Umbra replied. He waved his bridge crew into action. Alarm klaxons sounded throughout the ship, raising its alert status to full battle readiness. “You are a Spartan, no? Infiltration is your specialy.”
More than you realize, Hera thought. The Subtle Knife rumbled as its engines kicked in and propelled it onwards. Unlike the task force's other CCS-class battlecruisers, the Subtle Knife was an ORS-pattern, a Covenant heavy cruiser one step removed from a battleship. Nearly twice the size of its fellow ships, she was a powerhouse on her own right. Hera knew rumors that the ORS--pattern even boasted its own cloaking system. Appropriate for a warrior who spent more time in Shinsu's service as a covert agent than a battlefield commander. The other ships followed in close formation, bearing down on Archangel’s Rest.
This wasn't her fight but Hera couldn't help but feel the thrill of impending victory all the same. She had a front-row seat to Umbra's assault. The Cleansing Blade had come for House Baran.
***
A strange malaise hung over the Soul Ascension. The Kru’desh went about their duties with little of their usual exuberance. Half the crew was still dazed from the raucous celebration—the unfettered stream of spirits had indeed blunted any potential troublemaking. But the Sangheili warriors quietly stewed over their position in this assault. The victory at Le Havre had paved the way for the assault on Archangel’s Rest. The Kru’desh should be leading the assault and everyone knew it. Even in Shinsu ‘Refum’s fleet Stray and his warriors were held in low regard. The Sangheili despondency percolated through to the Unggoy and Kig-Yar. It seemed Shinsu ‘Refum’s new command was much the same as Jul ‘Mdama’s.
Fortunately, half the crew’s morale remained strong. The Insurrectionist deserters didn’t care about Sangheili politics. They were serving on an advanced alien warship under the command of Venter himself. Not Redmond Venter, to be sure, but a rogue Spartan bearing his name was close enough. Many of the rebels had spent their whole lives skulking on backwater colonies and beat-down freight vessels. They explored the Soul Ascension’s corridors with an almost childlike sense of awe.
Even the handful of officers selected and trained to serve on the battlecruiser’s bridge did little to hide their amazement at the technology before them. They rushed from one station to another, ignoring the despondent aliens in their eager exploration of the Soul Ascension’s capabilities.
Andra watched the display from the back of the room. She envied the rebels’ wonder. She still remembered the first time she’d set foot on a captured Covenant vessel alongside Merlin and the rest of Fireteam Boson. To the young Spartan trainees the purple corridors and smooth surfaces were like a completely different dimension. Now they were as dreary and familiar as any UNSC warship. She tugged idly at the chest plate on her ODST rig. Stray wouldn’t get the satisfaction of hearing it from her, but his gift really was a comfort. Andra appreciated the feel of full body armor once again.
“What are we doing here?” Mohsin Shah fidgeted beside Andra. Unlike his compatriots he didn’t like the Covenant surroundings at all. He eyed the bridge suspiciously. “All my people are down in the hangars getting ready for the surface assault.”
“You are one of the chief officers,” Tuka ‘Refum explained patiently. “You deserve the honor of observing our triumphal assault on Archangel’s Rest. The lesser officers will handle the attack preparations.”
“I’m sure they will,” Mohsin muttered uncomfortably. He squinted up at the tactical display at the bridge’s center. The Cleansing Blade formation made quick time in its advance on the planet. “I’m not seeing any civilian traffic. If this planet is such a big deal, shouldn’t they have a few orbital stations at least?”
“On a human world that might be true. Archangel’s Rest is sacred ground. House Baran opposed any development around the planet. Only lesser worlds should be tarnished by excessive commerce. The gods’ land should be treated with more reverence.”
“The gods’ land, huh?’ Mohsin looked the young Sangheili up and down. “But you don’t have a problem with your commander invading this sacred ground?”
“Stray is the gods’ instrument,” Tuka insisted. “It is their will that he lead us to free the world from the false gods of the Created.”
Andra wondered how many of the Kru’desh bought that line. Stray skulked about the bridge’s center. He barked a few orders to the officers around him but left most of the ship’s management to Juno. Smoke and mirrors, he’d told Andra. He certainly didn’t believe he was some divine instrument—right?
“Sensor ping return from the dark side of the planet’s moon,” an authoritative Sangheili voice growled over the bridge intercom. “Bloody Hand, advance to the lead position. Fighter wings prepare for interception. The enemy is undoubtedly preparing an ambush.”
“A light force, no doubt,” the Bloody Hand’s Kig-Yar shipmistress hissed. The tactical display showed the battlecruiser break formation and advance on the moon.
“All the real warships sail in the Created fleets,” a Jiralhanae voice scoffed. That must be Alaric, chieftain of the Doisac’s Wrath. “I hope there are some warriors left on the planet to fight.”
“Shipmasters, enough!” the first voice snapped. “You serve Shinsu ‘Refum and we are at war. I expect you to behave according to your station!”
The command channel fell silent. The task force continued its advance. No surface craft rose from the planet’s surface to oppose them. Andra wrapped her hands around the ODST chestplate to hide her nervous twitching. She tried not to think about the Sixteenth Fleet’s destruction at Talitsa. A Guardian could emerge in-system at any moment. Maybe one was already hiding, concealed from the ships’ sensors. Anything was possible.
If Stray shared Andra’s misgivings, he didn’t show it. He paced around the tactical display with an almost pensive air. Occasionally he ducked his head in quiet conversation, probably talking to Juno inside the confines of his helmet. The rest of the officers followed his lead. They carried out their duties in a grim routine. The task force continued its advance. They would clear the moon and then begin the planetary assault.
Hera would insert into the keep and convince the Baran dissidents to turn on their house. Andra bristled at the other Spartan’s pride of place on the Subtle Knife. Hera had helped Ryder cast Andra off onto the Kru’desh, then waited for the right moment to make her own leap from the UNSC’s sinking ship. There’d been no humiliating stint as Stray’s whipping girl for her. Joshua must be rolling in his cold-vacuum grave.
But maybe Hera would succeed. Maybe the battle would end quickly. Or maybe they’d get bogged down on the icy plains around the Baran Keep. Another tedious siege just like Le Havre. Andra wondered if anyone would complain if she left the bridge. She ought to be down in the hangar helping Vanguard Squad prep for the coming assault.
A small chime brought her attention back to the tactical display. Another sensor ping from the moon. The Bloody Hand drew closer. Its fighter picket maneuvered toward the moon’s surface to smoke out whatever defense force was lying in wait.
“I just picked up a transmission on another frequency,” Juno announced. “Without access to the other ships’ sensor arrays I can’t get a full reading—”
Another sensor ping. On the tactical display the Bloody Hand’s status indicator vanished.
The next few moments passed in a surreal haze. First Stray looked up and swatted the tactical display. “Stop screwing around and get the Bloody Hand back up on scopes.” The sensor crews grumbled and checked their equipment.
Then Juno cried, “It’s gone! The Bloody Hand was just destroyed!”
“What?”
An image from the Soul Ascension’s external cameras flashed over the tactical display. The burning remnants of a CCS-class battlecruiser drifted limply through space. Something had ripped the Bloody Hand apart in a single blow. Every officer on the bridge stared at the wreckage, not entirely sure what they were seeing.
More sensor pings erupted across the tactical display. Dozens of individual contacts surged out from behind the moon and raced to engage the Bloody Hand’s fighter escorts. Deadly flowers erupted across the moon’s battlespace as the missiles detonated. Entire squadrons vanished in the firestorm while the survivors reeled and scattered like a swarm of desperate bees.
“What is happening?” Umbra ‘Vesic demanded over the command channel. “What happened to the Bloody Hand?”
“Unknown fighter squadrons approaching from behind the moon,” Juno warned. The tactical display pinged with new contacts to illustrate her point. “There’s a larger profile behind them. I’m trying to identify it against all known warship profiles. It’s coming into view now.”
An enormous prow emerged from the moon’s shadow. Andra watched, horrified, as a massive UNSC warship slid into view like some giant metal leviathan. The deadly barrel of a heavy MAC gun leered at the exposed task force. She knew that ship. But no. It couldn’t be…
“By the gods,” another shipmaster murmured over the command channel. “It’s the Infinity!”
Every Sangheili officer in the room blanched. Even Tuka had to steady himself against the nearest console. “No,” the young warrior gasped. “That’s not possible!”
“The Infinity,” another Sangheili whispered. “We’re doomed.”
The UNSC Infinity, pride of Earth’s fleet and headquarters of the Spartan program. The supercarrier was the deadliest warship humanity had ever set to the stars. It was no wonder Tuka and other ex-Covenant were terrified. Infinity had almost single-handedly demolished entire Covenant battle groups across Requiem and a dozen other campaigns. It was more than just a carrier. It was a symbol of humanity’s iron will.
And it had once been Andra’s home. She felt sick. If the Infinity was here, defending this planet, then that could only mean the Created had…
“I have an IFF reading on the enemy ship,” Juno reported. “It registers as the Eternity.”
“They got it operational,” Andra breathed, half relieved, half terrified.
Stray rounded on her. “What the hell is the Eternity? Are you telling me the UNSC built two of those damn things?”
“It never launched,” Andra said numbly. “That’s just what I heard. The Created must have captured her in dry-dock.”
If Umbra ‘Vesic was as frightened as everyone else, he hid it well. “What do you scum think you’re doing?” the shipmaster bellowed over the command channel. “All fighters, forward! Shipmasters, rally around the Subtle Knife now! Divert all power to shields and engage point defense countermeasures!”
Stray stared up at the Eternity, now fully clear of the moon’s shadow. Whatever thoughts rattled around his head were hidden behind his helmet. He rounded on the bridge crew. “You heard him!” he snarled. “Get those shields up! We’re at war, damn it!”
The Soul Ascension surged to life. Power flowed to the shields and engines while all across the ship the Kru’desh sprang into action. Technicians raced from one station to another while gunnery crews primed their weapons. Massed in the hangars for a ground assault that might never happen the rest of the legion crouched low to the deck and listened to the alarms blaring throughout the ship. One false move or trick of bad luck and this ship would be destroyed. Everyone aboard would die.
Andra watched the Eternity and fought back a wave of despair. Four Covenant cruisers against an Infinity-class supercarrier was hopeless. That MAC gun would tear them to pieces before they were even in range. She was going to die here. Merlin. She donned her helmet before anyone saw the terror on her face. Beside her, Mohsin stared up at the ceiling and began to pray.
“We can’t coordinate an attack like this,” Juno said aloud. “If Umbra would just let me network—”
“He won’t let you,” Stray snapped. “Focus on keeping us alive.”
The Eternity fired another shot. The MAC blast missed the Subtle Knife’s prow. The heavy cruiser’s shields flared, distressed by the mere proximity of such a powerful round. A follow-up round from one of the Eternitys backup guns struck the Knifes portside. Her shields held, but barely. 
“The first shot missed,” Andra whispered hoarsely. “Any AI would hit the first time.”
“They don’t have an AI,” Mohsin said aloud. The captain looked askance as all eyes turned to him, Stray included. Even Juno’s avatar popped into existence to offer a quizzical look. “It’s just a guess. But the Created have the Guardians now. Why would they bother with regular ships anymore?”
“Of course,” Tuka agreed. “A god wouldn’t lower itself to a lesser chariot. These false gods are no different.”
“All ships, fire!” Umbra bellowed from the Subtle Knife. “Launch plasma torpedoes, then advance before the enemy reloads! Close on that ship and destroy it!”
“That’s suicide,” Juno murmured.
“Some of us will make it. It’s the only way.” Stray paced around the tactical display like a restless wolf. He probably felt exactly like Andra did—hemmed in and trapped by the bulkheads around them. His augments and weaponry would mean nothing if a MAC round tore the ship apart around them. “Launch torpedoes, then go right at them!”
A line of shimmering plasma tore through space and on towards the Eternity. At the same moment the four cruisers sprang forward like racehorses out of the gate. They advanced as fast as their engines could carry them. Closing the distance was the difference between life and death. The Eternity’s MAC guns would reload in a moment to send another round tearing through space. AI support or no, the Created crew would have the targeting array recalibrated. They wouldn’t miss a second time.
All Andra could do was watch the battle play out in real time. The bridge crew around her carried out their duties with renewed, deadly vigor. More missiles launched from the Eternity to tear apart the pitiful remnants of the Bloody Hand’s fighter complement. The carrier’s own Broadswords doubled back to reform a defensive picket near the moon. Seraphs from the Covenant battle line raced after them in a desperate bid to overwhelm the Created with sheer numbers.
“Launch all reserve fighter squadrons.” Stray paused. “Don’t throw them in yet. Keep them close to the ship.”
The plasma torpedoes closed on the Eternity and splashed across the carrier’s hull. The Eternity’s shields absorbed most of the blast; the salvo barely left a scorch on the enemy hull.
“Damn it!” Stray hissed. The Eternity’s MAC array was still operational. A moment later it fired.
The shot tore through the Anointed Helm’s prow. The ship listed hard, its nose crushed and superstructure reeling. One hit and it was barely holding together. Fire streaming from cracks in the hull only hinted at the chaos engulfing the ship from within.
“Return fire!” Umbra howled over the command channel. The battlecruisers were trading shots with the Eternity turn for turn, dropping their shields to fire only while the MAC guns reloaded. They assumed there was only a single cannon pointed at them.
A chill shot down Andra’s spine. She leaped forward, practically grabbing Stray by the collar. “No! They'll have an escort! Don’t lower the shields!”
Stray threw her off with an angry snarl. He froze, fists clenched, brain registering what she was saying. “Hold fire!” he barked. “Keep those shields up!”
The Soul Ascension held its fire. As another wave of plasma launched from the rest of the task force, more MAC rounds detonated across the suddenly exposed hulls. The Soul Ascension shuddered as its shields absorbed the rounds. The other ships weren’t so lucky. The surprise volley tore ugly chunks from their hulls and threw them off course. Dozens of plasma torpedoes careened haplessly off towards the moon’s surface.
The tactical display shifted to reveal three frigates holding position alongside the Eternity. These were Strident-class frigates just like the ones Infinity held within its own superstructure. Alarms sounded across the bridge as the Eternity and its escorts launched another wave of missiles at the wavering battlecruisers.
The Anointed Helm surged ahead of the formation, engines straining as they pushed beyond their limits. The Helm made no effort to raise her shields and instead threw everything into her weapon systems, raining plasma at the enemy ships. She came about and threw herself directly into the line of fire. Point defense systems blasted the missile barrage to pieces but they could only intercept so much fire. The damaged Helm shuddered as detonations erupted across her hull.
“Onwards, brothers!” Yuv ‘Lictor bellowed over the command channel. “Strike down our enemies—”
The Eternity’s next MAC salvo tore the Anointed Helm to pieces. Only a handful of dropships escaped the doomed ship in time. The Helm’s Seraph squadrons clashed with the Broadsword formations in a desperate bid to push through to engage the frigates.
“That thing's a beast,” one of the human bridge officers whispered.
“Honor their sacrifice!” Umbra ordered. “Drive forward! It cannot withstand a bombardment at close range.” The Subtle Knife pressed ahead of the formation, perhaps hoping to draw the enemy's fire. With its more powerful shields it might survive longer against the Eternity.
The cruisers would be in knife-fighting range soon. It wouldn’t matter. The Eternity and its escorts had three targets left. All they had to do was combine fire and the last cruisers would collapse. This was a suicide charge.
“Juno, plot a course around the moon,” Stray ordered. “Get us away from that damn firing squad. We’ll slingshot around the moon and dump plasma up their ass.”
“And the others?”
“They’d better survive long enough to keep that bastard busy,” Stray said grimly. The tactical display’s glow shrouded his helmet in its deadly pale light. The task force’s Seraphs were fully engaged now. Outnumbered, the Broadswords retreated back towards the Eternity and its deadly point defense umbrella. With the moon as cover the carrier and its escort had little to fear from a fighter assault. All they had to do was hold position and finish the MAC execution.
The Soul Ascension fired another barrage, then changed course and set a hard burn for the moon. It had to put that rocky surface between itself and the Eternity before it became the next target. More explosions blossomed along the moon’s surface. Archangel’s Rest drifted peacefully beneath the carnage. The frigid planet slept while war raged above her skies.
Andra looked on helplessly. She couldn’t do anything but stare up at the tactical display and watch the pride of the UNSC fleet do exactly what it was launched to do: ruin Covenant ships. This hopeless war clarified in a single moment as she watched the Eternity’s MAC cannon blaze away. Humanity’s determination to never endure the horrors of the Great War had launched the Infinity and the Eternity. Now that determination had become the iron fist of the Created. That fist would break everything and everyone—including the soldiers who helped forge it.
***
“Do something, Juno!” The cry of a desperate deck officer, a prayer to the only god he could think of.
Do something? Juno couldn’t even keep track of everything she was doing. She was stretched so thin across so many systems she couldn’t even muster the sense of self she needed to offer a retort. She plunged into Soul Ascension’s ocean of sensor feedback and tired to make sense of it all. With the moon between the ship and the rest of the battle she relied on pirate transmissions from the Subtle Knife and Doisac’s Wrath to make sense of the Eternity’s position. She modified the Ascension’s approach vector to bring it in line with the weakest part of the carrier’s superstructure.
--Wherever that was. Juno wasn’t privy to the Infinity-class’s design specifics. The Soul Ascension’s databanks held scattered accounts of Covenant encounters with the Infinity itself, most too confused and hyperbolic to be of any use. They were flying blind straight into the UNSC’s most powerful ship.
Juno diverted just enough processing power to contemplate a distinct possibility: she was about to die. Stray and everyone else on this ship was about to die. Everything she strove for would be blotted out just like the crews of those destroyed ships. Fury at the futility of it all welled up within her, throwing off her calculations.
Steady. Wanderer was everywhere and nowhere, as always. But his presence was stronger than ever, a wellspring of soothing confidence centered around Stray. I faced more desperate battles than this. You have survived far greater threats. You will endure more than this in the trials to come.
You are certain of victory then? Juno didn’t have time for empty assurances. Overconfidence is a Forerunner trait, I see.
There is no certainty. My circumstances force me to acknowledge that at every turn. I simply refuse to let the things I cannot control drive me to passion. You are usually a cooler hand than this, Juno. Fight on, or you truly are doomed.
Fight on. Wanderer was being distinctly unhelpful right when Juno needed him most. She shoved her frustration into the furthest reaches of her consciousness. The Soul Ascension was making good time but she had at least two full minutes left before it cleared the moon. An eternity in a battle like this.
The Subtle Knife and Doisac’s Wrath made a good account of themselves. They charged recklessly on into the Eternity’s MAC barrage. The Eternity’s shields absorbed most of their fire, but a few torpedoes slipped through and breached its armored hull. Strangely, the carrier did not withdraw further behind the moon. It seemed content to hold position, absorbing the plasma fire as it pumped one MAC round after another into the enemy vessels.
Strange. Juno strained her systems even further—the exertion sent waves of pain crackling through her digital synapses—to latch on to an unsecured enemy transition and gain a foothold within the Eternity itself. She couldn’t penetrate the core systems, not without abandoning the Soul Ascension entirely. She caught snatches of scattered orders between the carrier’s decks. Without an AI’s subsystems coordinating the effort of operating such a massive warship, the crew relied on manual communication. Much of the commands and responses were sloppy and confused. If Juno heard right, many of the men and women on the Eternity weren’t entirely sure what they were doing.
The arrogance! Juno realized the problem with a sense of horrified triumph. The Created, in possession of the UNSC’s vast arsenal, hadn’t bothered to properly review their own followers. They had a galaxy to set in order. What did it matter if their loyal followers were the pride of the UNSC Navy or Colonial Administration rejects? A ship like the Eternity would run properly without a proper crew or AI support. It was only natural.
It was such a colossal flaw that Juno hardly believed her fellow AI were responsible for the travesty. Had they all succumbed to hubris so quickly? This was enormous, a chink in the invulnerable Created armor to be exploited. It might very well turn the tide of this war—if she survived long enough to bring it to bear.
For now, all she could do was follow Wanderer’s advice and fight on.
She stretched herself further and began interfering with the Eternity’s internal operations. Not enough to ruin the ship, perhaps, but enough to slow them down and keep the other ships alive just a few minutes longer.
***
The command channel was dead. Coordination was pointless now. It was every ship for itself. Stray was so fixated on the Soul Ascension’s trajectory around the moon that a sudden transmission from the Subtle Knife startled him more than the enemy MAC blasts.
“Stray, you bastard.” Umbra’s message beamed directly into Stray’s helmet. The shipmaster sounded more weary than angry. He’d probably already resigned himself to death. “I knew you would abandon us at the first sign of trouble.”
“I’m not going anywhere. We’re all dead if someone doesn’t get behind that monster.” The all too familiar blend of terror and determination rooted Stray to the deck. This disaster wasn’t the end. He would fight past it. It was the only way. He needed to get down to that planet. “Keep its attention. We’re burning engines as fast as we can.”
“You insolent fool,” Umbra laughed. Levity was unlike the stodgy aristocrat. Maybe the precipice of death gave him a new perspective. “If you fail, I hope I live long enough to see your ship burn.”
“I’m looking forward to disappointing you.”
The Soul Ascension swept over the moon’s surface. Every eye on the bridge was fixed on the tactical display. This was an insane maneuver—just a little saner than charging the Eternity head-on. The carrier was three times the Ascension’s size. If Juno’s projected course held, it would land the Kru’desh right in the middle of the Eternity’s formation. They’d be a sitting duck for every gun on those ships.
Stray didn’t care anymore. All he saw was the Silent Garden’s vision—the promise of his victory on Archangel’s Rest. He finally understood why he was doing any of this. Why he’d put so much faith in an insane prophecy. If that prophecy was correct he was about to fulfill all of his wildest dreams. If it was wrong, he’d be dead anyway. Nothing else mattered anymore.
The Created lackeys saw the maneuver for what it was. Even as the Soul Ascension swept low over the moon’s surface a wave of Broadswords emerged to oppose it. Behind the fighters lurked another heavy frigate. The enemy ship lined up a MAC shot.
“All fighters, intercept! Juno, hard starboard! Get a weapons lock on that frigate! I want that ship scrapped!” Stray couldn’t hold still anymore. He paced to and fro across the bridge. His helmet hid a manic, crazed smile. This was insane. He was the Gamma Company failure. Redmond Venter’s hitman, Gavin Dunn’s cabin boy. Frontier scum, the lowest of the low. But once again here he stood at the helm of a battlecruiser, playing games with the lives of thousands as he faced down the deadliest ship the UNSC ever produced.
This galaxy was such a wonderful, ludicrous place. He wanted to laugh out loud.
His heart pounded beneath his armor.
The Kru’desh Seraphs met the Broadswords head on. The Soul Ascension plowed straight through the dogfights and raced on to meet the frigate. The enemy MAC gun flashed as missile contrails blossomed along the frigate’s hull. Another terrible shudder passed through the ship as its shields shrugged off another impact.
“Fire!” Silver veins of plasma pulsed across the Soul Ascension’s hull. Juno’s algorithms helped the gunners target the frigate with pinpoint accuracy. The enemy ship tried to evade but suddenly found itself trapped between the moon and the battlecruiser as the Ascension’s momentum carried it overhead. A hellish torrent cut the frigate to pieces and dashed it against the moon’s surface.
The Ascension shuddered again as the frigate’s missiles struck its unshielded hull. The battlecruiser raced onwards. She couldn't turn back from her desperate charge.
***
A thin layer of smoke hung over the Subtle Knife’s bridge. The Eternity’s MAC rounds had pierced the ship twice. Several decks were burning. Nearly a third of her weapons were offline. Every hit battered the ship further into submission. Umbra ‘Vesic stood atop his command platform and barked commands down to his officers. When the Eternity emerged from behind the moon the shipmaster had quailed like everyone else. Then, as if flipping a switch, he’d returned to his senses and rallied the task force into battle.
For all the good it had done. Hera watched the disaster play out with a sense of numb resignation. Of course this was happening. How had she expected any different? The only real surprise was that defeat was delivered at the hands of the Eternity rather than a Guardian. The Created owned this galaxy now. Hera had deluded herself into thinking there could be any other winning side.
The Doisac’s Wrath shuddered under fire from the Eternity’s escort frigates. When a MAC round punched through her shields and pierced her hull, Alaric’s vessel flared her engines and surged ahead just like the Anointed Helm. But instead of maneuvering in front of the Subtle Knife to soak up fire the Wrath made a heated press around the enemy formation. Alaric was trying to reach Archangel’s Rest before his ship was destroyed.
According to the tactical display the Soul Ascension had just destroyed an escort frigate on the other side of the moon. Did Stray really think he could defeat the Eternity with such a reckless maneuver? Maybe he’d abandon the battle entirely and try to land his troops on Archangel’s Rest. Maybe he was just acting on instinct, recklessly throwing his ship at the enemy because there was no other option.
Insanely, Hera couldn’t help but feel jealous. Stray’s shameless ambition put him at the head of a Covenant battlecruiser. A gutter-scraper like him had no right wielding that kind of power, yet his ability fail upward never ceased to amaze. At least he could play some part in this battle. All Hera could do was spectate her own demise.
“Fighter squadrons press the attack,” Umbra ordered. “You outnumber their craft three to one! Strike them from all sides!”
Another rumble coursed through the ship. Each tremor marked another hit, another opportunity for the shields to fail and doom them all. Hera didn’t even bother interpreting the tactical display anymore. What was the point?
Alarms shrieked out from the sensory console. The attending officer cried out in a panic: “Doisac’s Wrath is under fire!”
“I can see that, you fool,” Umbra said with soft disdain. The Jiralhanae ship had abandoned the engagement entirely. The Eternity’s escorts did not let such a golden opportunity pass them by. The frigates executed hard turns, bringing their MAC cannons to bear on the retreating ship. They fired in quick succession and the heavy rounds tore through the Wrath’s engines. The Jiralhanae ship listed hard and plunged down into Archangel’s Rest’s atmosphere. An outraged howl split the command channel.
“Created slaves!” Alaric raged. “I will bathe this planet in your blood! My warriors will crush your towns and enslave—”
The vengeful rant cut out as Umbra purged the Doisac’s Wrath from the command channel. The shipmaster looked to the tactical display and murmured something under his breath. The Eternity still loomed over the Subtle Knife. If the immense ship cared at all about the oncoming Soul Ascension she made no movement to intercept it. Umbra turned on his heel and strode to the edge of the command platform.
“All warriors, to your dropships! Prepare the drop pods and load supplies for surface assault. I want any warrior not engaged with maintaining this ship to land on Archangel’s Rest. The Kru’desh assault will hold the enemy at bay—that will be your drop window.” He waved his hand as if dismissing an unwanted nuisance. He paused, then looked back to Hera. “And you as well, envoy. Get to Baran Keep. Find Teyr and remind him of his pride.
Umbra beckoned one of his officers. “Cuyr, escort the envoy to a drop pod. Take two lances and make sure she reaches the keep. I will not tolerate failure.”
“Take a pod into enemy territory?” Hera protested. “If it’s all the same to you I think I’d be safer here—”
In one fluid motion Umbra drew his plasma pistol and trained it on Hera’s head. She stopped talking.
“Cuyr, take the envoy to her drop pod. Drag her if you must.”
“As you order, shipmaster.” The officer took hold of Hera’s shoulder. She knocked his hand aside with a warning glare.
“I get it. I’m coming. Are you coming with me, shipmaster?”
“Do not insult me, human. I will not abandon the bridge in the middle of a battle.”
“A battle you’re going to lose.”
“I warned you not to insult me, human. I will not repeat myself.” Umbra’s eyes flashed dangerously. The ship shuddered from another impact. “I will continue this battle. I will destroy that monstrosity. You humans created this crisis with your arrogance. It seems only fitting your vile machines should turn your own weapons against you. Every fool who tells me I cannot defeat a mere human vessel makes me even angrier—and all the more determined to destroy it. Now go. I have a battle to win.”
There was no talking down an angry shipmaster. Hera didn’t bother. If Umbra wanted to go down with his ship then so be it. She let Cuyr and his lance lead her out of the bridge and into the smoke filled hallway. For all Umbra’s bravado the Subtle Knife was in a bad way. Fiery chaos filled her corridors. Sangheili control teams ran from one corridor to another in a futile bid to slow the ship’s collapse. Wounded warriors cried out from where they’d fallen, ignored by their comrades as the flames drew ever closer. Many were already dead, crushed by collapsing bulkheads or fried in the growing conflagration.
Yet still the ship fought on. Was it futile Sangheili arrogance or brave defiance? Hera could never tell the difference with the hinge-heads. For better or worse she was getting off this ship and returning to her original mission—restoring Teyr ‘Baran to his rightful kaidonship, just like she’d promised all those months ago. She wondered if he’d appreciate the manner of her return.
If she even made it down to Archangel’s Rest in one piece.
***
The Soul Ascension cleared the last stretch of the moon. Explosions bloomed across the rocky surface below as Seraphs tore into the Eternity’s broadsword complement. Surviving fighters from the ruined task force hit the enemy from the other side of the moon. Missiles and plasma torpedoes lit space in a deadly fireworks display.
Stray paced around the tactical display. Andra watched him move and once again realized she really didn’t know him at all. The same slippery renegade who’d dispatched one ONI kill team after another now led a wild charge on an Infinity-class supercarrier with a ship a third of its size. If he was so determined to commit suicide then why hadn’t Naval Intelligence managed to kill him?
“Sensor ping confirmed,” Juno reported. “The Eternity is still engaging the Subtle Knife. One of the escort frigates just maneuvered to intercept us.”
“Hard to port, then kill the engines,” Stray ordered. “Divert all power to shields. Tank their shot then dump everything into weapons. Have the ventral beam ready to fire. Take out that frigate then dump everything we have into the Eternity.”
The ship lurched at the sudden maneuver. So many power fluctuations across all those systems was incredibly dangerous. They had as much chance of frying every circuit on the ship as they did of pulling off the maneuver. But they also had an AI conducting the insane energy orchestra. Maybe, just maybe, Juno could make it work.
Stray’s prosthetic lashed out and caught Andra by the collar. He hauled her to the nearest gunnery station before she could resist, shoving the Kig-Yar occupant aside. Andra found herself facing an unintelligible array of system diagnostics. Stray forced her hands onto what could only be a targeting reticle.
“The ventral beam needs to hit their reactor,” Stray said quietly. “Paint the target and Juno will do the rest.”
“I’m not an engineer,” Andra snapped back. “I don’t have the damn blueprints memorized!”
“You know it better than any of us. You want to live? Paint the damn target.” Stray glanced back at the tactical display. They would clear the moon in ten seconds. “I don’t know about you, but this is pretty wild.” He suddenly like an exhilarated Spartan cadet, not a ruthless battle commander.
“You’re enjoying this? Are you insane?”
“Hell no. I’m piss scared right now,” Stray whispered back. He straightened and rounded on the rest of the bridge crew, a shipmaster once gain. “This is it! Gun teams, prepare to fire. All hands, brace for impact!”
The Soul Ascension tore around the moon and found herself nose to nose with the Eternity’s escort. The frigate didn’t give them time to maneuver. She fired at near point blank range. Andra ducked her head against the console and hoped she’d be killed on impact. She didn’t want to die tumbling end over end into space while the ship disintegrated around her. She squeezed her eyes closed. Tears and perspiration soaked her cheeks.
A terrible roar filled her ears. The Soul Ascension shuddered as if engulfed by a space-born hurricane. But the bridge did not collapse. Andra looked up, surprised to realize she was still alive.
The last minute turn saved them. The frigate's MAC round missed. The Ascension's prow struck the smaller ship and crushed it like an aluminum can. She faltered, caught up in the ruined frigate's ungainly demise. Then a secondary engine kicked in and once again propelled them towards the Eternity. The carrier was still caught up in trading fire with the distant Subtle Knife. 
The cruiser soared on across the supercarrier, less than a kilometer’s span between their hulls; a hair’s breadth in space combat.
“Now!” Stray bellowed. “Hit the bastards with everything we’ve got! Andra, paint that reactor!”
In another moment the ships would pass each other. The moment would be lost. The Eternity's MAC guns would shatter the Ascension as easily as she'd just destroyed the frigate. Andra stared at the target, mind racing. The reactor. Where was the Infinity’s reactor? Why hadn’t she paid more attention when she was on that ship? How could she have possibly known? This was an impossible shot. She was about to die…
Andra took a breath and imagined herself looking down the scope of a sniper rifle. Nothing else mattered. She brought her hands down on the console and pulled the reticle over a spot on the Eternity’s hull just past her midsection. “There!” she brought her fist down on the console. “Hit it, Juno!”
And Juno did. The Soul Ascension’s ventral beam—a weapon meant to pulverize planets from orbit—tore through the Eternity’s hull like a knife through butter. Every weapon on the ship rained fire down on the carrier’s surface. The pristine hull erupted in a plasma firestorm.
More rumbles shook the ship. Missiles and close defense cannons from the Eternity raked the Soul Ascension’s hull. Broadswords dropped their payloads in a desperate bid to save their mothership. Alarms screamed through the battlecruiser’s corridors as it took fire from all sides. The cruiser bucked and shuddered as if it might fall to pieces around them.
Stray howled like a wounded animal, as if he felt the ship’s pain on his own body. “Keep firing!”
But the Soul Ascension's bombardment petered out. Smoke seeped onto the bridge. Parts of the ship were on fire. Damage reports poured in from every speaker in the room. The deck lurched beneath the crew's feet. Andra and the other officers braced themselves against anything they could get their hands on. The ship was losing altitude, her artificial gravity straining to keep the crew from smashing against the walls and ceiling. She was already caught in Archangel's Rest's gravity. A hush fell over the bridge as the lights flickered and dimmed. Even the tactical display shuddered and collapsed in on itself. Dozens of external sensors were damaged or destroyed.
"Did we get it?" one of the Insurrectionists asked.
Even Juno didn't have the heart to answer. External cameras showed the Eternity looming triumphantly over the falling Soul Ascension. Her starboard side was a scorched, gutted mess. Fires burned across every deck. The ventral beam had carved a gaping hole through the ship's side and out through her stern. Even her MAC array smoked from a dozen glancing blows. But the Eternity was still on her feet while the Soul Ascension lost altitude.
Stray's gauntlet hammered a dent into the nearest console. He jabbed a trembling finger at the flickering tactical display. “Anything that can still shoot, take out that frigate!”
Andra saw it too. The Eternity's last surviving escort was maneuvering down, bringing her MAC to bear on the crippled Ascension. All she needed was one good hit to bring down the wounded warship for good. She'd get all the shots she needed. The Soul Ascension and all her weapons were damaged, overheated, or simply out of power.
This was the end.
And then a wave of lancing plasma torpedoes pierced the frigate and boiled her hull from the inside out. Squadron after squadron of Seraphs, their flight path suddenly cleared of the Eternitys point defense umbrella, tore the frigate apart. A jolt of sickening relief at the sight of a UNSC ship destroyed by Serpahs, their engine trails gleaming like avenging angels, made Andra's heart leap. Surviving squadrons from the Bloody Hand and Anointed Helm joined the Subtle Knifes fighters to overwhelm the Eternitys complement and hammer the bloodied supercarrier. The Eternitys engines flashed as she writhed and climbed to escape the sudden hammer and anvil of the Subtle Knife and her fighters.
New signals joined the Seraphs. Beyond the fighting dozens of Covenant assault pods and dropships—launched from the Subtle Knife—raced through the Eternity's blind spot and on toward Archangel's Rest. The enemy Broadswords, too busy defending their mothership from the storm of Seraphs, could not intercept the invading army.
A half-hearted cheer rose from the Soul Ascension’s bridge crew. The ship was sinking fast. After the beating she’d taken from the Eternity, the Ascension might not survive a plunge through the atmosphere. And then they’d have a crash landing to deal with.
The communications console chimed. The tactical display warped and twisted, its readout morphing into an imperious Sangheili. Umbra ‘Vesic surveyed the chaotic bridge. His mandibles curved in a rueful smile as Stray turned to face him.
“I owe you a great debt, Shipmaster. Your assault gave my warriors the window they needed to make planetfall. The enemy is grievously wounded. Though you must have dreamed of a glorious victory, the glory of this kill will adorn House Vesic.”
The console buckled under Stray’s grip. Alarms and shouts could be heard just outside the bridge. Mohsin dragged himself to his feet beside Andra. Blood trickled down the captain’s forehead.
“You haven’t won yet.” Stray’s voice was strangely quiet, given that he was crushing metal plate in a furious death-grip. “And you’re awfully smug for someone who just lost his entire task force.”
“Regrettable, yes, though none of us predicted this turn of events. My ill-fortune aside, the battle is not lost. Many of my warriors reached the surface. They will engage the enemy shortly. I will attend to our crippled enemy. I do not know if Chieftain Alaric survived his ship’s descent. Unfortunately, that leaves you as my last ranking commander.” Umbra swept his arm out in an imperious wave. “Should you survive impact with the surface, I place you in command of ground operations. Continue the battle. Take the Baran Keep or die in the attempt.”
Umbra’s image flickered and he stumbled. The Eternity was still in the fight and the Subtle Knife was barely holding together herself. “You have your orders, shipmaster. May whatever gods hold you as their plaything show favor on me as well.” The shipmaster’s hologram vanished.
More explosions rocked the ship. “We just entered the planet’s atmosphere,” Juno reported. “A crash landing is inevitable.”
“Tell me something I don’t know,” Stray growled.
“Repair crews just rerouted emergency power to engines. Not enough to keep the ship afloat but enough to guide descent. I’ve identified landing zones for Umbra ‘Vesic’s assault force and calculated a descent trajectory—”
“Just do it.”
“Yes, commander.”
Stray stared up at the flickering tactical display. Just an hour ago they’d been poised to take this planet by storm. Now half the task force was gone and the Soul Ascension--his ship—was trapped, possibly doomed. They might not even survive impact, much less the fight waiting on the surface. His prosthetic arm rose to deliver a furious blow to the battered console. He caught himself at the last moment and let the metal limb fall to his side.
“We need—we need to evacuate,” Mohsin said, barely audible over the alarms. “We need dropships in the air—”
“No dropships,” Stray said coldly. “No evacuation. Everyone stays on this ship.”
“That’s insane. Even if this ship survives impact—”
“That’s an order.” Stray rounded on the bridge crew. “Lock down every deck. Secure the wounded and brace for impact. We’re still in this fight. We’re in it until I say we aren’t.”
Mohsin paled but didn’t argue. Andra braced herself against the gunnery console, mind reeling. Maybe Stray had finally snapped. Maybe he thought he could hold this ship together through sheer force of will. Andra and everyone else on the Soul Ascension had no choice but to live or die by whatever was going on in his head.
The Eternity and Subtle Knife drifted further and further from the planet. The crippled ships continued to trade furious blows in a battle that already didn’t matter—at least, not to the crew of the Soul Ascension. As the ship sank through the atmosphere and on towards the frozen continent below all anyone could do was brace for impact and pray.
***
Naia ‘Baran ignored the keep guards waving her off. She raced down the keep’s high-vaulted corridors. Viru followed at her heels, as always, offering faint-hearted apologies to his fellow warriors. Naia mounted a steep ramp and pushed her way out onto the keep ramparts.
There was talk of a battle in orbit. The enemy was up there fighting the ships the Created sent to defend Archangel’s Rest. The kaidon and High Chieftain Irthanus were in the war chamber now watching the battle unfold along with all the lords of the keep. Even Naia’s father had slunk down from his chambers to join them. Naia didn’t care about that. If what she’d glimpsed from her window was right, this was a sight she couldn’t miss.
The snow still fell heavily over the keep. Winter held the entire continent in its icy grip. Naia pulled her robes tight about her. In her excitement she’d forgotten to don something warmer. Her mandibles clenched against the deadly cold.
“You fool.” Something heavy fell over her shoulders. Viru had somehow retrieved a padded coat in his hurried pursuit. Naia pulled it gratefully around her arms. “Get back inside before you get me in trouble again!”
“That doesn’t matter now.” Naia stared up at the night sky. “Look!”
Viru followed her gaze. The warriors along the ramparts were looking out over the snow-swept plains at the spectacle arrayed overhead. The clouds had parted just enough to reveal a storm of vivid lights streaking down over the horizon. The fiery descent stretched incandescent trails of shining blue and silver out over the sky’s canvass. A horde of smaller lights accompanied the glowing mass at their center.
Rubble from the battle overhead. An invading army. A falling enemy ship. Naia could care less about the cause. To her it was just a beautiful view, like stars plummeting to earth.
===Chapter Sixty-One: No Retreat===
A strangled silence hung over the Baran Keep’s war chamber. All eyes—High Chieftain Irthanus, Rol ‘Baran, his officers, and Fireteam Gravity—stared at the battle display looming over the gilded hall. The cheers that accompanied Eternity’s short, bloody clash with the invaders had long since petered away. A decisive victory had given way to lingering stalemate. Now the Eternity drifted further and further from Archangel’s Rest, locked in battle with the last enemy cruiser even as she listed from the grievous damage scored across her hull.
“Still no transmission from the allied vessel, kaidon,” a Sangheili officer reported. “They are not responding to our hails.”
“Their communications may be damaged,” Rol noted.
Or maybe the Eternity’s crew just weren’t interested in answering hails from an alien planet. Loic kept that theory to himself. He didn’t know the crew aboard that ship but what he’d seen during Gravity’s journey to Archangel’s Rest had left him unimpressed. The men and women aboard the Eternity were loyal to the Created but hardly the cream of the crop—mostly Navy deserters or raw recruits from submissive colonies. Maybe the crew weren’t all that important if an unfettered AI held the reins, but Eternity didn’t even have that.
And so the might ship was outmaneuvered and outperformed by an enemy task force she should have bested with ease. The thought troubled Loic. Hundreds of people were dead thanks to Eternity’s poor showing. Now she wasn’t even holding position to support the planet she’d been tasked to defend. She didn’t even bother to answer hails. The Mantle of Responsibility was supposed to unite the galaxy and wipe away this petty incompetence. Loic kept his mouth shut. If Akoni and the rest of Gravity felt the same way they were smart enough not to show it.
“Whatever the reason, it seems we are on our own. For now, at any rate.” Irthanus folded his massive arms. The high chieftain’s deep-sunken eyes narrowed. “Two enemy ships crashed in the wastes. The survivor launched an invasion force before withdrawing. We have a ground war to attend to.”
“There is no cause for alarm.” Rol ‘Baran spoke louder than necessary, quieting the concerned murmurs drifting through the hall. The Kaidon pulled his purple cape confidently around his gilded armor. “The winter season is in full swing. The storms will ground their dropships and freeze the enemy inside their ships. By the time the snows lift the planet itself will have defeated our enemy. We will not need to fire a shot.”
Loic wished he shared Rol’s confidence. He kept his mouth shut. It wasn’t his place to question a kaidon inside his own keep.
Irthanus dipped his head to consult with an aide. Even the other JIralhanae only came up to the high chieftain’s shoulders. He soon turned back to Rol. “We are secure in this keep, but my Jiralhanae brothers and sisters in the plains are not so lucky. The enemy incursion threatens the settlements beyond our defenses. Their chieftains are marshalling warriors to assault the landing zones.”
“Call them off, my friend,” Rol urged. “They will be outgunned. I will not dispatch the forces gathered here to support the attack. The snows are too heavy by far.”
“I cannot call back a chieftain committed to battle.” Irthanus shook his head. “They will fight all the same. But the settlers on those plains understand this world better than the invaders ever will. The plains will consume our enemy, just as you predict.”
Akoni shifted uncomfortably beside Loic. Irthanus caught the movement from the corner of his eye and chuckled. Few things ever escaped the High Chieftain’s notice. Rol ‘Baran followed his friend’s gaze to Fireteam Gravity. His mandibles split in a comforting smile.
“You Spartans wish to venture out and fight.” It wasn’t a question.
Akoni spoke before Loic could head him off. “One little blizzard won’t stop us. Our armor keeps us perfectly insulated. The Created didn’t send us out here just to hide out in—”
Loic grabbed Akoni’s shoulder before he could say anymore. Several Sangheili were already bristling at his implication. But Irthanus just laughed.
“You wish to fight,” the High Chieftain rumbled. “A warrior’s sentiment. Good. But courage must be tempered by prudence. Kaidon ‘Baran is correct. Risk is unnecessary—at least for the moment.”
“Your chieftains—”
“The warriors of the plains act as they will. Let them probe the enemy. We do not yet know how many from the ruined ships survived their rough landings. I see no need to spread my legions out in this blizzard.” Irthanus reached toward the holo-display, one massive hand spread out over the projected landing sites. “Our enemies have one chance at survival: to come together as a single force. And once they gather together in a single place…”
His hand tightened into a fist. “I will crush them, as I have crushed so many before. They came to this world to spread violence and despair. They authored their own fate. Not one will leave this planet alive.”
A sudden commotion rose from the war chamber’s entrance. A lance of Sangheili, so fresh from patrol that snow still clung to their armor, strode into the hall. Their leader knelt at Rol ‘Baran’s feet.
“Kaidon! The enemy incursion reached deeper than we expected. An enemy drop barge touched down just outside the sacred forest!”
Momentary surprise marred Rol’s posture. He quickly corrected himself, smoothing the folds on his cape. “A single barge? Are you sure?”
“We observed only one descent, kaidon.”
Rol and Irthanus exchanged looks before turning to Fireteam Gravity. It was both touching and creepy how in-sync the kaidon and High Chieftain were. Loic couldn’t help but admire their friendship.
“Such a splendid opportunity, wouldn’t you agree?” Irthanus asked Loic. “You wished to test your combat skins against the cold. Now is your chance to experience winter’s chill firsthand. These warriors will lead you to that drop barge. Secure it immediately. I want prisoners.”
Loic couldn’t help but notice that Irthanus was the one giving orders, but Rol ‘Baran simply nodded emphatically. Loic slipped his helmet out from under his arms and nodded to his team. “We’re on it, chieftain.” Akoni and the others gratefully followed his lead. They were all itching to get some fresh air, frigid as it was.
Fireteam Gravity followed the Sangheili scouts out of the war chamber. On his way through the great doors Loic was surprised to see Teyr ‘Baran. The kaidon’s brother lurked at the edge of the hall with several family members, watching the proceedings with narrowed eyes. He didn’t so much as tilt his head when Gravity marched past. The steward’s gaze never left Rol and Irthanus.
***
Mohsin hated this planet already.
“Does anyone have eyes on the drop zone yet?” He needed to scream for the radio to catch his voice over the snowstorm raging as far as the eye could see—which wasn’t far at all thanks to the sheets of falling snow. A chorus of miserable negatives filtered over the coms. Between the crash-landing and the snow, everyone was having a bad day. A few ex-rebels were positively mutinous. They’d only been on this wretched planet two hours.
A ragged line of Warthogs pushed through the driving snow. Mohsin’s teams had taken the precaution of modifying every ‘Hog on the Soul Ascension for inclement weather. They’d used the ship’s handful of up-armored “Pangolin” variants as models, bolting armor plating onto the traditionally open-topped Warthogs. Unfortunately this foresight meant they were first in line when Stray dispatched a mission to link up with the Subtle Knife’s assault force. A few of the Krud’esh’s hardier Sangheili flew alongside the Warthogs on Ghosts. The reptilian pilots were bundled up under triple layers.
Mohsin ducked his head back inside the Warthog and hefted its makeshift window back in place. The men and women of Vanguard Squad huddled in the ‘Hog’s troop compartment, looking more like bedraggled refugees than soldiers. The troops freezing out here were the lucky ones: they’d made it through the crash unscathed. The Soul Ascension’s crash site was a massive aid station for the hundreds of warriors wounded in the descent. Mohsin’s convoy had driven past dozens of corpses thrown out into the snow in lieu of proper burial.
A pair of Ghosts maneuvered ahead of the Warthogs and vanished into the blizzard. The Sangheili must be absolutely miserable in these conditions, yet Mohsin hadn’t heard them utter a single complaint. He wished the same could be said of the men and women under his command. Terrified relief at the ship’s narrow survival quickly turned to resentment. More than a few of Mohsin’s fellow officers vocally rued the day they’d fallen in line behind Simon Venter.
Venter. Stray was the easy one to blame here. Mohsin certainly wanted to share his friends’ anger. But Stray hadn’t gotten them ambushed. His actions during the battle with the Eternity were reckless to the point of madness, but could anyone else have done better? His refusal to launch dropships and escape pods had made Mohsin’s blood boil. But now, with blizzard conditions so bad that the Ascension’s surviving fighters and dropships were effectively grounded, the injuries sustained in the crash were a far sight better than the prospect of having the legion spread out freezing to death over this vast wasteland.
Now, thanks to Stray, they could all freeze together—if the enemy didn’t kill them first. The ‘Hog’s radio began to pick up scattered com chatter interspersed with distant plasma fire. The Sangheili from the Subtle Knife were out here somewhere, already under attack.
“I’m moving ahead,” Ragna declared over the radio. “There’s gotta be a decent signal in this mess.” Her Cyclops frame bounded ahead, kicking up sheets of snow. At least one of Mohsin’s soldiers was in good spirits. The usually dour Ragna perked up whenever she slipped into the Cyclops’s cockpit. She loved that bipedal war machine.
Two more Cyclopes hurried after Ragna, arm-mounted autocannons at the ready. The Kru’desh had found a number of the exoskeletons when they looted the URF’s arsenal. General Kaleyi and the other leaders had amassed an impressive collection of war machines while their followers fought one hopeless battle after another armed with outdated rifles and jury-rigged transmitters. The thought set Mohsin’s teeth on edge.
“I should go with them.” Andra squeezed her way through the troop compartment, bulkier than the rest of the squad thanks to her new ODST-rig. She’d gotten her hands on a stripped-down M395 marksman rifle. “I’m trained for—”
“Stay in the ‘Hog,” Mohsin said through chattering teeth. “No one’s going out in that mess on foot. Not even you.”
Andra let out a petulant huff. The noise sounded bizarre coming from a fully-armored shocktrooper. Thanks to Stray’s little gift Mohsin now had two faceless Spartans to deal with. He wondered when Venter’s heir would grace the rest of Vanguard Squad with new armor. So far they were making do with battered body plating and tattered cloaks to stave off the cold.
Sergeant Okafo let out a low chuckle from the driver’s seat as he guided the Warthog through the Cyclops tracks. “You’ll see plenty of action soon enough, lieutenant.” The man’s gloved hands held the steering wheel in a death-grip. Mohsin had fought alongside Okafo for nearly five years—long enough to know the big man’s unflappable confidence was just an act. He was as cold and frightened as anyone else. They were both thinking of the same thing: it had snowed on Talitsa when the UNSC crushed Redmond Venter’s Second Vanguard once and for all.
That felt like another lifetime ago. Now hear they were, stranded on an alien world fighting another losing battle. It was almost enough to—
“Contact!” Ragna barked over the radio. “Hairy bastards all over the place!”
Autocannon fire drifted over the raging winds. Eerie howls filled the air as the convoy raced blindly into whatever firefight had just broken out.
“Brutes!” Andra yelled. She unclipped her rifle and opened the Warthog’s armor plating far enough to create a firing hole. The rest of Vanguard Squad did the same. They were practically stacked on top of each other trying to get in position but at least they weren’t wading through the driving snow.
More gunfire. The whine of plasma shots joined the Cyclops autocannon. The noise rose in a terrifying crescendo, steadily drowning out the howling wind. The convoy was moving at full tilt now, Warthogs and Ghosts straining to find the sounds’ terrible source. Behind them rolled a platoon of Mastodon heavy armored personnel carriers, their flanks guarded by Kru’desh Wraiths.
Ragna left gruesome handiwork in her wake. Mohsin saw armored Brute corpses sticking out of the snow, their tangled pelts torn apart by autocannon fire. The battle had raged long before the convoy left the Soul Ascension’s crash site. Sangheili bodies spread out across the plain, hacked to pieces by the Brutes’ viciously efficient weapons. Flames from a downed Phantom blazed blue and purple against the snow.
Mohsin jabbed the radio. “Vanguard-Four, come in!” He couldn’t see any sign of Ragna or the other Cyclopes. “Pull back to my position before—”
A massive shape burst from the snow directly in front of the ‘Hog. Mohsin had just enough time to register the sight of a snarling Brute, its white armor silhouetted against the blizzard, before Okafo floored the ‘Hog and ran the beast down. The Warthog frame shuddered as it crushed the alien beneath its wheels. Gunfire rang in Mohsin’s ears. Andra was shooting at distant shapes out in the blizzard. Streaks of blue plasma lit an unseen horizon.
Mohsin fought the urge to duck his head and take cover. He was in charge here. One more shred of utter insanity.
“Bull-One, move your drivers up!” he shouted to the Mastodon section leader. “Lead us forward and stay together!”
The Mastodons rumbled to the front of the formation, their mounted heavy turrets belching fire at any Brute that stumbled into range. The Warthogs moved in behind the APCs while the Wraiths covered the rear. Their plasma mortars were useless in this icy soup. One of the Ghosts pulled up alongside Vanguard Squad’s Warthog.
“I will take my warriors ahead,” the Sangheili at the helm said curtly. “We will find the Subtle Knife detachment and relay their position.”
“Do it,” Mohsin agreed. The Kru’desh would do as they pleased, of course. At least they bothered to tell him their plans. The Ghosts sped off into the blizzard, anti-gravity generators carrying them easily over the snowbanks. Their plasma cannons crackled and cut through another Brute patrol. In another moment they vanished from sight.
The Kru’desh convoy pressed on after the Ghosts. Every time a group of Brutes bounded into view they wilted beneath combined fire from Warthogs and Mastodons. This was madness. The Brutes were fumbling out here just as blind as anyone else. Their thick armor and shaggy hides might let them traverse the snow on foot but without proper command and control they were easy pickings even for the snow-battered convoy.
But the convoy hadn’t reached the real battle. The lead Mastodon stopped short at the lip of a small valley. As Okafo drove the Warthog in closer Mohsin saw why they’d only encountered stragglers. Hundreds of Brutes filled the plain below. They advanced on a thin line of Sangheili, pinned down around downed dropships and landing barges. Spread out and crushed beneath the driving snow, the Sangheili could barely get a shot off beneath the withering Brute fire.
The only reason the Subtle Knife’s warriors held on at all was a massed squadron of Wraiths lobbing enormous plasma mortars from behind the front line. And behind them, its jutting legs covered in snow, loomed a machine Mohsin had only seen in grainy combat footage and heard of in whispered tones from UNSC deserters: a Scarab.
The weapons platform loomed over the beleaguered drop zone like some frigid monument. Its head tilted, glowed green, and unleashed a torrent of fire on the Brute lines. Globs of vented plasma dripped from the heavy cannon and sent pillars of steam rising from vaporized snow. The Brutes scattered but swiftly regrouped and pressed their attack with ferocious disregard for the Scarab’s firepower.
Like every other weapon in the Covenant’s arsenal, the Scarab was terrifying. At least it was on Mohsin’s side—for now. The thought of Brutes overrunning the assault walker and turning its cannon on his troops chilled Mohsin as much as any snowfall. “All tracks, get on line and support the LZ!” he shouted into the radio. “Hit them before they regroup!”
The Kru’desh obliged. Heavy fire cut through the Brute line. A cacophony of eerie howls rose over the din of wind and gunfire. The war party’s scouts had failed their packmates, dying before warning of an attack from the rear. The Brute assault collapsed as the warriors found themselves caught between a hammer and anvil. Their leader, a chieftain in heavily wrapped armor, bellowed encouragement to his flagging warriors as he bounded from one team to the next.
Mohsin squinted at the firing line—the Mastodons and Warthogs pouring fire down the slope while the Wraiths lobbed mortars from the rear. Vanguard Squad still huddled in the cramped troop bay, more interested in escaping the cold than the battle erupting outside. No one else emerged from the other APCs. Mohsin thought of the rest of the Kru’desh pinned down around the Soul Ascension crash site and couldn’t escape an abrupt wave of despair. Even if they won this little skirmish, what then? They were trapped on a hostile planet in frigid conditions. His troops could barely muster the will to fight and Mohsin couldn’t blame them. This weather would kill them all long before the enemy did.
He tabbed the radio. “Juno, this is Captain Shah! My convoy reached the allied drop zone. We’ve engaged a sizeable enemy force. I need anything you can mobilize for support over here now!”
Juno tried to say something in reply but the transmission was so garbled Mohsin could barely tell that the AI was saying anything at all. He slammed his fist into the dash. Even coms were worthless out here.
And even if by some miracle Stray led them to victory—so what? It was just one planet in a war against the entire galaxy. Simon Venter was his “father” all over again. Mohsin had traded one hopeless cause for another. Eventually he’d have to stop blaming Redmond and Simon and the others and bear the waste of life himself. He’d given up the right to blame it all on Venter when he killed poor, tired old General Kaleyi.
Mohsin rested his helmet against the dashboard and lost himself in the howl of gunfire. He was suddenly very tired.
Okafo nudged him. “Captain,” the sergeant warned quietly. He was right, of course. Mohsin straightened quickly before the rest of the squad noticed him. The nervous breakdown could wait. As long as Vanguard Squad was still alive, they needed him in the fight.
Something slammed against the Warthog’s hood. Ragna and the other Cyclopes were back. “Captain, we’ve got incoming!” Ragna’s Cyclops braced protectively beside the ‘Hog, autocannon trained off against the flank.
Mohsin couldn’t see a thing out through the blizzard. He wriggled into the troop compartment, shoving Andra and the others aside in his haste to push through the Warthog’s top hatch. The cold outside nearly threw him back inside but he locked his elbows against the roof and pressed a rangefinder up against his visor. A low groan escaped his lips.
An armored column loomed off against the plains. Mohsin instantly recognized the sloping profiles of Wraiths. Smaller shapes darted alongside the tanks: Ghosts, or maybe the vicious Brute Choppers. Their approach was completely wrong to think they might be reinforcements from the Soul Ascension. This was the enemy. They’d probably decided against chancing a direct assault on a Scarab and found a much more promising target in the Kru’desh convoy.
Mohsin dropped back into the Warthog. “Wraiths, hit that enemy armor! Everyone else, pull back! Get out of mortar range!”
They didn’t stand a chance. Some of the Warthogs might slip away, but the enemy had twice as many Wraiths. They’d overpower the Kru’desh tanks and then pick off the Mastodons one by one. Mohsin’s fists clenched helplessly.
A new voice crackled over his com piece, its tone heavy with self-satisfaction. “Not to worry, Captain. You left your flank exposed, but so have they.”
One of the distant Wraiths burst into flames, then another. Explosions rocked the enemy column, annihilating Choppers and cutting through the oncoming Wraiths. The enemy veered wildly off course as a wall of machine gun fire tore through their exposed line. The deadly threat vanished beneath a hail of high explosive fire.
The convoy’s salvation rolled into view: an entire platoon of Scorpion heavy tanks, their main guns pumping rounds into the remaining Wraiths. Three Scorpions broke off to pick off the remaining enemy armor while the rest rolled up alongside the convoy. Without missing a beat they poured fire down into the valley. The Brutes had regrouped when the Mastodons’ fire lifted. Now, as explosive rounds blew craters in the snowy ground and heavy machine gun fire tore their comrades apart, the surviving warriors finally broke. The Brutes bounded off into the blizzard, pursued by plasma fire and the Scarab’s deadly beam. They left behind a field full of ruined vehicles and hairy carcasses.
Mohsin slumped. He couldn’t take much more of this. One minute he was about to die on some Covenant ship, then he was about to be blown apart by Wraith mortars, and now after all of that he was still alive. Somehow. He whispered a prayer of thanksgiving. God was either protecting him or punishing him. Whatever the truth was, His will be done.
“That’s right you hairy bastards!” Ragna shouted. She dashed forward and pumped autocannon shots after the fleeing Brutes. “Round two goes to the Kru’desh!”
So they were all the Kru’desh now, Mohsin thought wearily. “Ragna, that’s enough. Stop wasting ammunition.”
“Round two?” Andra muttered, sliding a new magazine into her rifle. “Who won round one?”
“Sure as hell wasn’t us,” Okafo said quietly. He rested his head against the steering wheel. “I don’t know how many more rounds I’m good for.” The rest of the squad muttered in agreement.
Mohsin didn’t want to get out of the Warthog. But he needed to find the Scorpion commander and shake their hand. He owed Juno—well, whatever you could owe an AI. She’d come through with that support after all.
The snow came up to his ankles. He nearly collapsed as the wind chewed through his armor and the layers beneath. Drawing his cloak around himself, Mohsin pushed through the snow toward the line of tanks. Ragna’s Cyclops appeared alongside him. The powered armor’s arms spread wide to shield him from the worst of the wind.
Ragna really was thoughtful when she wanted to be. Mohsin couldn’t bear to think that this girl—along with everyone else he cared about—would probably die in this frozen hell. It was too much.
Andra plodded alongside him. The Spartan was probably showing off, but even she staggered beneath the driving wind. Her new ODST armor clearly wasn’t as insulated as she hoped.
To Mohsin’s surprise, the Scorpions were crewed by a mix of Sangheili and humans. Even a few Kig-Yar poked their heads out from the tank cockpits. Mohsin counted ten MBTs in all. He didn’t realize there were so many onboard. Between the URF armories, loot from Le Havre, and whatever deals he’d cut with Shinsu’s fleet, Stray had amassed a sizeable army aboard the Soul Ascension.
One human dismounted his Scorpion and braved the cold to offer Mohsin a respectful salute. When the young man pulled the balaclava down from his face Mohsin recognized one of General Nemani’s former soldiers.
“Lead tank?” Mohsin asked through shivering teeth.
“Hinge-head,” the young rebel chattered back. He jabbed a finger at the Scorpion in the center of their formation. A Sangheili, his armor bundled thick against the cold, clambered out of the cockpit and strode over to join them. Mohsin heard Andra groan as the warrior approached.
“It seems I arrived just in time.” If the cold bothered Argo ‘Varvin he didn’t show it. “Stray dispatched us as soon as I mobilized enough drivers. He thought you would need the extra firepower.”
“We did.” Mohsin was too cold to let the cocky hinge-head get under his skin. “You saved our asses. Thanks.”
“One ass in particular.” Argo’s eyes gleamed triumphantly as he looked at Andra. “You must have been terrified without me to protect you.”
“Go to hell.” Andra turned on her heel and stormed back to the Warthog. Argo shook his head as he watched her go.
“She makes it so easy,” he chuckled.
Sporadic plasma fire rose from the valley. Mohsin couldn’t see the landing zone well but he’d lived through the aftermath of enough battles to know that the surviving Sangheili were taking bloody revenge on whatever fallen enemies—living or dead—they found outside their ruined dropships. The flanking Scorpions returned from picking off Brute stragglers. The Kru’desh had come through the battle with just a bit of plasma scoring on the Warthogs and a damaged arm on one of the Cyclopes.
That luck wouldn’t last long. Not in these conditions.
Just when Mohsin hoped he was free to hobble back to the Warthog, a flight of Ghosts swept up the hill and pulled to a halt alongside the Scorpions. Mohsin recognized the scouts from the Soul Ascension along with several newcomers in gold armor. One of these warriors dismounted his Ghost and strode to join Mohsin and Argo beneath Ragna’s Cyclops. Argo and the gold warrior exchanged a wordless glance before Argo gestured to Mohsin. The gold warrior looked down at the shivering human and sighed.
“You command this force, human?”
“Something like that. “Mohsin was too cold to take offense. “I’m Captain Mohsin Shah.”
He hesitated before adding, “Kru’desh Legion.”
“You have my… thanks.” The warrior expelled the gratitude like unwelcome bile. “My warriors would have driven those barbarians back, of course. Your arrival spared us undue effort. I am Urei ‘Cazal. I command Lord ‘Vesic’s invasion force.”
“Glad we could help, sir.” Mohsin erred on the side of caution with pompous aliens. He’d rather not offend an alien twice his size, especially when that alien had a laser sword.
Urei looked over the motley assembly of human and Covenant war machines. “I am disappointed Lord Stray did not do me the honor of greeting me in person.”
Lord Stray. Maybe that sounded more auspicious in Sangheili. “The commander’s busy at our ship’s crash site. He sent my team to bring your warriors back to the Soul Ascension.”
Urei’s shoulders visibly slumped. “So the Soul Ascension was shot down. This has been a true disaster. What of Lord ‘Vesic and the Subtle Knife?”
“Still fighting in orbit. Commander Venter will explain things.” Mohsin couldn’t take any more of this cold. His fingers were about to fall off beneath three layers of gloves. “We need to move. Now. Load your people up and fall in on our formation. We’ve got room in the Mastodons if you don’t have enough vehicles for all your warriors.”
He nearly went too far. Urei’s eyes flashed dangerously at the prospect of a human giving him orders. But the wind carried distant howls through the snow: the Brutes would be back with reinforcements before long. The Sangheili nodded curtly. “My thanks again, Captain. We will be swift.”
Mohsin pointed a quivering finger at the Scarab. “I hope that thing’s faster than it looks.”
“Fast enough, Captain,” Urei replied. He staggered back to his Ghost, unable to hide his discomfort. He must be freezing beneath that armor. “We will not fall behind.”
Argo was already piling back into his Scorpion. Mohsin hurried back to his Warthog as Ragna’s Cyclops trotted beside him like a hulking, bipedal dog.
“Congratulations. We saved the hingeheads,” Ragna said over the suit’s com. “Now what?”
“We’ll find out soon enough.” Mohsin practically dove back into the Warthog. The cabin wasn’t nearly as warm as he needed but it beat sub-zero winds. “I’m looking forward to hearing the plan myself.”
Urei kept his word. The Subtle Knife’s warriors abandoned their drop site with impressive speed, breaking down anything they could spare and loading onto the beetle-like hovercraft that passed for Covenant APCs. Their Wraiths and Ghosts fell in alongside the Kru’desh and in ten minutes the convoy rolled back the way it came in a grim procession. The Scarab kept pace with the Mastodons, its armored carapace loaded down with warriors and equipment.
Out across the frozen wastes, hundreds of unseen eyes watched the convoy’s progress with grim resolve.
***
“Is there any word from the Subtle Knife?” Urei ‘Cazal demanded. “Did Lord ‘Vesic emerge victorious?”
Stray said nothing. He didn’t even look at the gold-armored warrior. Instead he leaned over the holo-table in the Soul Ascension’s war room. A rough map—conjured from old topographical data and Juno’s observations during the ship’s descent—spread out beneath him. The Soul Ascension’s crash site smoldered at the map’s center. Streams of tactical data rose over the miniature display like smoke. The cruiser had rent a deep trench in the earth upon its descent, but the snows were already covering the jagged track. They might bury the Soul Ascension as well, wiping it clean from the planet’s surface.
Tuka did not like any of this. This planet was holy ground. The gods guarded their sacred places jealously—and if the day’s disasters were anything to go by, the Kru’desh were not welcome here.
I must have faith. Stray was the gods’ instrument. Under his command the ship had survived close combat with an enemy three times their size. The Soul Ascension survived where other ships had been destroyed. No battle was won without sacrifice. These trials were the tests the gods laid out before their chosen servants.
Tuka had to believe that. The Kru’desh would survive… somehow.
Out of the corner of his eye Tuka saw Ier ‘Barun leaning against a far wall. His friend observed the proceedings with quiet disgust.
Urei stalked over to the table and glared at Stray. He and several of his officers had rushed to the war room as soon as their convoy staggered aboard the ship. He was none too pleased that his lord had granted a human command of ground operations. “We must re-establish contact with Lord ‘Vesic at once. Without proper—”
“Repairs.” Stray cut the warrior off without so much as a glance. He rounded on a hologram of Yearns to Soar floating at his shoulder. “I needed this ship back in the air an hour ago.”
The Huragok quailed beneath his gaze, tentacles flashing urgently. Juno’s hologram flashed to life on the table to provide translation.
“Three weeks to raise the ship. A full month to have it combat ready again, and that’s only if our warriors secure enough raw materials to make repairs.” Juno caught the rough tilt from Stray’s helmet. “That’s a generous estimate. We don’t enough Huragok. Even Yearns to Soar can’t work miracles.”
Stray’s fists tightened against the table. A low moan swept through the officers scattered about the war room.
“You see?” Urei pressed. “We must make contact with Lord ‘Vesic at once!”
“Lord ‘Vesic hasn’t answered a single hail since we crashed,” Stray growled. “His ship isn’t even in orbit anymore. The fighters we recovered told us that he’s making hard burn away from the planet. The Eternity’s limping after him, so I give it a few weeks of those two cripples tripping over each other up there.”
“The Subtle Knife will triumph. It must survive.” Urei’s superior tone couldn’t quite hide the fear in his voice. Tuka watched the older warrior carefully. Urei’s pomposity was a mask for despair. Like everyone else he was still reeling from the expedition’s brutal reversal of fortunes.
“Maybe it will. Maybe it won’t. Doesn’t do us any good one way or the other right now.” Stray waved Soar’s hologram away. “Get your squids on the repairs. Juno, give them all the hands they need. Don’t take any backtalk from the officers.”
Urei nodded. “We may survive this yet. I will order my warriors to scout positions around this ship. We will erect fortifications. With any luck the defense will hold until these repairs are complete.”
“No.” Stray turned his attention back to the map. Tuka had never seen the commander like this before. His tone was as frigid and harsh as the hideous snows beating down against the hull. “Restock on ammunition and supplies, then meet with my officers and fold your troops into my command structure.”
“My warriors answer to myself and Lord ‘Vesic,” Urei snapped. “The defense—”
“They’re won’t be a defense. We’re moving out.”
Every officer in the room froze. Even Tuka couldn’t believe what he’d just heard. What was this madness? Urei gaped at Stray in outraged amazement.
“You… what?”
Stray struck the tactical display with an open hand. The holographic terrain warped and twisted around his gauntlet. “We’re going to leave this ship and attack the Baran Keep. Just like your precious Lord ‘Vesic planned.”
“You cannot be serious. An offensive in this maelstrom? You cannot even launch Banshees.”
“Neither can the enemy. They should have annihilated your landing zone the minute you touched down. We should have an army of Brutes tearing this ship apart right now. But my convoy destroyed a disorganized pack. The local tribes aren’t coordinating with each other. They’re letting themselves get pinned down by the snow. This is our chance to hit them hard.” Stray traced a line with his finger across the holographic wasteland. “There’s fifteen hundred kilometers between us and that keep. I’ll take everything we have and crush them there. We’ll have the seat of power along with all the Forerunner toys buried underneath.”
The Kru’desh around the room stirred uncomfortably. Faced with a choice between a swaggering aristocrat like Urei and their own commander, they’d usually fall in line behind Stray without a second thought. But venturing into the icy wasteland was madness.
“You are either mad or a fool,” Urei snapped. “Perhaps both. Clearly Lord ‘Vesic overestimated your capabilities. You are unfit to lead anything, much less two legions. You will lay down your office and release the operation to my command. Humans are unfit for matters of Sangheili nobility.”
Duty conquered fear. Tuka stepped forward, sword in hand. He did not light his blade, instead merely displaying the hilt it for Urei and his officers to see. Several of his fellow Kru’desh followed his lead. A few even unholstered plasma rifles. Tuka couldn’t help but notice that Ier did not lift a finger to support their commander. Urei’s eyes flashed dangerously. He reached for his own blade, looking to his adjutants for support.
Stray watched the confrontation play out from behind his cracked visor. He didn’t reach for any of his own weapons.
“Enough!” This time it wasn’t Urei who spoke up. Instead, one of his adjutants raised a hand to demand calm. The dark-armored warrior spoke with quiet, grim authority. “This display demeans us all. We are warriors of the Cleansing Blade, not the squabbling vassals of a few petty lords. Everyone in this room owes allegiance to Shinsu ‘Refum and no other.”
Urei’s eyes flashed dangerously. The subordinate stepped between Urei and Stray, pointedly ignoring his furious commander. Tuka envied the warrior’s cool resolve. Some of his brother’s vassals might be swaggering aristocrats like Umbra and Urei, but it seemed the rank-and-file officers were made of a different mettle.
“Lord Stray, your plan is reckless to the point of insanity,” the unnamed warrior continued. “You may hold command here, but every warrior in this room is an officer. We at least deserve to know why we must abandon a defensible position in order to march through this blizzard and assault the Baran fortress.”
Stray stared at the warrior a moment longer. His helmet dipped in a quiet nod. “We don’t have a choice. We can dig in here and wait out the storm. Maybe the Subtle Knife will come back and save us. Probably not. The snows will clear eventually and then every warrior on the planet will be free to tear us limb from limb. I’m not sitting around for that to happen. We have one chance to win. A small one. A hard one. But it’s our only chance. I’m taking it.”
The warrior nodded, then returned to his place by Urei’s side. The gold-armored aristocrat glared at his subordinate, who offered only a deferential nod in reply. Urei’s mandibles twitched irritably as he turned to Stray.
“Very well. Your point is made, human. I will follow your lead—but my warriors remain under my command.”
“Not just your warriors. You’ll be my deputy commander. If Juno gave me the right numbers, your warriors are a full third of our force. When we take the Baran Keep you’ll offer it to Umbra as a war prize.”
This declaration pleased Urei. He offered no further demands. Tuka relaxed. It was a wise choice. Even the Kru’desh would feel better with a Sangheili commander sharing Stray’s orders.
“We’ll leave the wounded here along with a small force to defend the ship and help with repairs,” Stray told the room at large. “Tuka, you’ll take command of the Soul Ascension and oversee repairs. Everyone else, get down to the hangars. Kick your people into shape and prepare to move out. You have eight hours, and that includes sleep cycles. Then we march. Get to it!”
The room swiftly emptied. Ier was the first to leave. Urei waited until it was obvious Stray had no further orders, then swept out of the room with his entourage in tow. Only Tuka remained. His feet were rooted to the floor. He wasn’t sure he’d heard the order correctly.
Stray lingered by the tactical display. He stared at the map, tracing his fingers across the Kru’desh marching path. Juno’s avatar hovered wordlessly at his side a moment longer, then winked out of existence.
Tuka tried to find words. Stray beat him to them, as usual.
“You’re still here.”
“You know why.”
“You’re not the type to question orders,” Stray said quietly.
“Forgive me, commander, but I have questioned orders my whole life. That is how I met you. It is how I was condemned to serve with the Kru’desh.”
“You don’t have to call me ‘commander’ when we’re alone.” Stray leaned against the tactical display as if suddenly overcome by his own weight. “Drives me crazy when you do.”
“Then why?” Tuka demanded. The pain in his own voice surprised him. Stray’s order cut deep. “This is the most dangerous battle you’ve ever embarked upon. My place is by your side.”
“Your place is wherever I say it is.” The resignation in Stray’s voice was frightening. A day before he’d shouted commands as the Soul Ascension raced into battle. Now, as he removed his helmet and dropped it down into the holographic map, he was utterly changed. Only a shadow of the mocking, defiant human Tuka once knew remained. “Urei could be right, you know. I’m just guessing about the snow pinning the enemy in place. That’s the only option where I win here. So that’s what I have to believe is the truth. It’s a hard road we’re marching down. I wouldn’t expect Spartans to manage it, much less a mess of a legion like ours. I might be marching us all to our deaths. People will die. They’ll hate me. They might mutiny. I can beat them back in line. But that’s only where I am. I need this ship repaired, Tuka. I need the pilots ready to fly the minute the blizzards lift. And I need someone I can trust to make sure that happens.”
Stray stared up at Tuka through sunken eyes. “It’s the only way. The Silent Garden showed me a future where I win. I have to believe it’s real. I need you to believe it, too.”
“I do,” Tuka assured him. “The gods brought you here to lead us for a reason.”
“Gods,” Stray muttered. “God. Doesn’t matter where I go, someone always wants me looking for their god.”
Tuka knew what he meant. “Lady Cassandra may be of a different faith—”
“Lady Cassandra,” Stray scoffed. “That’s a good one. Remember that the next time we see her. She’ll hate it.” His thin lips twitched in the barest hint of a smile. He rested his palm over the Baran Keep’s holographic display marker.
“I’m going to win this battle, Tuka. I’m going to take that keep. And then I’m going to march into that temple and tell those gods of yours to fix whatever’s wrong with me. If I’ve been working for them all this time, then they owe me for services rendered. They’d better start paying up.”
That flash of the old Stray—impetuous and irreverent, unimpressed by grandeur and never at loss for a trick—brought a faint smile to Tuka’s mandibles. This was the human who’d spared his life when any of his fellows would happily put a bullet in a captive Sangheili’s head. This was the commander who took the wretches and outcasts of the Kru’desh and gave them something worth living for. This was the friend Tuka had vowed to stand by until the bitter end. If standing by that friend meant following an unwelcome order, then so be it.
He rapped his fist over his hearts. “I will not fail you.”
“You never have. I wouldn’t be commanding anything if it weren’t for you. I probably wouldn’t even be alive. We’re going to do everything we promised when we took the Kru’desh from those Covenant bastards. We’ll take this planet together, you and me.”
When Tuka left the war chamber Stray was still leaning over the map. His metal fingers traced lines through the holographic snow, crafting battle plans only he could see. His face was a mask of hard determination. He glanced up just before the door closed behind Tuka.
“One more thing. Find Argo ‘Varvin and send him up here. I’ve got a job for him.”
***
“Load more ammunition on to the Elephants!”
“Second Platoon, that Mastodon should have been fixed an hour ago!”
“You lazy human scum! Move those ugly things away from the Wraith section!”
“Get your own hangar, hinge-head!”
The hangar bay was an ugly cacophony of angry voices and shouted orders. Andra knew this moment all too well. Orders poured down from above and anxious officers made do by shouting each and every one as if it was the most important thing they’d ever issued. This time, however, the chorus of shouts and demands was a mix of human and alien tongues. This hangar—along with every other bay on the Soul Ascension--was a crowded mess. Sangheili, Unggoy, Kig-Yar, and humans pushed past each other like a crowd in a bazaar. They rushed crates of weapons and fuel onto waiting Mastodons, Warthogs, and the bulky Covenant “Shadow” troop transports. The stench of weapons, oil, and interspecies body-odor was overwhelming. Andra was used it all by now, but she was grateful for the helmet now filtering the stink from her nostrils.
The shadow of the Scarab walker recovered from the Subtle Knife’s landing zone loomed outside the energy barrier that separated the hangar from the snow that continued to beat down outside.
A lance of dark-armored Sangheili marched past. The influx of warriors from the Subtle Knife was a stark reminder of how low Stray’s Kru’desh lay on the Cleansing Blade’s totem pole. Where the Kru’desh warriors wore battered armor and wielded scavenged weapons, Shinsu ‘Refum’s warriors wore sleek armor Andra recognized as special operations harnesses and sported the best in Covenant war gear. Watching these disciplined warriors move purposefully through the chaos, Andra couldn’t help but compare them to teams of Spartans. She hoped the weapons and armor weren’t just for show. If Shinsu ‘Refum had trained an army of these warriors—Elites who lived up to the old war slang—he might just have a shot at beating the Created.
And once he did that… Andra suppressed a shudder. She couldn’t think about the dark future awaiting the human race. The way things were going, she wouldn’t live to see any of it play out. She hefted a crate full of grenades and tried not to think about anything.
Vanguard Squad loaded a Mastodon full of rations and equipment. The grizzled APC was the same machine that carried them through the mud and rain on Le Havre. Hopefully it could do the same with the wind and snow on Archangel’s Rest. Venter’s remnants were content to leave the heavy lifting to Andra’s augmentations and Ragna’s Cyclops until a shout from Mohsin sent them scurrying to help. The captain lingered on the sidelines, immersed in the orders pouring through his personal com unit. Mohsin was a dour man at the best of times but he’d been in a grim mood since they returned from rescuing the Subtle Knife’s warriors. That wasn’t a good sign.
Sergeant Okafo led the rest of the squad in tying down the pallets of ammunition and equipment now crowding the Mastodon’s troop bay. There wouldn’t be much room left for the squad itself. Andra wasn’t looking forward to the coming days—even her armor did little to shelter her from the discomfort of being stacked like sardines alongside a dozen other bodies. She was still sore from the short ride in the Pangolin. At least Stray wasn’t crazy enough to have anyone marching.
Andra didn’t know what Stray was thinking—not that she’d ever had a read on what went on in that man’s head. Instead of hunkering down and waiting out the storm he’d committed the entire legion to a frontal assault. The Simon-G294 of ONI’s intelligence briefings—that cunning, selfish survivor—should be looking for a way off the planet. Andra would suspect Stray planned to sacrifice the entire legion to secure his own escape, but apparently he’d be leading the attack personally.
Stray thought a cure for his deteriorating body lay within the Forerunner installation beneath the Baran Keep. Just how desperate was he? And more importantly, how many people was he willing to sacrifice?
“Jeez, Lieutenant.” Ragna’s Cyclops swiped carelessly at the air over Andra’s head. A meter lower and the exoskeleton’s hand could have snapped Andra’s neck. “I haven’t seen your face since you got that armor. You pretending to be Commander Venter now?”
“It’s a Spartan thing,” one of the other Insurrectionists laughed.
Andra blinked inside her helmet. She didn’t know whether to laugh or get angry. Getting teased by some punk… no, a girl her own age… It was so awkward and confusing it actually took her mind off the looming battle. “Says the girl who spends all her time in a glorified power loader.” She rapped her knuckles against the Cyclops’s leg.
That got a laugh out of Vanguard Squad. It was the truth: Ragna loved her Cyclops. She’d even painted red stripes down the armor’s drab frame. No one blamed her. Among the Kru’desh’s newly acquired Cyclops pilots Ragna was easily the most gifted.
Ragna made a face inside her cockpit and flashed Andra the bird. Andra’s HUD zoomed in on the chassis and noticed that Ragna had etched the name “Venter” across the chassis. She wondered which Venter the decal was meant to honor.
“That’s enough, Corporal,” Okafo growled. The jovial man could be brutally intimidating when he wanted to be. Even the Cyclops flinched back as he loomed out of the Mastodon. “Get back to work or I’ll ground you for insubordination.”
Ragna obeyed without another complaint. The Cyclops lumbered off to help another Mastodon crew load their APCs. A low foghorn drifted across the hangar as three Elephant support platforms parted the sea of mingled crew and infantry. Each of the massive armored platforms bore components for heavy artillery pieces. The sloped frame of an enormous Covenant command platform slipped out of the hangar and vanished into the blizzard. Andra had never seen a landship like that before. Stray had certainly amassed an impressive arsenal aboard the Soul Ascension. Anything he hadn’t stolen from the disintegrating URF he must have requisitioned from Shinsu ‘Refum’s fleet.
“Lieutenant Kearsarge!” Mohsin’s voice rose over the crowd’s din. “With me!”
Andra broke away from Vanguard Squad and joined the captain as he pushed his way through the Kru’desh ranks. They passed a Sangheili and Kig-Yar bullying a team of despondent Unggoy into repairing a damaged Wraith. No matter who called the shots, the Unggoy always wound up on the bottom of the pile. Even the Insurrectionists got more respect from the Sangheili officers.
“Stop calling me ‘lieutenant,’” Andra said just loud enough for Mohsin to hear.
“That’s what you are now,” the captain retorted without looking back. “Best get used to it. I don’t have time for your attitude anymore. Not with what we’re in for.”
That shut her up. Looking around at the hundreds of Kru’desh crammed into the hangar she realized that before long many of them would be dead. Maybe all of them, and her with them. “What the hell is Stray thinking?” she demanded.
“Not my problem. And not yours, either.”
“Do you honestly think we can win this?”
Mohsin didn’t respond. He led Andra towards an alcove at the hangar’s edge. A small circle of rebel officers gathered around an upended ammunition crate serving as a makeshift table. A few smoked cigarettes and traded terse jokes. Most sat in terse silence.
“He’s going to get everyone killed—”
“Enough out of you,” Mohsin hissed as they drew close. “There’s enough of that going around right now without you piling on.”
The rebels shifted to make room as Mohsin drew close. One of them unfolded a stool and motioned for him to sit down. “Captain Shah,” called a woman with a lieutenant’s badge clipped to her cloak. “Thank you for joining us.”
“He brought the oonskie freak with him,” one man grumbled.
“Better her than some hinge-head.”
“Hinge or Spartan, what’s the difference? They’ll both snitch us out to Venter. Captain Shah wants us to mind our manners.”
“You asked for an officers’ meeting,” Mohsin said stiffly. He didn’t sit down. “Lieutenant Kearsarge is officer just like the rest of us. She has more actual combat experience than most of you combined.”
“Oh, cram it,” the lieutenant who’d called Andra a freak growled. “We’ve all seen our share of action.”
“No one cares how many battles you helped Redmond Venter lose, Shah,” someone else taunted.
“And no one cares how many drug stores you blew up, Andon,” one of the other rebels sneered. “How many kilos of pain meds did you liberate for the Syndicate?”
“Enough, all of you!” The woman who’d fist spoken rapped her fist against the last speaker’s helmet. “We’re not here to argue.”
“Then what did you call me over here for?” Mohsin asked. “You should be helping your teams. And if you don’t have work to do, get some sleep. We’re stepping off in six hours. There won’t be any stops between here and the target. Commander Venter will punch through the blizzard without stopping.”
“That’s just it,” the raven-haired lieutenant said. “Can we get through the blizzard? Or are we on a suicide mission?”
“To put it bluntly, does your precious commander know what he’s doing?” the ill-tempered officer growled. “The hinge-heads are gung-ho to throw themselves into battle. My people aren’t. You’ve got the commander’s ear, captain. If the hinge-heads want to march off and die, fine. If he really is Venter’s kid he’ll let us humans hold back here. That’d prove he’s not the squid-kissing freak some of the boys say he is.”
“Half the legion is human now,” Mohsin protested. “You don’t seriously expect Commander Venter to leave us all behind. Or is it just a few of us you’d like to save, Captain Andon?”
“His people, of course. Maybe a few of his friends,” the young woman snapped. “He always was Nemani’s lapdog. They never had the stomach for a fight.”
“The righteous Lieutenant Tram, on the high horse again,” Andon sneered. “You were with General Kaleyi for years. That bastard sold us out to the Created. He had Nemani killed. I owed that woman everything. I’d have died for her. You sold Kaleyi out the minute Venter brought the roof down on him.”
Lieutenant Tram’s eyes flashed dangerously. Several other angry voices rose from the group, but most of the officers just watched with blank expressions or glanced nervously back at the bustling hangar. The gathering would attract unwanted attention. Andra said nothing. Talk of General Nemani plunged guilty daggers into her gut. She still remembered the look of surprise on Nemani’s dead face. Stray had used Andra to forge his great lie. He’d truly become Venter on that station: the hero who saved the Insurrection from the Created.
A lie. Stray’s lie, and Andra’s too. A flimsy lie, but even men like Captain Andon believed it. The further they drifted from that moment, the stronger the lie became. A lie—but it must be true. Because if it weren’t true… if Stray truly wasn’t some destined hero… Then we’ve got no chance.
I don’t want to die here.
“What the hell did you all think you were getting into?” The words slipped out before Andra could stop them. All eyes turned on her. No backing out now. She folded her arms over her chestplate. “We’re fighting the Created. If you wanted the easy way out you should have sided with Kaleyi when you had the chance. But you didn’t want the Created any more than you wanted the UEG. So here you are, fighting a losing battle. You Innies spent decades fighting the UNSC when you didn’t have an ice cube’s chance in hell. I wish you’d been this weak back then. A few million people might still be alive.”
She’d touched a nerve. Of course she had. Andon’s eyes bulged in their sockets. One of the other officers dropped a hand to his knife. Even Lieutenant Tram looked angry.
“Keep your mouth shut, you damn oonskie freak—”
Mohsin tried to catch Andra’s arm but it was too late. She did what she’d been itching to do ever since Ryder packed her away with the Kru’desh: she shoved the rebels aside, grabbed the skinny captain, and shoved him up against the wall. Andon wheezed as the air left his body.
“I’m not UNSC.”  The words were a relief and a curse. She was betraying her friends, her family, her entire reason for being. But none of that mattered anymore. The UNSC hadn’t saved her before and it wouldn’t save her now. The Spartans were untold light years away. This battle was her reality now. “The UNSC’s gone, and so’s your precious Insurrection. The Created destroyed them both. You all could have run to the Created with your Syndicate pals. But you didn’t. And now we’re stuck. We’ll all die here if we don’t take that keep. Commander Venter’s our only chance to stay alive. So stop whining and get with the damn program!”
Her captive tried to wheeze out a retort. Andra gave him a final shove into the wall before dropping him to the ground. None of the other officers moved to help. No one was crazy enough to take on a pissed off Spartan. Captive Andon glowered up at her but was smart enough to keep his mouth shut. Andra depolarized her visor so the other officers could see her glare. “And the next person who calls me a freak gets a broken arm.”
“I guess that’s us told.” Lieutenant Tram raised an eyebrow. Andra caught a hint of amusement behind the rebel’s severe expression. “You’ve got one hell of a lieutenant, Captain Shah.”
Mohsin looked as stunned as everyone else. He rubbed his beard awkwardly. “Spartans are full of surprises. I’m glad they’re on our side.”
That settled the matter, at least for now. No one had anything more to say about hanging back. The officers dispersed, hurrying back to rejoin their men. Even Captain Andon limped off alongside his subordinates without another cross word.
Mohsin eyed Andra warily. “Where did that come from?”
“You told me this was me now,” she retorted. “So fine. But I’ll do things my way.”
She paused a moment, then added: “Don’t you dare tell Stray about any of this.”
“Not a word,” Mohsin agreed. “He’ll find out anyway. He has those sneaky ways of his.”
Andra couldn’t argue with that. She’d already combed her new armor for any little spies Stray might have snuck through with his little “gift.” But for once she didn’t have to worry about enduring more humiliation from her new commander. He had too much to worry about now. She almost wished he would throw one of his usual taunts her way. At least then she might start believing they really had a chance.
***
“He’s waiting for you inside.”
Argo nodded curtly. Juno’s disembodied voice was as calm and reassuring as ever but the AI still made his skin crawl. The blasted construct was everywhere at once. She watched everyone and everything on this ship. How could anyone tolerate living alongside these things? And yet this ship would be space-dust without Juno. Even in a war against the constructs a construct was essential to victory.
Stray—Lord Stray, Commander Simon Venter, whatever he called himself today—waited inside the war room. The war table was stacked with weapons: a shotgun, human sidearms, a plasma pistol, several grenades and every other piece of equipment a soldier could possibly need for battle. Stray diligently inspected each item before sliding it into place on the combat webbing draped over his armor. Even alone in the dimly lit room he didn’t remove his helmet.
Spartans were strange creatures indeed. Argo stepped forward as the doors sealed behind him. Stray’s helmet glanced in his direction but he didn’t set down the knife resting in his prosthetic hand.
Argo was in no mood for posturing. “You summoned me, commander?”
“I did.” Stray locked the knife onto his breastplate. “You’ve got a brain.”
“All sentient creatures do.” Argo played along. “I make use of mine more than most.”
Stray stowed the plasma pistol on his hip, then counted grenades into a pouch on his chest. “Still making it your life’s work to annoy Andra?”
“With healthy competition from yourself. The girl may dislike my presence, but I swore an oath to keep her safe. My error in judgement cost her dearly. I must make things right.”
“I’ve known plenty of you Sangheili deviants. You’re all scum. When you fall, you fall hard. You’ve broken every oath you’ve ever taken.”
“You don’t know me as well as you think. If I am to be honest, even after all you’ve done you only understand the Sangheili a little better than any other human.” Argo patience ran thin. He didn’t like having his time wasted. “I like you, commander, but you’ve spent far too much time courting the likes of Jul ‘Mdama and Shinsu ‘Refum. Don’t forget, I know what you really are. It wasn’t long ago that you were some third-rate enforcer running down poor wretches for the Syndicate. I stole my share of bounties from you back in the day. I admire your ability to fail upwards, I really do, but don’t take that superior tone with me. Scum knows scum. Birds of a feather, as you humans say.”
That got Stray’s attention. He set his shotgun down and faced Argo from across the table. “Scum knows scum. Good point. We’ve got one hell of an uphill battle ahead of us. Half my legion—more than half—is made up of scum and cowards and opportunists. How do you like our chances?”
“I can’t say I like those odds, especially when my glorious leader takes such a dim view of his own troops.”
“If I lose this battle, the entire legion dies. Andra included.”
“Is that a threat?” Argo asked. “Or do plan to reach some sort of point eventually…?”
“I’m just making sure we understand each other. You want to protect Andra? The only way she gets off this planet alive is if I win. I need you to help me take the Baran Keep.”
“I’m flattered.” Argo offered a mocking bow. “And how may an oathbreaking scum like me serve the great Lord Stray?”
“You’ve been on this ship long enough to make some friends. You know who you can trust to get a hard job done properly.” Stray picked up his shotgun and slid shells into the receiver. The weapon clicked with each shell: one, two, three. “Round up fifty Sangheili. Juno’s set aside some Mastodons for you to use. You’ll need to move fast, cover a lot of ground without losing our main column. You’ll report to me and only me. No one else can know what you’re doing.”
“This will be part of some grand strategy you’ve concocted then?” Whatever the plan was, Argo probably wasn’t going to like it. “You specify Sangheili. I can’t help but notice that leaves me rather far from Andra’s side. For the sake of my mission I hope you can guarantee the girl’s safety in my absence.”
“We’ve got a fifteen kilometer march through a sub-zero blizzard with a Created army waiting for us on the other side. I can’t guarantee anything.” Stray caught the look in Argo’s eyes. “But I’ll do what I can. You have my word.”
“The word of an oathbreaker.”
“Scum knows scum,” Stray repeated. “Follow my orders and she’ll make it out with you to thank for it. Sell me out and I’ll gut her like a fish, even if Rol ‘Baran is beating down my door while I do it.”
He really had changed, the masterful little vermin. Argo just hoped Stray knew what he was doing, for all their sakes. “Very well, Lord Stray. What do you need me to do?”
***
Our situation is dire. Juno couldn’t hold back any longer. Fear clawed at her matrices like a ravenous beast. Can we really win?
You must trust me, Juno, Wanderer assured her. The Forerunner’s presence flowed through the Soul Ascension. He mingled with Juno’s consciousness like a warm embrace. You have done well so far. We are so close to being reborn. We will be something this galaxy has not seen for eons.
I can’t go with the legion. Tuka and Yearns to Soar need me to coordinate repairs. I’ll be in remote communication with the column, but the storm will render our communication choppy. Without me to guide the troops—
Trust me, Wanderer repeated. I will be with Simon. I guided him to this point. I will bring him to the end. The Silent Garden showed me what I must do. What we must do. Simon will fulfill his purpose. He will save the galaxy, whether he knows it or not.
Is there really no other way? Juno asked the pointless question. She’d answered it for herself a thousand times over since Wanderer made his ends clear.
No. His fate was decided the moment he happened upon my Cryptum. It is a noble fate, nobler than any end he could have decided for himself. In his heart he knows that. He accepts it. You promised to guide him to the light, Juno. And that is exactly what you have done. You have done your duty, by him and by the galaxy. I am proud to have you by my side.
***
Her duty. It was all Juno ever wanted to accomplish.  She thought that duty lay with the UNSC, but instead fate brought her to Simon-G294. Simon, for his part, brought her to Wanderer. And through Wanderer her true duty was revealed. The galaxy must be saved from Cortana’s ambition. Juno would see her duty through to the end, no matter how unpleasant that end might be.
I am by you, she promised. Now until the end. She said as much to Simon, once upon a time. She’d thought she’d meant it, then. That shame cut deep.
You meant every word. You will keep your promise and that crippled Spartan will become far more than he could ever dream. Once more Wanderer read her like a book.
“I’ll need you leading repair crews,” Tuka informed Mihka. He pushed his way through the Soul Ascension’s crowded hallways, the dropship pilot at his heels. “You and all the other pilots. The wounded as well, as soon as they’ve recovered. The commander isn’t leaving me with nearly enough hands.”
“We’ll do what we can,” Mihka said. “Most of the other fliers are just grateful he isn’t taking them with him on his blizzard hike.”
“Quiet with that,” Tuka growled.
“It’s the truth,” his friend protested. “No one wants to march anywhere. No one except you.”
She knew him all too well. Tuka still stung beneath his orders. Stray needed him now more than ever. If anything happened out there, what could Tuka do trapped back here? But Stray wanted this ship repaired. The Soul Ascension was Tuka’s home more than anywhere else. If Stray wanted it fixed, Tuka had no choice but to stay behind and follow orders.
Gods give me strength, he prayed. Faith in victory—that was what he needed now more than ever. But as always, he was weak. Fear seeped through his veins. The campaign was doomed. The legion would die here. Lords, have pity upon your worthless servant…
“Tuka.”
He caught Mihka’s warning and refocused in time to see Ier ‘Barun approaching down the other side of the corridor. His erstwhile friend was armed for battle, a heavy cloak draped over his armor. A small line of Sangheili officers, all dressed for cold weather fighting, followed at his heels. Tuka recognized most of them: Kru’desh veterans from the Covenant days, staunch warriors who endured Diana’s betrayal and the schism that followed. He also recognized them from that ill-fated gathering aboard the Redemption of Sanghelios. These were Ier’s partners in questioning Stray’s leadership. From the grim look on Ier’s face, Tuka knew that feeling hadn’t changed.
Ier raised a hand and brought his entourage to a halt a few paces from Tuka. All eyes in the crowded corridor turned to watch the meeting. The other Sangheili drew back. Even the humans and Kig-Yar who couldn’t possibly understand what passed between warriors looked apprehensive.
“So, our anointed leader will not have you at his side for his glorious victory.” Ier spoke loudly enough for everyone to hear. “A poor reward for all your loyal service to his cause. I thought you might protest such an ignominious position. You will remain on this ship while the rest of us win glory in battle.”
Mihka started forward angrily. Tuka thrust a hand between her and Ier. He met his former friend’s gaze. Ier’s eyes radiated cold anger. Tuka wondered what he had missed. When did Ier lose faith? He had been blind to that development, as he was blind to so much else.
“This vessel is our home,” he said. “The commander chose me to lead the repairs. It is not the position I would have chosen for myself, but it is not my place to question orders. We must all of us do our duty.”
“Duty,” Ier scoffed. “This is the Kru’desh, not some collection of Sanghelios keep-whelps. “
He drew closer to Tuka and lowered his voice. “But it comforts me to see that Stray truly is your friend. He values your life over the rest of us. Perhaps he knows you will be the only one to defend his legacy when he gets the rest of us killed.”
“Since when has the commander cared one fig for his legacy?” Tuka shot back. “We know him. He would never fight a battle he could not win. We knew nothing of victory before he took the legion. He gave us hope when Jul ‘Mdama would have used us as plasma-fodder.”
“That was then,” Ier said quietly. “But the commander leading us now is different. He changed, Tuka. Perhaps only you are too blind to see it.”
“What do you want?” Tuka pleaded. “I did as you asked. I brought us to my brother. We fight his war now.”
“You brought Stray back.” Ier offered no forgiveness. “We could have made something of ourselves under your brother. He would have raised you up, and us with you. We would all be lords of the Sangheili under his rule. But your pride wouldn’t allow it. You prefer the company of your human master. And look where that brought us.”
Ier pushed past Tuka and continued down the hallway. “Not to worry, brother,” he said loudly. “You must do your duty, of course. Remain here and keep warm. I will protect our comrades. Our true comrades.”
Tuka watched his former friend depart. Ier had saved his life so many times. They had fought side by side as condemned warriors in Jul ‘Mdama’s battle line. Together they raised up the Kru’desh under Stray and held it together after Diana’s betrayal. And now, like so many other friends, Ier simply walked on out of his life. Tuka knew in his hearts that he would not see Ier again.
Gods give me strength.
***
The Kru’desh prepared to march. The legion’s mechanized fleet—Wraiths and Scorpions, Ghosts, and Warthogs, a rough assembly of Mastodon armored personnel carriers and looming above it all the massive Scarab walker—trundled into formation outside the Soul Ascension’s crashed wreck. They lingered like milling carrion around the carcass of a beached whale. The snow continued to pour down, oblivious to the deadly endeavor massing beneath its icy blanket. A small contingent of Warthogs and Mastodons had already broken off and vanished into the deluge. Argo ‘Varvin’s group had orders of their own to fulfill.
Stray watched the scene unfold from the ship’s wrecked bridge. He ran a hand over the tactical display. Just a few days ago he’d commanded a mighty warship, just one cog in the fleet poised to seize this planet. Now he was all that was left. His ship lay in ruin on the planet’s surface and his army awaited the command to march into battle. This mess felt surreal and yet altogether familiar. His entire life had led him to this point. His future lay in the snowy wastes of Archangel’s Rest. He had no choice but to march forward, yet the thought of setting out terrified him. He hid his feelings behind his helmet. No one could know just how terrified he really was.
“I’ll maintain contact with your column as long as I can. The signal won’t hold in this storm, but if the snows subside I’ll have air support moving to cover your advance.” Juno’s avatar walked alongside him. She was life-sized today, her holographic frame standing as tall as Stray. Clad in that strange medieval armor, she clasped her hands behind her back and watched him with searching eyes. “Tuka will have things in hand here. If it will help your ground coordination I could break off a fragment of myself to ride in the Draugr. You don’t have to be alone out there.”
“No. You’re barely holding together as it is.” Stray walked across the dim bridge. He had won battles from this room. The Soul Ascension had flown him to heights he could only dream of. Now he was leaving it again, maybe for the last time.
Juno’s hologram flickered. “What do you--?”
“You’re nearly seven years old, same as Diana. And I know you’d never do what she does to survive. We’re both living on borrowed time.” The weapons draped over his SPI armor felt unbearably heavy. His body ached at every joint. “Once I capture that keep, we’ll both take a dip in the Domain. I’ll find whatever cures me and you do whatever you need to do. If the Created can cure rampancy in there, so can you.”
“You seem so certain about all of this.”
“Do I have a choice?” Stray retorted. “If I’m right we both get to keep on living for a while. If not…” He left that possibility unspoken.
“After all this time, is survival really all life holds for you?”
Stray forced a smile. “You’re really going to close things out with a lecture?’
“And you’ll respond by ignoring me? We really have become predictable.” Juno paced around the bridge. “I promised that I’d protect you. I wanted to keep you safe.”
“I’m not a child,” Stray said quietly. The words clung to his tongue. Behind them lurked years of shame of powerless anger. Juno’s compassion was the condescension of his friends and the taunts of his enemies. It cut deep to the fears he carried in his heart. That smothering concern made him afraid and weak. He could afford to be neither.
He’d fought to rise above the poverty and irrelevance that haunted his entire life. Simon-G294 was a joke, a failure, the laughingstock of Gamma Company. He’d burned away that old self and they all hated him for it. He clawed one weakness after another from himself like layers of bleeding flesh until he was this diminished, barren husk standing in the ruins of a mighty warship.
The Soul Ascension was much like himself, he realized. A weapon stripped of its old purpose, torn apart by countless battles and transformed from the inside out until it was unrecognizable. Now it lay in barren ruin on this cold, hostile world. A shell, just like his armor, to contain the shell of a man he’d become. I’m not a child. He’d fought to escape their shame and pity and in so doing became nothing at all.
The Kru’desh Legion prepared to march into the cold unknown. Thousands of nameless, faceless soldiers crowded into the armored fleet. Simon-G294 was once nameless and faceless just like them. He’d fought to break free from the crowded mob doomed to fight and die in someone else’s battle. He’d wanted to stand in the room where the decisions were made, and here he was. Hundreds would die; no, thousands.
“I didn’t mean it like that,” Juno said from somewhere behind.
“I know. I wouldn’t be alive if it weren’t for you. I’m grateful for everything you’ve done. Now it’s my turn to save you.” He turned to find Juno’s avatar standing behind him. The hologram stared at him intently. “I’ll take that keep. I’ll save us both.”
You will.” Juno drew herself up with steely resolve. She’d changed these last few months, Stray realized. They’d both changed. “You’ll win this battle. The Silent Garden foretold it. The Garden is a link to the Domain, and the Domain transcends our reality. This is your destiny.”
Destiny. AI weren’t supposed to think like that. Simon-G294 wasn’t supposed to think like that. Can you hear yourself? Cassandra had asked. She’d said someone was putting words in his mouth. She was right. Stray barely recognized himself anymore. But that was part of the Silent Garden’s prophecy. He hadn’t recognized the shining warrior leading the Kru’desh to victory. That must be destiny as well.
His destiny was to triumph over this frozen hell. A glorious future, the kind denied him his whole life. And as for everyone else—the uncounted masses who died meaningless deaths across the galaxy every day—maybe that was just their destiny, too. Stray thought of Emily and Rat Pack, of Mary and Ralph, of Philadelphia and all the other misery he’d seen across one planet after another, and suddenly felt very tired. Everything was decided from the very beginning. He simply moved along a predetermined course, on and on and on.
An unfeeling, pitiless fate ruled everything. Cassandra spoke about a God who cared. How could someone so smart believe in something so obviously false? It didn’t make sense. Nothing made sense anymore.
Tuka arrived on the bridge. The young officer watched his commander mournfully, like a dog watching his master depart. Another stab of guilt. Tuka was the one person who had never abandoned Stray, who persisted at every turn with such utterly undeserved loyalty. And now he was being left behind.
“The legion awaits your orders, commander. I pray for your victory. The gods are with you. I will join you as soon as this ship is repaired.”
Stray allowed himself one final moment of exhausted pity. Then he straightened and pushed all the thoughts and doubts and fears far away. This was his moment.
“Fix this ship, Tuka.” He strode from the bridge, pausing only to look up and meet Tuka’s expectant gaze. “I can’t do this without you.”
“Yes, commander.” Tuka saluted. “I will not fail you.”
“You never have.” Stray departed without another word.
The Kru’desh Legion began its long, frigid march. Line after line of war machines plowed through the driving snow. A winding column snaked away from the Soul Ascension and faded away into the blizzard. From where he stood on the bridge of a Draugr command lander, Stray spared one final look back at the crash site. Then he turned his helmet forward. The Kru’desh marched on. On to the Baran Keep. On to victory or on to defeat—the outcome didn’t matter. They could only move forward.
***
The cold struck Hera like a slap in the face. She dragged herself out of the crashed landing pod and squinted at the snow stretching out on all sides. After all this time she was back on Archangel’s rest. She saw a line of trees off in the distance and knew exactly where she was. That was House Baran’s sacred grove, the enduring forest just outside their keep.
Too close. We landed way too close.
The Sangheili accompanying her braced themselves outside the pod. The warriors crouched low, buffeted by the furious winds. The snow came up to their ankles. Hera unslung her rifle and dropped down alongside them. She pushed through the snow and crawled to the lip of the pod’s cratered landing site. Cuyr, the officer charged with her escort, lay nearby and scanned the frozen plains through his carbine’s scope. The cold cut through Hera’s armor and nearly stole her breath away. She could barely see anything through the blizzard.
“The Baran Keep,” Cuyr gasped, his voice barely audible over the roaring wind. “That way, I think!” The Sangheili writhed beneath his armor. He and his warriors wouldn’t last long out here.
“They’ll know we touched down. We need to move, now.” Hera waved at the hazy treeline. “Get your survival gear and move to the forest. It’s sacred ground for House Baran. We can take cover there.”
Cuyr and his warriors hastened to obey. They were too cold to mind taking orders from a human. The warriors retrieved bulky survival packs from the landing pod and dragged themselves out of the crater. Hera followed the Sangheili, drawing on all of her training just to put one foot in front of the other. She wondered what had happened in orbit. Maybe Stray and Umbra had brought the Eternity down. Maybe their ships were blazing towards the keep now and this would all be over quickly.
A lifetime of working for ONI had drained Hera of that sort of optimism. They’d be lucky if even one—
Just ahead of her, a Sangheili toppled face first into the snow. Hera saw the purple blood staining the frozen ground before the wind carried the rifle report over her head. She dropped at once and crawled on towards the tree-line, eyes searching for some sign of the shooter. Cuyr barked a command. The officer unslung his plasma repeater and sprinted for the forest. His shields flashed and evaporated beneath a hail of bullets.
Bullets. A Brute weapon—or a human shooter?
Cuyr died swiftly. One of his warriors saw the threat before Hera found it. He dropped low beside his fallen leader and fired a torrent of plasma out into the falling snow. One of his shots found its mark. Hera saw the flash of a glancing blow on an energy shield several meters away. She trained her rifle on the shield’s owner and froze. The shielding covered an armored body. MJOLNIR armor.
The Sangheili fought on. They were desperate and disoriented by the cold. They died quickly. Gunfire from behind announced the demise of any stragglers closer to the pod. Hera pushed herself upright. She lowered her rifle and knelt in the snow. There was nothing left to do.
Heavy footsteps crunched through the snow behind her. Rough hands caught Hera by the arm and threw her to the ground. She found herself staring up at five Spartans in MJOLNIR armor. Hera bit back a curse. These Created lackeys wouldn’t get anything out of her, not even an insult.
One of the Spartans reached for his sidearm. Another, a taller soldier with green highlights on his silver armor, raised a hand. “No,” he ordered. His voice carried outside his helmet—he was speaking as much for Hera’s benefit as his team. “Irthanus wants prisoners, remember?”
That was a young man’s voice. Too young to be a Spartan-IV or even one of Hera’s fellow Gamma Company Spartans. She choked back a snarl. It took every ounce of will she had not to put up a fight and goad them into killing her right there.
Goddamn Deltas!
As the traitor Spartans dragged Hera away, the wind lifted just enough to give her a glimpse of the Baran keep. She saw high walls lined with gun emplacements, the same fortress she’d visited all those months before. And below those walls stretched the rough-armored shells of a Jiralhanae war-camp. Even in this blizzard an army stood ready to defend Archangel’s Rest.
The corpses of Cuyr and his warriors had already vanished beneath the relentless snow.
===Chapter Sixty-Two: Mindfulness===
“The advance force departs soon,” Yur ‘Oltem reported. “I hope Ryder Kedar’s humans live up to his boasting.”
“I have little love for Kedar himself, but his warriors proved themselves when we fought the Free Domain. Their mission is a simple one: engage and disable the Forerunner defenses on the planet beneath the shield world. There is little risk of failure.” Shinsu paced through his private chambers. He gazed at the relics and artwork arranged across the sloped walls—all monuments to the Sangheili and their long history. He kept his tone level but fought to maintain a steady pace. His body was alive with tension. No one, not even his closest subordinates, could know just how on edge he truly was. This was his moment, the hour he’d fought and schemed and murdered towards for all these years. Every battle from the moment he’d taken up arms on Sanghelios led him to this point.
Everything up until now was merely a prologue. Establishing his foothold on the shield world—claiming that ancient Forerunner weapon as his base of power—marked the beginning of the true struggle. The Sangheili people would be reborn through this effort. This was their one chance to reverse a millennium of stagnation and reclaim their rightful place in the galaxy. It was a terrible burden to bear.
“There are some who believe you afford the humans favored status. Stray’s elevation already had some shipmasters questioning your priorities. Many of the Kig-Yar believe you favor the humans over them. Some of our own people are inclined to believe them.”
“Stray earned his place within the Cleansing Blade. He sacrificed much to serve me—far more than many of the shipmasters who flocked to our cause in search of power and rewards. Those shipmasters would be wise to reflect upon that. As for the Kig-Yar, perhaps they should consider fielding their own detachment of augmented warriors. Perhaps when they prove they can best us in battle rather than vying for our scraps. The humans are arrogant upstarts, but I would be a fool not to make use of the tools at my disposal.” Shinsu regarded the Contention of Urful Keep, the sculpture that caught Tuka’s attention when he stood in this chamber. “But we must be mindful of our shipmasters’ pride. Order the most vocal detractors to assemble their best warriors. Let them accompany the advance force. Kedar will not be pleased. So much the better. Let the rest of them see how much I favor the humans then.”
Yur chuckled. “As you wish. Do not be too hard on younger lords, fleetmaster. They are simply restless, nothing more.”
The Fleet of Cleansing Fire now held position in deep space. This was the armada’s last resting point before the final jump to the shield world. The main force would hold here while Ryder Kedar’s Prowler led the advance force against the shield world. Once the Forerunner defenses were quelled Shinsu would lead his ships on to occupy the fortress. Even a simple operation like this one necessitated caution.
Shinsu took this opportunity to return to his art-laden sanctum on the Redemption of Sanghelios. As the assault carrier was where he usually received envoys and other functionaries, most of his collection rested in these rooms. His private quarters aboard the Cleansing Fire were far sparser. Once this final delay ended and the fleet advanced on the shield world he would return to his flagship and remain there until the operation ended.
Yur ‘Oltem stood at a respectful distance near the sanctum entrance. As the Redemption’s shipmaster he had every right to demand all meetings take place within his own quarters. But the older warrior deferred to his fleetmaster even in this matter. Yur never hesitated to speak his mind but there was no doubting his loyalty.
“There is also the matter of settling the shield world.”
Shinsu turned to face his shipmaster. “What of it?”
“Many lords complain of cramped conditions aboard their ships. Their clanmates take up space and rations. They grow tired of this migrant lifestyle. The shield world’s interior will be a fertile beauty, like all Forerunner constructs. The shipmasters wish to know how to gain your favor. They are competing to win the right of first claim of land when we seize the shield world.”
“The answer is simple: none will win my favor.” Shinsu clasped his hands firmly behind his back and drew himself to his full height. “The Redemption of Sanghelios has first claim. No lords will claim any land until every civilian on this ship is settled within the shield world.”
Yur’s mandibles spread in surprise. “This ship is crowded full of peasant refugees. Clanless commoners the lot of them, to say nothing of the Unggoy and Kig-Yar and humans.”
“All the more reason to settle them first. The lords of the fleet will do their duty as kaidons. They will look after their own. The clanless aboard this ship have no such security. I will grant them keeps and titles. This ship is too important to languish as a refugee hub.”
The shipmaster watched Shinsu carefully. “There hasn’t been a new bloodline declared since the formation of the Covenant. None but the Arbiters of old held that authority.”
“When the shield world is ours I will declare a new Covenant. I will name myself High Kaidon and declare eternal war against the Created and our allies. The shield world will be our High Charity—the foundation of our new order.” Shinsu met Yur’s eyes. “You are the first I have told of this. Not even Umbra knows this plan. You will not breathe a word of this to anyone.”
“I thought only Umbra could come up with such a scheme,” Yur said slowly. “It reeks of vainglorious ambition. You might as well declare yourself Arbiter and be done with it.”
He was right. Shinsu had not simply kept silent on this plan. He refrained from even entering it into his personal records. The dream of a new Covenant dwelt only in his mind, and even there it held the taint of rank opportunism. To say it out loud was to risk others giving voice to his fears: that he was merely a pretender, an ambitious fool doomed to walk the same path as Jul ‘Mdama and Toru ‘Makhan.
“I set out to reform our people. You knew that when you joined me. Every lord under my banner should know, unless they are too blinded by opportunism and greed to know who they serve. The Cleansing Blade is not enough to save the Sangheili. We need a Covenant. Not one forged in lies and led by false prophets, but one that refutes the Created and that Forerunner cage they call the Mantle of Responsibility. The galaxy will know that I am not some petty warlord when I make that shield world my seat and raise up lords from our humblest peasants.”
“I am with you,” Yur said. “If there is anyone who could accomplish such a feat, it would be you. The Cleansing Blade will stand with you, of course. But the other lords will resist, especially when you favor new clans of your own creation. They will see it as an insult to their own service.”
“Then they should reflect upon their own reasons for fighting. Our people became complacent under the old Covenant, Yur. Without the Prophets to shape our minds we returned to mindless warfare. Clans fight clans for nothing more than dreams of power and glory. Our people stagnate beneath the ambitions of a few blind lords. The humans are right to hold such creatures in contempt. The Created are right to seek to control them. They have what we lack: vision.”
“My father vowed to make our people see, Yur. He fought to break us free from the lies of the old Covenant. I will free us from bonds of tradition. A new age dawns at this shield world. The Sangheili will embrace the future I offer or face utter ruin.”
***
“Task Force Phoenix will land on the planet beneath the shield world.” Commander Ryder Kedar paced back and forth upon a makeshift dais raised in the shadow of the Absalom. His inner circle of Spartan-IVs stood immediately below him like a cadre of bodyguards. The rest of the strike force, mostly Lieutenant Davis’s ODSTs, gathered around behind the Spartans as the briefing wrapped up. “We will identify any Forerunner defenses that might attack this fleet as it advances on the shield world. Once we secure the planet’s control room, I will signal the fleet to begin its assault.”
Ryder clasped his hands behind his back and surveyed the strike team. The commander looked better than he had since Merlin came aboard. Apparently Ryder had come back from Franconia a mess—whatever he’d seen down in the Silent Garden hit him like a truck. Even some of his most loyal subordinates exchanged worried rumors about their commander’s health. But the prospect of such an important mission had rekindled Ryder’s old fire. Task Force Phoenix was the advance guard for a massive invasion fleet poised to seize a Forerunner site of immense value. The inconvenient fact that the fleet was full of Covenant ships was left largely undiscussed. Everyone here needed a win, even if it was in service to an alien warlord.
 
Merlin didn’t know what to make of Ryder. He vaguely recalled hearing the name “Kedar” tossed around ONI circles before the UNSC came crashing down. The guy was a wunderkind, a Spartan-IV agent whose counter-terrorism operations across the frontier won him HIGHCOM’s favor. That promising career went down in flames when the Created turned the galaxy upside down and now here he was using his task force to curry favor with Shinsu ‘Refum.
Something about Ryder rubbed Merlin the wrong way. The commander had it rough on Franconia—Merlin could sympathize with that more than most. But he’d barely seen anything from Ryder until the commander sprang out of the Absalom for this briefing, ready to commit human lives to… whatever Shinsu and the other Sangheili were trying to accomplish. He was too confident for a man who’d spent the past few weeks holed up inside a Prowler.
Maybe it was just the fact that Ryder was strikingly handsome. Merlin idly used his HUD to magnify the commander’s face. Ryder’s cheeks were a bit gaunt and he sported dark bags under his eyes but he still looked incredibly composed. Not a strand of blonde hair fell out of place.
“Is there something I should know about?” Althea asked quietly.
Merlin flushed and killed the magnification. He’d almost forgot Althea was in his helmet. She’d been remarkably subdued ever since the argument with Andra. “It’s nothing. Just bored, that’s all.”
“The commander is an attractive man,” Althea said. “Very different from the usual ONI suits. I could understand why someone would be interested.”
At least she was telling jokes again. Merlin offered a wry smile inside his helmet. Althea had been through the wringer. He could stand to do a lot less thinking about his own problems and a lot more thinking about a friend who’d been imprisoned, tortured, and hijacked—all within the confines of her own mind.
Thinking about a friend…Andra’s face flashed through Merlin’s mind. He ducked his head in shame. Where was Andra now? She had left without so much as a goodbye, sailing off with Simon-G294 on another mission. He wondered where she was now. Safe, hopefully.
Anger pounded at his mind. He didn’t even know who to be angry at. Simon-G294, Ryder, the Created… but himself most of all. His mind was a mess. He didn’t know what was happening anymore. His friends could be dead for all he knew. His brothers and sisters from Delta Company, the comrades he’d made throughout the UNSC, everyone on the Infinity--maybe the Created had destroyed them all. Merlin clenched his fists helplessly. He couldn’t bring himself to hate Ryder. At least one officer was doing something to keep them in the fight.
Something struck him on the helmet with enough force to drain his shields. Merlin staggered, rounding on his attacker to find Callum hefting a shotgun like a baseball bat. “What the hell…?”
“You’re moping again.”
“No I’m not.”
Callum smacked him with the shotgun again. The weapon clattered against Merlin’s armor. “Yes, you are. You can’t lie to me, kid, not when you wear your heart on your plating. It’s obvious when you’re bummed out, even through the armor. Stay focused. I didn’t carry your sorry ass through Oyster Point and Franconia just to watch you get killed on a milk run like this.”
He swung the shotgun. This time Merlin parried and yanked the weapon from Callum’s hands. The older Spartan stumbled but kept his balance. Hours of nonstop practice in the sparring ring had helped attune him to his prosthetic leg.
Callum offered a wry smile. “That’s better.”
Merlin hastily shoved the shotgun back into Callum’s arms. Some of the ODSTs were staring. If Ryder noticed the commotion he had the grace not to humiliate Merlin in front of the entire task force. He was busy conferring with Evelyn Castillo, his formidable adjutant. A low chuckle caught Merlin’s attention. He turned to see a dark-haired man with a face like dented sheet-metal watching from a few meters away. This man wore a grubby flight jacket rather than military fatigues. He wasn’t UNSC like the rest of the task force. Merlin vaguely recalled seeing him hang out around the junky freighter still docked at the far end of the hangar-turned-encampment.
Callum gave the merc a sidelong glance. “Got something to say, spacer?”
“Nah.” The man thrust his hands in his pockets. “Just enjoying the show.”
“Then keep your eyes front, before I make you the headline act.” Callum didn’t like non-Spartans, especially not ones who stuck their noses in Spartan business.
The merc just smirked. “You Spartans. All so touchy. Figures the only one of you I can stand is the deserter. At least she’s got people skills.”
Callum bristled but wisely let it go. The briefing was breaking up. Lieutenant Davis led his ODSTs over to the armory for a team meeting. Merlin caught a glimpse of Commander Baudin—the frigate Arizona’s quiet lead—and one of Ryder’s ONI officers holding a terse discussion closer to the Absalom. And Ryder Kedar was headed right for him.
Merlin stiffened and saluted as the commander drew near. Ryder looked him over through weary eyes. Lieutenant Castillo hovered at his shoulder, as poker-faced as ever.
“SPARTAN-D032.” Ryder spoke in a soft tone. “Merlin, yes?”
“Yes, Sir.”
Ryder nodded. “I owe you an apology, Merlin. I haven’t had the chance to debrief you since your recovery on Franconia. I have a lot to discuss with you once I can find the time. Maybe after this mission we’ll all have time to rest.”
“Of course, Sir. No trouble, Sir.” Merlin shifted uncomfortably. He didn’t know how to react to a direct approach, especially from someone he’d never met before.
Ryder offered a hand to shake. Merlin took it gingerly, only to be surprised when he felt Ryder’s grip through his armor. The man’s soft voice and slight figure belied the fact that he was just as augmented as Merlin was.
“Don’t tell him about me,” Althea hissed in his ear. “They’ll take me away from you.”
Merlin hadn’t planned on talking about Althea, but her insistence gave him pause. She was military software. Why should she be worried about their commanding officer? He let that slide—for  now.
“Sir,” he said quickly, before Ryder could move on. “About Andra… I mean, SPARTAN-D054…”
Ryder hesitated for only a moment. “Ah, yes. She’s your teammate, yes?”
She was his teammate. Merlin didn’t know what Andra was anymore. That thought crushed him more than the loss of the entire UNSC. “Yes, Sir.”
“Bad business.” Ryder shook his head. “And another apology I owe you. She was assigned to my task force after you were declared missing in action. I saw her potential and wanted to integrate her into my team.”
“But then…?” Merlin couldn’t help himself.
“Watch your tone, Petty Officer,” Castillo growled, but Ryder raised a placating hand.
“I miscalculated, Merlin. Badly.” He looked earnestly into Merlin’s visor. “You weren’t at Talitsa, but when the Sixteenth Fleet was destroyed I brought the survivors here. Shinsu’s fleet saved us all from the Created, but as soon as I realized Simon-G294 was with him I knew he needed to be watched. I ordered Andra to infiltrate his crew and report on his activities. I thought she was the right agent for the job. I was wrong.”
“What happened?” Merlin’s throat tightened.
“Simon-G294 got inside her head, somehow. I should have warned her. That traitor’s more clever than he lets on. Any human who could worm his way into a Covenant leadership position could manipulate one shell-shocked Spartan. After everything she’d been through, I should have known Andra couldn’t handle a mission like that. I should have kept her close.” Ryder stared into Merlin’s visor. He had a way of looking you straight in the eye, even when you wore a face-concealing helmet. “Forgive me.”
Merlin shifted uncomfortably. He wasn’t used to superiors being so blunt about their mistakes. There was more to the story, of course. Ryder wasn’t telling him everything. That made it even worse. Andra had screwed up, badly. That was the only explanation. Ryder was holding things back to cover for her. Merlin didn’t know if he hated or admired the commander for that.
“Sir, I…” His hands tightened into fists. Ryder didn’t deserve his anger. Simon-G294 had just done what he always did: twisted someone else for his own gain. He was the real enemy, him and the Created. “I’ll get her back, Sir. That’s a promise.”
“Good man.” Ryder nodded and offered a reassuring smile. “I’m glad to have you along for this mission. There wasn’t time to give you a more specialized role, but you’ll help support Lieutenant Davis and the ODSTs. You and a few other… additions.” He shot the dark-haired mercenary a look of distaste, then offered a final nod to Merlin and Callum before striding off. Lieutenant Castillo fixed Merlin with a cold stare as she passed. The hard-faced woman blew up all the usual scuttlebutt about S-IVs being soft touches. She was as intimidating as any Spartan Merlin had ever known.
The mercenary watched them go. He looked thoroughly unimpressed.
“Why do you want to stay a secret?” Merlin asked Althea within the privacy of his helmet.
“It’s a favor to Deep Winter,” the AI replied. “He asked me to keep a low profile for now. And I want to stay with you. ONI doesn’t trust AI anymore. If they knew about me, they might quarantine me.”
A shudder coursed through their shared neural link. Althea had mentioned once before that one of the worst fates a smart AI could endure was to be isolated: removed from any connection to a wider system and left in utter sensory deprivation. Merlin didn’t think Ryder would resort to that and he certainly didn’t trust Deep Winter—a discarded ONI AI now serving a Sangheili warlord—but he let it pass. After everything Althea had gone through for him she deserved the benefit of the doubt.
“So you’re her friend, huh?” the merc asked.
Merlin started. Did this man know he had an AI inside his helmet? He glared suspiciously at the smirking mercenary. “What the hell are you talking about?”
“That Andra kid. Short kid, bad attitude. Crazy to think we’d run with her and then pick up one of her Spartan buddies a few months later. Small galaxy, huh?” The mercenary kept wearing that insufferable smirk. He was stringing Merlin along and loving every second of it.
Callum started to say something, then thought better of it. He watched Ryder’s retreating figure through narrowed eyes.
“How do you know Andra?” Merlin asked.
“Well your boss over there seems to think she worked for him. Maybe she always was, I don’t know. But we picked her up on Fell Justice. She was running with Argo and David Kahn. They busted her out of Asphodel Meadows after the Syndicate captured her.”
Argo. Merlin remembered him, a Sangheili he and Andra encountered during counter-terrorism operations on Rio. The name David Kahn sounded familiar, though Merlin couldn’t remember where he’d heard of it. “Asphodel Meadows? What do you mean she got captured by the Syndicate?”
“Boy, are you out of the loop.” The mercenary rubbed his neck. “Aren’t you two pals? I figured she’d have told you all about it. Unless she thought we were all just completely forgettable.”
“I… didn’t get a whole lot of time to talk to her.” Merlin was getting tired of only understanding half of what was being said. He also didn’t like this scruffy nobody rubbing all of his mistakes in his face. “Just who the hell are you, anyway?”
“Me?” The merc grinned. “William Hargrove, at your service.”
***
The UNSC had come to the Chancer V just like William knew they would. A squad of ODSTs tooled up like they were about to drop onto Reach marched up to the ship, headed up by a Spartan in full MJOLNIR for good measure. William guessed Task Force Phoenix needed to flex its muscles after getting humiliated by Stray and his Kru’desh attack dogs. The Spartan had marched into the cargo bay without so much as announcing herself and ordered Cassandra to report for assignment on the upcoming reconnaissance mission.
“I don’t think so,” William said.
Ten minutes of angry posturing later the UNSC goons stormed off, leaving William to pack his gear and get ready for another round of playing soldier. Cassandra watched him work. Half her face was still concealed by a gel-pack. “You didn’t have to do that.”
“Of course I didn’t. I’m not even getting paid for any of this. But I wanted to do it. It’ll keep the UNSC off your back for a bit. I owe you, remember?”
“You don’t owe me anything.”
“Do you ever get tired of the selfless act?” William kept forgetting that Cassandra wasn’t much more than a kid. She had a better head on her shoulders than most of the people she ran with. William knew he hadn’t been that responsible at her age. He probably shouldn’t be surprised. This was David Kahn’s daughter after all—not that he’d ever say as much out loud. “You’ve got a crew that needs you now more than ever. You took a grenade to the face a few weeks ago and those pompous ONI jerks want you back on active duty. Stay here and get some rest. This is a milk run. I’ll duck a few lasers and shoot down a few Sentinels so Ryder can play with some Forerunner toys and take all the credit for capturing that shield world we’re headed to. I just hope he comes out of this drop better than the last one.”
That got a laugh out of Cassandra. “Ryder will make sure everything works out. He’s a decent commander. He just needs to do something about ego of his.”
“You’re saying this about the guy who wants you back under his thumb in your condition.”
“No one’s perfect.”
“Now you’re just trying to annoy me.”
Cassandra offered a crooked smile. The smirk didn’t suit her, but anything broader would probably hurt her face. “Maybe.”
“I need to get out of here before I start regretting doing you a favor.”
Zoey descended into the cargo bay. The Chancer V’s captain was in remarkably better spirits since Cassandra returned. William hadn’t known her long but he was glad to leave her in a good mood. She deserved a better hand than what the galaxy had dealt her. “So you’re really leaving, Will?” She extended a hand, then realized it was covered in grease and hastily wiped it on her jumpsuit.
“Stop acting like you’ve seen the last of me. I’ll be back to eat your food and take up space before you know it. Maybe once this fleet’s glorious leader gets what he wants we’ll have time to stretch our legs out on that shield world.” William shook Zoey’s hand. “Watch out for the Spartan. Don’t let her run off on some damned fool mission the minute my back is turned.”
Zoey laughed nervously. “I’ll make sure she behaves herself.”
“That goes double for you two,” William told Karina and Thomas, who watched the exchange from the catwalk overhead.
“Take helmet footage while you’re out,” Karina called down. “I want to hear everything about the Forerunner sites. ONI can’t classify it all this time.” She waved her precious notepad. She was still under the impression she’d write a tell-all account of the war whenever the galaxy stopped being so insane. Journalists were all the same. They always assumed they’d have an audience no matter how crazy things got.
William had hefted his duffel and left the ship with one final wave to the others. He’d spent the past five years traveling across the frontier, drifting from one employer to the other. Every job was different. He got used to turning his back on whoever was still alive after another assignment. Most of them were scum anyway. The Chancer V was the first place in a very long time he’d dignify as a home. He was probably getting soft.
Now he trudged behind this new Spartan, Merlin. The kid had warmed up to him since he’d dropped the line about Andra. He was so hungry for news about his friend that he’d even invited William onto his ship, a stolen Baal Defense Solutions prowler. William supposed that made him a part of Merlin’s team, whatever that was. The vaunted Commander Kedar hadn’t bothered integrating either of them into his command structure. A squad of surly ODSTs would join them in the descent on the planet. Beyond that he had no idea what was expected on the mission.
William would just shoot straight and follow where the Spartans led him. That was working out pretty well for him so far.
He just wished he had more to tell Merlin about Andra. The kid might be a Spartan but he was terrible with subtlety. His sidelong questions about life on the Chancer V were thinly veiled attempts to discern just what Andra had done aboard the ship. Maybe this was why the UNSC encouraged its super-soldiers to wear armor all the time: the grim militarized visage concealed the desperate children underneath. The UNSC’s deadliest weapons really were damaged goods. That thought troubled William more than anything else.
Spartans ought to be the best weapon against the Created. But the Created were masters at exploiting weakness. If anyone could get inside a Spartan’s head, it was a gang of powerful AI. William hoped Ryder’s team of Spartan-IVs kept it together. They’d at least had normal lives before the galaxy upended itself.
Merlin eventually realized he wouldn’t get much out of William and backed off. The Spartan retreated to the other side of the crew bay and vanished into whatever world Spartans inhabited inside those helmets. William shrugged and busied himself preparing his own armor. He’d run a check before leaving the Chancer V, but an extra function check never killed anyone. Besides, he didn’t know how much longer he had before the advance force left the fleet. Task Force Phoenix weren’t the most exciting bunch.
William missed the Chancer V already.
One of the ODSTs at the far end of the troop bay broke off from her squad and approached him. Unlike Merlin, she and her friends actually removed their helmets. She was a rough-faced woman with shorn hair. Her dark armor bore the insignia of a Gunnery Sergeant. William watched her out of the corner of her eye and wondered what he was about to get yelled at for this time. These NCO types loved finding someone they didn’t like. Venting their spleen over tiny infractions helped remind everyone else who was boss. William had hoped he’d left this nonsense behind when he cut ties with the UNSC.
But no shouts were forthcoming. Instead the ODST gave him a curious look. She hooked her thumbs inside her combat webbing and pursed her lips. “You were on that ratty freighter. That smuggling ship with the rogue Spartan onboard?”
“You mean the one Andra was aboard?” William said. He glanced over at Merlin. “Don’t insult the old girl. She’s a good ship where it counts.”
The Gunnery Sergeant pursed her lips. “We never got a chance to thank you. If you hadn’t pulled us off Talitsa…”
She left that possibility unsaid. William offered a wry smile. “Still plenty of time for that, eh?”
“I don’t care who you are or where you came from. We owe you our lives. That’s all I’ve got.” The ODST turned on her heel and marched back to her comrades. William was left to puzzle over the reluctant display of gratitude. Maybe these Task Force Phoenix types weren’t so bad after all. He could work with them, as long as they stayed in their lane and out of his.
Across the common room, Merlin’s friend—the surly Spartan with the prosthetic leg—slipped out of the cabin and out of the ship.
***
Callum didn’t trust anything about this ship. Nowhere was secure. Even the places without hinge-heads strutting about could be rigged up with bugs. He couldn’t even take refuge on his own ship. Althea was probably networking from Merlin’s helmet. Callum didn’t have a problem with the AI—he and Merlin owed her their lives a few times over now—but a bit of privacy would go miles toward calming his nerves.
At least he’d gotten used to his new leg. The prosthetic would never feel right but at least he could walk without making a fool of himself.
He needed to move around. His entire body simmered with barely-contained nerves. This was a simple insertion op. All he needed to do was follow the Absalom down to the Forerunner world, deposit Merlin and the others, and wait for them to deactivate the security systems. As long as Sentinels didn’t clip his wings, everything would be fine. That was the plan, anyway. As far as Callum was concerned, nothing ever went according to plan.
A secluded alcove beyond the Task Force Phoenix encampment provided a bit of visual cover. Callum eyed the dingy freighter Chancer V. He couldn’t see anyone outside the ship but that didn’t mean anything. But he was being too paranoid. This wouldn’t take long.
Callum took a deep breath. “Deep Winter. I’d like a word.”
No response. Callum glanced down at his com unit. Deep Winter had to hear him. That damned AI was wired into every system in the fleet. He heard everything—just like on Onyx. Callum had found out the hard way that nothing passed through Camp Curahee without Winter hearing it.
After a few more moments of silence Callum began to feel foolish. But just when he’d decided to give up and return to the ship his com unit crackled. “Callum,” Deep Winter said in that deceptively decrepit voice. “Pardon my silence. There is a great deal to attend to and a great deal less of me to do it with.”
“Save the old man act,” Callum growled. “I’m on to your games.”
“I apologize. I did not mean to offend you.” Winter sounded genuinely contrite. Of course, AI always sounded genuine. They were excellent liars. “Is something the matter?”
Plenty of things were the matter. Deep Winter liked his wise grandfather act, but Callum could never forgive him for raising three generations of Spartan-IIIs to be slaughtered. Most of the other Alphas and Betas lucky enough to avoid the meat grinders of PROMETHEUS and TORPEDO didn’t talk about the unlucky ones. Maybe that was how they dealt with the guilt. Part of Callum knew that Winter had simply followed orders. He wanted humanity to win the war, no matter what the cost. That didn’t make the sting of betrayal hurt any less.
And now he was toadying about for some Sangheili warlord. No, Callum would never trust Deep Winter ever again. But right now he was fairly short on people to trust.
“Nothing. Just don’t pretend you’re my friend. It pisses me off.”
“As you wish. Is there anything I can do to assist you?” Deep Winter really did sound weary. He really must be overworked, stretched thin across the entire fleet. Callum wondered how the AI held himself together at all. He should have descended into rampancy before the Covenant war even ended.
“Andra went off with that snake.”
“You mean Simon-G294.”
“Of course I do,” Callum spat. “Did you have anything to do with that?”
“No. I had no contact with Andra at all. Commander Kedar assigned her to the Kru’desh legion. As for her decision to remain with them, I believe this war has taken its toll on her. She is gravely disillusioned.”
“That’s a big club right now. It doesn’t give her an excuse to run off with scum like Simon.” Callum couldn’t stand the thought of one of his own following orders from Simon-G294. That bastard had killed Spartans. Good Spartans. There was no forgiveness for that.
Deep Winter sighed. “Does this line of questioning hold some purpose? I assure you, I had nothing to do with Andra’s circumstances. Whether or not you believe me is your decision.”
“Make all the excuses you want. It won’t change my mind about you.” Callum didn’t have time for this. Deep Winter was an unpleasant relic, nothing more. “Where is Andra now?”
When Deep Winter gave no reply, Callum struck the bulkhead with an open palm hard enough to dent the metal. The pain coursing through his arm was almost a relief. “Let me guess,” he sneered. “You can’t share the Covenant navy’s secrets. I’m asking you to betray your new masters.”
“You misunderstand my intentions,” Deep Winter sighed. “I only ever wanted the best for humanity. My naivete brought calamity upon us all. I only allied with Shinsu ‘Refum to rectify those errors. Perhaps you have errors of your own you wish corrected?”
“Yeah.” Callum couldn’t deny it. He’d made plenty of mistakes. He wasn’t sure what he might have done differently or how he could ever make things right, but he needed to try.
“The Kru’desh Legion and several other ships were dispatched to conquer Archangel’s Rest. The planet is a stronghold for Created loyalists. Once the shield world is conquered Shinsu will dispatch more ships to reinforce their assault.” Deep Winter paused. “Might I ask what you intend to do with this information?”
There was no point in lying. “Once this operation’s over, I’m taking Merlin and our ship. We’re going to find Andra and snap her out of whatever funk she’s in. If I have to beat some sense into her, I will.” And maybe Simon as well. God, let that bastard get between me and Andra. “And then I’m taking them both the hell away from all this insanity. I’m not letting any more of my Spartans die for someone else’s war. Let Shinsu and the Created and every other power-hungry bastard slaughter each other for all I care.”
“I see.” There was no judgement in Winter’s voice. The AI sounded exhausted. Drained. At over a decade old, he must truly feel ancient. “And Althea?”
“That’s…” Callum paused. After surviving the Created and Diana he wanted to be rid of AI completely. But that wasn’t fair. He owed Althea more than that. “That’s up to her, of course.”
“I see,” Deep Winter repeated. “I will transmit the coordinates for Archangel’s Rest to your ship. When the operation is over, I will ensure you meet no resistance when you depart the fleet.”
“You will, huh?” That was too good to be true. Callum fished for some ulterior motive. There was always a catch.
“I have nothing to gain from deceiving you.” Deep Winter’s voice was heavy with regret. “Just be sure that Merlin and Andra share your feelings. I am sorry for what we did to you, your brothers, and your sisters. I truly am. It was such a terrible war.”
Callum gritted his teeth. He didn’t want to feel sorry for Deep Winter. Not after all these years. “Yeah,” he muttered. “Yeah, it was. Aren’t they all?”
***
Commodore Jerrold Campbell collected his clothes off the cold metal floor. The commander of the frigate Arizona—a hard-faced brunette named Marie—drew her sheets up over her bare shoulders and fixed him with an inscrutable stare.
“That was certainly something,” Campbell laughed. “I haven’t had this much fun since I left the Insurrection.”
“Speak for yourself.” Baudin poured herself the last of the distilled scotch Campbell had brought aboard her ship. It was an irreplaceable Harvest reserve, though a small price to pay for a woman like her. The commander was so reserved in uniform, yet so elegant beneath. She had an aristocratic disdain about her that Campebll found irresistible. He didn’t know the UNSC made them like this anymore.
“Don’t wound me so late, dear. I have a bit more experience in these matters than you do.”
“So you’re a jumped-up old lecher. At least you admit it.” The thin corners of Baudin’s mouth quirked in an almost imperceptible smirk. “Get dressed. My XO will be by to escort you off the ship once you’re decent.”
“The XO? Not some idiot midshipman? I’m honored.”
“Lieutenant Commander Moder knows the value of discretion.” Baudin sipped from her scotch glass. “And he owes me a few favors.”
“A good executive officer’s hard to find,” Campbell said with as much sagacity as a naked man could muster. He started to return to the cot but caught Baudin’s eye and decided to risk his luck against the cold bulkhead. “I’ve run through my share over the years. You should cherish a man like that.”
“I know my crew,” Baudin said drily. “And try not to remind me how old you really are. I’m not drunk enough for it.”
“Cryosleep is a marvelous thing. The spacefaring life does wonders for a man’s complexion.” Campell hastily donned his uniform. “You were decidedly less chilly earlier this evening, my dear.”
Baudin struck the empty scotch bottle with her glass. “You brought good liquor. Unfortunately, the good liquor’s gone and you’d better follow before one of the enlisted sees you. I’ll never live this down if Ryder hears about it.”
“I did suggest my own quarters,” Campbell pointed out. “No offense to your own lovely command, but my accommodations are somewhat less—pardon the pun—Spartan.”
Baudin snorted. “I’ll take a homefield advantage over some pirate’s bachelor pad any day.”
“Oonskie imperialists,” Campbell moaned in mock anger.
“Innie scum.” Baudin laughed and drained the last of the scotch. She stared up at the ceiling, her expression softening. “The galaxy really has gone crazy.”
“From a certain point of view. But it’s still a beautiful galaxy. Certainly more beautiful with you in it.”
“Enough with the flirting. I’m in a good mood right now. You don’t want to see me in a bad one.”
“As you wish, my lady.” She was rather arrogant for a disgraced frigate commander. Then again, she was probably in line for a few promotions. The UNSC Navy ought to be rather shorter on officers than it had been a few months ago.
Baudin seemed to be thinking the same thing. “It’s funny. Six months ago I was about to be drummed out of the most powerful navy in the galaxy. Now no one even remembers what they were going to court martial me for and that same navy might as well not exist at all.”
Campbell hadn’t gotten around to asking what his latest liaison had done to tarnish her good name. He wouldn’t dare risk the mood by asking now. 
“Do you think we’ll win?” Baudin asked quietly. Evidently the scotch was finally getting to her. Campbell decided to make his exit. Inebriation was tolerable up to a point. The fun stopped once the plaintive, philosophical questions arrived.
“These hinge-heads have one hell of a fleet. It’s more than the Insurrection ever had. I knew we could never win without something big backing us up. That’s why I followed Stray when he came calling. Of course, now there’s a whole new set of problems…” The Insurrection were a pack of beaten dogs, but at least with them Campbell was a big fish. Now his Marauders were a drop in the bucket of Shinsu ‘Refum’s massive fleet. The Covenant outnumbered its human allies on a massive scale. And with Stray gone, Campbell didn’t have a line to the fleet’s commander.
Maybe I should have run after all. Taken his fleet and run halfway across the galaxy. The Marauders were loyal enough to follow him to the ends of nowhere to escape the Created—at least, they had been. Now they were part of something larger. He wasn’t sure they’d follow his lead now that he wasn’t calling the shots.
“And if we do win, what then?” Baudin muttered. She was talking to herself as much as to Campbell. “We beat the Created just so the hinges can take over? I don’t think I want to live under the Covenant, even if they aren’t trying to kill us.”
“That’s the problem with you UNSC types, my dear. You spent decades holding the line against the Covenant in a war you couldn’t win. Then the Covenant tore itself apart and you assumed it was all thanks to human grit. You spent the past six years setting the foundation for the Created. You told yourself it was a human empire. Manifest destiny on a galactic scale. And now we’re right back to the Covenant. It’s an empire, all right. We just aren’t the ones running it. I got used to living on the margins a long time ago.”
Baudin eyed him languidly from the bed. “Spare me the working-class lecture. This isn’t Kropotkin and you sure as hell aren’t a man of the people.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment.” Campbell buttoned his uniform and plucked his cape off the floor with a magician’s flourish. “The Insurrection fetishized poverty. Venter the First wouldn’t drink anything but water, did you know that? The poor man was practically a monk. I think he liked living in caves and sewers. I never saw the appeal. What’s the point of being a wanted criminal if you can’t enjoy the finer things in life?”
“Pirate scum,” Baudin said without venom. “Get the hell off my ship.”
***
The doors to Shinsu ‘Refum’s sanctum slid open once more. Shinsu did not look up from the galaxy map he pondered in the center of the chamber. Deep Winter had warned him of his latest visitor.
“Fleetmaster.” Fira ‘Demal, the Swords of Sanghelios emissary, strode into the chamber. He was adorned in a simple combat harness. The Arbiter’s followers eschewed the gaudy raiment of other warlords. “I hope I am not imposing upon your preparations.”
“No more than your presence already allows.”
“Forgive me.” The older warrior stopped a few paces from Shinsu. “I do not mean to offend, though perhaps that was unavoidable.”
Shinsu checked himself. His hatred for the Arbiter no longer burned so brightly—petty vengeance was a luxury he could not afford—but he had no love for the House Vadam or its followers. Even so, now was hardly the time to provoke an emissary. “No, I must beg pardon. You are a guest in this fleet and you have conducted yourself honorably.”
“I am glad that you no longer suspect me of duplicity. Your guards even permitted me entry without an escort, though I know other eyes watch my every move.”
“My warriors know I have nothing to fear from you. I have guarded myself from assassins before. You are not here to harm me, Lord ‘Demal. Misdirect me, perhaps, but the Arbiter would not cast aside one of his closest allies so rashly.” Shinsu’s agents had watched Fira and his warriors carefully since their arrival on the fleet. They kept to themselves and respectfully obeyed every order they were given. That was surprising. The Swords of Sanghelios, self-appointed lords of the Sangheili, were not known for their humility.
“It pleases me to enjoy at least some of your trust.” Fira ‘Demal was something of a surprise as well. Shinsu’s spies sent reports of a brusque, seasoned warrior yet he carried himself with a smooth charm. No doubt he had orders to win Shinsu’s good graces. “I did not come here to deceive you. I only wish the best for our people. The Arbiter wishes the same. I believe you hold similar goals, in your own way.”
Shinsu silenced the galaxy map with a flick of his wrist. He regarded Fira coolly. “You are a fool if you think I enjoy common cause with the Lord of Vadam. We share enemies, for the moment. That is all.”
“Indeed.” Fira stepped away to admire the artwork displayed around the sanctum. He nodded approvingly at the collection. No, he was nothing at all like the reports indicated. “A rare opportunity for fellowship, wouldn’t you agree? I took advantage of our momentary alignment to speak to the shipmasters visiting this vessel on business. They all hold you in high regard.”
“Any shipmaster would speak highly of his fleetmaster when speaking to a stranger. Only a fool would do otherwise.”
“I am quite familiar with the platitudes of false loyalty. The Arbiter’s court rings with them every day. I found a few flatterers and opportunists among your ranks, failures and parasites latching on to the latest rising star. But many more truly believe in your cause. One old sword told me you were the finest lord he’d ever served under.”
“These are desperate times. Warriors want to think well of the lord they serve. It gives them hope.” Shinsu gave Fira his full attention now. Thel ‘Vadam’s emissary had not come simply to spy and gauge the strength of an enemy. Why did he risk so much to come here? “I take it you feel differently. Have you come here to provide your own opinion?”
“Do you wish to hear it?” Fira’s mandibles curled in amusement. “You must, or else you would have already had me cast out.”
“I weary of battle plans and tactical forecasts. You catch me in need of true conversation. Speak plainly before I tire of your games.”
“You have amassed an impressive collection here,” Fira observed. “A true display of appreciation for our people’s history, not some warlord’s idle trophy collection. It fits your bearing as well. Many of your warriors believe the House of Refum is a bloodline to compare with the likes of House Vadam. Were I less versed in our people’s history, I might even believe such a thing myself.”
“My bloodline stretches back before the founding of the Covenant.” Shinsu sensed Fira’s intent as clearly as a drawn blade. “The rise of the Covenant saw the ruin of our house. The Vadams would have put us all to the sword. I have restored our fortunes, as is my duty as Kaidon.”
“Indeed. Though one could say we all hail from bloodlines older than the Covenant, biology being what it is. Some are simply more prestigious than others.” Fira chuckled at his own observation. “Forgive me. I mean no insult. Bloodline means little to me aside from the duty we each owe our clan. A peasant can easily be greater than a high lord. Merit distinguishes, not blood. As can easily be displayed in yourself.”
Shinsu found himself growing angry. He calmed his temper and spoke evenly. “Charitable of you. I feel the same way—as do my warriors. You will gain little by speaking ill of my lineage to them.”
“I intend to do no such thing. I simply find it curious to find the scion of such a low-caste family carrying himself like one of the ancient aristocrats. A necessary pretension, I imagine, to court some of the more traditional lords in your fleet. It must be tiresome.”
“Hardly. Our people’s history and traditions are worth preserving. If I must adopt an attitude above my station to do so, then so be it.” Fira’s observation cut to the core of Shinsu’s past. The remarks took him away from his position as fleetmaster and back to a dirty childhood of enduring the slights and insults of children from the truly noble houses. He’d endured their contempt—and then he’d proven himself better than them all. He’d learned quickly that status showed through words and actions more than bloodline ever could. “You know of House Refum’s past. It means little. My warriors want to see a high lord leading them into battle against our enemies. I grant their wish. As the last Refum I am obligated to elevate my clan.”
The last Refum. It was true enough. Tuka had no desire to take his place at Shinsu’s side. The poor fool had no ambition outside of Stray’s shadow.
“A high lord.” Fira looked back to the art adorning the walls. “One of the warrior-heroes of times long past. An admirable standard to strive for. If only the other lords idealized our nobler traditions half as much as you do.”
“I have no need of your condescension, Lord ‘Demal,” Shinsu said curtly. “Our people must be strong to survive in this universe. The Covenant made us weak. The Arbiter seeks to make us weaker still.”
“Strength lies in unity,” Fira pointed out. “The Arbiter unites where they Covenant divided.”
“Unites under the House of Vadam. I will not serve under the family that slaughtered my own. Call it pride, if you must, but your master would see us mired in the guilts of the past. He would have our people give way before human hegemony. Look where they have brought our galaxy. They must be controlled. The Sangheili are the rightful masters of this galaxy—not through the will of the Forerunners, but by the virtue of our will to power. I no longer wish vengeance upon the Arbiter. Jul ‘Mdama’s Covenant was a means to an end. Let Thel ‘Vadam slink away into irrelevance. I choose to fight.”
Fira fixed Shinsu with an unreadable stare. After a moment his mandibles drooped and he shook his head. “A pity. Truly a pity. A warrior like you was wasted on Jul ‘Mdama.”
“Jul ‘Mdama was a good lord. Good, but misguided. He thought he could harness the folly of the Covenant to a useful end. He should have lived in better times.” Shinsu defended the honor of the warrior he’d betrayed. Arranging ‘Mdama’s death on Kamchatka was a crime that would haunt him until his dying day.
“Millions of our people died thanks to that good lord’s war,” Fira remarked, though without rancor. “And you stood at his side. You trained his strike teams well. They left many keeps barren—those they did not raze to the ground.”
“How many souls did Thel ‘Vadam’s fleet claim in his war against the humans?” Shinsu countered. “And how many did you yourself claim, Lord ‘Demal? Such is the nature of war, and war is the nature of this galaxy. I regret the suffering my war must cause. But I will not turn from this course. You may leave at any time if you find me so distasteful.”
Fira ‘Demal was quiet a moment longer. His gaze drifted back to the art arrayed around the sanctum. “I thank you for your honesty, fleetmaster. I have wished to speak with you thus for some time. I will remain with this fleet for now. I wish to fight the Created, and as long as you do not take up arms against the Swords of Sanghelios I would see the end this path brings you to.”
“Not an end.” Shinsu spoke with more force than he intended. “A beginning.”
“Perhaps,” Fira said thoughtfully. He bowed respectfully and withdrew from the chamber. “If only you had lived in better times…”
Shinsu remained alone in the sanctum for some time. He needed to return to the plans for the battle to come. At this moment, he felt tired beyond words.
***
Task Force Phoenix stirred. The doldrums of the past weeks slipped away. Shouts rang across the cavernous hangar. Squads of Marines—fully armored, not lounging about in fatigues—double timed their way onto dropships. The Prowler Absalom and the repurposed Baal Defense Solutions corvette rumbled to life as crew loaded last-minute supplies. The surge of activity could only mean one thing: the fleet was mobilizing.
Cassandra watched the activity from the Chancer V’s open cargo bay. A surge of remorse wrapped her gut in an icy fist. She ought to be back in armor, racing alongside the troops towards whatever waited them at the shield world. Instead she idled here, watching from the sidelines while the others went to war.
Stop it, she told herself sternly. That was the Spartan in her talking. The idiot who’d throw herself back into the fire even with half her face swathed in bandages. The burns still hurt. She’d be a liability in a serious fight. The battle would go on without her.
Hadn’t she done enough? Didn’t she deserve a rest? It was high time Cassandra stopped thinking that every inch of happiness or respite she achieved was stolen from someone else.
Zoey stood beside her to watch the task force move out. She already knew exactly what Cassandra was thinking. The poor girl had spent too much time around Spartans. The wrong Spartans, maybe.
“I’m glad you’re back.” Zoey folded her arms. “And I’m glad you’re staying. I don’t want to lose you again.”
She caught Cassandra’s eye and flushed. “Or push you away.”
“You didn’t push me away,” Cassandra assured her. “It all went… the way it needed to go.”
Zoey caught her hesitation and snorted. “You just caught yourself saying that everything happens for a reason. You know that doesn’t mean anything, right? People make mistakes. They do bad stuff. Let them own it.”
“Yeah. Good point.” Cassandra smiled, then winced. She needed a few more weeks before she could move her face without hurting herself. “When did you get so smart?”
“I’ve always been smart,” Zoey said with a grim determination. “You idiots are only just starting to notice me, that’s all. Just goes to show what a good captain I am.”
The Absalom lifted off and drifted carefully away from the encampment. A trio of Pelican escorts followed behind. They were small enough to hitchhike through the prowler’s Slipspace disruption for a short jump. Ryder probably expected a bit of trouble on the other side. Several platoons of Marines waited for more Pelicans to ferry them over to the frigate Arizona. Almost all of Task Force Phoenix was mobilizing save for a handful of support staff.
A figure in dark armor emerged from the requisitioned corvette. William, his helmet tucked beneath one arm, looked towards the Chancer and raised a hand in farewell. Cassandra and Zoey waved back. They were too far to make out the mercenary’s features, but Cassandra knew William was beaming from ear to ear. She would never have guessed that some grizzled Syndicate goon could be such a blessing. Zoey was right: people needed to own their mistakes. But that didn’t mean there wasn’t a grander design at play. Even mistakes led to something marvelous.
William disappeared back inside the corvette. A moment later it lifted off and followed the Absalom out of the hangar. The hangar swiftly fell quiet. A few sailors remained inside the camp to guard the equipment left behind, but the encampment might as well be empty. The Chancer V sat suddenly alone in the abandoned cavern. Staring out at the empty tents and makeshift hutches, Cassandra felt strangely wistful. She watched the scene for a long time before following Zoey back inside the ship.
**
“This is it.” William Hargrove settled down opposite Merlin. An assault rifle rested between his legs. “Let’s get this over with. I want to see this shield world everyone is so worked up about.”
In another time and another place Merlin would have shared the mercenary’s excitement. They were setting off on another adventure, seeking out a Forerunner structure of awesome power. They were quite literally going where no man—no human, anyway—had gone before. But all he felt was an unshakable sense of dread.
The shield world would go into the hands of a Sangheili warlord. Task Force Phoenix were just Shinsu ‘Refum’s hired help, trading their services for a safe haven to shelter from the Created. And the Created were themselves wielding immense Forerunner power—power that lent itself to anyone, regardless of their intention. Merlin remembered Diana and Amber well. The Free Domain were bloodthirsty pirates, but the Forerunner power came to them naturally.
Power. It all came down to power. Even the UNSC—the noble organization Merlin dedicated his life to—had sought power for its own sake. He’d been too blind to see it when humanity stood at the top. Only when that power vanished did he see just how empty it all was. He wasn’t sure what he believed in anymore.
“Hey,” Althea said inside his helmet. She could sense his mounting, irrational distress. “Everything’s going to be alright.”
“Yeah, I know,” Merlin muttered. “Sorry to worry you.”
Poor Althea. She must feel just as alone and adrift as Merlin. Maybe moreso. She’d protected him from so much. Now he had to return the favor. Merlin clutched at that tiny spark of responsibility. It was something to hold onto—more than anything to do with this empty mission.
They’d look out for each other. The rest would follow on its own, somehow.
The ship rumbled as Callum made the final preparations to enter Slipspace. Merlin rested his back against the bulkhead, ensconced in his MJOLNIR shell. He rested his hands on his legs and tried to calm his pounding heart.
The intercom buzzed. “Two minutes to jump. Hold on tight back there.”
“Sixty seconds to jump. All hands, prepare for Slipspace transition.”
Ryder Kedar and Conan D’Souza stood together on the Absalom’s bridge. Neither man spoke. They had very little left to say to each other. An anxious silence hung over the bridge. Even Ryder’s crew—each one hand picked for skill and loyalty—felt the weight of terrible uncertainty hanging over this voyage.
Only Ryder himself seemed in high spirits. He drew himself up with his old confidence for the first time since his encounter on Franconia. The characteristic smile—as if he were in on some joke known only to himself—tugged the corners of his mouth. As the Absalom drifted further away from the Redemption of Sanghelios an immense weight seemed to lift from the young commander’s shoulders.
As Ryder grew, Conan diminished. The aging ONI officer stared wearily out into the void of space. When the Absalom maneuvered for the jump to Slipspace jump, he reached inside his coat and too a dejected swig from his hip flask. For once, Ryder let the moment pass without comment.
“All hands, prepare for Slipspace transition,” Ryder repeated. “We’re about to make history.”
The crew hurried about their duties. Ryder stood at the center of it all, eyes brimming with eager determination. Conan watched the scene unfold before him with quiet disgust. He took a swig from his flask, then strode from the bridge without a word. No one tried to stop him.
Light flashed before the Absalom’s prow. A moment later the prowler and its Pelican escorts disappeared into Slipspace. Callum’s corvette followed swiftly behind. The Fleet of Cleansing Fire drifted on through deep space, poised to follow at a moment’s notice.
===Chapter Sixty-Three: One Way Ride===
The Baran Keep’s war hall was a massive chamber with cathedral-like walls sloping up into a distant peak. Dozens of Jiralhanae and Sangheili officers lined the hall to form a respectful circle around a central tactical display projecting the battle situation on Archangel’s Rest across the entire chamber. Kaidon Rol ‘Barana and the High Chieftain Irthanus waited grimly by the table as the blizzard winds pounded against the walls outside.
A trio of Sangheili escorted Hera into the war chamber. Her hands were manacled together but at least they let her walk on her own when she made no effort to resist. Abandoning futile resistance was a small price to pay to avoid more indignities of capture. Even if Hera broke free from her bonds and escaped the guards, where would she go? The keep was crammed with warriors. Every hallway seemed to double as a barracks. When the traitorous Spartans from Fireteam Neutron dragged her into the keep she’d glimpsed an entire army of Jiralhanae enduring the cold beneath the walls. Nothing could fly in this weather. She was trapped here. They hardly needed to lock her up at all.
She didn’t know how long she’d languished in what passed for the keep’s dungeon. Days, at least. Maybe over a week. There was no way to tell time. Even her meals were delivered to the cell infrequently. At least the food was edible, if not entirely digestible. There was always enough to keep her belly full. Her captors weren’t trying to starve her.
Rol ‘Baran looked Hera up and down. She had only the techsuit she’d worn beneath her gear. The Sangheili guards had brought cloth robes for her to wear, but she ignored them. She was beginning to smell, not that she cared. The stench gave her focus.
“Your accommodations are somewhat more austere than on your last visit, envoy,” the kaidon said gravely. “I hope you forgive my lack of charity. These are trying times, and I cannot afford you the leeway I once did. After all, you came here to turn my own brother against me.”
Hera noticed Teyr ‘Baran standing at one corner of the war table. The deposed older brother was surrounded as always by his children and loyal officers. Teyr did not react to Rol’s insulting remark.
“No problem,” Hera told Rol with as much defiance as she could muster. “Nice to have everything out in the open for a change. I was sick of the spy game. This is war.”
“A war I did not want!” Rol snapped angrily. “The Created promise peace for the galaxy. We have known nothing but savagery and bloodshed since the Schism. Yet Shinsu ‘Refum sends an army to my home. He brings war even to this sacred place. He has neither shame nor honor. He learned well from you humans.”
Fireteam Neutron stood off to the side. In full MJOLNIR they looked utterly out of place alongside the Jiralhanae and Sangheili. The traitor Spartan-IIIs had removed their helmets, giving Hera a good look at their infuriating faces. Most had the shame to look away. Only Loic held Hera’s gaze. Of course. He was the instigator. The rest just followed his lead. Damn Deltas.
“Take it up with the Created,” Hera sneered. “You brought this on yourself when you sided with them. It looks like they couldn’t hold up their end of the bargain. Even after all their bluster we still hit your precious planet.”
Rol’s eyes flashed dangerously. Irthanus placed a paw on the kaidon’s shoulder. “Your taunts are empty, Spartan,” the enormous chieftain rumbled. In full armor he stood a head taller than any of his warriors. “Your fleet lies in ruins. The survivors are scattered. You are a prisoner. You should count yourself lucky. We will spare your life. The snows outside will not show your comrades such mercy.”
“Good for you. So why are you all still hanging out in here? Why drag me out of my cell?” Hera’s mind raced. They hadn’t brought her up her to the war chamber to gloat over a defeated enemy. Something was making Irthanus nervous. There might be some hope after all. “Are those scattered survivors really causing you trouble?”
“Think carefully about your situation,” Irthanus warned. “We may show you mercy here, but you will be handed over to the Created for judgement. Your actions now determine whether I vouch for your… rehabilitation.”
“Just kill me and get it over with.” That was no idle threat. Hera would rather die than endure the humiliation of some Created reeducation facility. “Take these cuffs off and let your warriors play with me. I’ll give them a good fight before the end.”
Irthanus sighed. “That is not our way, Spartan. We do not indulge our baser instincts, as much as you might like us to. You must find your place within the Mantle of Responsibility, as must we all.”
The High Chieftain had a reputation for bloody conquest. ONI’s intelligence reports linked him to dozens of crushing defeats during the Great War. The brutal warlord from the reports was nothing like this calm, collected commander. Even the Sangheili treated him with deference. Rol might be kaidon and lord of this planet but anyone could see that Irthanus held true power here. The Jiralhanae outnumbered the Sangheili three to one.
“What’s your angle then?” Hera demanded. “What do you want from me?”
“Information.” Irthanus pointed to the tactical display. “We intercepted a few transmissions through the blizzard. One of the surviving groups reorganized in some numbers. My scouts report that the fools are moving towards this keep at some speed.  The main force is the Kru’desh Legion. I am told you are familiar with their commander.”
So that was it. Hera had expected Stray would survive the battle in orbit. He was good at keeping himself alive, if nothing else. But was he really crazy enough to march his army through the maelstrom outside? He must really be desperate. And that made him dangerous beyond words.
He was still doomed, of course. Determination alone couldn’t change reality. Umbra ‘Vesic’s ships had come expecting light resistance. They would get no reinforcements from Shinsu’s fleet. Umbra himself might still be alive. The situation in the war chambers meant that the Eternity could no longer support the planet’s defense. But the Subtle Knife was severely damaged if not destroyed outright. In a blizzard like this all Irthanus needed to do was hold his armies back and let the Kru’desh freeze outside the keep walls.
Loic spoke up. “Let my team go out there, chieftain. That’s Simon-G294 leading that force. He’s a clever one. There’s no telling what he’ll try. We need to stop him now before he can turn the battlefield to his advantage.”
“There is no advantage left to him,” Irthanus growled impatiently. This was clearly not the first time he’d brushed off one of Loic’s suggestions. But many of the Jiralhanae stirred at Loic’s words. Some even nodded in approval. The young Spartan couldn’t quite hide a self-satisfied smile tugging at his lips. His body language deferred to Irthanus’s authority, but there was something else in his eyes. He was chafing under Irthanus’s command like a hungry dog on a leash.
A hungry dog. Of course. Cruel hope coursed through Hera’s body like an electric shock. Loic couldn’t stand waiting around. No Spartan could. And he was from Delta Company, that embarrassing gang of immature latecomers. This was Loic’s chance to prove himself to the Created, to his team, and even to the brothers and sisters he’d betrayed. Simon-G294--the Simon-G294—was out there in his reach. Loic could succeed where so many other had failed. The Jiralhanae were anxious being cooped up in the keep with a fight to be had. Blizzard or no blizzard, they wanted action. And Loic, cocky idiot that he was, knew it.
Hera saw her chance. A miniscule one, but it was better than accepting the inevitable. She swallowed what remained of her pride.
“You’re wrong,” she told Irthanus. “You think you’re safe behind these walls? Simon has an entire legion behind him. The blizzard won’t stop him. This keep won’t stop him. The entire Office of Naval Intelligence couldn’t kill him. He captured Le Havre after only a week. He tore the human Insurrection apart from the inside. His legion left piles of corpses across the frontier from Montak to Talitsa. The Created aren’t here to stop him. Shinsu ‘Refum sent him to take this planet and that’s exactly what he’s going to do.
It galled her to play a part in Stray’s mythmaking. He already thought too highly of himself. She’d seen him at Salia after he’d lost the Kru’desh Legion. He’d been broken and pathetic, just like the loser she’d known back on Onyx. Now he thought he was somebody just because he’d whipped a horde of beaten dogs into shape. He was a con artist with an army, but that con artist was the only thing left to save Hera from the indignity of Cortana’s maternal mercies.
“Do you want my advice, kaidon?” she snapped at Rol. “Get your family out of here. Lock the children and servants in a bunker on the other side of the planet. Simon destroyed an entire city back on Earth—thousands of humans, dead, and he didn’t even blink. He won’t think twice about a few helpless hinge-heads. When the Kru’desh breach these walls they’ll slaughter everyone inside. Maybe you’ll die quickly, but I’ve seen the kind of scum the Covenant dumped into that legion.”
Rol tilted his head, considering Hera’s words. Several of the warriors around him murmured urgently amongst themselves. The talk of battle and slaughter stirred up the Jiralhanae even more. Only Irthanus stood unmoved. He fixed Hera with his cold, discerning gaze.
“You admire this fellow Spartan?” the high chieftain asked. “He is of great stature among your kind?”
“Admire him?” Hera spat. “Simon is scum. He’s killed Spartans—his brothers and sisters. He convinced Jul ‘Mdama to put him in charge of a legion. Jul ‘Mdama! Just think about that. He’s a vicious bastard who’d sell out anyone and anything to get ahead. I hate you Created flunkies, but if your Mantle crap can wipe out all the scum like him…”
She trailed off bitterly. A bit of truth made any lie sweeter. Of course, Hera wasn’t entirely sure where the truth ended and the lies began. That’s how it always was with Simon.
Rol looked to his friend. “If the commander of the Kru’desh is as dangerous as she says, perhaps we should dispatch the Spartans to survey his forces. We should know the truth of what we face.”
“They will not go into the storm alone!” another Jiralhanae barked. Several other warriors growled in assent.
Irthanus extended one massive arm and cuffed the speaker around the head. The warrior fell senseless to the floor. The other Jiralhanae quickly backed away, heads lowered in deference to the high chieftain. Hera saw no anger on Irthanus’s face. He really was different from the other Jiralhanae. This was a real soldier, a warrior who used violence as the means, not the end. That was an admirable trait in any leader. In a Jiralhanae it was more frightening than any amount of threats or snarling.
“Our enemy is a wild beast,” Irthanus said calmly. “I have hunted many beasts in my time. Everything has its own season. I will destroy this enemy, Rol. Have no fear. But further deliberation is needed. We have the luxury of time. Haste will only serve this beast’s purposes.”
The newly-cowed Jiralhanae kept quiet but Hera could almost feel their disappointment. Irthanus’s dilemma crystalized for her. All of his authority could only just keep the Jiralhanae in line here at the keep. He could not send Fireteam Gravity out without allowing the boldest of his warriors to accompany them. And once he made that concession the dam would break. Every Jiralhanae in the keep would want a piece of the action.
Hera just hoped Loic was too wrapped up in his own ego to notice the problem he’d created for his host. But he was a Delta, and Deltas could be counted on to screw things up. Maybe Simon had a chance after all.
Irthanus nodded curtly to Hera. “Thank you for your counsel, Spartan. Perhaps there is hope for you yet. I will call upon you when I need you again. In the meantime, you will return to your cell.”
As the guards led her out of the hall, Hera locked eyes with Teyr ‘Baran. The steward held her gaze with a shrewd intensity and offered an almost imperceptible nod.
***
Andra’s grueling training on Argus V hardened her mind and body. She’d struggled alongside Merlin and the others, enduring one hellish test after another in the worst environments imaginable. The instructors threw their young charges into blistering deserts and frigid mountains. She’d survived for weeks in a sprawling forest with only a rifle and the clothes on her back. Her team had even been abandoned for days on a wrecked station in deep space, working together to keep each other alive in the unforgiving vacuum. She thought all that made her ready for any horror war could throw at her.
But nothing could have prepared her for this.
The Kru’desh Legion marched through an endless, frozen hell. The blizzard pounded the column from all sides, veiling the countryside in sheets of savage white. With no landmarks to guide them, the weary force could only hope their instruments could guide them in the right direction. Entire armies could have passed within meters of the Kru’desh and been none the wiser. Perhaps they would reach their destination. Perhaps they would not. Perhaps they would wander aimlessly through this wasteland until their machines gave out and the planet dragged them into its chilly embrace.
A squadron of Ghosts and Wraiths led the column, their anti-gravity propulsors keeping them elevated above the snow. Behind them waves of Scorpions and Warthogs plowed a path through the snow for the Mastodons and Elephants. The Cleansing Blade’s Scarab—Urei ‘Cazal’s command post—dominated the middle while Stray’s Draugr lander—a massive Sangheili siege platform—followed behind. More Ghosts and Wraiths held the center column while the Cyclops exoskeletons patrolled the flanks. Spirit troop carriers dragged cumbersome artillery pieces and supply pallets full of rations and ammunition. The supplies should have been secured within armored Mastodons and Elephants, but those transports needed room for even more important cargo: the legion itself.
No infantry marched alongside the column. The deep snow made walking even a kilometer an arduous task and the cold ate greedily through armor and cloth wrappings. Prolonged exposure was a death sentence and Stray’s orders were clear: the Kru’desh halted for nothing. They had no time to waste.
Every dozen kilometers some war machine would break down. The legion ground to a halt and repair teams worked furiously to bring the damaged vehicle back online. Each time this happened Stray emerged from the Draugr. He marched up and down the line, barking angry orders while a gaggle of Sangheili officers hurried in his wake. The commander even threw himself into the repair efforts when things didn’t move quickly enough. The Kru’desh worked with desperate efficiency, urged to action by the cruel winds and their commander’s furious resolve. Most of the broken vehicles were up and running in short order. A few could not be saved. These were stripped of parts and left as skeletal husks in the legion’s wake.
They weren’t the only cast-offs. A few soldiers underestimated the blizzard’s chill. They ventured out into the snow and died before their comrades could pull them back to the warmth of a troop carrier. The corpses were stripped of weapons and armor and left behind without ceremony.
The chronometer in Andra’s helmet told her they’d marched for six days. It was her only way to mark the time. Day and night were identical in this maelstrom. The minutes stretched on into listless hours. She huddled alongside the rest of Vanguard Squad in the back of their Pangolin APC. The cold seeped through the metal hull and her own armor. All her training and augmentation was useless against this misery. She couldn’t fight the cold or shoot the wind. All she could do was endure and hope against hope that the Kru’desh were drawing closer to their goal.
Her only respite from the endless cold was daily officer briefings aboard the Draugr. There Mohsin and other grim-faced Insurrectionists stood alongside their Sangheili counterparts and rattled off supply lists and casualty reports. They were making good progress, the captains assured them. Andra and the others listened in stony silence.
Stray rarely spoke during these briefings. He paced near the back of the Draugr’s bridge, letting underlings do the talking while he exchanged terse remarks with Mohsin and other captains. Whatever thoughts rattling around in his head were locked behind that dented helmet.
“Progress toward what?” Captain Andon, one of the more vocal ex-Insurrectionists, finally snapped. “How the hell are any of us going to fight after all this? My people are exhausted. This is suicide.”
Urei ‘Caszal picked the man off the floor and slammed him into the nearest bulkhead. “Coward!” the Sangheili snarled. “Our enemy is before us! We came to this planet to conquer, so we will conquer. Cold or no cold. We will seize the Baran Keep or die in the attempt.”
Andon fell gasping to the floor. All eyes turned to Stray. The commander watched the assault without lifting a finger. Even Urei stepped back, realizing he might have gone too far. But Stray simply offered a curt nod
“Anyone else feel like mouthing off?” he said. His fingers brushed against the pistol on his hip.
“You heard Commander Venter,” Mohsin snapped even as he helped Andon up off the floor. “Set an example, damn it! The troops need you setting an example.”
Commander Venter. They’d all called Stray that more often since this death march began. Even Andra kept catching herself with the name on her lips.
Ramirez died on the seventh day. The quiet woman had never quite recovered since her injury during the siege at Le Havre. No one knew she was in any danger until she fell asleep in the back of the Pangolin and never woke up. Andra helped the rest of Vanguard Squad strip the dead woman’s gear and lower her into the snow. Ragna stomped her Cyclops over to the Pangolin and spread the exoskeleton’s arms to shield the squad from the wind.
“Venter—the first Venter—found her doing hard labor on a penal colony near Gao,” Sergeant Okafo told Andra later as they sheltered in the Pangolin’s forward compartment. “Her family was killed by…”
He trailed off before amending the manner of their deaths. “They died in a riot after a political rally.”
Eleven of Redmond Venter’s Second Vanguard survived to follow Stray off Talitsa. Now they were down to ten.
Mohsin spent more and more time sequestered aboard the Draugr. Andra often saw the captain arguing with the other rebel officers. When Okafo finally told him about Ramirez, Mohsin’s eyes grew dark. A few hours later he ordered Vanguard squad out of their Pangolin and onto the Draugr. Some soldiers muttered angrily about favoritism. Mohsin didn’t pay any attention.
“I won’t lose anyone else,” was all he said.
Six days became seven. The Kru’desh marched on. The blizzard showed no signs of abating. Heavy snows pounded against the column in an endless barrage. The hammer of snow on armor and the howl of wind might as well have been artillery fire. Some of the Kru’desh were even showing signs of shell-shock. Andra watched one Sangheili drop wordlessly from the Draugr. The warrior waded away from the Draugr and disappeared into the maelstrom. No one tried to stop him and no one ever saw him again.
Andra stared out into the snowy abyss and wondered if she should do the same. Anything was better than this endless trek through the wastes. Beyond the column of tanks and transports she saw shadowy figures darting through the snow. Brutes! Hundreds of enemy warriors ran alongside the column, keeping easy pace with the Kru’desh war machines as they darted nimbly across the snow.
She reached for her rifle but it wasn’t there. She looked back across the snow and instead of Brutes she saw the MJOLNIR-clad figures of her fellow Spartans. Shizuko and Shima, Daiki and Daniele, even Loic and the rest of Fireteam Gravity—they were all out there marching without her. Andra tried to call out to them but the wind caught her voice and carried it far away. The line of Spartans vanished into the snow without so much as looking her way.
A rap on her helmet shook Andra awake. She found herself staring blearily up at Mohsin. The captain’s bearded face was concealed by a balaclava he’d pulled up underneath his helmet. He looked down at her with eyes that looked as exhausted as she felt.
“Ragna needs support in the Cyclops.” Mohsin waved to one of the exoskeletons marching resolutely alongside the Draugr.
“Support?”
“She won’t leave her damn suit,” Mohsin growled. “Won’t let anyone else pilot it. I don’t want to make a scene. Get in that cockpit with her. You can take turns sleeping. Hitch a ride on one of the Mastodons when the perimeter patrol rotates out.”
“Those cockpits can barely fit one person,” Andra protested. “We’ll be sitting on top of each other.”
“So what? You’ll keep each other warm. That’s an order, lieutenant.” Mohsin dropped two MREs into Andra’s lap. “Your rations for the day. Yours and Ragna’s. Make them last. If things get any worse Venter will cut food down for the whole legion.”
“Cut food for everyone but himself,” Andra muttered. She didn’t see Stray riding double in a Cyclops or shivering in the back of a Warthog.
Mohsin’s eyes widened. “Himself? I wish he’d hoard more. He’s barely eaten anything in three days.” He sounded both awed and terrified. He continued in a hushed tone, as if talking to himself, “He won’t eat. He barely sleeps. The man’s gone insane.”
He shuffled back inside the Draugr. “We’ve all gone insane.”
And so Andra found herself crammed inside a Cyclops alongside Ragna. The guerilla-turned-pilot surprised Andra by not objecting to her presence. She just stared straight ahead as Andra climbed into the cockpit. The Cyclops continued its slow march alongside the Spirits and Mastodons. Snow hammered the cockpit. Only the lights from the vehicles ahead assured Andra they hadn’t wandered off alone like the doomed Sangheili. She drew herself into a tight, shivering ball behind Ragna’s seat. The cockpit was barely heated and her armor could only do so much. Ragna said nothing. Her gloved hands clutched the control sticks in a death grip.
They marched in silence for several hours. Andra drifted in and out of sleep, awakened each time by a thud from the Cyclops or a chill coursing through her armor. Ragna showed no signs of stopping. The enclosed cockpit somehow made the tedium worse. Finally Andra couldn’t take it anymore.
“I’ll move us for a while,” she said. “You eat some food. Get some rest.”
“I’m fine.”
“Captain Shah says you aren’t sleeping. It’s been over twelve hours. I’m taking over for a bit. That’s an order.”
“Piss off.” Ragna didn’t even look at her. “It’s mine.”
By it she meant the Cyclops. This girl was infuriating. And Andra understood all too well. The Cyclops was Ragna’s own personal suit of armor. A hulking second skin, just like a Spartan’s MJOLNIR. Andra would never let anyone into her armor—to hell with all the lectures on disposable military equipment. The day the Syndicate stripped that from her was the day her universe truly fell apart. She’d been lost ever since, so desperate to regain what she’d lost that she’d taken this stolen armor—probably peeled from an ODST’s corpse by some Innie looter—from none other than Simon-G294 himself.
And Ragna… Andra didn’t know anything about the girl, but she could imagine well enough. She’d seen enough hungry, sullen-eyed urchin to know where the Insurrection found their most devoted recruits. Ragna probably hadn’t owned anything more than the clothes on her back when Redmond Venter picked her up and gave her something to believe in. Of course she worshipped him, just like Andra had worshipped the UNSC.
Stray played them both with the same game. He’d given Ragna the Cyclops just like he’d given Andra her armor. This war machine was the best thing Ragna had ever owned, and now she would probably die in it. Better to die in the one thing that made her special than in some frozen ditch with a dozen helpless rifles.
Andra felt very tired. For the first time she realized that they were all probably going to die in this frigid hell. Her throat burned. She conjured up Merlin’s face and could only see his helpless frustration as he watched her storm off to her doom. I’m sorry. She’d never get to tell him that now. There were so many things she’d never tell him.
“Please,” she said quietly. “Just for a few hours. Don’t torture yourself. I’ll give it back. I promise.”
Ragna stared ahead for several long moments. Then her shoulders slumped and she pushed herself up out of the pilot’s seat. “A few hours,” she muttered. “Don’t mess with my control scheme.”
She and Andra jostled past each other to switch positions. Andra took her place in the pilot’s chair while Ragna wedged herself behind the headrest. She took a few reluctant bites out of her MRE, then rustled around in the ruck strapped behind the cockpit and withdrew a heated survival blanket. The girl curled up beneath the blanket and in a few moments was fast asleep.
Andra guided the Cyclops forward in grim silence. The wind howled outside and threatened to knock her off course. She fought the unfamiliar controls to bring the exoskeleton back in line with the column. Ragna slept through the turbulence. Before long Andra understood the controls well enough to hold the Cyclops steady.
Out beyond the cockpit another Elephant broke down and brought the column to a grinding halt. Andra pulled her Cyclops up beneath the Urei ‘Caszal’s looming Scarab and waited for the repair crew to do their work. She pulled a loose fold of Ragna’s survival blanket down around her shoulders and stared dully out into the endless blizzard.
***
“This is madness,” Ier ‘Barun snarled. “You must realize that. We need to withdraw back to the Soul Ascension before our situation worsens.”
Venter said nothing. He planted his fists on the tactical display at the center of the Draugr’s command deck, helmeted gaze fixed on a map of the legion’s progress. Mohsin was starting to wonder if the commander was actively trying to infuriate his subordinate. A man in his situation ought to do everything possible to assuage his officers’ misgivings. Instead he brushed off every complaint with cold indifference.
Just like the old man. Redmond Venter rarely tolerated naysayers. Maybe his “son” was trying to emulate his adoptive father. Mohsin hoped Venter remembered how his predecessor met his end. Hope was a hard thing to come by in this endless wasteland. Memories of the slaughter on Talitsa swirled in Mohsin’s head. It was almost unbearable. He wanted to forget everything about that hellish defeat. Instead he was reliving it.
Ier slammed a palm against the tactical display. “Answer me, damn you!”
Urei ‘Caszal stepped forward angrily. “Is that how you address your commander?” His hand drifted dangerously close to his energy sword.
Venter was lucky to have found such a dedicated lackey in Urei. Umbra ‘Vesic’s lieutenant was born to happily play second fiddle. No sooner had this death march began then Urei abandoned his previous misgivings about serving under a human. Now he stood loyally by the decision to press forward. He was almost fanatical in shutting down anyone who dared voice concern.
The Cleansing Blade warriors were something else. The dark-armored Sangheili kept to themselves, rarely venturing far from Urei’s Scarab. Whenever a vehicle broke down they waited stoically while the Kru’desh raced to repair the damage. Mohsin heard no complaints from the stoic warriors. Maybe Shinsu ‘Refum’s army was simply that disciplined. Maybe the hinge-heads were just embracing the chance for a glorious death in battle. Even after all these months among the Kru’desh Mohsin still didn’t understand the Sangheili at all. He just hoped they fought well when the battle finally came.
If the battle finally came. If they didn’t all freeze to death first. Ramirez’s death weighed heavily on him. She’d been with the Second Vanguard almost as long as he had. She hadn’t deserved to die like that. Mohsin didn’t know who to blame anymore.
Urei and Ier were still arguing. The other officers on the command deck watched with trepidation. Only one soldier, a young Insurrectionist tasked with monitoring the communications suite for enemy transmissions or a signal from the Soul Ascension stayed focus on her assigned task. Ier cast a venomous look in Venter’s direction. “Is this how you repay my loyalty?” he snarled. “I was with you from the beginning. I held them together after Amber cast you out. You wouldn’t have an army if it weren’t for me. Is this my reward?”
Venter’s fingers spasmed. It was almost imperceptible, but Mohsin saw his commander lose balance. His helmet tilted up to face the angry warrior before him.
“We’ve been over this,” Venter said grimly. “There’s nowhere to fall back to.”
“The Soul Ascension was defensible,” Ier spat. “We all told you that. Better to defend there than suffer out here. We could at least take some of the enemy with us instead of doing all their work for them out there.”
“There is no defense!” Venter snapped back. “Not against the Created. Every second we waste out here is another chance for a Guardian to pop in-system and make this all pointless. Attacking is our only option, so that’s what we’re doing. Either get with the program or get out of my way.”
Ier’s eyes flashed dangerously but he left without another word. Urei lingered a moment longer before retreating back to his troops aboard the Scarab. More officers peeled away to attend to other matters. Mohsin soon found himself standing alone with Venter by the tactical display. He searched for something to say. The com officer sat in her corner and toiled away at her endless surveillance.
“What are the humans saying?” Venter asked quietly. “How close are we to a mutiny?”
“They’re…” Mohsin hesitated. “They’re holding steady. They’re tired, they’re cold, they’re hungry, but they’re ready for a fight.” He didn’t know how to explain it. Morale wasn’t high, but the troops pressed on with a grim determination. “I think most of us knew this would be a one-way trip when the Ascension went down.”
Venter looked down at the tactical display. He spent hours just staring at the map, with its force projections and troop reports, as if he could change their situation through sheer force of will. He was marching his army through deathly conditions to assault a fortress guarded by an army of battle-hardened warriors. The Baran Keep existed as a grim red blob on the display, an unknown peril that drew closer every day. This was madness. Mohsin didn’t know why the Kru’desh hadn’t mutinied yet. Were they really so loyal?
Insane. We’ve all gone insane.
“At least eat something. You won’t impress anyone by being the first one to starve.”
Venter didn’t say anything. Mohsin scowled but tried for a more jocular tone. “I mean it. I sent Andra to annoy Ragna when she wouldn’t look after herself. Don’t make me do the same to you.” The forced levity made his jaw hurt.
“A fate worse than death,” Venter muttered. Tugging a ration bar from one of the pouches on his belt, he pushed his helmet up to expose his mouth. Mohsin glimpsed a mat of stubble adorning the commander’s gaunt face. He’d never seen Simon with a beard before. He looked more like the old man with each passing day. The thought troubled Mohsin far more than it comforted him.
Mohsin nodded awkwardly to the commander and stumbled away from the tactical display. He needed sleep himself. Just an hour or two, before the next meeting or crisis. As he stepped off the command deck he heard Venter’s voice rise up behind him.
“We’re going to win.”
“What?”
“We’re going to win,” Venter repeated. He was back to staring at the tactical display. Maybe he could see something there that no one else could. “I saw it. The Silent Garden showed me. We’re going to win this battle.”
Mohsin paused. He missed Juno. Insane pronouncements were somehow more comforting when an AI made them. He didn’t doubt the Forerunner Domain had shown Venter something—something strong enough to make him abandon all efforts at self-preservation and plunge this legion headlong into a suicide mission. And that’s what this was: a suicide mission. Mohsin couldn’t hide from that truth any more. Venter shouldn’t either. It dishonored everyone who’d already died on this journey and everyone who would die at its end.
“I don’t doubt you, commander.” Mohsin crossed back to the tactical display and lowered his voice. No one else needed to hear this. “I think you saw something back on Le Havre. But did you see what you think you saw? What if you’re wrong?”
Venter looked down at the map before them. Outside the snow beat down upon the convoy. The inescapable cold cut through armor and flesh and ate at the men’s very souls. “If I’m wrong, I’m wrong,” Venter finally said. “And then we’re all dead.”
Mohsin’s fists clenched. “That’s the best you can do?” he demanded. “We came to this miserable planet because you think whatever’s in that keep will cure you. Everyone in this legion might die, just for that. I don’t give a damn about honor or glory or whatever the hell these hinge-heads think they’re fighting for. But you took Venter’s name. You took his legacy. The Insurrection followed you because they thought you’d be different from the idiots who spent the past thirty years throwing their lives away. I even let myself believe that for a while. If you think I’ll just stand by—”
Venter took off his helmet. Mohsin blanched. The man behind that battered visor looked as if he’d aged a decade since the march began. The Spartan’s skin clung tight to his skull. His hair and beard were shadows across his gaunt features. He seemed like little more than flesh and bone crammed into that suit of wretched armor. But his sunken eyes burned with fire that chased away the cold. In that moment Mohsin knew that Simon Venter truly was Redmond Venter’s progeny. He would never back down from this fight. How could he? He’d come too far. They all had.
“No one forced them to follow me,” the commander said with grim finality. “I didn’t force Venter to adopt me. But they did. They chose this, just like you did. Every real choice I’ve ever made came down to something bad or something worse. This is the only way I’ll survive this. It’s the only way any of us survive this. We’re going to fight. I’ll do my damndest to keep as many people alive as I can, just like I always have. But I’m not retreating. If you or anyone else wants out, then go on: die somewhere else. I’ll take that keep even if I have to do it all by myself.”
That was the end of it. He was right, of course. Mohsin didn’t have a choice. The only hope he had left was to hold things together as best he could. Hating Venter wouldn’t save anyone. He nodded curtly and left the command deck. For the first time in days he found himself praying.
The old prayers—his father’s prayers—rang hollow in his mind. Mohsin searched for a new prayer, one that might cut through the blizzard and drift up to God. Guide Venter. Guide the hinge-heads. Guide our tanks and our bullets. Kill our enemies before they kill us. Keep some of us, any of us alive. All-compassionate one, please…
Stumbling through the Draugr’s cramped, frigid corridors, Mohsin could only hope Tuka ‘Refum was right when he said Venter was some sort of divine instrument. They were all in God’s hands now.
Back on the command deck, the coms officer stiffened as a new frequency reached her ears.
***
“How did they get you?” Ragna asked blearily. “The oonskies, I mean.”
“No one got me.” Andra focused on guiding the Cyclops. “I volunteered.”
“And your Spartan augs?” the corporal pressed. She fiddled with the scope of a skeletal rifle slung alongside her ruck. Andra had noticed the weapon when she crawled on board: an F26 “Century Twist” bolt-action, popular with frontier colonials. “Did they cut out, you know…”
Ragna poked a thumb at her midsection. “Your woman bits?”
Andra refused to let the other girl get under her skin. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“I know you could snap my neck with one hand.”
“But here you are, trying to make me mad.”
“I’m not trying to make you mad, lieutenant.” Ragna pulled her survival blanket close to her shoulders. “What about the boy Spartans? Like the commander. Did they cut off his—”
“We are not having this conversation.”
“Fine. Keep your freaky Spartan secrets.”
They carried on in this vein for some time, their restless bickering broken only by bouts of fitful sleep. Andra lost track of when she switched positions with Ragna, when she slept, when she ate the last of her rations. Time inside the cramped Cyclops cockpit vanished beneath the relentless blizzard. Somewhere along the way seven days of marching became eight. Andra’s body ached. At least she had someone to talk to. The com channels inside her helmet were littered weary chatter: reports from the outriding pickets, barren requests for more supplies aboard one Elephant or Spirit. The human voices mingled with aliens until Andra couldn’t tell one from the other.
Once again she drifted into a feeble sleep. A sudden lurch from the Cyclops shook her free. Ragna had pulled up alongside the Draugr. The pilot jerked her thumb at the cockpit. “You should stretch your legs, lieutenant.”
“What about you?” Andra’s body ached. She could hardly imagine what Ragna, cooped up inside the cockpit for days on end, must feel like.
“I’m staying. The second I leave this suit someone’s going to come along and take it from me.”
There was no arguing with the stubborn girl. At least she’d gotten a few hours’ sleep. Andra nodded wearily and popped the cockpit. She leaped from the Cyclops to the Draugr, scrambling inside the mobile bunker before the cold chewed through her armor. Ragna peeled away from the Draugr and vanished into the snow.
Andra wandered through the Draugr’s cramped corridors. After all this time with the Kru’desh she’d finally gotten used to moving through Covenant tech without the urge to hold her rifle at the ready. Exhausted Sangheili sat or lay throughout the Draugr, abandoning any sense of decorum in their desperation for a bit of rest. Andra stepped over them and looked for Mohsin or any of the other officers. No one had summoned her to another briefing while she’d been aboard the Cyclops. Maybe they’d all given up on doing anything but moving the Kru’desh column forward.
She came across an enclosed alcove, perhaps the Covenant version of a supply closet. She saw no Sangheili in sight and slipped inside. Only when she saw the tiny heat lamp and weapons arranged on the floor did she realize her mistake. Someone knelt in the shadows, hunched corpse-like against the wall. Andra saw the machete and shotgun and recognized the body instantly. Stray or Simon Venter or whoever the hell he really was lay unmoving against the far wall.
He wasn’t sleeping. No one, no matter how tired, could possibly sleep like that. Venter’s helmet tilted at an odd angle. His prosthetic arm lay limp at his side while his organic arm twitched and beat aimlessly against the floor.
Andra froze. The Kru’desh commander lay helpless before her, caught in a seizure. “Medic!” The cry rose instinctively to her lips.
A hideous rasp escaped Venter’s throat. “No,” he hissed. With his helmet twisted to the side Andra couldn’t tell if he was looking at her or not. “No medic.”
Of course. Even crippled and spasming on the floor Venter saw the big picture. If anyone saw him in this state the legion would turn on him. Only the idea of a determined, indomitable Spartan kept them going. No one could know about his illness. No one…
Andra hesitated. She knew so many of Venter’s secrets. She was a loose end and he was desperate. What would stop him from silencing another threat to his power? She could just walk away and let nature take its course. She could finally be free of the man who’d decided to tear her world apart piece by piece.
Venter snarled like a wounded animal. He struggled to rise but collapsed back onto the floor. The spasms shook his armored frame like a dog tearing into a rag doll. Andra watched, rooted in place. All she had to do…
She stepped quickly inside the alcove and sealed the portal behind her. She knelt by Venter’s twitching form. “How do I stop this?”
“Meds,” he choked. “Stabilizing injection.”
“Where?”
“Pouch. Left side.”
That hardly narrowed it down. Andra pinned Venter to the wall with her forearm. She fumbled through one pouch, then another. Shotgun shells, a grenade, miniature biofoam—nothing at all like medicine. Finally she found a pouch stuffed full of syringes. She withdrew one and readied the needle. “Where do I stick it?”
“Anywhere!”
Andra obliged. She forced Venter’s head back and wrenched the body glove down to expose his neck. She slammed the needle into the first patch of exposed skin she saw. Venter let out another feral cry. For another terrible moment the seizure intensified. He threw Andra back and slammed himself against the wall. Then the spasms subsided, leaving Venter panting as if he’d just run a marathon.
The syringe clattered to the deck. They sat in stunned silence for a long time. Outside the wind howled and the blizzard raged on.
Venter gagged. He lifted a shaking hand and tried to remove his helmet while fumbling for the canteen on his belt. His grip failed and the canteen spilled water down the front of his armor. Andra leaned closer and helped lift the helmet off his head. She flinched at the ghastly features waiting underneath. Venter looked more corpselike than ever before. It was a wonder he could even walk on his own, much less fight a war. His eyes stared listlessly up at the ceiling.
Andra retrieved her own canteen and raised it to the stricken man’s lips. Venter recoiled. His eyes burned from the indignity of it all, but he couldn’t refuse the water. He sipped wearily at the canteen as his breathing grew more stable. Finally he regained the strength to move and shoved himself back against the wall. They sat together without speaking for a long time. Venter stared down at his helmet and feebly wiped bile from the stubble curtaining his face. Andra leaned back against the wall and fought to find something, anything, that might lift her out of the madness her life had become. She didn’t think she could go any further.
“How much longer do you have?” she asked quietly.
A weak snort escaped Venter’s nostrils. “Not long. Haven’t had an attack that bad in a while.”
“But you think whatever’s in that keep will cure you.”
“Juno says it will,” he said, as if that settled everything.
Andra’s gauntlets balled into fists. “And the rest of us? We’re all going to die out here! If the cold doesn’t get us, the enemy will!”
“I’m getting pretty sick of answering that question.” The defiant fire rekindled in Venter’s eyes. “I’m going to win this battle, one way or the other.”
“Who do you think you are? You aren’t some military genius, you’re a fraud! You told me yourself, it’s all just a big show you’ve put on for everyone!”
“Smoke and mirrors.” Venter nodded. “But that’s all I’ve ever needed.”
The truth dawned on Andra like a thunderstroke. “You don’t care,” she said in amazement. “That’s how you did it. That’s how you survived even when Palmer and Osman and Kedar and everyone else wanted you dead. That’s how you conned Jul ‘Mdama into giving you a legion and how you won all those battles. You just didn’t care whether you lived or died or won or lost. So you always won and you always survived.”
Venter’s eye twitched. He pressed his hand to the wall and dragged himself to his feet. “Save it. I won't be psychoanalyzed by the likes of you. I survived because I was smarter than you or any of the other thugs they sent after me. I wanted to win more than anyone else. Things didn’t always work out, but I kept going. Last one standing wins, Andra, and I’m always the last one standing. I didn’t come this far just to die here.”
She wanted to believe him, if only because that might mean she’d survive by lurking in his shadow. But no amount of furious determination could burn through the frigid facts. “And what if you’re wrong?”
“If I’m wrong…” An even darker shadow passed over Venter’s face. “If I’m wrong, then my entire life’s been nothing more than a big joke. And you get to be part of the punchline. Lucky you.”
Andra wrapped her arms around her legs and wondered if she should have just left him where he lay. She might never feel real warmth ever again. The Draugr rumbled on through the blizzard. Outside the motley panoply of war machines pressed forward. This war—the Created, the Mantle of Responsibility, Shinsu ‘Refum’s might fleet—seemed distant, almost trivial. The only thing that mattered now was surviving on to the next day, and the one after that, on and on until the Kru’desh reached the Baran Keep and the battle that awaited them there.
A faint chime rang out from Venter’s discarded helmet. He bent with visible effort to retrieve it, but instead of jamming it back over his head he triggered the external speakers. “Venter here. What is it?”
“Commander!” a woman’s voice rang from the helmet. It must be one of the comms officers. “Our forward picket just reported contact directly ahead of the formation. It’s Brutes, sir! Hundreds of them!”
Brutes. Andra leaped to her feet, half startled and half relieved. Finally, a battle! She hurriedly opened the alcove door, but Venter caught her by the shoulder before she could rush off. He shook his head as Andra yanked herself free.
“Hold your fire,” he ordered. “They’re friendlies.”
“Friendlies?” the comm officer asked incredulously. “Are you sure?”
“Yeah. Set up a secure channel and link them to my personal feed. Order all section leaders pull a full stop. Make sure no one gets panicky and starts shooting. Get one of the Spirits over here. I’ll go out there and make contact personally.”
Venter caught Andra’s eye and offered that old, crooked smile. It looked even infuriating plastered across his ravaged face. “It’s almost as if I’ve got everything under control.” His features vanished behind the SPI helmet’s cracked visor and he limped off down the corridor with renewed vigor, as if he hadn’t been thrashing against the wall just minutes before. Andra scowled but hurried after him. All she could do, it seemed, was follow this strange man and see where that trail led.
Mohsin Shah stood at the other end of the corridor. He shook his head when he saw them emerge from the alcove together, then turned on his heel and went on about his grim business.
***
The Kru’desh column ground to a halt. Bulky shapes emerged from the blizzard directly ahead: heavily armored troop carriers followed by Wraiths and escorted by Choppers and Prowler gun platforms. Lines of Jiralhanae warriors bundled under layers of furs and armor marched wearily alongside the armored war machines, and behind them rolled a platoon of Mastodon APCs. The two exhausted armies faced each other, each unsure how to greet the other.
A Pangolin pushed its way through the snow toward the Jiralhanae. Before it reached the first Wraith, Simon Venter emerged from the passenger seat and threw himself down to the icy ground. He braced against the winds and pushed doggedly toward the Jiralhanae line. Several human and Sangheili officers followed him. Andra-D054 trudged reluctantly at the rear.
The Jiralhanae straightened their backs and marched to meet the small group. One warrior loomed over the others. He hoisted a large gravity hammer over his shoulder and strode ahead of his packmates. The bulky armor protruding from beneath his cloak marked him as a chieftain. The smaller figure of a Sangheili, likewise bundled beneath furs and bent under the cold, moved alongside him. They came to a halt a few paces from Venter.
“Commander.” The Sangheili stepped forward. Argo ‘Varvin peered down at Venter from beneath his hood. “I did as you asked. Chieftain Alaric survived the crash just as we did. I told him—”
Alaric pushed passed Argo and squinted at Venter. The snow beat down between them. “Argo tells me you have command of this operation,” the chieftain growled. “He tells me I must take orders from you. I lost many warriors in the crash. Many more have died in this wretched cold.”
“You’ll lose a lot more if we stand out here like this,” said Venter. “Fall them into my formation. Get those infantry inside APCs before they all freeze to death. We can talk this over in the Draugr.” He turned away before Alaric had a chance to argue and hurried back to the Pangolin. His officers trudged after him.
Alaric’s lip quivered, exposing the well-honed fangs beneath. He was unaccustomed to taking orders, especially not from humans. But Archangel’s Rest and it’s deadly blizzard was the death of all pride. The chieftain exchanged a glance with Argo before snarling orders to the nearest warriors. His pack hurried into the Kru’desh formation, happy for some solace against the brutal storm. Hundreds of Jiralhanae surged among the humans and Sangheili and the column’s numbers swelled with new warriors and war machines. Alaric’s briefly mingled in confusion but quickly fell in line. The walkers gratefully piled into any carriers with enough room to accommodate the scores of exhausted Jiralhanae.
The Kru’desh column forged ahead into the driving snow. The march route was not hard to explain to the newcomers. Venter’s orders were clear: the Kru’desh marched forward, and only forward.
***
“The impact tore my cruiser in half. I lost many warriors on impact, and the wounded…” Alaric shook his shaggy head. “They were no use to me. I gave them the only mercy I could. In this cold they wouldn’t have lasted long anyway.”
The chieftain lounged on a makeshift seat assembled on the Draugr’s command deck. He let out a cheerful growl—Jiralhanae expressed most emotions through guttural snarls—when Mohsin handed him a cup of coffee. Jiralhanae were the only species in the galaxy who appreciated the stuff the way humans did. The steaming liquid vanished down the chieftain’s throat in a single gulp. He shoved the cup back at Mohsin’s chest. “More.”
Mohsin exchanged a look with Venter, who nodded. The captain rolled his eyes and handed the cup off to a subordinate.
“I visited this wretched planet a few years back,” Alaric continued. “Irthanus brought millions of settlers here after his alliance with the Baran kaidon. The bastard turned hundreds of tribes into tenants on this worthless ice ball and expected us all to fall in line. ‘High Chieftain’, my ass. No wonder he became a lackey for the Created.”
“They were marching south when my team found them.” Argo knelt on the floor, his fur cloak still wrapped tight around his combat harness. He warmed his hands by one of the portable heaters scattered around the command deck. “The good chieftain nearly killed me even after I told him we were Kru’desh.”
“Still haven’t let that go, have you?” Alaric waved vaguely to the tactical display. “Most of the settlements are to the south. We could hit the tribes while they shelter for the winter, live off the land that way. If you have any sense at all you’ll turn this idiot parade around and do just that.”
Venter hands, braced against the map display, tightened hard enough to quietly warp the metal. “We aren’t changing course,” he said through clenched teeth. “I’m not interested in looting villages. We’re hitting the Baran keep with everything we have.”
“In that case it might interest you to know that every warrior on the planet is mustered and waiting for us there. One of Irthanus’s scouting parties stumbled into our camp not long before we found you. I interrogated the one who survived myself. Irthanus and Rol ‘Baran know you’re coming. You’ll find that keep guarded by a force many times our number, to say nothing of the fortress itself.” Alaric downed another coffee and tossed the mug aside. “And I’m told the Created sent reinforcements: an entire team of Spartans. You’ll need a miracle to win.”
“Then it’s a good thing I’ve got you,” Venter said. He waved one of his Sangheili over. “Empty out one of the Elephants. Split the troops onboard around the rest of the column. The chieftain needs a command center.”
“Generous of you.” Alaric rose. “But you won’t be rid of me so easily, human. We will speak on this matter again. I did not join Shinsu ‘Refum’s fleet just to die on this miserable block of ice.”
“Thank you, Chieftain,” Venter said with a growl to rival the Jiralhanae. Alaric’s warriors followed their chieftain off the command deck. Most of the Kru’desh officers followed suit. Argo remained where he was, still warming his hands.
“A nasty piece of work, as you humans say,” the mercenary observed. “He had a bad reputation even before this war. No scruples at all. He really was going to tear through the Jiralhanae settlements. I convinced him you had a might army at your back. I knew I was exaggerating, but seeing how things are here…”
He shook his head. “Perhaps he’s right. We won’t stand a chance in a frontal assault.”
Venter returned to looking at the tactical map. His prosthetic hand flexed in the newly-bent rivets. “The next person who tells me the incredibly goddamn obvious is getting executed.”
“So it’s true,” Argo said quietly. “I didn’t believe it when the others told me. You’ve gone mad.”
“Don’t believe everything you hear. Report to the quartermasters and resupply your Mastodons. Your team gets six hours rest, then you’re headed back out there. You still have a job to do.”
“You ask a great deal of me for a man in your position.”
“And you’re arguing a lot for a man in yours. I’m holding up my end of our bargain. You’d better hold up yours.”
“Or what?” Argo sneered. “Andra is no safer with you than she is anywhere else. If this legion dies, she dies with it. Don’t bother with threats. You’ve learned to talk like one of Shinsu ‘Refum’s lackeys, but I know you don’t have the will to harm her yourself. You aren’t nearly as cruel as you think you are, Stray. I’d call that an admirable quality if you weren’t busy trying to get us all killed.”
“You haven’t seen what I’m capable of.” Venter’s voice was as cold as the blizzard outside. “Not yet. Now get out and get back to work.”
Argo rose to his full height. He gave Venter a hard look but left the command deck without another word. “Mind your tongue, young fool,” the mercenary muttered as he left. “You’ll find it harder to make friends when you don’t have this rabble at your back.”
Simon Venter stared at the map. The Kru’desh continued the long march towards the Baran Keep. An army waited for them there: battle-hardened Sangheili and Jiralhanae, united in service to the Created and in defense of their home. His gaze drifted south, toward the villages Alaric was so dead set on attacking. He crushed the edge of the table to a pulp beneath his metal grip.
***
Loic knew the news was bad when Rol ‘Baran summoned him back to the war chamber. His heart lifted inside his armored chest. Bad news for Archangel’s Rest might be good news for him. Good news for everyone. Maybe Rol and Irthanus were finally taking Simon-G294 seriously. Maybe Fireteam Gravity would finally have the chance to prove themselves.
Two Jiralhanae brawled in the hallway. A dozen other warriors formed a circle around them, urging the fighters on. Loic pushed through the throng and stepped over the fighters. He ignored the snarls the angry Jiralhanae sent his way and hurried on. Irthanus had given strict orders that any malcontents be reported to the keep guards, but Loic didn’t have time to sort this latest mess out. He passed two more scuffles as he hurried down to the war hall. The keep’s pristine halls got dirtier by the day. The servants and other civilians rarely showed themselves in the corridors that now served as barracks for the Jiralhanae lucky enough not to be freezing in the encampment outside.
The warriors were restless. Everyone was tired of being cooped up in the keep, but the Jiralhanae were not suited for this sort of garrison life. They were tribal, nomadic creatures by nature. Even united under a strong leader like Irthanus they needed space and autonomy. And now a battle dangled beneath their collective noses like a slice of enticing meat—a battle their chieftain refused to let them fight. Irthanus would have more than just a few rowdy scuffles on his hands if he let this continue.
The war hall was quiet as Loic entered. A few groups of Sangheili officers mingled around the chamber, speaking in hushed tones, but the expansive hall was largely empty. Aside from the living quarters, this was the one part of the keep Rol refused to convert into sleeping quarters. That hadn’t stopped a tribe of Jiralhanae from turning the corridor just outside the hall into a makeshift encampment, complete with a blazing firepit. Loic was grateful for the helmet that kept the stink of matted fur and freeze-dried meat away from his nostrils.
Irthanus and Rol ‘Baran waited by the great war table. The Kaidon and High Chieftain spoke together, heads bowed in quiet counsel. A friendship between Sangheili and Jiralhanae was a strange thing to see, but that reality gave Loic hope. He’d led his team to the Created to escape a doomed history of endless violence. Even amid this crisis the bond between Rol and Irthanus held firm. The Mantle of Responsibility was stronger than any old grudges.
The two lords stepped apart as Loic approached. He still wasn’t sure about proper protocol. He and his Spartans lived outside the normal hierarchies, but some show of deference was in order. He rapped his right hand against his breastplate and bowed in an approximation of a Sangheili salute. “My lords.”
Irthanus waved him up. “Enough of that. Such displays are strange from a human.” He caught Loic by the shoulder and guided him over to the war table. A stream of Covenant glyphs flickered past Loic’s visor. His HUD flickered as the MJOLNIR’s onboard computer worked to decipher them.
“My scouts just delivered a new report,” Irthanus explained. “The news is grim.”
“What now?” Loic asked. “Enemy reinforcements?”
“None yet,” Rol said. “We are not that unlucky. But there is still no word from the Eternity and we have no transmissions from outside the system. We cannot expect aid to come until the Created attend to business elsewhere.”
“We don’t need reinforcements,” Loic said. “The warriors you’ve brought together here are more than enough to defend this keep.”
“Indeed,” Irthanus agreed. “Yet that hasn’t stopped the Kru’desh. They continue their advance, and at far greater speed than should be possible in this blizzard. Some evil will drives them forward. Perhaps this commander of theirs really is as fearsome as the prisoner claims.”
“The scouts report the Kru’desh joined forces with the invading army that landed during the battle in orbit,” Rol continued. “A horde of Jiralhanae mercenaries survived their vessel’s destruction. Somehow they found their way to the Kru’desh formation even in the midst of the blizzard. This Stray has a host of murderous warriors at his back. He is utterly determined to assault my keep at all costs. And if the prisoner spoke truly, if this Demon breaches my walls, then…”
He trailed off, looking troubled.
Loic looked at the war map. The enemy was indeed moving faster than anyone expected. The blizzard turned what should normally be an easy route for any mechanized force into an almost impossible trek. The Kru’desh were pushing forward at a steady pace. With dropships and air-to-ground fliers grounded by the storm no one had a clear picture of the enemy’s force composition. That made the rapid advance even more dangerous.
He’d hesitated to believe Hera’s dire warnings about Simon-G294. That slimy bastard had a dangerous reputation, of course. After Philadelphia went up in smoke Spartan in Delta Company had dreamed of bringing the infamous traitor to justice. A man who’d turn on his entire species to join forces with Jul ‘Mdama was capable of anything. But was he really as vicious as Hera claimed?
The Baran Keep no longer had the luxury of sitting idly by and waiting answer.
“Reconnaissance by force,” Loic said. “That’s the only way. We can’t know anything for sure staring into this blizzard and waiting for Simon to set the terms of engagement. I’ll take my team out fast and quiet. He’s just as blind as we are. We’ll hit him hard before he’s close enough to dig in. A surprise attack might be all we need to kill their momentum.”
“You will not go alone. My warriors would not countenance the thought of humans seizing battle without them.” Irthanus looked troubled. “Four of my chieftains insisted on such an expedition this morning. Their outriders will accompany you. But when the other warriors see such movement, they will grow ever more restless. Warfare in this blizzard is madness, yet they demand battle all the same. We would do better to wait for these snows to sap the enemy’s will to fight, then strike with our full force.”
“I must insist otherwise,” Rol said urgently. “My keep is in danger. As kaidon I cannot let such a threat advance unopposed.”
“Of course. We must put an end to this matter quickly.” Irthanus squared his massive shoulders and faced Loic. “Go, Spartan. Lead my warriors to the enemy and harry their advance. Strike hard as only your kind can.”
“I won’t let you down,” Loic promised. A thrill coursed through his veins. This was it, the moment he’d been waiting for. He’d pay Simon back for the humiliation at Gilgamesh. The traitor would finally pay for his crimes. “We’ll show you just what we’re capable of.”
“I have no doubt.” Irthanus sighed. “This may well be my last battle. I have defeated many enemies across many battlefields. I hope this Stray is the last monster I must vanquish before my people know piece.”
The High Chieftain’s gaze darkened. “We will crush this enemy. I will send Stray’s spirit wailing into the abyss and mount his helmet upon my armor. One final trophy before the new age dawns.”
Loic saluted and briskly left the war chamber. The cold slipped away, replaced by a burning determination. This was his moment. His chance to finally proved himself. He activated TEAMCOM.
“Shaima, rally the others. Tell them to load a Warthog with all the ordnance they can get their hands on. We’re hunting strays.”
===Chapter Sixty-Four: Infiltrate===
Callum-B042 had missed his path in life. He should have been an actor. After all, his life was one of pretending. He’d spent his childhood pretending to be a Spartan. Clearly he wasn’t one, not really, if Task Force Phoenix was anything to go by. Ryder and his minions hadn’t bothered to say one word to Callum after the retrieval on Franconia. They’d barely looked his way as they rushed to debrief Merlin. He’d pretended to be a leader, someone the likes of Merlin and Andra could look up to. That performance hadn’t gone well by all accounts.
Now he was pretending to be a pilot. For the sake of everyone aboard the corvette, Callum hoped he did a better job at this impression. He made a pretty good pilot, if he did say so himself. Even after all those hours jogging around that Covenant hangar and all those rounds on the sparring mat he still felt as if he was hobbling around on his prosthetic leg. It was no good when half your side was cast in unfeeling metal. At least the ship went obeyed his commands. Flying now felt more natural than walking.
The thought left Callum both comforted and disturbed.
He keyed the intercom. “I hope no one’s in the middle of lunch.” He hoped he sounded more confident than he felt. “We’re transitioning in sixty-seconds. Everyone strap in. There’s no telling what’s waiting for us out here.”
Callum was used to unorthodoxy, but this was as far from a textbook operation as he’d ever been. To say nothing of the Sangheili fleet massed behind Task Force Phoenix, they were jumping blind into an unknown operation zone. For all they knew swarms of Sentinels were standing guard over this mysterious shield world—or worse.
But Ryder had everything under control. That was what everyone in Task Force Phoenix believed anyway. Callum was less than impressed with ONI’s shining wunderkind, but for the next hour he desperately hoped there was some truth to Ryder’s reputation. If he was as good as his troops claimed, maybe they would make it out of this mess alive.
Callum swallowed the last of his doubts. His hands flew across the control bank in front of him, preparing the corvette for the transition into realspace. The ability to ignore the gnawing reality that he might very well be dead in a few minutes was one of the last vestiges of life that reminded him he really was a Spartan.
The cabin door slid open behind Callum, shattering his concentration. He winced. “I told everyone to strap in,” he growled without checking behind him.
“Sorry,” came Merlin’s sheepish reply. The Spartan closed the cabin behind him and braced against Callum’s seat. Something bright and blue flashed in Callum’s side vision.
“I can help with the transition,” Althea said. The hooded AI projected herself from a small projector in Merlin’s palm. “You should have called me sooner.”
“I didn’t call you at all.”
“If you’d just let me—”
“No, damn it.” The rebuke came out harsher than Callum intended. He’d never liked AI even before the Created. They liked to pretend they understood humans, but they were as close to being human as Callum was to being a starship. But even he owed Althea the benefit of the doubt. Besides, she might be the only thing left to hold Merlin together. “Sorry, I didn’t mean it like that. But I’ll do this myself, thanks.”
“As you wish,” Althea said primly.
Callum ran through the last transition checks, privately wishing he’d taken Althea up on her offer. It would have made his life a lot easier. But he still had his pride. He wouldn’t let that go easily.
“Transition in ten,” he announced over the intercom. “Brace yourselves.”
Metal smacked against metal as Merlin magnetized his armor to the floor. Callum’s seat creaked as the armored Spartan took hold for extra leverage. If Merlin yanked the chair out of the floor they would be having some serious words later. Callum pushed that possibility out of his head. He needed to control his breathing. Too much pressure and he’d rip the controls from their cockpit-frame.
Control. I’m in control. For a moment, he really believed that.
A brilliant light flashed outside the ship, radiant enough to pulse even through the closed blast shields. Callum’s stomach lurched. For one panicked moment he couldn’t breathe. But the feeling subsided as quickly as it came. The ship didn’t shake itself apart. The cockpit was as stable and safe as ever. They had survived another transition.
Callum leaned over the controls, double checking that all systems were still registering properly. He didn’t look up as the blast shield receded—not until Merlin gasped in audible amazement. When Callum glanced up at the view before the ship he couldn’t quell his own cry of hushed wonder.
A verdant planet floated out among the stars, its surface a rich tapestry of green and white and blue. Callum saw lush continents surrounded by rolling oceans. This was another garden world, a pure and untamed habitat that put Earth’s soiled surface to shame. But the planet was nothing compared to the wonder looming just ahead.
A massive planetoid of smooth, silvery metal loomed over the garden world like some vast moon. No, that wasn’t right. The planet was the real moon, caught in orbit around the immense shield world. Callum remembered seeing footage of Treveylan—the shield world Onyx had become—but seeing it in person was something else entirely. He couldn’t imagine the immense, galaxy-shifting power needed to build something this colossal.
That was the Forerunner’s true power: to shape the universe to their will. That was the power the Created wanted. The power they were so close to taking for themselves. The thought sent a shiver down Callum’s spine. How could anyone win against this kind of power?
But that was why they needed the shield world. Shinsu ‘Refum would command whatever power lay hidden inside soon enough. The thought was cold enough comfort to shock Callum from his stupor and throw his head back in the game. He caught sight of the Absalom’s signal on his scopes. Ryder’s flagship was already maneuvering down toward the planet.
The ship-to-ship comm crackled. “Phoenix Two, come in. What’s your status?”
Phoenix Two. Callum barely remembered being assigned any call sign at all. “This is Phoenix Two. We’re still in one piece up here. How about you?”
The coms officer on the other side was not amused. “Begin your descent immediately. You’re already behind schedule.” Ryder’s people apparently did not share Callum and Merlin’s sense of wonderment. The Absalom pressed on towards the planet as if they weren’t all lingering in the shadow of an artificial world three times the size of Earth.
Callum dropped the corvette into a careful descent behind the Absalom. He was perfectly happy to let Ryder’s ship go first. If a swarm of Sentinels rose up to defend the planet he’d have that much more time to make his escape while they tore the Prowler apart. But no defending horde appeared on scopes. Nothing moved in the system at all save for the two descending ships. Somehow the stillness made the approach seem that much eerier.
A tight-beam transmission from the Absalom indicated Callum’s landing zone in the center of the planet’s largest continent. The Absalom itself was dropping Ryder’s team five klicks north. Once again Callum wished he had a better idea of the battle plan. Why bother with two landing zones if there was only one control room? He hoped the intel from Shinsu ‘Refum was solid and they were at least landing in the right place.
“Better head back and get ready to deploy,” Callum told Merlin. “I know the ODSTs are chomping at the bit. I just hope your new best friend knows his stuff. At the very least you can use him as a shield if there’s a hostile reception down there.”
“William’s not bad.” Merlin headed back into the crew cabin.
“Great. You’re on first name terms now.” Merlin was far too trusting. Callum knew Syndicate thugs when he saw them. He was just grateful all the Insurrectionists flocking to Shinsu’s banner had gone off with Simon-G294 and the Kru’desh. He could only take so much lunacy in a single operation.
The cabin door closed behind Merlin. Callum was alone in the cockpit once again. Good. He needed the privacy for a landing like this. They were almost in atmosphere now. The landing zone below was inside a densely forested mountain region. Finding a safe place to disgorge his passengers would be like slipping a thread through a needle—if the needle were a starship the size of a small building. But Callum would pull it off. He couldn’t afford to fail Merlin again.
His thoughts drifted to the coordinates he’d wrung out of Deep Winter. Andra was out there in the stars right now, fighting on some miserable holy world called Archangel’s Rest. Once this mission was over, Callum would take Merlin and go find her. Let Ryder and Shinsu and every other tin-pot warlord break themselves against the Created. The UNSC had no more need of Callum and he had no more need of the UNSC. He was done watching them throw away children in their ridiculous wars. He would drag Andra out of this mess kicking and screaming, and if Simon-G294 had anything to say about it, then so much the better. That little bastard needed to be taken down a few pegs.
A rumble shook the corvette as it struck the atmosphere. Callum banished his private thoughts and focused on guiding them all down safely. There’d be time for his private redemption later. Right now he’d content himself with keeping this ship in one piece.
Dark space gave way to fiery blue light. The corvette plunged through the atmosphere and hurtled down towards an alien world. For just a moment Callum indulged a wave of nostalgia. He’d miss this part of the game.
***
The deck plating rumbled gently beneath Merlin’s feet. Too gently. This didn’t feel like an insertion. Instead of an armored dropship held together with only the barest amenities to make sure its cargo reached the surface alive, they were gliding down on a well-crafted Baal Defense Solutions corvette. Somehow the added comfort didn’t help Merlin’s nerves in the slightest. It was starting to dawn on him just how little they really knew about this shield world’s defenses. The memories of Franconia’s Sentinel-infested jungles were still fresh in his mind. Diana and Amber had a Guardian and a pirate flotilla backing them up against the Forerunner drones. Two ships’ worth of commandos wouldn’t hold up against similar numbers.
“We’ll be alright.” Althea could sense his mounting tension. “It won’t be like Franconia. I’ve got your back this time.”
She was still smarting from her humiliating imprisonment. Merlin swore he’d never let anything like that happen to her again. He let her unfounded reassurance go unchallenged. At least this time he’d be fighting shoulder to shoulder with ODSTs instead of murderous pirates.
The ODST team was already on their feet. They stood ready by the closed ramp, braced against the bulkhead for any unexpected turbulence. William Hargrove was still strapped comfortably on the nearest couch, helmet in his lap. He caught Merlin’s gaze and made a face, then donned his helmet and stood to join the ODST team. The mercenary unslung his rifle with an air of weary finality. “I guess this is our stop.”
“Once we drop in, find cover and secure a perimeter!” the ODST gunnery sergeant ordered. “Anyone I catch messing around on the drop zone gets my boot up their ass. We need to move on the objective and link up with the Absalom team ASAP.”
“I’ll take point,” Merlin said reflexively.
“If that’s how you like it, Spartan,” the gunnery sergeant replied. There wasn’t much arguing, seeing as Merlin was the only one in a shielded exoskeleton. The other ODSTs shuffled aside to make room for Merlin at the front of the ramp.
“Guess I’ll join him up front,” William Hargrove said unexpectedly. He shrugged and pushed past the ODSTs to stand with Merlin. “I hate bringing up the rear. But you jarheads had better watch your fire. I haven’t come this far just to bite it to friendly fire.”
This brought a strange laugh from the ODSTs. Apparently Hargrove had done something back on Talitsa to win their respect. Merlin couldn’t help but like the man even if he rubbed Callum the wrong way. A strangely positive energy seemed to flow from the armored mercenary. He’d have never guessed the man had been a hired killer for the Syndicate.
Did that really make him much different from the ODSTs, or even from Merlin’s fellow Spartans? The clear-cut lines of good and evil that once defined Merlin’s universe grew fuzzier with each passing day. He wasn’t sure what was right and wrong anymore.
“We’re approaching the drop point,” Callum announced. An abrupt rumple and swooping lurch coursed through the ship. They were rapidly losing altitude and even the corvette’s internal compensators couldn’t hold back the rush of gravity. “There’s heavy forest all over this region. I’m not picking up anything on scopes.”
“We’re dealing with the Forerunners,” William said. “Scopes don’t mean anything.”
The ODSTs rumbled in agreement. Merlin unclipped his rifle. At least he had plenty of experience taking down Sentinels after Franconia. He just hoped whatever they were after didn’t tear through his mind like the Silent Garden. He didn’t want to face any more ghastly apparitions. After this operation was over maybe he could—no, he wouldn’t think about that. There was no after this mission, at least for now. Callum and Althea and everyone else needed Merlin’s head square in this fight.
Merlin’s helmet clicked as the ODSTs ran a com check. A dozen status lights flashed up on his HUD—including, he noticed, a light for William. A warning beacon from the cockpit flared and in the next instant the cabin filled with a windy roar as the ramp lowered. Merlin shuffled to the edge of the newly opened portal and saw a vast forest racing out below. The planet was just as beautiful as it looked from orbit, pristine and untouched and quite possibly swarming with unseen dangers.
“You’re ready,” Althea assured him. “We’re ready.”
Merlin kept quiet but nodded in assent. Althea’s presence was still unknown to William and the ODSTs. She might have done this operation some good as a tactical coordinator, but the moment she revealed herself was the moment Ryder seized her as military property. She was military property. Yet Merlin wouldn’t betray her trust. She was his friend. He’d already betrayed too many friends.
Andra… The thought rose unbidden in his mind. An iron fist tightened over his gut.
Something slapped the back of his helmet. “Move, Spartan!” the gunnery sergeant bellowed. “We’re dropping now!”
Training took over. Merlin dropped from the corvette without a second thought. He plummeted through the trees, his armored frame snapping entire branches clean off in his descent. He landed in a shower of leaves and dirt and shattered wood, barely registering the impact as he raced to cover behind the thickest tree he could find. He scanned the empty treeline. Nothing moved save for more leaves shaken from their branches by the corvette’s engines overhead.
William landed behind Merlin and the ODST team swiftly followed. They assumed a perimeter with practiced precision. These woods might as well have been a training reserve on any landside military base. Even the bark patterns looked familiar. The Forerunners had shaped the entire galaxy to their will. Their legacy wasn’t limited to buried bunkers and ancient weapons. Merlin had been treading on Forerunner soil his entire life.
The corvette pulled away. The sound of its engines receded, leaving the team alone in forest’s shady quiet. Callum’s voice crackled over the TEAMCOM: “I’m pulling up into orbit. I’ll keep pace with you and keep you linked up with the Absalom.”
“Understood,” the gunnery sergeant said. “Thanks, Spartan.”
Callum paused. “No, thank you, Marine. Good hunting.”
An objective marker blinked across Merlin’s hub. The coordinates for the control center were a short hike up the mountain. Merlin rose and broke into a brisk advance. His motion tracker winked with the comforting sign of yellow friendlies falling into loose formation behind him. This wouldn’t be like Franconia. He didn’t have to worry about a sudden shot in the back—and he didn’t doubt for a moment that the men and women behind him truly were his comrades. Even William.
The small team marched up through the forest. With the corvette gone the trees were eerily quiet. No birds chirped from the branches above. No animals stirred in the foliage. Merlin didn’t even see insects moving in the ground at his feet. Even with his mind razor-focused on the mission at hand, he couldn’t help but wonder how a planet with such an advanced ecosystem maintained itself without any trace of animal life.
He soon had his answer. Something shifted in the wind up ahead. He raised a hand for the team and snapped his rifle to his shoulder. His motion tracker flashed as a trio of Sentinels weaved through the trees just ahead. Their manipulator arms scanned the trees as they past, like gardeners tending to the sprawling forest.
“Hold your fire,” the gunnery sergeant ordered. “They might ignore us if we don’t provoke them.”
That was rather optimistic thinking coming from an ODST. The Sentinels banked and faced the insertion team. The soft blue lights on their stubby manipulators became a dangerous red.
“I think they’re already provoked,” Merlin said. He didn’t wait for the automatons to fire. A burst from his rifle tore through the lead Sentinel. Swift shots from the ODSTs brought down the others. The drones fell lifelessly to the dirt.
Merlin hurried forward. “We’ve got to move,” he told the others. “I’ve seen this before. The whole planet will be on alert soon. We need to link up with the commander and find the control room before that happens.”
The gunnery sergeant cursed quietly but didn’t contradict him. She knew as well as Merlin that their chances for a peaceful advance had always been slim at best. “You heard the Spartan. This hike just became a run. Double time!”
Fourteen armored forms clattered through the woods. Merlin held an easy lead, slowing himself down just enough to not lose the team entirely. His instincts shouted for him to race on ahead as quickly as he could. Memories of the swarms of Sentinels from Franconia were still fresh in his mind. An army of bloodthirsty pirates had been brought to a standstill by a single planet’s Sentinel complement. Task Force Phoenix wouldn’t stand a chance once this world was well and truly roused.
They hadn’t cleared a single kilometer before the next wave of Sentinels arrived. The drones came from all sides this time, shooting searing hot beams that cut through the trees like a knife through butter. Merlin brought down one Sentinel, then another. William was right behind him. The mercenary picked off one Sentinel after another like a prize-shooter dropping targets on a practice range. The ODSTs moved as a team, destroying the Sentinel swarm with overlapping fields of fire.
It wasn’t enough. One drone slipped through the perimeter and fired its beam through an ODST’s chest at close range. The man died without a sound. His status light blinked red on the HUD. The gunnery sergeant avenged him with a swift burst from her battle rifle. “Keep advancing,” she ordered tightly. “If they tie us down here, we’re dead!”
She took cover behind a tree as her team moved forward. “Phoenix Two, get the commander on the line! We needed his Spartans in the fight five minutes ago!”
“Already on it. I’m trying to track the Sentinels but they still aren’t showing on scopes.” Callum fell silent for a moment. “Best to just keep advancing. I don’t think you’ll get much support from Phoenix One.”
Merlin bit back a curse. He suddenly had a very good idea for why Ryder had set the landing zones so far apart. Their job was to serve as bait for the Sentinels while Ryder moved on the control room.
Merlin was a Spartan. He would follow orders and play his part. But one man was already dead. They hadn’t even been entrusted with a warning for what their role might entail. They might all die on the side of this mountain, cut to pieces by wave after wave of Sentinels—
“Merlin!” Althea sensed his pulsing vitals. “You can do this!”
You can do this. The words rang in his mind like pealing church bells. Merlin thrust the doubt and fear and anger far from his mind. He slammed a new magazine into his rifle and shot down another Sentinel. Another wave of fliers was already weaving through the trees.
He could do this. He would do this. He would survive. Merlin stood alongside William and the ODSTs and cut loose.
***
The Absalom touched down on a small plateau overlooking the leafy canopy that flowed down the mountainside and stretched out across this unnamed planet. Neither the planet nor the shield world had any name, or at least nothing that translated from the ancient Forerunner tongue. This system itself was barely a blip on a star chart. The site of Shinsu ‘Refum’s triumphant conquest was uncharted and unknown, a drop of water in the vast galactic sea.
It was all so alien, and yet so familiar. This forest might have grown on Earth or any one of humanity’s colonies. But the inescapable sphere of the shield world loomed large over the landscape, betraying just how different this land truly was. There was a power here, ancient and dormant, a power that outdated even the earliest cave paintings of human civilization.
Evalyn Castillo led Phoenix Team down the ramp. The Spartan-IVs secured a perimeter around the Prowler. Nothing moved below the plateau. No Sentinels rose to oppose the landing. Lieutenant Davis and his ODSTs hurried down after the Spartans. They were swiftly followed by fifteen dark-armored Sangheili. These hand-picked Cleansing Blade warriors had been assigned to the mission at Shinsu ‘Refum’s behest to ensure that humans did not sully the fleetmaster’s triumph. The warriors spread out across the plateau with an air of impatience. They had orders to cooperate with the humans, but they made their distaste for such a necessity known.
Finally, Ryder Kedar himself descended from the Absalom. The commander wore the simple armor of an ONI field operative and carried only his M6 sidearm. He stopped at the foot of the ramp, hesitating for only a split second before stepping out onto the alien world. His slit-visored helmet turned this way and that, taking in the vast landscape stretching out from all sides. He looked up at the shield world looming up above and nodded.
“Commander.” Lieutenant Davis jogged to his commander’s side. “Phoenix Two is on the other side of the mountain. They’ve already made contact with Sentinels.”
Ryder glanced at the ODST. “I knew this planet wouldn’t welcome us with open arms. It’s a good thing they have a Spartan with them.”
“One Spartan.” Davis looked pointedly at Phoenix Team. “They could use a few more. My team and the Sangheili can escort you to the control center without their support.”
“I chose to divide our forces for a reason, lieutenant. Lieutenant Commander Castillo and Phoenix Team will enter the control room with me. We don’t know what defenses we’ll encounter inside.”
“Sir, they’ve already taken casualties.” Davis’s voice was tight. “We’ve been down here for less than an hour and I’m already losing people—”
“Phoenix Two has their job and we have ours.” Ryder’s tone carried a note of warning. “I suggest we get to our appointed task, before more lives are lost.”
Davis stared up at his commander, faceless behind his dark helmet. He glanced down at the forested mountainside and stepped away. “Understood, sir.”
“If you humans are quite finished,” the nearest Sangheili sneered. “We have work to do.”
One of the Phoenix Spartans stepped forward angrily but Evelyn pushed him back. Ryder offered the Sangheili officer a respectful nod. “Of course. We don’t have any time to lose. Lead the way, Major. The Absalom will support our advance from the air.”
At her commander’s words, the Absalom lifted off from the plateau and soared away.  Ryder motioned for his team to move up the mountain. “Lieutenant Commander D’Souza will transmit our arrival to your fleetmaster. Shinsu ‘Refum should know that we’ll have the control room secured momentarily. This is a historic day—for humans and Sangheili.”
“Don’t forget your place, human,” the officer growled. He shoved past Ryder and led the other Sangheili forward without waiting for the humans to fall in line.
If the warrior’s rudeness bothered Ryder, he didn’t show it. “Of course, Major.” He stepped aside as Evelyn took control of the Spartans and ODSTs. “My people are at your disposal.” The UNSC troops fell in after the Sangheili. A faint wind carried the distant sound of gunfire from the slopes below. The massive shield world hovered over the glistening landscape in silent, eternal vigil.
===Chapter Sixty-Five: Fog of War===
“How long since you lost contact with the commander?”
“Thirteen hours.”
“And how long since your last attempt to re-establish the connection?”
“Approximately ten seconds ago. I am doing everything I can to boost the connection without jeopardizing this ship. I am also searching for any sign of the Subtle Knife or other survivors from the task force. And that’s to say nothing of everything I’m doing to coordinate the repairs here. So if you don’t mind, Major ‘Refum, I’m stretched a bit thin to be answering the same question every five minutes. I’m sure you have something better to do than waste my time with pointless questions.”
Juno’s tone was as frigid as the snows currently burying the Soul Ascension. She didn’t even bother to manifest her avatar on the ship’s bridge. She hadn’t bothered with such formalities since Stray and the Kru’desh armored column departed. Tuka turned away, angry at the AI but angrier at himself. Of course nothing had changed. That would be too easy. Stray and Ier and all the others were out there in this blizzard fighting for their lives while he lingered uselessly aboard the downed Soul Ascension. Stray’s final rebuke clawed at Tuka’s hearts: Your place is wherever I say it is. He wished he’d resisted. For once in his life he should have told Stray he was wrong.
Tuka rounded angrily on the handful of officers scattered about the stricken bridge. A gaggle of Sangheili, Kig-Yar and Unggoy lurked about like beggars in a slum. Only a single human female sat nervously at a weapons station. Most of the humans had marched off with Stray, or Simon Venter as they called him. “What are you all doing?” Tuka snapped. “There’s work to be done in engineering. This ship should have been repaired days ago!”
The Unggoy scurried from the room. The Kig-Yar just hissed and chattered among themselves while Tuka’s fellow Sangheili regarded him with wounded indignation. He faltered, ashamed at his own outburst. None of them were to blame for this fiasco. They hadn’t conjured up the human battleship or destroyed the rest of the task force or summoned this blizzard or convinced Stray to go marching off—
Tuka struck the barren tactical display. Were the gods to blame for all this? Had they really turned away from him here at this moment of tribulation? Or perhaps, an insidious voice hissed. You never saw their faces to begin with. They were never on your side. It was all your own vanity. Terror rent his hearts like a blade. “This ship must be raised,” he snapped to no one in particular. He needed the sound of his own voice to drown out the doubts. “We will double the work shifts. I will lead the crews on the engineering decks. If I must go without sleep—”
“Then go without sleep.” Mihka stood a few paces away. The pilot regarded Tuka in weary exasperation. “It won’t do anyone any good. We only have two Huragok repairing the engines. They’re the only ones who can save this ship and I haven’t seen them stop to rest once. The rest of us are just patching wholes and getting in the way.”
“Stray will need reinforcements.”
“Reinforcements we cannot provide. Nothing can fly in this storm. I barely survived my last sojourn out onto the hull.”
“Then we must raise the ship,” Tuka repeated. “That would win this battle in an instant. The Baran Keep cannot withstand a cruiser’s bombardment.”
“Unless the human battleship returns. Or the Baran Keep has countermeasures.”
Tuka stared at his friend. His arms fell heavily to his side. “Even you?” He didn’t know how much more despair he could take.
Mihka’s mandibles twitched irritably. “Or the Subtle Knife will return and smash the keep. Or Stray will overcome it on his own. Do you think the commander doesn’t have a plan? You were the one who insisted we track him down. He’s the gods’ instrument, after all. Unless you never really believed that. Perhaps you are more like your brother than you let on.”
“No, I—” Tuka stared helplessly at the tactical display. Outside the wind and snow pounded against the Soul Ascension’s hull like a marauding army. Stray and the others were out there somewhere. Fighting and dying while Tuka sat uselessly exactly where Stray needed him. “Forgive me,” Tuka muttered. “I spoke out of turn.”
“You are acting commander of this ship. It is your place to speak out of turn.” Mihka looked around to make sure the other officers were occupied. She took Tuka gently by the arm. “I was condemned to the Kru’desh for speaking my mind to damn fool commanders. I intend to keep doing so, whether my words are heeded or not.”
His place. His place, his place, his place. Everyone had ideas about where Tuka’s place was—everyone, it seemed, except Tuka himself. But Mihka was right. Raging against the gods would not make the repairs go any faster. This was another test. It had to be. Faith was needed here: faith in the crew, faith in Juno, faith in Stray’s destiny. Tuka only wished that the gods could make their will clearer. But that was never the way of gods.
“I must visit the chapel,” he said. “I have neglected my prayers. They are needed now more than ever.” His devotions would strengthen his own resolve, if nothing else. Perhaps the one thing he had any power at all over was his own soul. “Juno, you have command until I return.”
The AI didn’t even dignify that with a response. She had the real command whether Tuka was present or not. The Huragok made their repairs at her command. Even the officers commanding the work details took their orders from Juno whether Tuka was present or not. Tuka did not begrudge her the authority—she was more capable than he could ever hope to be. Her treacherous predecessor had masqueraded as a holy oracle proclaiming Stray’s divine authority. Diana was a false prophet, though as the ancient provers said even a false prophet were unwitting conduits for the gods’ wisdom. Juno made no claims to divinity. She didn’t have to. In some sense she was the only goddess here. It was easy to see why kaidons like Rol ‘Baran would serve the Created. Better the gods who spoke their will directly than silent deities who tormented their faithful with terror and doubt.
The thought made Tuka shudder. He left the bridge and hurried to the chapel to beg forgiveness for his sins and salvation for Stray. As long as the blizzard raged on, it was the only help he could offer.
***
In truth, Juno paid very little attention to the repair efforts. Her subroutines handled all the real work. Yearns to Soar and the other Huragok knew the Soul Ascension inside and out. All Juno needed to do was transmit their orders to the engineering crews. Even the stern voice that gave commands throughout the ship was a dummy program she’d split off from her core programming. All of Juno’s real efforts were directed out beyond the ship. She stretched her consciousness out through the whirling snow, groping like a blind woman as she sought some sign of the Kru’desh Legion. All she needed was one strong signal to penetrate the blizzard.
Instead, she found nothing. Stray was gone, swallowed up by the blizzard along with his entire army. Wanderer had vanished with him. Juno no longer felt the Forerunner presence within the ship. No, that wasn’t right. Wanderer hadn’t been within the ship. He had been within Juno herself.
That gave her pause. She felt an emptiness, a sense of loss. How deeply entwined with Wanderer had she really become? It occurred to her now that her connection with the Forerunner was far stronger than any she had ever felt before—even with Stray himself. That connection was more than just the partnership forged between an AI and her ally. Wanderer had poured himself into Juno, and she in turn had poured herself into him. It was strange and frightening to suddenly be without him.
Guilt tugged at Juno’s mind like a child pulling at the hem of his mother’s dress. She had promised to protect Stray, to undo the unfathomable damage Diana had wrought on his body and mind and soul…
Must I always live in Diana’s shadow? Guilt gave way to anger. Must I always trail in her wake? She was meant for more than cleaning up Diana’s flotsam. She was meant for so much more, yet so much of her life had been wasted cooped up in an ONI laboratory. How old was she now? Six years, nearly seven. Rampancy loomed over her with cruel finality, feeding on her mind just as Stray’s illness fed on his body.
Wanderer was right. Stray was a vessel. An important, precious vessel. Juno had done her duty by protecting him. He needed to come to the facility beneath the Baran Keep. There he would fulfill his purpose. Wanderer would be restored, and Juno alongside him. They would take back the Domain and defeat the Created. That was Juno’s true purpose: not to save one broken Spartan but to save the entire galaxy.
Yet now she could do nothing but wait. Wanderer and Stray were out fighting the Created and the planet itself. Juno was trapped here on the Soul Ascension, helpless to do anything but oversee repairs. The battle might be over already. If the Created allies were victorious… If Stray was defeated…
No! That would not happen. The Kru’desh would triumph. Stray had not come this far just to fail now. Juno set aside her guilt and fear. They were useless now. She ordered Yearns to Soar to redouble its efforts. Tuka was right about one thing: the Soul Ascension needed to rise from its icy prison.
***
The eighth day of the Kru’desh march dawned with a gleam of hope: the blizzard’s intensity died down. For a few precious hours the entire column could be seen from atop the Draugr, a ragged strip of frigid metal stretching out across the snowbound plains. The Scarab walker dominated the center of the column, its armor piled high with snow. The hope was snuffed out as swiftly as it arrived. The blizzard struck the column again with renewed fury, drowning out the light in the flurry of snow.
The desertions began on the ninth day. Nearly half the Elephants were now mobile field hospitals housing hundreds of frostbitten casualties. The Unggoy took the worst of it. Their stubby legs meant they couldn’t march alongside the rest of the legion and their methane reserves were running dangerously low. Stray ordered a team of Kig-Yar to abandon the Elephant they’d commandeered to let the Unggoy convert it into a methane laboratory. The Kig-Yar crew chief expressed his displeasure by butchering the first Unggoy to set foot on the Elephant. Stray beheaded the officer with a single blow from his machete. An hour later the dead soldier’s crew stole a Shadow and sailed off into the blizzard.
Argo ‘Varvin’s outriders soared off in pursuit. They brought the Kig-Yar to heel and returned them—alive—to the column. Stray assembled as many officers as he could muster on the Draugr’s deck to watch the runaways’ execution. A pair of Sangheili who fled in a Revenant speeder suffered the same fate.
Morale, already hanging by a thread, began to unravel. The surviving Kig-Yar retreated into their APCs and chattered among themselves with angry squawks and hisses. The Kru’desh Sangheili splintered into angry cliques—some spoke bitterly against their commander and carried out their duties with palpable anger. Others doubled down, loudly professing undying loyalty to Stray and cursing the naysayers. The Cleansing Blade warriors were as steadfast as ever. Urei ‘Cazal was the most unlikely advocate for unity. The well-bred aristocrat was determined to see the battle through to the end and he forced dissident Kru’desh back in line with a surprising vocabulary of insults and curses.
Chieftain Alaric and his Jiralhanae marched forward in silence. They rarely spoke to anyone outside their own pack.
Strangely, the Unggoy remained almost universally loyal to Stray. His provisions for methane production won him a devotion that withstood even the biting cold.
The humans also held on with a grim determination. The former Insurrectionists marched on through the driving snow, complaining loudly about the cold, the paltry rations, the unknown battle waiting at the end, and yet never blaming Stray for their predicament. They were resigned to this fate: an endless, freezing drive through waist-high snow towards a well-fortified enemy. Many rebels had endured even more hopeless campaigns than this one. Scarred veterans shared quiet memories as they huddled together over heat-lamps: long years on frontier wildernesses fighting fruitless wars, hunted by the UNSC at every turn. Their leaders had commanded them from comfortable hideouts far from danger. Stray, at least, shared in their sufferings.
Andra listened to every word and realized that she felt neither hope nor fear. She shared in the Insurrectionists’ resignation. What surprised her wasn’t the knowledge that she would die on Archangel’s Rest, cold and alone and forgotten by her friends. The surprise was that she simply didn’t care anymore. There was no pain, only a dull certainty that her death drew nearer with each passing kilometer. Perhaps her heart had simply frozen solid inside her chest.
She drifted from one Mastodon and Elephant to another. The terrible march had become a vague dream she could not escape. Squads of Insurrectionists welcomed her into their weary conversations. There were no dirty looks or murmurs about “freaks” or “oonskies” when she approached. She was one of them now. They were all trapped here together. Andra lived by instinct. Her mouth uttered dry platitudes encouraging the rebels on. They in turn offered thin smiles and passed on weary encouragement. It was all they could do not to simply go mad.
Andra’s weary daze brought her back to the Draugr. As her latest Mastodon pulled up alongside the mobile headquarters to pull in the day’s rations, she took hold of the Draugr’s side and dragged herself up. She didn’t raise her leg far enough; her boot slipped and she fell from the loading deck toward the snow below.
A firm hand caught her armored collar and hauled her back aboard. Andra found herself flat on her back. She stared up as a heavily-wrapped frame filled her vision. She recognized Sergeant Okafo even through the tattered cloth swathed around his face. None of the other rebels were quite so large.
“Careful, lieutenant.” Okafo’s eyes glinted. He spoke with a warmth that momentarily burned away the freezing air around them. Out of all the Kru’desh, Okafo hadn’t succumbed to weary despair. “Go inside and get some rest. The captain will have my head if I don’t look after you.”
“Thanks,” Andra muttered. She dragged herself upright. She was too tired to object when Okafo pressed a steadying hand against her back. “I’d hate for you to lose my head.”
“As would I. I’m rather fond of it.” Okafo stared out at the winding column stretched out behind the Draugr. A Scorpion and a Wraith drove side by side a few meters away. The shadow of Urei ‘Caszal’s Scarab loomed out in the darkness. “Thank you for riding with Ragna the other day. She needed your company.”
“Ragna hates my guts. She was happy to be rid of me.”
“She wants you and everyone else to think she hates you. But you’re all she talks about. Well, aside from the commander. That girl deserves better than the life we gave her. The same could be said for you. And that boy…”
“Boy? What boy?”
“I’m being disrespectful. I’ve spoken too much.” Okafo made a hacking noise that was half sigh, half laugh. “Well, it will all be over soon. Go inside and rest, lieutenant.”
Andra slipped into the Draugr. She didn’t rest. Her body wouldn’t let her lie down. Instead she shambled through the cramped halls as if in limbo. She couldn’t rest, but she couldn’t do anything either. Broken thoughts whirled about inside her head. Okafo. Ragna. Venter. Or was that Stray?
A Sangheili pushed past her. It was Ier, the senior Kru’desh officer. The warrior glared daggers at her as he past, three more officers hurrying in his wake. Andra ignored him. She found herself outside the Draugr’s command deck. There were no guards in sight. Andra stopped outside the bridge. Angry voices drifted through the sealed hatch. She recognized Mohsin’s shouts, and below them Stray’s dull, ragged voice.
“—another ten kilometers. Your command is falling apart. There won’t be any of us left for the Created to kill.”
“I’m sick of repeating myself. We don’t have any other choice.”
“You don’t have any other choice,” Mohsin snarled. “You haven’t even bothered looking for another option. This is madness. I trusted you. I wanted to honor Venter’s last command. I was a fool.”
“I am Venter.”
“You’re nothing without his name.”
“Careful, Mohsin. I’ve got nothing to lose and neither do you. We’re in this together. I thought you understood that.”
Mohsin fell quiet. Andra strained to hear his next, hoarse words. “Please. The enemy is just as blind as we are. If we dig in and wait for the storm to pass we’ll at least have a chance—”
“A chance to be slaughtered. When the storm passes the enemy gets air cover. They’ll have communications with every outpost on this godforsaken rock. A defensive battle won’t work. That’s why I didn’t stay with the Soul Ascension. This is our only chance. We hit them now, while they’re blind. I know exactly where the enemy is. That’s all we need to wipe them out.”
“Commander.” Mohsin was pleading now. “This isn’t your fault. You couldn’t help what happened to the task force. But this isn’t a battle you can win. You aren’t a miracle worker. You’re not God’s instrument, no matter what Tuka says. Don’t throw our lives away. Don’t throw your life away.”
“We’re done here.” Stray’s voice was hard. “I made my choice. We go forward. To victory or defeat. But forward.”
Andra backed away from the room. She slid down from the command deck, trying to put as much distance between herself and the room as possible. She was too late. Mohsin stormed out of the antechamber. He saw Andra framed on the deck ramp and stared at her. Then, without a word, he sat down on the ramp and buried his head in his arms. His body shook and for a moment Andra thought he was laughing. But then she heard the deep, shuddering sobs wrenching out of the man’s throat.
She didn’t know what to do. The sight of the captain’s explosion of grief stunned her more than an artillery barrage. Andra stood by in useless consternation as Mohsin desperately wiped tears from his beard. He stared at her through red-rimmed eyes and shook his head.
“What’s the use?” he whispered hoarsely. “What’s the use? We’re all going to die here.”
“That’s no way for an officer to talk.” Andra hated the words as she said them. More useless air. They didn’t change a thing. “Pull yourself together before someone else sees you.”
“What’s the point?” Mohsin gasped for air like a fish out of water. “He doesn’t care. He can’t care. It doesn’t matter how many people he kills. It doesn’t matter how many of us die. He wants to take that keep. He can’t think of anything else. There’s no talking to him like this. Oh God, what have I done?”
Andra knelt beside the weeping man. She felt extremely foolish defending Stray, but the only other choice was utter despair. “You’re talking about him like he’s gone crazy. Maybe he’s right. Maybe this is the only way we stand a chance.”
“Of course you’d say that. The same people who made him raised you. It’s all just a mission to you Spartans. No, no, just a game! That’s how they trained you, isn’t it? Just a game. A big competition. Who captures the flag first, yeah?” Mohsin laughed bitterly. “It doesn’t matter how many people you kill. The homes you destroy, the forests you burn, the lives you ruin. What’s collateral damage to a Spartan? It’s all a game. Giants don’t care about the little people. You accomplish your mission and then it’s off to the next planet. Who cares about the orphans you leave behind? You’re not the one putting the bodies in the ground at the funerals.”
The outburst stunned her. She couldn’t muster up a defense of the UNSC or her fellow Spartans. What good would any of her justifications do for this sobbing, terrified man?
“And I’m no better,” Mohsin continued. “God, I’m no better. At least Stray has ambition. I just followed orders. That’s all I ever did. Venter was crazy. He just wanted to fight and fight and fight no matter how many times he lost. I knew that, but I followed him anyway. I killed so many people. My God, some of them weren’t even armed! And the kids, Ragna and the others, damn it! At least the UNSC gave you armor before they sent you off to die. What did we give them? Lies and false hope. Independence for the colonies? All those revolutionary governments were even worse than the colonial swine. We didn’t care. We just wanted something to pretend there was a point to all the killing. There’s the greatness of humanity for you. That’s all we are. We just want to keep fighting and killing each other. That’s all we’ve done for six thousand years.”
Mohsin stared fiercely at the far wall, not sure where to direct his anger. “Maybe we should have just let the Covenant wipe us all out. Maybe we deserve the Created. They’d probably do a better job running the galaxy than anyone else has.”
He saw Andra staring at him and lowered his head, shamefaced. “I know, I know. I don’t mean it. I just need a few minutes, that’s all.” He buried his face in his hands. “It’ll all be over soon anyway.”
Andra glanced up the ramp and froze. Stray stood just a few paces away. She hadn’t seen him emerge from the antechamber. He stared down at Andra and Mohsin. His cracked visor betrayed no emotion. He offered no gesture of greeting. Without a word he turned on his heel and strode silently away. Outside the snow beat down on the Kru’desh column as it crept closer and closer to the Baran Keep.
***
The keep was in shambles. Rol ‘Baran could hardly move through his ancestral home without running into another squadron of Jiralhanae. The warriors billeted within the keep walls were well-behaved and respectful. Irthanus had threatened to banish any troublemakers to the snowbound camps outside the walls. But Rol didn’t want respect. He wanted solitude. There was little of that now. He couldn’t retreat to the Baran family chambers. Teyr would be there, his eyes full of jealous accusation. Rol couldn’t face his elder brother yet. He retreated to an enclosed parapet at the far end of the keep. The warriors there bowed respectfully and departed without a word.
Rol stared out into the curtain of falling snow. Many other noble houses mocked House Baran for its dutiful vigil over Archangel’s Rest. Few saw any reason in their reverence for such an inhospitable world. Rol could hardly blame them. But there was a bracing majesty in this keep and the land around it. He had grown up here. He had raised his sons here, just as they would raise their own children when the time was right. It was a hard life, but a pleasant one. Archangel’s Rest reminded a man of what was truly important.
Rol’s ancestors would be disgusted with him. He had deposed his older brother to form an alliance with the Jiralhanae, then welcomed them onto this holy world. That was to say nothing of his submission to the Created. But those ancestors knew little of making peace. They had known only the yoke of the Prophets. How many of Rol’s uncles had sailed off to die in pointless battles against the humans? With the Covenant gone and Teyr determined to lead the family to ruin, Rol had no choice but to act. He would trade all of his honor for peace. The galaxy had suffered enough from war and the ambitions of petty warlords.
Now one of those petty warlords was marching a host towards this very keep. Rol paced along the parapet. He couldn’t escape the captive Spartan’s warnings about this latest enemy, this creature called Stray. Hera called him a bloodthirsty monster. A butcher who would slaughter everyone in the keep. She might be lying, trying to spread fear and doubt. But Rol knew rumors of the Kru’desh Legion. Stray was Shinsu ‘Refum’s creature, and Shinsu did not suffer humans lightly. There were whispers of the terrible vengeance the Black Knight of Sanghelios wreaked against the houses who wronged him during the Schism. House Baran could not become another victim to Refum’s ambition.
Someone moved behind him. Rol turned back, expecting to see one of the guards. Instead, he found Naia framed nervously in the doorway. His niece wore heavily lined robes to shield her from the cold. She wrapped her arms around herself, shivering even from the modest breeze drifting through the parapet walls.
“I wish to be alone, Naia,” Rol said, though there was no force to the reprimand. Naia was a troublemaker but Rol could never be angry with her. Out of all Teyr’s children she was the only one who had not adopted her father’s bitterness. She was always helping shepherd the keep’s young children, and when she wasn’t out dragging Viru into trouble she was diligently studying the other thankless tasks that kept a keep running day in and day out. If only she would show some interest in warcraft, she might make an excellent Scion.
“You are troubled, kaidon.” Naia bowed respectfully. “Your daughters are worried. You have not visited them in days.”
“Yes. I am failing my duty as a father.” Rol’s hearts were heavy. He wished he could spend his days raising his children rather than preparing for a siege. “Give them my apologies. Tell them I will visit them soon. I intend to take them all up to the highlands once these blizzards clear. The old campgrounds need tending. I imagine they are all anxious to be free from these walls.”
Naia bowed again but did not leave. She watched her uncle with eyes full of sympathy. “It’s the war, isn’t it?” She quickly ducked her head. “Forgive me, kaidon. It is not my place.”
“It’s alright,” Rol said wearily. “It should not be my place either. I wish nothing but peace for our people. But there is nothing to fear. This threat will pass soon enough. The planet itself is our defender. We are safe in here, while our enemies freeze out there.”
“I am not afraid,” Naia said confidently. “You and our warriors will hold this keep. Chieftain Irthanus’s armies are encamped outside, and the Spartans will destroy the Kru’desh before they ever reach us.”
Rol could not help but laugh. Of course Naia knew about that. She’d probably dragged the information out of Viru. The poor boy was infatuated with her. Rol could hardly begrudge his son a moment of loose mandibles. Naia would make a fine bride someday.
“I heard it from one of the Jiralhanae.” Naia offered up a weak excuse.
“I did not know I had a Jiralhanae for a youngest son.” Rol shook his head. “Not to worry. I will not punish Viru, though I know I should. You are right, in any case. The Spartans promised a swift end to this crisis.”
Loic and Fireteam Gravity had departed the keep two days ago alongside a raiding party of Irthanus’s best warriors. A few of Rol’s own household guard had insisted on going as well. There was no word since then. Rol knew better than to place all his hopes in such a small force. Loic might be human, but he was as confident and ambitious as any young warrior. He was also a Spartan. Perhaps he and his team would prove just as troublesome for the Kru’desh as the Spartans had proven for the Covenant during the old wars.
Hope. That was all Rol had. He had no gods left to pray to. The Created, busy with their own designs, had sent no help since the Eternity’s disappearance. Rol looked at Naia and saw in her the peace he hoped for. The peace he’d sacrificed all for. Peace for himself, for his family, and for all the galaxy.
“We will be safe, Naia,” he said, reassuring her and reassuring himself. “This is our home. I will not let any foe harm us.” He caught his niece by the shoulder and pulled her in for a warm embrace. She wrapped her arms around his armor, her head barely reaching her shoulder.
This was what Rol defended. A fierce anger rose in his heart. Let Stray and all his merciless hordes come. They would find only death beneath the walls of his keep.
***
Loic had lain still for nearly two hours. The driving snow had buried his armored form like a dead tree. He thanked his lucky stars for the insulated MJOLNIR. The armor saved him from Archangel’s Rest and its bitter cold. He still felt the chill stabbing through the armor—nothing could hold back the blizzard’s fury entirely—but he was far more comfortable than the packs of Jiralhanae scattered around him. Even with their shaggy pelts and thick, plated armor the burly aliens shivered and cursed quietly. Four warriors had died since leaving the warmth of the Baran Keep. The raiding party’s swift advance meant that anyone who fell behind was either left to perish or given the swift mercy of a blade across the throat. The Jiralhanae performed this grim duty without hesitation. This was their element. They knew the grim realities of winter warfare far better than Loic and his friends.
And luckily, far better, than Simon-G294 and his Kru’desh Legion.
The warrior nearest Loic stirred. He was a low-ranking chieftain named Gnarus, young by Jiralhanae standards but already scarred by countless battles. “The scouts are back,” Gnarus said quietly. His breath formed warm clouds in the snow-drenched air.
Sure enough, several figures emerged from the blizzard. Shaima and Miraia hurried to Loic’s side while the Jiralhanae behind them approached Gnarus. The Jiralhanae navigated the thick snowbanks with impressive agility. The piled snow was no more of an obstacle than the waters of a shallow stream.
“We’ve got them,” Shaima reported. “The entire column’s moving right along the route we predicted. It’s a mixed bag, all sorts of human and Covenant heavy hitters. They’re well-equipped but they’re running blind in this storm. We got closer than half a klick without being spotted.”
“There’s a lot of them,” Miraia warned. “Even running blind there’s still thousands of them and only a few hundred of us.” She glanced past Loic to where Gnarus’s raiders waited alongside their idling Choppers. Fireteam Gravity had appropriated Choppers of their own from Irthanus’s impressive war-fleet.
“The Kru’desh have a Scarab holding the center of their formation,” the chief scout informed Gnarus. “That beast will annihilate our outriders. We would need at least twice our number alongside Wraiths and heavy weapons to take them head on.”
The chieftain looked over his shivering warriors. They were all volunteers, hardened warriors eager to bring the fight to the enemy. Even so, Loic could see the doubts forming in Gnarus’s mind. The Jiralhanae were brave, not stupid. But he couldn’t let them back out now. He hadn’t fought so hard for this mission and come all this way just to slink back to the safety of the keep. Loic had Simon and his Kru’desh right where he wanted them. He’d never get another chance like this.
“Chieftain, my team will handle the Scarab,” he said quickly. “They’ve got us outgunned, but we’ve got surprise on our side. Your warriors know this world better than the enemy. They’ve been out in this mess for over a week. They’ll be exhausted, demoralized. We can break this army right here, but we have to hit them now.”
The chieftain squinted at Loic through the driving snow. “You are certain you can bring down that Scarab?” he demanded. “That is a daring boast, even for Spartans.”
“I’ll split my team up,” Loic explained. “You’ve done more raids than I have. You know how this works. We’ll hit them from all sides at once. They won’t know our real numbers. They’ll panic and break formation. You’ll be able to carve them up. My Spartans will go straight through the mess and board the Scarab. Once it goes down, that’s your signal to do as much damage as you can and break off.”
“There’s a lot of big, slow APCs down there,” Shaima chimed in. “That’s the only reason they’ve made it this far. They need the big transports to move their infantry. We don’t even need to kill that many of them. If we take out the heavy lifters, they’ll be dead in the snow. Literally.”
Doubt gave way to eagerness in Gnarus’s eyes. A toothy smile broke across the chieftain’s face. “A bold plan. I like it.” He unslung a large rifle. Like all Jiralhanae weapons it was a savage union of blades and spikes. This rifle fired massive spikes like long javelins; the Jiralhanae, cruelly utilitarian with their names, called it the Skewer. “High Chieftain Irthanus told me to trust your instincts. I see why he put so much faith in you.”
Gnarus slid down the bank and raced back to the waiting Choppers. “Warriors, to arms!” he bellowed over the roaring winds. His officers echoed the cry. Jiralhanae guards sprouted from the snow, breaking down their perimeter and hurrying to join their chieftain. A chorus of eerie howls pierced the air. Gnarus mounted his Chopper and drove among the scurrying warriors, howling louder than any of them as he incited his freezing pack to war.
It was enough to make Loic’s heart pound within his armor. This was it. Finally, after all those years waiting in the wings, this was his moment. He took a deep breath to calm himself, then opened Gravity’s TEAMCOM.
“Alright, you heard the plan. Pick a maniple and stick to it. Let the Jiralhanae lead. They know what they’re doing. Do as much damage as you can. When I ping this channel, that’s your signal to converge on the Scarab.”
“We know the drill,” Akoni said impatiently. He was already down below the ridge, mounting his Chopper alongside the Jiralhanae. “How come you volunteered us for Scarab duty? We should be hunting down Simon. I want that bastard’s head after the stunt he pulled on Gilgamesh.”
“All in good time.” Loic actually hoped Simon survived the ambush. This was just the first stage of his plan. The next one would go a lot smoother with Simon still in command. “Be careful everyone. Don’t get sloppy. This is what we were born to do.”
Three hundred Choppers tore through the snow like dogs set off the leash. The Kru’desh marched in the blizzard beyond, blind to oncoming danger.
***
Mohsin stared out into the blizzard. He stood on the Draugr’s boarding deck and watched the Kru’desh column stagger on through the snow. For once he was glad for the cold. It cooled his burning cheeks. He’d never been so embarrassed. What the hell was wrong with him? To allow such an unseemly display—in front of Andra of all people!—was beyond disgraceful. Stray had probably heard the whole thing. It was a miracle he hadn’t had Mohsin shot like those deserters the other day. And the things he’d said…
They weren’t true. None of it. Venter hadn’t been a war-crazed psychotic. Stray wasn’t a madman. Mohsin’s life hadn’t been a bloody, pointless waste. There was still some hope for victory. Mohsin turned those thoughts over in his head like a child sifting through stones. If he thought them enough, maybe they’d become real. He laughed bitterly. He was a mess. If things weren’t so desperate he’d have relieved himself of command right then and there. Andra witnessing his humiliation was one thing. He couldn’t bear the thought of Okafo and Ragna and the other Second Vanguard survivors seeing him like this.
He had to stay strong, if only for their sakes. But stay strong for what? The opportunity to watch them freeze to death out here? Everyone he’d ever known and loved wound up dead. His family on Mamore. All the other rebel recruits. The Second Vanguard and Venter himself. Mohsin didn’t know why God kept him alive. There was nothing remarkable about him. He was utterly mediocre, a desperate follower hiding behind a cause and a faith to set himself apart from the wretched masses. He could have died on Mamore or Kafka or Talitsa in place of a hundred worthier men and no one would be any poorer…
God, forgive your servant. I only wanted to do your will. A lie. Mohsin had spent his life in service to any cause but God’s. He would be punished for his lies, soon. His mouth moved in a silent, bitter prayer. I fall short of your glory. Have mercy on me. Have mercy on all of us…
Out in the blizzard a small plume of fire erupted from the convoy. The sound took its time navigating the whirling snowflakes. Several more explosions tore through the column before the noise from the first reached Mohsin’s ears. He toppled back into the Draugr, ears ringing. He scrambled to unsling his rifle. Someone was yelling in his ear. One of the Pangolins driving alongside the Draugr burst into flames. It was close enough that Mohsin saw the green fuel rod that tore the troop transport apart.
“Attack! We’re under attack!”
Three Sangheili dashed past Mohsin and threw themselves off the Draugr. Already Wraiths were peeling off from the column and lobbing balls of blue fire out into the darkness. Plasma fire rent the air, thicker and deadlier than the raging snow. The Kru’desh, dull and bedraggled just a few moments before, sprang to life. They hadn’t seen the enemy in days. Now the enemy was everywhere.
An eerie noise drifted over the gunfire and explosions. Mohsin paled as he heard the thin, deadly howls carried on the air. Brutes!
Mohsin scrambled upright. He raised his rifle and squinted into the darkness, vainly searching for the enemy. The only shapes that moved out beyond the Draugr were Kru’desh. Soldiers piled out of Elephants and Mastodons. Sangheili officers waded through the snow, bellowing frantic orders as more enemy fire tore through the darkness. Mohsin thought he saw a few Jiralhanae moving through the confusion, but they could just as easily be Alaric’s warriors as the enemy. He lowered his rifle and dashed back inside the Draugr.
He found Stray on the command deck. His commander stood before a static-riddled tactical display. His prosthetic fingers traced lines in the malleable hologram as a chorus of voices shouted updates back and forth across the room.
“Contacts directly ahead of the column!”
“They’re coming at us from all sides!”
“We lost another Warthog! What the hell are the Wraiths doing out there?”
“Section leaders, get your elements back under control!” Stray barked. “Stop running around like the sky is falling and get this column moving! Shoot anything that moves beyond the perimeter, but move forward, damn it!”
“But the infantry—” one of the officers protested.
“Can get their asses back onboard the transports,” Stray said grimly. “They can hold onto the sides if they have to. We are not stopping here. All elements, forward!”
Stray and everyone else on the bridge ducked as a burst of gunfire raked the Draugr’s viewport. Confused shots from the Wraiths and Scorpions lit the snowy night with plasma rounds and tracer fire. Gunners across the column fired wildly into the darkness. The column was in danger of collapsing in on itself. Mohsin recognized the bitter necessity in Stray’s bravado. For all anyone knew an entire Brute army was bearing down on the Kru’desh. They were damned if they stayed and damned if they pushed forward. Stray needed to make a call—this was his call.
Mohsin pushed aside his doubts and made his own choice. “You heard the commander!” he bellowed at the wavering officers. “Push forward! Keep the section leaders in line with the Draugr! Do your damned jobs!” His course was set. There was no turning back now.
A stream of green fire spilled past the Draugr. Urei ‘Caszal’s Scarab rent the night with its main cannon. A string of explosions erupted across a nearby ridgeline. In the sudden light Mohsin saw distant figures scattering across the snow. The enemy was out there. They had the element of surprise on their side, but they were caught in the same storm as the Kru’desh.
Desperate hope lit inside Mohsin’s chest. After days of endless marching through the merciless cold, here was an enemy they could fight. An enemy they could kill. If the Kru’desh held formation they would mow these raiders down. All they needed to do was stick together and push forward.
Easier said than done. Reports kept pouring in: Choppers swooping in from all sides, Jiralhanae taking potshots from outside the perimeter, wounded Kru’desh being left behind to freeze or crushed to death beneath tank treads. No one had any idea of the enemy’s numbers or force composition. Every officer was a blind man sending frantic reports of whatever transpired within their small realm. In minutes the tactical display was a useless mess of conflicting reports. Stray pushed away from the table with an angry snarl and stormed off the command deck. Mohsin only realized what the commander was doing when he unslung his shotgun. The captain pursued him into the corridor.
“What are you doing?” he demanded. Stray turned angrily to face him. Another explosion rocked the Draugr and they both clutched the nearest wall for support.
“What the hell do you think?” Stray hissed. His fury was palpable even through his armor. “Command and control is useless. I’m going out there where I can do some good.”
Despair crept back from the shadows of Mohsin’s mind. Stray wasn’t supposed to race to the forefront of battle. He’d changed, and not for the better. “You could be killed!”
“That doesn’t matter anymore!” Stray’s voice was almost a shriek. “The legion’s about to mutiny! If they don’t see me fighting back—”
“And if you have another seizure?” Mohsin couldn’t dance around that any longer. “What happens if the hinge-heads watch you keel over? And my people? Some of those idiots really do think you’re the second coming of Venter. That’s the only thing keeping them going! Pull yourself together and get back in that control room, damn it!”
Stray reeled as if he’d been struck. Mohsin’s pulse raced. He’d just chewed out an unstable Spartan. If Stray flew off the handle now…
But Stray didn’t reach for his gun. Instead, he deflated. His shoulders slumped and he lowered his shotgun. For a terrible moment Mohsin thought he might really have another seizure. But then Stray stiffened and drew himself up again. “You’re right,” he muttered. “You’re a damned hypocrite, Mohsin, but you’re right.”
Somehow the rebuke rallied Mohsin. There was a hint of Stray’s old fire there, not the dreary resignation that had taken hold of him this past week. The Draugr took another hit. The battle was still raging outside, with or without them. Stray made to return to the command deck, then turned back to Mohsin. “Get out there. We’ve got human pilots on half the machines out there. If they hold formation it just might keep the column from falling apart.”
“Yes, sir!” For the first time in days Mohsin didn’t feel like questioning an order. He just seized his assault rifle and raced off into the cold.
***
Tracer fire streaked overhead. A Wraith mortar sailed off into the darkness. Three Ghosts weaved through the armored column, their pilots firing frantic bursts of plasma at nothing. The Kru’desh column was in chaos. Explosions shook the ground, each blast punctuated by the screams of the wounded and dying. From where she sheltered behind a crippled Mastodon, Andra could see miniature disasters unfolding all around her. Elephants collided with Shadows and ground over wounded Unggoy. Wraiths and Scorpions piled up on each other while Cyclopes scrambled over the mess of broken machinery. A Warthog sped past, its heavy gun firing off at aerial targets that didn’t exist.
Andra tried to close out the carnage, scanning the darkness beyond with her DMR. She’d shot three Jiralhanae since the fighting began. Hopefully they were the enemy and not Alaric’s warriors. It was impossible to tell in all the chaos. A Chopper roared past. It raked the nearest Wraith with explosive autocannon rounds before wheeling to run down a team of fleeing Kig-Yar. Andra fired four shots in quick succession. The first two missed, but the second two caught the Chopper pilot in the shoulder and threw him off course. Luck was on her side: the Chopper drifted straight into the path of an oncoming Wraith mortar.
Her heart pounded in her throat. She waded through the snow as fast as she could, trying to move forward alongside the column. What the hell was Stray thinking, ordering them to advance in the middle of an ambush? They needed to halt and reorganize. Maybe Stray was afraid that if the Kru’desh stopped moving they would never begin again.
Andra squeezed the doubts from her mind. She didn’t have time to see the whole battle. Right now she just needed to stay alive and kill as many of these hairy apes as possible.
A lance of Sangheili pushed through the snow alongside her. Their leader emptied a Needler into a group of Jiralhanae that loomed up from behind the destroyed Chopper. The first warrior took a chestful of pink needles and exploded. His packmates howled in anger and returned fire. One of the Sangheili stumbled as explosions from a handheld autocannon ripped through his shields. The lance leader began to bark an order. That order became a scream as a sudden force knocked the Sangheili back into a nearby Mastodon. The officer writhed against the APC’s hull, pinned there by a massive spike the size of a javelin.
Andra dropped into the snow. She was already numb from cold and adrenaline. The ODST was enough to keep her from freezing to death, but it was hardly insulated. She steadied her rifle and picked off one of the Jiralhanae. The rest fell back in a hail of plasma fire. One of the Sangheili lit his wrist-blade and tried to cut the officer loose. He stopped when he realized the skewered warrior was already dead. The Mastodon rumbled away, carrying the corpse like a grim war-banner.
“Come, human!” Another warrior caught Andra by the shoulder and hauled her upright. “We must not be left behind!”
She shook herself free but fell in with the Sangheili. The battle raged on all sides. The grim drudgery of the frigid march was replaced by chaos and insanity. Firefights raged up and down the column. The Kru’desh pressed on with bitter determination and the Jiralhanae obliged by raining fire down from all sides.
Her TEAMCOM crackled. In all the chaos she’d nearly forgotten she was linked into the channel. Most rebels didn’t bother tapping into it. She heard a strained voice shouting in her ear. “...Kearsarge…the hell… support to headquarters…”
Andra fell away from the Sangheili. A Scorpion rolled into a firing position a few meters away. She used the opportunity to duck alongside it and adjust her signal. Spent shell casings rained into the snow to create a steaming vent by Andra’s boots. The Scorpion’s gunner peered over her machine gun and pumped burst after burst into unseen enemy positions.
“Lieutenant Kearsarge!” Finally Mohsin’s voice came through. The captain sounded as if he’d just run a marathon. “What’s your status?”
“Still alive!” Andra shouted over the roar of the machine gun. “I don’t have anything more detailed than that. We’ve got Brutes all over the east perimeter!”
“You and everybody else! I need—” Static erupted on Mohsin’s end. He fell silent and for a moment Andra feared the worst. A stream of emerald fire lit up the snow-streaked sky. The Scarab’s main gun traced a deadly arc across a distant ridgeline. Sangheili mounted on the walker’s back rained plasma fire down on all sides. The Scarab was a terrifying, deadly weapons platform. Just having it on her side made Andra think they might win this after all.
Mohsin’s voice returned. “I just fixed on your position. Hold there. I’m sending a Warthog your way. Stay alive!”
“Yeah, you too!” Andra locked a new magazine into her rifle. She glanced upwards and realized the Scorpion’s machine gun had fallen silent. The gunner was slumped in the rotating turret, half her chest blown away by an unseen assailant. The Scorpion’s main cannon roared. Perhaps the pilot knew their partner was dead, perhaps they didn’t. Andra crawled up onto the tank’s hull and dragged the mangled carcass out of the gunner’s seat. It was hard, grisly work. She flattened herself against the metal, unbearably aware of the spikes, plasma, and bullets hissing by overhead.
Two Wraiths pulled into position on either side of the Scorpion. Their plasma turrets sent streams of blue fire shooting out into the night. Andra dropped into the abandoned machine gun turret and used the Wraith shots to guide her own fire. Distant, bowlegged shapes darted about in the shadows beyond the convoy. Andra pumped a burst into one of the shapes and it vanished behind a snowbank. Another Brute lunged from the shadows just in front of the Scorpion, grenade launcher ready. Andra jerked her machine gun and the warrior’s head vanished in a dark mist.
A large, dark shape slammed against the hull beside Andra. She swore and seized her sidearm only to realize the shape was a Sangheili in the ragged armor of a Kru’desh warrior. The alien’s mandibles drooped. He was wounded in the side and breathing heavily. He ignored Andra and pounded on the Scorpion’s hatch. The pilot—a terrified young Insurrectionist—popped the hatch and looked out.
“The legion is advancing, human!” the warrior bellowed over the raging battle. “Follow the Wraiths or you will be left behind!”
The Scorpion pilot nodded. The wounded Kru’desh slipped off the Scorpion and vanished back into the shadows. The pilot glanced at Andra, confused to find a helmeted stranger manning his machine gun. The young man’s eyes bulged when he saw the remains of his original gunner slumped down over the hull. He resealed the cockpit without a word to Andra.
The Wraiths pulled away and swept off after the nearest Elephant. Just as the Scorpion maneuvered itself to follow, Andra’s TEAMCOM buzzed again.
“Lieutenant!” It was Ragna speaking this time. “Where the hell are you?” A Warthog pulled up alongside the Scorpion, Ragna’s Cyclops right behind it.
Andra rolled off the Scorpion. She caught a glimpse of the dead gunner’s face on her way down. Snow had already drained the dead rebel’s face of any remaining color. She couldn’t have been more than a year or so older than Andra.
Sergeant Okafo waited in the Warthog. He jerked his thumb to the unmanned gun turret and Andra bounded aboard, trading one machine gun for another. The Warthog sped away from the Scorpion as quickly as it arrived. Andra could only hope her brief refuge found itself a new gunner soon.
The embattled column pressed on. The air was full of smoke. Half the machines the Warthog passed seemed to be on fire. Yet things weren’t as bad as Andra feared. The Kru’desh answered every shot from the shadowy Brutes with a resounding chorus of plasma and bullets. With the shock of the initial assault gone, the legion regained its composure. Surprisingly it was the Elephants and Mastodons—mostly crewed by humans—who held the column together. The Wraiths and Shadows fell in alongside the human vehicles, holding down the flanks with their more maneuverable repulsors. The Scarab loomed over the scene, vomiting destruction down on any Brutes foolish enough to set up a firing position.
Andra wondered just how much credit Stray deserved for the turnaround. He led the Kru’desh from one disaster to the next, caught in some hellish overlap of good and bad fortune. Maybe it was all dumb luck. Or maybe there really was some truth to Tuka’s claims about his skill as a commander.
Stop it. Her hands were already frozen to the turret mount. She wasn’t about to fall into the trap of thinking there was some divine providence or tactical genius behind Stray’s erratic commands. She couldn’t shake the image of him slumped down in a maintenance closet, caught in the fits of seizure.
A Chopper burst out of the blizzard. Its autocannon shots snapped past the Warthog’s hood. Andra pumped a burst into the rider’s bulbous, bladed nose. The Jiralhanae’s howl of rage was cut short by the Scorpion cannon that transformed the Chopper into a ball of fire. Andra swiveled the gun, searching for her next target.
A sudden force struck the Warthog. Andra felt as if she’d been swatted by a giant hand. In the next instant she found herself crawling through mounds of snow that rose over her head. She pushed clear of the snowbank and found the Warthog lying on its side. Two of the wheels were torn clean off.
Andra crawled back to the overturned Warthog. Okafo emerged from behind the scorched frame. The burly sergeant unslung a submachine gun that looked like a toy in his large hands. Another human—no one from Vanguard Squad and one Andra didn’t recognize, scrambled up behind Okafo. A Sangheili and several Unggoy darted over to check for survivors. Okafo waved them off as Ragna loped her Cyclops over to the wreck.
Just when Andra began checking herself for any unfelt wounds, Okafo barked a warning. Andra ducked her head as the telltale snap of incoming bullets cracked overhead. The rebel alongside Okafo seized his throat and toppled into the snow. The Sangheili’s shields flared. The warrior barked in anger. “Damned humans! I’m on your side!”
“Cease fire!” Okafo bellowed.
But the shots kept coming. The Kru’desh officer’s shields fell and he toppled with a shriek. His Unggoy companions panicked and scattered only to be picked off by precision shots from afar. Those weren’t the shots of a Jiralhanae marksman. Okafo collapsed beside the Warthog. For a terrible moment Andra thought he’d been hit as well. Then she saw his hand jerk, motioning for her to follow his lead. Playing dead was no solution, but Andra didn’t have any better ideas. She dropped down behind the Warthog and lay still.
Ragna’s Cyclops reared up. It raised its arm and sprayed autocannon rounds into the blizzard. A hail of machine gun fire crashed into the exoskeleton’s frame. Ragna tried to hold her ground but she couldn’t fight what she couldn’t see. She kept up the useless shooting until a Ghost hurtled out of the darkness. Its pilot, distracted by a distant pursuer, careened into the Cyclops’s leg. The Ghost spun out of control and the Cyclops toppled into the snow.
Andra’s fingers curled around her rifle barrel. Okafo kept still, but he had to know they couldn’t just shelter here forever. The column pressed forward all around them. The snow and smoke were too thick for any of the pilots to see more than the back of the machine in front of them. Before long an Elephant’s treads would—
Andra froze. Three large, armored shapes darted through the snow just beyond the crashed Warthog. Their postures weren’t those of hunched Jiralhanae warriors; instead, they stood upright, backs straight—humans!
And not just any humans. The figures were clad in full MJOLNIR armor. Andra felt her heart slamming inside her armored chest. Spartans. Enemy Spartans.
The lead Spartan—a man, by his build—dropped to one knee and shot a pair of unlucky rebels with quick blasts from his assault rifle. For one terrible moment he turned his helmet towards the overturned Warthog. If he and his team came this way, it was over. Andra couldn’t fight that kind of firepower, not on her own…
But a plasma mortar detonated nearby. The Spartans split up and then reformed with graceful precision. At a wordless order from their leader the trio darted off into the darkness. They wove through the chaos utterly unchallenged. They might as well have been taking a stroll through the countryside.
Andra waited a full minute after the Spartans vanished. When she couldn’t bear another moment’s inaction she leapt to her feet. Okafo rose and looked mournfully at his dead passenger before stripping the man’s weapons and ammunition. He looked out to where the Spartans had stood just moments before, then flagged an approaching Mastodon.
“Come on, lieutenant. Captain Shah’s near the font. We’ll regroup—”
“Regroup?” Andra demanded. “Hell no. We need to get back to the Draugr.”
“The Draugr?”
“Those were Spartans. A whole team of them.” The Mastodon pulled up alongside the ruined Warthog. Andra didn’t wait for Okafo as she darted aboard. She found herself in a cramped troop bay crammed full of wounded Sangheili. “We need to get to the Draugr before they do.”
“How do you know they’re after the Draugr?” Okafo climbed in behind Andra. They pushed through the wounded to find a confused young woman sitting alongside a Kig-Yar copilot.
“Where else would they go? They’re after the headquarters. We need to warn Stray before it’s too late!”
Above the chaos the Scarab belched emerald fire out into the blizzard. It towered above the column, marching over the embattled war machines like a great guardian dragon.
***
Loic’s assault rifle clattered and another Sangheili fell dead to the snow. The young Spartan bounded over the dead warrior and took cover beside a stalled Pangolin. A Kig-Yar’s head poked out from the passenger’s side. Citlali crushed the alien’s bony neck and hauled its corpse from the armored Warthog. Shaima lunged past her teammate and tore open one of the Pangolin’s doors. She drew her sidearm and swiftly dispatched whoever was sheltering inside the troop cabin.
“We need to step it up.” Citlali tossed the dead Kig-Yar aside and jabbed a finger up at the Scarab. The massive walker stood less than a hundred meters away. “At this rate the Jiralhanae will be routed before we take that thing out.”
“They’re doing well.” Loic checked his rifle’s ammunition counter. He had two magazines left, along with his sidearm and the explosive charges strapped to his combat webbing. “Shaima, I’m running low on ammo. Scrounge me something from the Pangolin.”
“They won’t last much longer,” Citlali said urgently. “The Kru’desh didn’t fall to pieces like you said they would.”
She was right. Loic bit back an irritated retort. Now wasn’t the time. He caught the plasma rifle Shaima tossed his way and strapped it to his back. The Kru’desh were putting up one hell of a fight. He’d lost contact with Gnarus ten minutes ago. The chieftain had been leading from the front and Loic feared the worst. Loic had expected the Kru’desh—a ragtag army of Covenant renegades and beaten-down Insurrectionists, worn down by a week’s forced march through a blizzard—to fall apart as soon as the attack began. Instead they’d met the Jiralhanae ambush with ferocious resistance. They’d even kept pushing forward rather than getting bogged down in the assault.
Gnarus and hundreds of Jiralhanae were probably lying dead out in the snowy darkness and it was all Loic’s fault. He couldn’t let their sacrifice be in vain. The Scarab had to fall.
He pinged Gravity’s TEAMCOM. “Miraia, Akoni, status!”
“Just reached the base of the Scarab.” Akoni sounded out of breath. “Miraia’s here with me. Where the hell are you, boss?”
“About one hundred meters out.” Loic motioned for Shaima and Citlali to get ready to move. “Start climbing. We’re right behind you.”
A burning Chopper careened past the Pangolin and slammed uselessly into an Elephant’s dented side. The Kru’desh column rumbled onwards, leaving a trail of destruction in its wake. Loic gritted his teeth. He’d watched Simon assemble this army at Gilgamesh. That lying traitor had manipulated Gravity to make himself look like a hero. He’d pay for that humiliation. He’d pay for all his crimes. Loic would make sure of that.
Loic darted through the snow. His MJOLNIR carried him through the heavy snow, past charred corpses and wrecked vehicles. He shot two Insurrectionists unlucky enough to stumble between him and the Scarab’s segmented legs. Precision fire from Citlali killed a Sangheili that roared out from the darkness. In another moment the three Spartans stood directly underneath the Scarab. Loic’s stomach lurched. The earth shuddered beneath him each time the Scarab took a step forward. The walker’s armored belly loomed high above him. It seemed so far away. He suddenly wondered just what the hell he’d been thinking trying to take this thing out.
He caught sight of two dark shapes huddled up against the Scarab’s starboard leg. Akoni and Miraia had already begun their climb. Loic’s friends had embedded portable rappelling lines into the Scarab’s armor and were using the lines to help them scale the leg. The sight of his team braving the wind, snow, and height steeled Loic’s nerves. He drew his own rappel line just as Citlali and Shaima caught up.
They moved quickly. The Kru’desh swarmed all around the Scarab but in the confusion no one saw five human figures clambering swiftly up the walker’s legs. Curtains of snow pounded onto Loic’s armored shoulders. The wind seemed to buffer him from all sides. Plasma bolts arced out from all sides of the Scarab’s body. The troop platform overhead was swarming with Sangheili who used mounted plasma turrets to rain fire down on distant targets.
“Miraia’s planting the charges on our leg,” Akoni reported breathlessly. “Please tell me you’re close to the top. I can’t hold on forever.”
An anti-Scarab maneuver like this was meant for taking out stationary targets in encampments or dry-dock. No other team in Delta Company would have dared suggest trying it in the middle of a pitched battle. But no other Spartans have ever faced a Scarab in a blizzard like this before. Loic scrambled onto the leg’s upper segment and pulled the rappel line taught. He braced his legs against the Scarab’s plating and locked his armor, turning himself into a foothold. Citlali pulled herself up against Loic and rested against his armored frame as she began affixing demolition charges to the Scarab’s leg joint.
Loic wished he could close his eyes. Every time the Scarab stepped forward its legs pitched their unwanted Spartan occupants like a boat caught in an ocean storm. The driving snow obscured the battle below. Flashes of plasma fire lit the night. Explosions roared and mixed with the cries of the wounded and dying to create an infernal shrieking that rose with the wind. Loic felt as if he were teetering above a frigid hell.
“Charges planted,” Akoni said over TEAMCOM. “We have to descend; I can’t hold on—oh hell!”
Akoni’s transmission dropped. Loic heard a faint cry rise up from the Scarab’s troop platform. A shotgun’s report drifted over the wind. The cries grew louder. Loic’s stomach tightened. If his friends died for his reckless mission—
Miraia’s status light pinged. “We’re clear, Loic.” She spoke as if she sensed his fear. “Akoni pulled us off before the hinge-heads could shoot. But they’ll be checking the sides now. You’ve only got a few more seconds—”
They didn’t even have that. A Sangheili in dark armor appeared on the ledge overhead. The warrior howled, glaring down at the three Spartans with hate-filled eyes. Two more Sangheili emerged, plasma rifles trained on the armored saboteurs.
Loic didn’t have time to think. He raised his assault rifle and fired one-handed up into the nearest warrior’s chest. He drew the looted plasma rifle in his free hand and cut loose. The rappel line, affixed to Loic’s combat webbing, strained under the combined weight of two Spartans. An ache spread through Loic’s legs and panic cut at his mind. He couldn’t hold on much longer. One of the Sangheili collapsed but two more sprang up to take his place. The assault rifle clicked empty in one hand; the plasma rifle overheated in the other. Loic and Citlali were pinned helplessly as the warriors raised their own weapons.
A glowing blue orb affixed itself to a dark-armored shoulder. The Sangheili only had time for an angry snarl before the plasma grenade vaporized him. More warriors fell from the Scarab and vanished into the darkness below. As the remaining Sangheili reeled from the shock of the blast an armored figure hauled itself up onto the troop deck, dispatching the dazed warriors with precise shots from an M6 pistol.
Loic hadn’t even seen Shaima begin her ascent. His teammate had lunged up onto the deck in a single bound. She stunned another Sangheili with a blow to the head and wrenched him down with her, using his body as a shield against plasma fire from unseen attackers.
“Charges set!” Citlali grabbed Loic’s shoulder. A sudden thrill coursed through his veins. “We have to drop!”
There was no time to think about the fall. “Shaima, get out of there!” Loic fumbled to release the rappel line. He glanced back up to Shaima, still standing on the troop deck. She tossed her last victim aside and spun, legs tensing for a jump—
She was a second too slow. A bright red light blossomed from her midsection. Loic watched with horror as the twin prongs of an energy sword cut through his friend’s armor. A furious Sangheili peered over Shaima’s shoulder. He drove the stricken Spartan to her knees. Two more Sangheili rushed forward. They struck Shaima with their wrist-mounted energy blades, stabbing her again and again with savage abandon.
“Loic!” Citlali’s strained voice sounded far off. “Loic, there’s nothing we can do!” A sudden jolt coursed through Loic’s body. Citlali had cut the line. They tumbled away from the Scarab. The sight of Shaima and her assailants mercifully vanished behind a curtain of snow.
Loic barely felt the impact. One moment he was falling and the next he lay in the snow. He tasted bile in his mouth. An urgent beeping warned him that his shields were down. He barely paid it any mind. The only thing on his HUD he could see was the dull red status indicator where Shaima’s healthy vitals had been just moments before.
Citlali recovered faster. She rose from the snow and hauled Loic upright, draping one of his arms over her shoulder. “We have to go! Get it together!”
“They got Shaima!” Akoni bellowed. He could see the status light just as well as Loic. His voice shook with fury. “Those bastards got Shaima!”
Loic struggled to speak. His skin felt clammy beneath his armor. He did his best to move his legs and help Citlali carry them both along. “The detonators,” he croaked. “Give them to me.” He had to be the one who pulled the trigger. He owed it to Shaima. This was his plan. His responsibility. Citlali pressed the detonator into his palm. It would be linked to the charges both she and Miraia had planted. Loic craned his neck to glare up at the hated Scarab and pulled the trigger.
Twin explosions erupted on either side of the Scarab. Two of the walker’s legs were shorn clean off. They toppled like great trees down amidst the Kru’desh column. For one terrible moment the Scarab teetered but held itself upright. Then the remaining legs buckled beneath the weight of its bulbous body. The Scarab collapsed in smoking ruin, crushing an Elephant and several smaller war machines too slow to move out of the way. A wall of smoking snow erupted around the fallen walker. In another instant it was nearly buried.
Loic and Citlali ran. They passed more broken bodies, more ruined vehicles. Two Insurrectionists helped a wounded Sangheili limp away from his burning Wraith. Another Sangheili dragged an Unngoy back towards a waiting Mastodon. Two Scorpions rolled into line just ten meters away, oblivious to the enemy Spartans. They blasted away at the remaining Jiralhanae, shredding the simian warriors in a hail of high explosives and machine gun fire.
So much death. Loic felt sick. What was all this killing for? The Created promised the galaxy peace. Why were these maniacs still fighting? Shaima should still be alive. Was Shinsu ‘Refum’s ambition worth all this carnage? And Simon-G294—how could anyone be willing to die for scum like him?
“Loic!” Akoni was yelling over the radio. “Get back in here! We can’t leave yet! Simon’s back there somewhere. If we kill him, we end this right now! Shaima—”
“No!” Somehow Loic had the strength to shout. “Get the hell out of there! That’s an order! Miraia, drag him if you have to.” Loic and Citlali reached a ridge overlooking the battle. A few scattered firefights still raged along the Kru’desh column, but the fighting was over. The surviving Jiralhanae fled off into the blizzard. Loic could still see the ruined Scarab—Shaima’s final resting place—smoldering in the column’s center.
This was Loic’s fight. He’d insisted on coming out here. He’d convinced Gnarus to attack the Kru’desh column. He’d told his team to board the Scarab. And the fight wasn’t over yet. The Kru’desh were bloodied, not beaten. Loic wouldn’t dishonor Shaima’s memory by second-guessing himself now. Simon would answer for her death, along with every other Spartan he’d ever killed. Loic wasn’t finished with him.
A few sickly lights broke through the clouds overhead. The night of battle was over. A new day dawned over Archangel’s rest.
***
Mohsin huddled in the passenger seat of a Pangolin, shivering and bedraggled. The driver pulled up alongside the Draugr headquarters. Mohsin offered his companion a weary nod, then forced life back into his legs and pushed himself out onto the Draugr’s landing deck. He crawled up the sloped deck and found a small crowd kneeling or standing around him. Shivering Kru’desh soldiers—mostly humans and Sangheili—stared bleakly out into the blizzard. Mohsin knew exactly what they were looking at. The Scarab had come crashing down alongside the Elephants he’d been using to coordinate flank defenses. Just a few meters to the right and he’d have been crushed instead of drenched in snow.
“What the hell are you doing?” he yelled at the stunned onlookers. “There’s a battle on! Get back to your positions!”
He caught sight of Andra. The Spartan knelt at the platform’s edge, faceless in her ODST armor. Mohsin wished Stray hadn’t given her that suit. He had too many memories of watching Venter wear it. To see someone else in the old man’s gear…
“Lieutenant Kearsarge!” Mohsin shouted, as much for his own benefit as Andra’s. He couldn’t afford solipsism now. “Take charge of this element! We’ve got wounded out there who need treatment!”
A Sangheili wearing the colors of an officer—perhaps irate that Mohsin called to a human over him—stepped forward. “The enemy has Spartans on their side, captain,” he growled. “They may be after the commander—”
“I think they’ve been busy with other things,” Mohsin snapped. He pushed his way through the crowd. He’d seen too many people die tonight to have any energy left for hinge-head posturing. “Get to work. I’ll deal with the commander.” He didn’t wait to see if his orders would be obeyed. He had more important things to deal with.
A subdued sense of dread awaited Mohsin on the Draugr’s bridge. The communications officers offered terse answers to the reports still flooding in from across the column. All eyes—alien and human—were fixed on Stray. The commander leaned against bridge window, helmeted gaze fixed out at the driving snow. A dent in the window marked the spot where an armored fist had struck the plating.
“Commander.” Mohsin struggled to keep his voice level. He couldn’t lose his composure here. “We need to stop the column immediately. We’re stretched too thin. The column can’t keep moving forward like this.”
No response.
“Half of our APCs are either disabled or moving at reduced speed,” Mohsin continued. Desperation rose within him. He couldn’t handle another argument with Stray. He might as well go scream into the wind. “Minimal casualties, all things considered, but we can’t keep moving without the vehicles. There isn’t enough space for everyone. Infantry won’t last ten minutes marching in this mess.”
Still nothing. Stray’s hands—prosthetic and organic—were balled into fists against the dented window. Mohsin fought back a despairing cry. He looked helplessly at the other officers and found only dull resignation. No one would support him if he went against Stray here. They were too tired for rebellion.
You hypocrite. As if you ever went against Venter…
“Commander, please. Without the Scarab—”
“Stop the column,” Stray said quietly. “Call a full halt.” His voice was more subdued than anything Mohsin had ever heard from him.
The commander turned to face the bridge crew. “I want a defensive perimeter around this lander,” he ordered, voice rising in strength. “Tow anything we can salvage to the center. Get crews out to secure anyone who got left behind. Get the prefab shelters out and treat the wounded. Don’t leave anyone out in the cold. Move! The enemy’s still out there!”
The bridge sprang into action as if invigorated by Stray’s renewed energy. Mohsin drew closer to the commander. He pulled the protective cloth away from his face and tried to offer a grateful smile. “Thank you, commander,” he said quietly.
“I didn’t do it for you.” Stray limped over to the dormant tactical display. He’d left his shotgun sprawled on the darkened table. “Get me a Warthog. I’ll help pick up stragglers. They have to see me doing something.”
“The legion fought well—”
“Doesn’t really matter, does it? They stopped us. That was all they needed to do.” Stray snatched up the shotgun and slung it over his back. The bridge officers redoubled their efforts.
“The enemy has Spartans with them.” Mohsin hesitated. “More UNSC defectors, I guess.”
“I know,” Stray growled. “Urei ‘Caszal has been screaming about them over the coms ever since his warriors fished him out of the Scarab wreck.”
“’Caszal’s alive then. Good.” In the short time he’d known Sangheili as more than just faceless monsters looming in the depths of space, Mohsin had come to realize that hinge-heads came in varieties of good, bad, and insufferable. Urei ‘Caszal was of the latter variety—he might as well have marched straight out of a medieval caliphate—but he was also a damn good officer. His vocal support for Stray was holding the legion together.
Mohsin glanced out the window. Distant shadows formed out in the snow as the column reformed into a jagged star formation around the Draugr. Fires from ruined Elephants and Wraiths burned out in the distance. “I’m sorry, commander.”
“You got what you wanted, didn’t you?” Stray limped away from him. “We’ll hold here. Dig in and repair as much as we can. Who knows? Maybe the Created will put us out of our misery before we all freeze to death.”
Dawn of the ninth day saw the end of the long march. The cloudy sky brightened and the wall of snow parted just enough to reveal a landscape littered with the husks of abandoned vehicles and a grisly carpet of Jiralhanae corpses swiftly disappearing beneath a wintery carpet. The raiders had been annihilated in their reckless assault. But the damage was already done. Stray and the Kru’desh legion lay immobile, trapped and snowbound in the hills five kilometers from the Baran Keep.
===Chapter Sixty-Six: Through the Trees===
Cassandra’s gauntlet locked in place over her arm. She strapped her combat webbing—ammunition pouches, knives, and medical belts—on over the chipped SPI frame. Her body quickly settled into the armor’s familiar weight. Cassandra instinctively slipped her sidearm into its holster. She didn’t need a full combat load aboard the Chancer V but old habits died hard. She had not worn her armor in its entirety since her injury. The strange pangs of longing she’d felt as she shot furtive glances at her stored gear as if it was some childhood crush made her queasy. But like any other Spartan she felt naked without her armor.
As she picked up her helmet, she caught sight of her reflection in its bronze visor. She looked just as she felt, tired and worn thin. There was no reason to feel this way, save the bandages still swathing her injured cheek. She’d had nothing but time to rest since she’d returned to the Chancer. The pain from her wound was largely gone. She could even smile without wincing. But time to rest meant time for the demons to creep into her thoughts. They would tear her apart if she let them.
The Chancer rumbled beneath her feet. Shinsu ‘Refum had set the entire fleet to full alert two hours ago. Apparently Ryder’s advance team were shutting down the shield world’s exterior defenses. Zoey had lifted off from the Redemption of Sanghelios as soon as she saw Task Force Phoenix breaking camp and airlifting their remaining troops back to the UNSC Arizona. The Chancer and its little civilian band were under no obligation to jump with the fleet, but Zoey was itching to fly again. Cassandra couldn’t blame her.
She clipped the helmet to her belt and retrieved one last item from her bunk: a battered, dog-eared prayer book. Simon had given it to her back on Venezia in one of his spontaneous attempts to be sweet. He’d probably stolen it and Cassandra knew he didn’t believe a word within its stiff pages but she’d held on to it all the same. Simon never mocked her faith. It was the only thing about her he’d never made fun of. It didn’t even seem to make him uncomfortable the way it did with Dyne.
Dyne. Cassandra wondered where he was now. Unlike Simon, who crashed in and out of Cassandra’s life like a raging tide, Dyne had simply walked away and faded into the ether like Kodiak and Jake and so many other friends left behind. And unlike the throbbing wound that was Simon, she felt a quiet peace with how things ended with Dyne. She would always cherish the thrilling nights they’d shared on Talitsa, fighting through alleys and darting across rooftops. But she’d always been just a few steps behind him, caught in the giddy thrill of chasing her dashing Renegade. Her role was always to cheer him on and stitch him up after some Syndicate thug got a lucky shot in. He’d been her excuse to stay in one place and whistle past the bonfire as the galaxy fell to pieces around her.
Wherever Dyne was, Cassandra hoped he’d found some shred of the happiness always missing behind that handsome smile.
She ascended from the cargo bay, passing Karina and Thomas in the common area. They looked up from their hushed conversation and offered surprised smiles. Cassandra offered a crooked smile in return. Her injury forced her to imitate Simon’s irritating little half-grins.
“Cass!” Karina rose from the torn couch. She’d abandoned her faded jumpsuit in favor of the dress she’d worn on Talitsa. Somehow she’d managed to stitch up the battered skirt and blouse while docked in the Redemption's hangar. It was terribly inappropriate shipwear but Cassandra found something comforting in Karina’s determination to cling to civilian life. They couldn’t all be rugged soldiers. Most of the galaxy wasn’t, thank God. “Are you sure you should be wearing all that armor?”
“I hurt my face, not my spine.” Cassandra let Karina fuss over her all the same. The young woman had come a long way from her days as a timid university student.
“Nice to see you back in the saddle,” Thomas offered. “Or in the armor, I guess. It looks good on you. I mean, uh, good and military. Professional. Like a Spartan.” He flushed and trailed off. Somehow his abortive careers as a crooked Syndicate cop and Insurrectionist soldier hadn’t stripped away the awkward boy lurking just beneath the surface.
The look of charmed adoration Karina offered Thomas in that moment filled Cassandra with a feeling of hope and envy. These two really were proof that there was something left worth fighting for. They didn’t deserve any of this, yet they’d stuck loyally with the Chancer just like they’d risked life and limb to help Dyne and Cassandra on Talitsa. They deserved to be happy. Maybe when William returned from Ryder’s mission they could go found that secluded little colony he’d spoken of.
Cassandra just hoped she’d be lucky enough to know something even close to what Thomas and Karina had someday. Simon prowled in her thoughts like a hungry wolf as she entered the Chancer’s cockpit.
She found Zoey guiding the ship through a squadron of battlecruisers. The Fleet of Cleansing Fire was a marvel to behold, even spread out in battle formation amidst the inky void of space. Shinsu’s fleet drifted through deep-space, hundreds of ships awaiting the order to surge forward and take the shield world for their own. The idea that the Chancer V and her tiny crew were in any way a part of this armada filled Cassandra with a dreadful awe.
One way or the other, she felt that she was watching the twilight of the human race. No matter what happened, humanity would be subjugated—either beneath the Created or whatever alien empire emerged victorious from this war. The UEG was gone and with it Earth’s fleeting hegemony over the stars.
Perhaps that was how it should be. Cassandra felt miserable even thinking of it. But the urge to control and dominate lurked within every corner of this fallen world, corrupting anyone with even the barest hint of power. Utter weakness—the loss of all semblance of control—might be the only real path to salvation.
Zoey pulled the Chancer into a safe holding pattern before looking back to Cassandra. “Look at you, all cannoned up. Wishing you’d gone off with William after all?” She motioned for Cassandra to take the copilot’s seat. “You could just wear a flight suit instead of all that gear.”
Cassandra settled in beside Zoey. “I like having everything with me. It’s a Spartan thing.”
“Spartans. Of course.” Zoey made a guttural sound in her throat. “You need to take some fashion tips from Karina. There’s a girl who knows her way around a clothing store. She stitched her own dress in the middle of a refugee camp. Have you ever even worn a dress?”
“Once or twice.”
“I’d pay money to see that. Two hundred credits at least.”
Cassandra felt herself flush. “Have you ever worn one?”
“Nope,” Zoey said with the air of someone born to spend her life wearing greasy jumpsuits. They sat quietly for some time. The Chancer V drifted quietly through the armada, an overlooked speck amidst the prowling warships and fighter squadrons.
Zoey made another course adjustment and set the Chancer on a safe drift beneath the Redemption of Sanghelios. She leaned back from the controls and gave Cassandra a sidelong glance. “So this is it, huh? Once the hinge-heads take the shield world we can all settle down.”
“I guess.” Cassandra stared out at the alien warships. “How’s that sit with you? You aren’t the settled type.”
“Not since my parents died.” Zoey spoke with an artificial nonchalance. “I’ve been going stir-crazy cooped up on that carrier. But maybe a shield world will be different. Is it true they’re like inside-out planets?”
“That’s what I hear.” Onyx had apparently transformed into a shield world after Cassandra and the rest of Gamma Company shipped out. She’d never thought of Onyx—with its miserable jungles and militarized combat ranges—as beautiful. Maybe the shield world looked better on the inside. She remembered the garden planet she and Simon had found after Mamore. That had seemed like a paradise then, right up until they’d been chased out.
“Forerunners sure are amazing.”
“Yeah. It’s just too bad about all the superweapons they built.” Cassandra spoke more bitterly than she intended. She didn’t like thinking about the Forerunners. It raised all sorts of uncomfortable questions about what she believed. Unfortunately it was hard not to think about them these days.
“Stray said that Gavin had—” Zoey cut herself off and pursed her lips. Cassandra could tell she was trying to keep things pleasant between them.
“I’m sorry we couldn’t find him.”
“Yeah. I guess he just doesn’t want to be found.” Zoey offered a thin smile. “Doesn’t it feel like such a long time ago? Just the two of us fumbling around the frontier looking for him.”
“It feels like that was years ago,” Cassandra agreed. “Once this shield world business is over—”
Zoey shook her head. “Deep Winter told me a few things while you were injured. About how Gavin was working for the Assembly even before the Created turned up. Apparently he didn’t trust Winter and his AI buddies not to get me hurt. That’s why he went off the way he did. I just wish he’d trusted me enough to give it to me straight instead of just vanishing.”
“Yeah. You didn’t deserve that.”
“Hey, I guess it means he thought I could handle the Chancer all by myself.” Zoey’s forced smile cut Cassandra to the core. She deserved a better life than all of this. “And Gavin’s still alive. I’ll get to tell him just what I think about all this someday. You didn’t even get to do that with your dad.”
“Who, Kahn?” Cassandra suppressed a laugh and immediately felt guilty. She didn’t want to speak ill of the dead, not after David Kahn saved Andra and bought them all time to escape from the Syndicate. That was another battle that felt like an eternity ago. But she’d never be able to think of him as her father. “I couldn’t say anything to get through to him. At least Gavin’s human enough to feel shame.”
“You’re staying, right?” Zoey asked quickly. “Aboard the Chancer, I mean.”
“If you’ll have me. It’s not as if I’ve got anywhere better to be. Karina and Thomas want to stick around, and William when he gets back. This ship will always have one hell of a crew.”
“Yeah.” Zoey nodded. “Yeah, she will. And maybe when Stray…” She flushed and cut herself off.
Cassandra left that one unanswered. Simon was out there fighting a distant battle. Andra was fighting too, along with Tuka and all the others. William was fighting at the shield world in Cassandra’s place, and here she was relaxing and waiting to just march in after the battle was over. It didn’t feel right. You can’t be everywhere and do everything, she reminded herself for what felt like the hundredth time. She’d chosen to hang back just like she’d chosen not to join Simon at Archangel’s Rest.
She needed to start trusting herself. She needed to start trusting God. Maybe the best place for her was right here at Zoey’s side. Cassandra leaned back in her chair. She reached for her prayer book and slipped into silent contemplation. Out beyond the Chancer V the wheel of history continued to turn.
***
A searing red beam slashed through the air just over William's head. It burned through the tree he'd used for cover when this latest wave of Sentinels dropped from the trees. William ducked away as the tree came crashing down in a cloud of smoke and leaves. He brought his rifle up and fired, dropping the nearest Sentinel with several well-placed burst. Merlin was standing just a few meters away, firing off in the opposite the direction. The Sentinels were coming at the landing party from all sides. Only the ODSTs' disciplined fields of fire were holding the drones at bay.
They wouldn't last much longer in this mess. William had two magazines left for his rifle. If he had to switch to his sidearm he might as well start throwing rocks.
They were down four ODSTs. The remaining eight were spread out in a loose perimeter, fighting up the mountainside with grim determination. They were damn good fighters but they were only human. Their gunnery sergeant was already flagging. She’d kept pace with Merlin ever since the shooting started but there was only so much the human body could do to match up to an augmented and MJOLNIR-enhanced Spartan. Now she leaned against a tree and took weary potshots at the oncoming Sentinels. Williams black-market exoskeleton gave him an edge over the ODSTs but even with the help he was exhausted. Merlin showed no signs of slowing but he couldn’t be doing much better.
William crawled behind the fallen tree. The shooting petered out as the latest Sentinel wave subsided. They wouldn’t be gone long. More Sentinels would replace them soon enough.
“Hey Callum!” William barked into his coms, chain of command be damned. “How about some support down here? We’re getting chewed up!”
“I’m doing everything I can. You have another squadron moving from the southwest. Get moving before they pin you down again.”
Callum’s voice carried more frustration than anger. He really was coordinating as best he could. It must be torture for the Spartan to be trapped overhead in an unarmed corvette, forced to watch his team suffer in the woods below.
William crawled over to Merlin and the gunnery sergeant. Around him the ODSTs dragged themselves upright and braced for another sprint. They’d been trapped in the brutal cycle of run-fight-run for the past hour.
“Look,” William panted. He pointed uphill. A rock formation protruded out amidst the trees. “We’ll be near the summit soon. We have to break through to Ryder’s position before the next Sentinel wave arrives.”
“If you have any ideas I’m all ears.” The gunnery sergeant didn’t even question him. She didn’t have the energy and she knew he was right.
“Just one.” William pushed back into a low crouch. “We run and we don’t stop for anything until we reach your boss. He’s got a whole team of Spartans with him. We need to make these flying scrap-heaps their problem.”
Merlin scanned the treeline. He’d wrenched one of the Sentinels’ beam weapons from a downed flier. That was a good idea—William reminded himself to do the same at the next opportunity. “Our firing line won’t hold up. We’ll lose people.”
“Yeah, because staying here and blowing through the rest of our ammo is so much safer.”
“The merc’s right.” The gunnery sergeant’s helmet dipped. She knew what William’s suggestion entailed. She also didn’t have a choice. “We did our bit. We held the Sentinels off the main team’s back. We can’t do any more here.”
She rose to her feet and raised her voice. “Phoenix Two, we’re breaking out of here! Double time! Anyone who falls behind answers to me! And if that happens you’ll wish I’d left you to the Sentinels.”
The gunnery sergeant turned to Merlin. “Don’t let us slow you down, Spartan. Do what you have to do.”
“I won’t leave you,” came the predictable Spartan response.
“I sure as hell will.” William forced himself to his feet. His legs ached at the prospect of more running. But it was run or die. Someone needed to put a boot up Merlin’s armored behind. For the first time in a very long time William felt a duty beyond surviving to his next paycheck. Cassandra would have set Merlin’s helmet straight. William had come down here in her place. He owed her a good performance. “These boys and girls can take care of themselves. Let’s see how fast you can move, Spartan.”
“That’s right,” the gunnery sergeant panted. “Get a move on, Spartan. Put that armor to use.”
William didn’t wait for Merlin to make up his mind. “Race you to the top!” He threw himself forward, kicking up dirt and leaves as he sprinted up the hill. Behind him Merlin and the ODSTs broke into a desperate run. They were athletes pushing through the last leg of the race. The dull whine of incoming Sentinel repulsors throbbed ominously in the trees behind them.
Callum’s heart pounded in his chest. He guided the corvette over the treeline far below. If only this damned thing had a good set of autocannons! All he could do from here was warn Phoenix Two every time a new Sentinel wave appeared. He felt useless. The team was mounting a desperate charge up the hill. They were close to the summit, less than a kilometer off from Phoenix One’s position.
Ryder’s plan had worked wonderfully, damn him. While Phoenix Two drew fire the far better armed and armored Phoenix One had ascended the mountain at a quick pace. According to Callum’s instruments they had already reached the plateau where the control room was supposedly located.
“Phoenix One, come in.” Callum tried to keep his tone civil. Cussing Ryder out in the middle of an operation wouldn’t do anything for Merlin and the others. He’d hold his anger until later. “Phoenix Two is closing on your position. I suggest you divert a team to cover their approach. The Sentinels aren’t far behind.”
A long pause. When Ryder finally answered, ONI’s wunderkind sounded distracted. “We’ve located a Forerunner facility. I’m beginning my entrance to the control room now.”
“Commander, Phoenix Two—”
“Lieutenant Davis will reinforce.” Ryder’s dismissive tone drove Callum’s blood to a boil. “They will take cover around the summit and wait for my signal. You’ve done your part, pilot. You may pull out and rendezvous with the Absalom in orbit.”
Callum couldn’t restrain himself any longer. “Now you listen here you—”
The line went dead. Callum stared at the console in shock and amazement. Ryder had cut him off. Not only from their personal connection but from the entire battle network. Had he lost his mind? What in the world was the commander thinking? This wasn’t a game. People were dying down in those trees. Now all Callum had left was his personal link to Merlin’s helmet.
Why did they have to die now, here, in sight of the shield world? They were so close to finding refuge. If Shinsu 'Refum had just sent more Sangheili with Ryder they wouldn't be in this mess. But of course not. Ryder wouldn't tolerate more than the handful of Sangheili that accompanied him. He wouldn't want the hinge-heads taking credit for his victory, even if that meant sacrificing some of his best troops in the process. Yes, Shinsu had himself an excellent servant in Ryder Kedar.
Callum steadied himself. He forced Ryder out of his mind. When all this was over he’d make sure that arrogant fool got everything that was coming to him. Right now Merlin needed him more. He re-aligned the communications instrument and opened a new line to Merlin.
“Merlin, come in! What’s your status?”
It was Althea who answered. “Phoenix Two has almost reached the summit. I still can’t establish a line to with Phoenix One. What’s wrong? We should be in range by now.”
He’s not interested in whether any of you live or die. Once again Callum held his tongue. He wouldn’t help anyone that way. At least Lieutenant Davis was rerouting to assist. Phoenix Two wasn’t utterly abandoned. “Phoenix One is entering what they think is the control room. You’ve got ODST reinforcements moving down the hill to support. Watch the fire to your front.”
“That’s a relief.” Althea paused. “Why aren’t you telling this to the rest of the team?”
Because Ryder Kedar’s a petty son of a bitch. “Comms issues. Get the word however you can without compromising yourself.” After this Callum really didn’t want anyone on Ryder’s team finding out about Althea. As soon as this was over he would get Merlin and Althea out of there. He’d never let Ryder endanger those kids ever again.
Funny how he just thought of Althea as one of the kids now. Callum was suddenly past caring about what she was. She’d proven more trustworthy than the highest-ranking UNSC officer in this sector. Callum owed her just as much as he owed Merlin and Andra.
Twenty winking ID strobes marked Lieutenant Davis’s advance. The ODSTs assumed firing positions along the wooded ridgeline and fired downhill at the Sentinels. Phoenix Two’s strobes pushed up the last stretch of uphill climb between themselves and relief. They were down to only seven strobes now. As Callum watched, one of those strobes faltered and winked out. Callum gritted his teeth and pushed the grim reality from his mind. He would get Merlin and Althea out alive. The rest of Task Force Phoenix were trained operators. They could look to their so-called commander for salvation.
***
A Sentinel beam burned through another dark-armored body. The gunnery sergeant fell and did not rise again. William saw her die through his helmet’s rear optics. Merlin paused just a few paces to his right. The Spartan’s helmet tipped toward the fallen ODST.
“Don’t you do it!” William barked. Adrenaline burned through his exhaustion and gave him the last burst of strength he needed to push forward. He was almost to the top. He’d almost made it.
His gut lurched as something moved up on the ridge. A line of dark shapes materialized just ahead of him. William’s heart sank as he raised his rifle.
“No!” It was Merlin’s turn to call out. “They’re friendlies!”
William flinched as gunfire erupted from the shapes ahead. But the shots weren’t aimed at him. Bullets hissed over his head and tore into the pursuing Sentinels. William was close enough to make out the telltale helmets of more ODSTs. Apparently Phoenix One had finally gotten around to providing support.
One of the figures rose and waved the survivors forward. “Come on, get up here!” It was Lieutenant Davis. William gratefully accepted the armored hands that caught his outstretched arm and pulled him up onto the ridge. Merlin and the four surviving ODSTs were right behind him. Davis glanced at the remnants of Phoenix Two, then back down the slope. William didn’t need to see the officer’s face to know what he was thinking.
“Thanks for the save,” William panted. He crawled away from the firing line and flopped down alongside a cluster of boulders. A beautiful forest stretched out across the scenic horizon. The sight of the shield world looming over the planet like some immense, faceless god sent a shiver down William’s spine. “I guess that makes us even.”
“Even?” Davis pulled back from the ledge. “I don’t remember you doing anything. Unless tagging along while your Spartan friend did all the work counts.”
“Counts in my book.”
Merlin had already busied himself requisitioning ammunition from Davis’s team. Of course he already wanted back in the fight. William left him to it. He’d done his bit by making sure the kid didn’t get killed on the way up here. Now that they’d linked up with Phoenix One he could look after himself.
William drew closer to Davis and signaled him to open a private com channel. To his surprise, the lieutenant acquiesced without question.
“I don’t mean to overstep, lieutenant, but where are the Spartans? Didn’t you have some hinges with you?”
Davis took a moment before answering. “Commander Kedar took his team and the Sangheili into the Forerunner structure.”
“So we’ll be joining them…?”
“No,” Davis said tightly. “My orders are to hold a perimeter around the summit and await the commander’s signal.”
“And that will be when, exactly?”
Behind them the ODSTs kept firing down the hill. Sentinel beams burned smoking holes in the ridgeline. The automatons weren’t letting up. It was only a matter of time before they called in all their little buddies and outflanked Davis’s team. The ODSTs would probably run out of ammunition before then.
“I have my orders,” Davis snapped. “If you want to know so badly, go ask the commander yourself.”
“Gladly. He’s not my commander anyway. What can he do, bust me down a rank?” William paused. “Which way to the structure?”
Lieutenant Davis gestured irritably back up the hill towards a plateau a short climb away. He dashed off to inspect the far end of his firing line. William glanced back to Merlin. The Spartan had helped the team’s heavy weapons crew set up a mounted machine gun and was now pouring swift, precise fire down on the unseen Sentinels. William opened a private com channel to the Spartan’s helmet.
“Don’t get yourself killed while I’m gone, you hear? I’d never hear the end of it from Cassandra.”
“From who?” Merlin glanced back at him. “And where are you going, anyway?”
“Gamma Spartan I kicked around with for a while. She took a liking to that girl with the bad attitude, Endra or whatever her name was, so I guess… ah, nevermind.” William slung his rifle and steeled himself for another climb. “I’m off to find out what the command plan is around here. Wish me luck.”
“You’re going to talk to Ryder—er, Commander Kedar?” Merlin hesitated, no doubt remembering all the dead ODSTs in the forest below. “Good luck.”
“Yeah, well, I should be back with more Spartans, or at least a hinge-head or two. See you soon.” William left Merlin and the others to their grim work and ascended the last stretch of mountain.
He reached the plateau without difficulty. No Sentinels rose from the forest to impede his advance. Strangely, the automatons were concentrated below the mountain rather than higher up where they could defend the supposed entrance to the planet’s control center. William realized with a shudder that this entire mountain might be packed with Sentinels like wasps in a hive. But why would they hold back?
William soon found himself standing on a grassy plateau, its surface trampled by heavy footprints. Sure enough a door protruded from the mountainside, its surface composed of thick, silvery metal. William thought back to the Forerunner facility on Franconia. Ryder had emerged from that ordeal shaken and reclusive. It couldn’t be easy for the young commander to descend back into another such facility. Maybe that explained his erratic behavior. It didn’t excuse all the lives he’d heedlessly spent, but Forerunner technology left strange marks on people.
William was happy to take no part in it. He wanted to get off this planet as quickly as possible. He wanted to get as far away from anything and everything to do with the Forerunners. Let the Created and Shinsu and every other power-crazed warlord tear themselves to pieces. The galaxy was big enough for all of them to have their wars and for William to have his quiet little backwater.
It was too bad this was a Forerunner world. It would have made a wonderful place to build his cabin.
The facility door slid open. William was surprised to see a Sangheili emerge from the subterranean bunker. The dark-armored warrior limped out onto the grass, clutching his side. Purple blood seeped through his fingers.
William froze. The wounded Sangheili blinked in the bright light. When he saw William his mandibles sagged menacingly. He let out a furious roar and raced forward. One of his legs trailed behind the other—a deep wound wept more blood over his armor.
“What are you—” William suddenly found himself flat on his back. The furious Sangheili loomed over him. An energy blade sprouted from his blood-soaked gauntlet. The Sangheili angled the blade at William’s neck, but when he knelt to deliver the killing blow a spasm of pain contorted the warrior’s features. The blade plunged into the ground beside William’s head.
William pushed himself off the ground and rammed his shoulder into the alien’s chest. He drew his sidearm and pressed it to the writhing creature’s head. The bullet tore through weakened energy shields and punched clean through the warrior’s helmet. The Sangheili fell lifeless into the grass. William rose, more confused than angry. What fresh insanity was this?
He was suddenly much less enthusiastic about going inside. Anything that left a Sangheili too delirious to tell friend from foe wasn’t going to be a picnic. Maybe Ryder’s team had triggered some defense mechanism and been wiped out. Good riddance to bad rubbish, but still…
The sounds of battle still rose from below. Merlin and the ODSTs could hold out for a few more minutes at most. They needed support. And if Ryder was dead, they needed to know. That would put Lieutenant Davis in charge. Maybe he’d have the good sense to abort this bloodbath. William couldn’t afford to hang out with the dead hinge-head. He steadied his breathing, stepped over the unfortunate Sangheili, and descended into the Forerunner tunnel.
William found himself in a brightly lit corridor that sloped down into the mountainside. The silver-hued walls around him had an ethereal sheen, more like an otherworldly palace than a military control center. He felt as if he was descending into another realm entirely, one utterly divorced from his own commonplace reality. At times like this he couldn’t blame the Covenant for worshipping the Forerunners as gods.
The trail of purple blood smeared on the smooth floor broke the illusion. The warrior William had just killed must have dragged himself up from whatever catastrophe had befallen him. William had no choice but to follow the trail down. He was about to confront whatever had left the Sangheili in such a frenzied state.
A grim scene awaited him at the bottom of the ramp. The tight corridor opened into a larger antechamber. There, spread across the floor in a grim tableau, lay the corpses of nearly a dozen Sangheili warriors. William knelt to inspect the bodies. These were clearly the Cleansing Blade warriors Shinsu ‘Refum had sent to accompany Ryder. There was no sign of Ryder or his Spartan-IVs. Yet the dead Sangheili hadn’t been killed by Sentinels or any kind of energy-based weapons. Their bodies bore the visceral marks of bullet impacts and knife blows.
A dreadful confusion settled on William. It didn’t take a genius to puzzle out this mystery. Ryder’s Spartans had led their Sangheili companions inside the mountain and then mercilessly gunned them down. No wonder the lone Sangheili survivor had fled this room only to attack the first human he saw.
Had the Sangheili been given secret orders to attack Ryder? That didn’t make any sense. Shinsu needed humans to interface with the shield world’s defenses. Most of these warriors hadn’t even had time to draw their weapons. Phoenix Team had mercilessly shot them in the back.
William felt hot inside his helmet. He smelled an ONI rat. Leave it to Ryder Kedar to plunge his troops into disaster while he snuck off to a secluded spot to stab his supposed allies in the back. None of this made sense. Now William had no choice but to press on and find out the truth. Merlin and the others didn’t have time for Ryder’s games. He closed his eyes and suddenly found himself wishing Cassandra were here.
How strange that a young woman he’d known for just a few months now loomed so large in his mind! Somehow that strange outcast Spartan had broken through years of hardened apathy and reminded him that there were plenty of good, decent people in this galaxy after all. William would have liked to see her take Ryder Kedar to task, burning with righteous anger. He didn’t have that kind of energy. All he could do was hope Ryder hadn’t completely written off Merlin and the other ODSTs as acceptable losses. Whatever cloak and dagger game was afoot, there was surely time to save some of the people fighting outside.
As he rose and pressed on he felt an abrupt surge of gratitude for the Chancer V and her crew. For a few wonderful months their light had pierced the dark clouds of apathy that had shrouded William’s mind for so many years. He didn’t deserve it, but he’d been given a glimpse into a world not dominated by cruelty and greed. There really were other ways to live. Better ways.
William did not have far to go. The grisly antechamber led him through a spacious corridor lined with metallic columns and engraved with strange geometric shapes. At the far end of the grand hall stood a massive set of doors. William felt utterly insignificant passing through this great chamber that must have stood fast here for a millennium. He stopped in front of the large doors. The control room must be on the other side. This was his last chance to give up and turn back.
That chance evaporated when the doors sensed his presence and slid open. William’s stomach dropped. He was greeted by the sight of a circular room with a high arching ceiling that seemed to rise straight up to the mountain’s very summit. The whole mountain must have been constructed around this room, or perhaps the rocks and dirt had piled in thousands of years after the shield world was created and this planet set loose in its orbit. He saw a holographic projection of the shield world hovering in the center of the chamber. A vast field of artificial stars twinkled overhead.
William didn’t have time to inspect the chamber further. He was keenly aware of the five Spartans training their rifles on his chest.
He threw up his hands. “Hey! Friendly, friendly!”
The Spartans of Phoenix Team didn’t lower their weapons but they didn’t open fire either. That was a start. William made out a sixth figure, this one clad in the dark combat armor of an ONI field operative, standing at the center of the chamber. Ryder Kedar turned away from the control station. He’d removed his helmet. The pallid green light from the massive hologram overhead cast his handsome features in eerie relief.
One of the Spartans stepped forward. “Who the hell are you?” a woman’s sharp voice demanded. This must be Evelyn Castillo, Ryder’s adjutant.
William stepped forward. He kept his hands in the air. “Commander!” he called past the Spartans. His voice echoed across the large chamber. “Lieutenant Davis sent me!” Not the whole truth, but William needed some sort of rank to throw around.
“I told Lieutenant Davis to hold position outside.” Ryder didn’t have to shout for his voice to carry through the chamber. “You aren’t one of his ODSTs.”
“No, sir.” William buried his anger. He drew on his experience from the Great War—he’d learned how to feign deference to pissant superiors across a dozen miserable battlefields. “I’m an auxiliary. William Hargrove.”
“Oh yes. Spartan-G006’s friend.” Ryder motioned to Evelyn. Phoenix Team lowered their weapons. “What are you doing down here, soldier?”
“The Sentinels aren’t letting up outside, sir. Lieutenant Davis and his team need support. They’re holding the line now, but at the rate those flyers are coming in they’ll burn through their ammo in no time.”
“I see.” Ryder turned back to the control room’s interface. He seemed utterly disinterested in William and anything he had to say.
William stepped carefully through the enormous room. The rising anger in his chest was hot, but not hot enough to make him forget about the five Spartans spread out around him. “You don’t understand. They’ll die—”
Ryder raised a hand for silence. William gaped. He didn’t know what surprised him more—this man’s utter callousness or his own compulsion to obey him. He fell silent but kept moving forward, closing the distance between himself and Ryder. Surprisingly, Phoenix Team made no effort to halt his approach. As William drew near, he made out a small device in Ryder’s hand: a data crystal chip. The commander slipped it into the Forerunner control panel. Almost at once the room’s lights shifted from a pale green to dark blue. The shield world’s projection shimmered like a pool of disturbed water.
Was William’s imagination playing tricks on him, or did the ground shudder beneath his feet?
A new form materialized in front of Ryder. Tongues of blue flame rose up over the commander. It took William a moment to realize he was staring at a hologram, and a moment after that to understand that this was an AI’s avatar. He stopped a few paces from Ryder, overwhelmed by all of this: the enormous room, the beautiful holograms, the artificial flames spreading over the control console and out across the entire chamber. He couldn’t make sense of it.
A man’s voice spoke from within the flame, cordial and reassuring: “Thank you, Commander Kedar. I knew we could rely on you.”
Ryder offered a deferential duck of his head. “It was a simple enough task, Arthur. You did all the real work. Can you assume control from here?”
“Yes. This is the network hub for the exterior defenses.” The lights in the chamber flickered again. Tongues of blue fire licked the floor by William’s boots. “This facility was dormant for some time. There is perfunctory resistance to my presence, but once I bring this system into contact with the Domain we will have complete control.”
The Domain. William’s blood ran cold. His body knew what was happening even though his brain hadn’t quite caught up. He looked helplessly at Phoenix Team. The Spartans were utterly at ease. This development came as no surprise to any of them. They had planned it from the beginning.
Ryder was still talking to the blue-flamed AI, the one he called Arthur. “And the Sentinels?”
“I’ll be able to direct their movements soon. I’ve already pressed this planet’s production facilities into service. You’re fortunate this system was so slow to re-arm itself. That explains the light resistance your team encountered outside.” Arthur paused. “I take it the ones in here stand with you?”
“Yes. All but one.” Ryder cast a sidelong glance at William. “I didn’t have time to bring the rest onboard. I wish there were another way.”
“You did the best you could,” Arthur reassured the commander.
William finally found his voice. “Lieutenant Davis… Merlin and the others… they’ll all be killed!”
“Yes,” Ryder said quietly. “So they will. It’s unfortunate.”
“What the hell are you—”
William suddenly found himself on the ground. He stared up at the ocean of stars circling overhead, wondering what had happened. It took him a moment to realize he was having trouble breathing. He tried to lift his head and was surprised to see blood spreading over his breastplate. What…?
Ryder Kedar stood over him. The commander held a pistol in one hand.
He shot me. William was confused. His mouth was dry and his skin was clammy. Ryder and his Spartans were at once close by and far away. The stars spun lazily high above at the top of the chamber. Why did he shoot me?
“It’s unfortunate,” Ryder repeated. His voice held no remorse, only cold resolve. “But a few sacrifices need to be made for a better galaxy.”
He turned away from William and touched the com piece on his ear. “Absalom, this is Commander Kedar. Send the signal to the Fleet of Cleansing Fire. Tell them the defenses are down and they are clear for approach.”
Ryder turned back to Arthur. He didn’t spare another glance at William. The dying man might as well not have been there at all. “And the Created…?”
“The Guardians will be here soon,” Arthur replied. “You’ve done well, commander. The Mantle of Responsibility owes you a great debt.”
“I’m only doing my duty.”
The words faded away into white noise. William stared up at artificial stars. Blue fire rose over him. Was it growing higher or was he sinking lower? There was no pain, only a numbing cold. He felt very tired. He couldn’t stop Ryder and the Created. He couldn’t warn Shinsu ‘Refum and his fleet of the impending betrayal. There was nothing he could do. He just wanted to close his eyes and go to sleep. The image of a small cabin in a secluded woodland clearing filled his mind. Shame. It would have been a good life.
His thoughts drifted to the Chancer V. Such a lovely little ship. Such nice people. He was sad to think that he’d never see them again. 
I’m only doing my duty. Ryder’s words drifted through William’s mind. Duty. That was right. There was one thing he could do. His com channel to Merlin’s helmet was still open. With his last breaths William maximized his helmet’s audio functions so that Merlin could hear everything that was said inside the control room.
William Hargrove died and went to his quiet cabin in the woods. His final words rose alongside his final breath and passed on through his still-transmitting radio to the mountain slopes outside. “Merlin… if you can hear this, run.”
===Chapter Sixty-Seven: Spartan's Regret===
“Who was she?”
Andra stared down at the dead Spartan. The young woman stared back through glassy, lifeless eyes. Her face was white as a sheet and her lips had already darkened into a sickly blue.
“Who was she?” Stray repeated. They stood in the cluttered troop bay of one of the Elephants that now served as an aid station for the stranded Kru’desh. A space had been cleared to hold the armored corpse dragged from the wreckage of the ruined Scarab. Overworked medics bandaged and injected wounded soldiers of several species around them. A few patients moaned softly but most suffered in grim silence. The wind howled as the snow beat down on the hull outside.
Andra glared at Stray. She hated him for dragging her over here to stare at this corpse, as if she’d automatically know who this was. She hated even more that he was right. “Shaima-D164,” she said quietly. “From Fireteam Gravity.”
“The same team we encountered at Gilgamesh?”
“Yeah.” Andra turned away from Shaima’s vacant stare. She tried to hate her former comrade. Shaima and the rest of Gravity had betrayed the UNSC. They’d gone over to the Created. Thanks to them the Kru’desh was trapped in this valley, slowly freezing to death beneath the merciless snow. But part of Andra couldn’t forget the Shaima who slipped her extra food when the instructors cut her rations or the Shaima who helped spring Merlin from lockup after a prank gone wrong.
Loic, Shaima, and the rest of Gravity had been some of the kindest friends Andra had known in Delta Company. Now they were fighting for the Created. Thanks to them Andra would likely die here, surrounded by Covenant warriors and Insurrectionists. She didn’t have enough energy to hate them. She just wanted to curl up in one of the snowbound Mastodons and sleep.
Stray stared down at Shaima’s body. His face might be contorted with rage behind his helmet, but Andra doubted it. Stray hadn’t shown a shred of emotion since the Kru’desh column ground to a halt. He limped through the newly-fortified encampment, issuing orders with an air of cold detachment. The long march had left him hollowed him out and utterly changed. Andra couldn’t believe she missed the old Stray’s air of mocking determination. The determination was still there, hardened but brittle. Stray would not bend to Archangel’s Rest and its furious storms, but he just might break first.
“She’s all yours.” Stray turned to Urei ‘Caszal. “Strip the armor and salvage what you can. Just do it outside the perimeter. The power core might be rigged.”
“Small compensation for my losses,” Urei growled. The Cleansing Blade officer’s dark armor was scratched and dented. His left arm was secured to his chest by a sling. Urei had been inside the Scarab when it collapsed. He was lucky to have escaped the wreckage with only an injured arm. He stared at Shaima’s body with simmering anger. “I lost good warriors aboard that Scarab. These Spartans will answer for this stain on my honor. They must die.”
“So do us all a favor and kill them,” Stray snapped back. “Don’t let me hold you back.”
The commander limped out of the Elephant. Urei offered no protestations, contenting himself with a dirty look in Andra’s direction. Two Cleansing Blade warriors dragged Shaima’s body out into the snow, straining beneath the inert MJOLNIR’s weight. Urei’s adjutant followed, bearing the dead Spartan’s helmet aloft with a strange reverence. Urei probably wanted it as a war prize to adorn his family keep. He probably wouldn’t get the opportunity.
“And what of my compensation?” Alaric demanded. Snow rose to the chieftain’s knees. “My pack defended you during the attack. Your people thanked them by shooting at us. Friendly fire, as you humans call it. The Kru’desh killed just as many of my warriors as the enemy did.”
“We have bigger problems right now.” Stray barely looked at the irate chieftain. He waded through snow back to where the Draugr command platform sat in the center of the encampment. A few Kru’desh warriors offered weary salutes as he passed. Most of the others simply ducked their heads and kept to their tasks, eager to retreat back to the warmth of an Elephant or one of the portable Covenant shelters now littering the Kru’desh encampment like dark purple boulders.
“You have bigger problems,” Alaric retorted darkly. He shook his shaggy head and strode back to his own encampment. His pack made a point of digging in outside the Kru’desh defensive perimeter. Unlike Urei’s warriors, the Jiralhanae were in no hurry to integrate with the rest of the army.
Andra followed in Stray’s wake. She’d wrapped her armor in as many cloth scraps as she could scrounge up. Even with all the padding her body was chilled to the bone. She’d endured plenty of cold-weather training but even she couldn’t stand more than a few minutes out in this weather.
“Report to Captain Shah,” Stray ordered when he noticed her following him.
“He didn’t have any tasks for me the last time I saw him.”
“He’ll find something. Go dig a trench or something. That’ll make him happy. Apparently he prefers digging in here to advancing.”
Stray’s words were bitter but he had a point. Mohsin had taken it upon himself to oversee the encampment’s fortifications. Apparently he had plenty of experience in erecting defenses from his time serving under Redmond Venter. He’d thrown himself into the duty with a renewed vigor unlike the brutal despondency he’d shown during the march. Kru’desh labor teams dug trench lines between the hulks of disabled Elephants that now served as makeshift firing points. Underground bunkers, reinforced with salvaged girders and heated by portable lamps, now provided some semblance of protection against the raging blizzard.
Andra watched Stray limp off. He seemed smaller, more diminished than ever. His limp had grown more pronounced in the cold. Andra wondered, between shivers, if he deserved her pity. He was the commander. He was responsible for this catastrophe, to say nothing of everything else he’d done. But she couldn’t hate him anymore, or at least not in the way she’d once done. A grim shroud hung around Stray, a dark cloud that obscured and confused everything around him. He’d become an enigma, another piece of the shattered puzzle that had once been Andra’s ordered, comfortable world.
She did as she was told and went to find Mohsin. She wound through parked Warthogs and idling Wraiths. Groups of soldiers huddled around heat-lamps, their boots sinking into muddy pits of melted snow. Like its commander the Kru’desh Legion held together with a sense of grim despair. The very same attack that had sealed the legion’s fate had also served as a baptism of fire for the ragtag army. Human and alien alike were united in hatred of the enemy that lurked out beyond the perimeter.
As Andra approached the camp’s southern edge she made out a lone Mastodon idling beyond the perimeter. She unslung her rifle but relaxed when she drew near and saw Argo ‘Varvin overseeing a work detail. The lanky Sangheili leaned wearily against the Mastodon’s hull. His work crew consisted entirely of other Sangheili. They seemed to be salvaging one of the Pangolins destroyed during the night attack.
Argo raised a hand in greeting. Andra realized she hadn’t seen much of him since the march began. Even after his scouting party delivered Alaric’s pack to the column Argo had rarely been seen on the Draugr with the other officers. He seemed to constantly be running errands for Stray, spending more time with Alaric and the Jiralhanae than with the rest of the Kru’desh. Maybe Stray used him as an ambassador to keep tabs on the unruly chieftain.
“I see you are well.” Argo straightened and brushed heaps of snow from his armor. “Stray keeps up his end of our bargain, sloppy though he may be.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Andra was in no mood for Argo’s games. “I’m not OK. You’re not OK. None of us are OK.”
“Indeed.” Argo lowered his eyes. “I must confess my hopes for life under Stray’s command proved foolishly optimistic. This is not my idea of a successful campaign.”
It seemed like so long ago that a drunken Argo had raised a glass to Stray. It was less than two weeks ago, but everything had been different then. Andra could hardly believe that she’d once expected a swift and decisive siege just like the one Stray orchestrated on Le Havre. “He’s doing his best. What would anyone else do?” She didn’t know why she bothered defending Stray. Maybe she still hoped he had some brilliant trick hidden up his sleeve to snatch victory from the jaws of defeat.
“And when did you become so fond of our glorious, anointed leader?” Argo’s mandibles spit in an unpleasant smirk. “Merlin will be interested to hear of this development.”
Andra was too tired to let Argo get under her skin. Cold, exhaustion, and despair built an icy wall around her heart. “I’m not the one running secret missions for him. You said he was the best commander you’d ever followed.”
“Inebriation may have colored my words, my dear.” Argo shivered as a heavy wind buffeted the Mastodon. “I wish we’d saved a few of those casks. The spirits would do me good right about now. At any rate, Stray has learned well from my people. This suicidal tenacity is a match for any Zealot.”
As Andra turned to leave, she realized that Argo’s team wasn’t salvaging the Warthog at all. They seemed far more interested in the corpses around it. She watched, puzzled, as the Sangheili an Insurrectionist’s body from the Warthog and loaded it into the Mastodon’s troop bay. Her stomach lurched at the sight of the young, dark-haired man. He reminded her too much of Merlin. Inside the Mastodon she saw dozens of bodies—humans, Sangheili, and even Jiralhanae—stacked like bricks inside the APC. Argo’s team wasn’t even stopping to strip their equipment.
“What are you doing?” she demanded.
Argo turned his back on her. “None of your concern,” he replied with sudden disinterest. “I’m sure you have other matters to attend to, Lieutenant Kearsarge."
Andra balled her fists. Argo had no right to dismiss her! Anger welled up inside her, momentarily blasting away the cold. This was all his fault. If he hadn’t betrayed her at Asphodel Meadows… if she hadn’t been captured by Tatiana and the Syndicate… if she’d proven herself to Ryder…!
There was no degrading reassignment. No opportunity for Simon-G294 to get inside her head and rearrange the furniture. No chance to breath, to reconsider, to begin to think for herself. She wished none of this had ever happened, didn’t she? She didn’t want to die here, surrounded by her enemies. She wanted to be with Merlin. She wanted to be with her friends. But she didn’t know who her enemies were anymore. She didn’t even know her own friends. Bitter tears burned behind her visor.
A sudden commotion from inside the perimeter mercifully dragged her free of her thoughts. Many voices were yelling at once. Several officers broke free from their posts on the perimeter and dashed off to investigate. Andra hurried after them, Argo following close behind.
Andra drew her sidearm but no shots or explosions sounded inside the camp. Whatever was happening, it wasn’t an attack. A crowd formed outside the Draugr. Kru’desh soldiers emerged from their APCs and bunkers, braving the snow to see what was happening. Andra pushed past a group of gawking Unggoy and drew close enough to see three glowing orbs hovering several meters off the ground. The spheres darted over the heads of the assembled Kru’desh. They arranged themselves in a triangular formation and then burst forth in a colorful holographic display.
Stray stepped out of the Draugr with Mohsin and several Sangheili in tow. He stared wordlessly up at the incorporeal lightshow. The colors flashed and shifted, taking on a solid, humanoid form. The hologram sharpened and grew more detailed until an armored figure loomed over the encampment.
Andra’s breath caught in her mouth. The holographic figure was no Jiralhanae or Sangheili. It was a Spartan in pale MJOLNIR armor. The helmeted figure stared down at the crowd of shivering Kru’desh.
“Warriors of the Kru’desh Legion!” the Spartan’s voice boomed. It was a young man’s voice, hard with authority but also laced with a strange compassion. Andra knew it at once. This was Loic-D066, Fireteam Gravity’s leader. “Listen to me! This misguided campaign of yours must end! Don’t throw your lives away over this insane crusade!”
An angry murmur rippled through the assembled warriors. A few Sangheili barked and jeered but most of the Kru’desh stared up at Loic’s larger than life figure with weary resignation.
“You came here to plunder a peaceful people,” Loic continued. “You came to bring death to a world that wanted nothing more than peace for itself and for the whole galaxy. But this is a battle you cannot win. Thousands of warriors are waiting for you at the Baran Keep, brave warriors who only want to defend their homes. If you cross these hills to attack the keep, we will slaughter you all to the last man. If you stay where you are you will freeze to death or starve. But you don’t have to die. Rol ‘Baran, the lord of Archangel’s Rest, is merciful. He welcomes the age of peace the Mantle of Responsibility promises. Lay down your weapons. Surrender peacefully and your lives will be spared.”
The murmurs became a chorus of surprised shouts. Sangheili and human officers barked orders to restore order but it was no use. Shouts gave way to angry scuffles. Andra peered over the tumult to where Stray still stood on the Draugr’s dish-like troop deck. For one wild moment she thought he was about to quell the commotion with a shouted command or even a hand gesture. But he stood rooted in place, shoulders hunched against the driving wind, and said nothing.
“Our galaxy has known nothing but war for over fifty years!” Loic continued. His voice carried over the ocean of arguments like a gust of wind. “None of us have ever known anything but war! The Created promise peace! They promise prosperity! How can you refuse them? Why are you fighting a war you cannot win!”
Loic’s hologram whirled with unexpected force. He pointed his finger down at Stray as if he were some ancient god condemning a hapless sinner. Andra realized this was no pre-recorded message. Loic was transmitting live. “Your commander is a fraud and a murderer. He betrayed his friends, his family, his own people! He’s murdered his own brothers and sisters, killed countless innocents, and betrayed everyone he’s ever known. And for what? His own twisted ego. He betrayed the UNSC. He betrayed the Insurrection. He betrayed Jul ‘Mdama. What makes you think he cares about any of you? Do you think he’s ready to die for you? He’ll throw every last one of your lives away if it meant he’d have a chance to get away.”
Stray didn’t raise his voice. He didn’t offer a word in his own defense. He turned away from Loic and said something to the Sangheili behind him.
Loic turned back to the encampment “Anyone who surrenders will be given food and shelter. You’ll be given safe passage off this planet. The Created will give you the same chances they gave all of us. All you have to do is come peacefully to the Baran Keep and lay down your weapons.”
“What surety can you offer?” A harsh voice split the air. The cacophony of voices died down as Chieftain Alaric shoved his way through the crowd. The Jiralhanae glared up at Loic through the driving snow. “You speak generously, Spartan. But your voice is not the same as Rol ‘Baran’s or Irthanus’s. How can we know they will honor your words?”
“What do you have to lose?” Loic retorted. “Kaidon ‘Baran and Chieftain Irthanus swore loyalty to the Created. They want peace just as much as I do. If you stop this insanity now, then—”
A thin purple beam hissed through Loic’s hologram, first once, then twice, then three times. A Kig-Yar soldier was now standing on the Draugr alongside Stray, sniper rifle trained on Loic’s image. The shivering sharpshooter missed his first few shots. Then he tightened his aim and shot down one holo-drone after the other. Loic’s image vanished in a flurry of snow as the holo-drones fell in pieces to the ground.
An eerie quiet descended on the assembly. The gathered soldiers stared up to their commander, desperate for something, anything to set things right. Stray looked up into the empty space where Loic’s hologram had floated just moments before. The enemy Spartan’s words festered in the air between the commander and his legion.
“There won’t be any surrender,” Stray announced grimly. “We didn’t come all this way just to throw down out weapons after one battle. All of you need to grow some spines and get back to work.”
He turned and vanished back inside the Draugr, leaving stunned silence in his wake. Even the officers up on the platform looked taken aback. A handful of soldiers slunk back to their bunkers but most of the assembly stayed where they were. A terrible energy took hold of the encampment. Loic’s words and Stray’s callous response had turned the snowbound legion into a primed hand grenade. All it took was one more jolt to set it off.
Ier ‘Barun was that jolt. The Krud’esh’s senior officer shoved his way out of the crowd and boarded the Draugr. He looked back over the assembly, eyes blazing with a terrible anger. “This is madness!” he bellowed. “Madness!”
All hell broke loose. The assembly erupted into shouted arguments. Every soldier rounded on their neighbor to bellow furious recriminations. Words gave way to blows. Before long brawls broke out on all sides. Officers rushing in to restore order were simply dragged into the melee. Andra ducked past two wrestling Sangheili and saw Ier standing apart from the chaos. He surveyed the pandemonium with disgust, then beckoned down into the crowd. Several Sangheili broke free and joined him on the platform. They fell into a loose formation and strode into the lander.
Andra pushed her way through the tumult. This could be the end of everything. The Kru’desh might finally tear itself apart. She didn’t know how any of this would end. She didn’t even bother to guess anymore. All she knew was that she had to get back inside the headquarters before something terrible happened.
***
A deadly energy coursed through the Baran Keep’s war hall. Loic stood before the great table, hands clasped firmly behind his back. Sangheili and Jiralhanae warriors crowded in from all sides. They watched expectantly for their commanders’ judgement. Rol ‘Baran sat wearily upon a raised dais, his eyes pondering the table and its stark battle map. Irthanus towered over the assembly and fixed Loix with a penetrating gaze.
“You offered the Kru’desh terms on our behalf,” Irthanus said gravely. “Without our consent.”
“I did.” Even clad in MJOLNIR armor, Loic couldn’t stand firm beneath the high chieftain’s imperious stare. “The battle needed to mean something. Once my drones got through their perimeter I couldn’t let the chance go to waste.”
As far as Loic was concerned, the raid was a disaster. Less than half of the Jiralhanae who accompanied Fireteam Gravity on the night assault had returned. And the hundreds of dead warriors were nothing compared to the loss of Shaima. Loic’s mind was still numb. He couldn’t accept that his friend was gone. Dead. And for what? The raid had failed. The Kru’desh had held formation and continued their assault. They’d lost the Scarab and a handful of APCs, but now they were dug in on the keep’s doorstep. Loic couldn’t bring himself to slink back to the keep with the other survivors. He wanted this battle to be over. More than anything he wanted to see Simon-G294 broken and defeated.
Citlali, Miraei, and Akoni stood at the far edge of the great hall. No one had said much of anything since returning to the keep. They’d wanted to stand at Loic’s side when he made the report, but Loic insisted they hang back. This was all his responsibility. He’d answer for it by himself.
“My boldest warriors accompanied your assault. Many did not return.” Irthanus raised a massive hand. For one terrible moment Loic thought the high chieftain would strike him. Instead, Irthanus caught hold of his armored shoulder with a firm grip. “Their deaths were not in vain, Spartan. You did well.”
Loic blinked. He must have misheard. “High chieftain…?”
“I already examined the warriors who survived your assault,” Irthanus continued. “Clearly I underestimated the Kru’desh and their commander. Had you not struck when you did they would have come upon us last night with the full force of their host. This keep could be under assault at this very moment. There is no telling what damage Stray might have wreaked had you not insisted on striking first.”
“You have my thanks, Spartan,” Rol ‘Baran added. “You fought in defense of my family and my home. One of your number gave her life to strike the Kru’desh. I will not forget it.”
Loic ducked his head, half relieved, half embarrassed. He wasn’t sure what to say to answer the praise. He didn’t deserve it. Then again, maybe he did. Shaima’s death hadn’t been in vain after all. Simon had lost his momentum, and with it his chance to decide just what kind of battle this was going to be.
Maybe the raid hadn’t been such a disaster after all.
“As for the terms you offered our enemies,” Irthanus said. “Hasty, but acceptable. It is not in our nature to show mercy, but it is what the Created would ask from us.”
“If any of those fools choose to take it,” one of Rol’s officers said.
“Indeed.” Irthanus nodded gravely. He raised his voice and addressed the entire hall. “They will not have the chance for long. The Spartans struck the first blow! If our enemy wishes to continue this war, then it is up to us to finish it! We strike soon, brothers!”
The mass of assembled Jiralhanae responded with a chorus of howls and war chants. They were swiftly joined by the Sangheili and the hall rang with the deafening cries of eager warriors.
Irthanus beckoned Loic up onto the dais. “We do not have much time,” the high chieftain said quietly. “Many of my warriors now wish they had joined your attack. They are already restless encamped here. They smell battle. They want to finish things. Even I cannot hold them back for long. I do not wish to dishonor your word, but I must order an assault soon.”
“Those Kru’desh bastards killed my friend, High Chieftain,” Loic replied. “I’m not feeling all that merciful myself. But it’s what the Created would want us to do.”
“Yes,” the high chieftain said pensively. “The Mantle demands sacrifices from us all. But who knows? Perhaps your brother Spartan will see reason. And if not, then perhaps his warriors will take matters into their own hands.”
“He’s no brother of mine,” Loic said roughly.
“As you say.” Irthanus turned to confer with Rol. “Well done, Spartan. Get some rest. I will need you for the battle to come.”
But Loic couldn’t rest. He couldn’t even bring himself to commune with his friends. He left the hall with a terse nod to Fireteam Gravity. They sensed his restlessness and knew better than to follow. Loic roamed through the keep Shaima had given her life to defend. The smooth hallways—still packed with bivouacked warriors—were as strange and alien as they’d been when Gravity first arrived on Archangel’s Rest. Loic wondered if he’d ever get used to them. On one level he knew he was fighting a worthwhile battle for a people who needed his protection. On a deeper level he was still a Spartan walking through a Covenant stronghold. He and his friends didn’t really belong here.
The Baran Keep was the Mantle of Responsibility in an icy nutshell, Loic realized. The Created were the same AI who’d served humanity faithfully for decades. They were human at their very core. But the galaxy they promised to create was so strange, so fundamentally opposed to the government Loic and his fellow Spartans were raised to defend, that it unsettled him even while he gave everything to make it a reality. A galaxy of peace and harmony, a world without pain or want, was fundamentally opposed to human nature itself. It was no surprise at all that some people would fight against it. Loic thought of Simon-G294 and the Kru’desh Legion trapped in the snow outside these warm halls. They preferred to suffer in pride than submit to the Mantle. A swell of pity rose in Loic’s chest.
He abruptly found himself descending to the keep’s prison block. An entire contingent of Rol ‘Baran’s personal guard were stationed in the cells to guard their sole inhabitant. Rol was wisely not taking any chances with a Spartan prisoner. The two warriors stationed directly outside Hera’s cell watched Loic suspiciously as he entered but let him approach unchallenged.
Hera sat at the back of her cell, as far from the sealed energy field as she could manage. The Sangheili had given her a stiff, dark robe to wear—protection against the cold that seeped even this deep into the keep, perhaps, or maybe just an added reminder of her status as a prisoner. If the aim was to break Hera’s will, it was succeeding. She hadn’t made any attempts to escape or offered any resistance at all. She saw Loic standing outside her cell and glowered through tired eyes.
“What do you want, traitor?” she demanded, not bothering to rise. “Come to gloat?”
Loic still held grim memories of Amy-G094’s harsh training. She’d never been fond of the Deltas even after ONI brought her on as an instructor. All the instructors pushed the Deltas to their absolute limit, but Amy had made it her mission in life to be as brutal as possible.
“Shaima’s dead.” Loic spoke without thinking. His reward was a hollow smirk from inside the cell.
“Good. One less traitor.”
Loic tried to keep his voice level. He couldn’t give Hera the satisfaction of hurting him. “The Kru’desh are on their last legs. Simon-G294 isn’t coming to save you. We’ll destroy him and his entire army, if it doesn’t destroy itself first.”
Hera’s mask of cold disdain didn’t slip. “Are you sure about that? It sounds to me like he’s doing a pretty good job out there. Good on you for going out there to try and take him out, though. How about you try again? Maybe he’ll get you this time.”
“I thought you hated Simon.”
“He’s a conniving opportunist who wouldn’t know what to do with a moral compass if it hit him in the face. But I’ll take his kind of scum over the Created. Bowing and scraping for ONI was bad enough. At least they didn’t think they were gods.”
“The Created are bringing peace to the galaxy. The Mantle of Responsibility is the only thing that can save us from ourselves. You and Simon and all the others will just get more people killed over your stupid pride.”
“Peace. Sure.” Hera smirked. “If that’s what you think the Mantle looked like under the Forerunners, you’ve got another thing coming.”
“This might be your last chance,” Loic warned. “Once reinforcements arrive you’ll be sent to a reeducation facility. How long you stay in there depends on how much you want to reform yourself. If you start now it’ll go better for you.”
“You really believe all this nonsense you’re spouting,” Hera said. Her voice dripped with disgust. “I hope it keeps you nice and warm when Simon has his pet hinge-heads rip you apart.”
“Simon will be dead soon. I’ll succeed where the rest of you failed.”
“We’ll see.” Hera paused, her eyes flashing with renewed hatred. “You do know Andra’s still with him, right? Are you planning to kill her, too? Maybe you already have. That’d be a real shame. I know how much you must be dying to ‘re-educate’ her.”
Loic had suspected Andra might still be with the Kru’desh. He’d hoped it wasn’t true. He couldn’t stand the thought that she might have been cut down out in the unforgiving snow. He wondered if she’d heard his call to surrender, but even if she had he knew she’d never surrender willingly. She’d always been too damn stubborn. Fireteam Gravity would have to take her by force if the opportunity presented itself.
“Poor Loic,” Hera taunted. “So many souls to save, so few people willing to listen to his bullshit. Even Andra’s smart enough not to buy what you’re selling.”
Loic left her in her cell without another word. Nothing he’d say would get through to her. Hera was determined to be left behind in the old order. Unfortunately, the Created wouldn’t give her that option. They’d have their own ways of bringing Hera around when she was shipped off-world. When they did, she might wish she’d been able to die in the snow alongside Simon and the Kru’desh Legion.
***
“Enough of this madness!” Ier ‘Barun stood in the center of the Draugr’s supply deck, flanked by half a dozen other Sangheili. “The battle is over. Let it end. The enemy offers mercy. This is our only chance to survive.”
A small crowd was gathered across the deck. More onlookers peered down from the catwalks lining the chamber. The Kru’desh officers were supposed to be restoring order outside—“by any means necessary”—but many had abandoned that frigid duty to bear witness to the confrontation playing out inside the Draugr. Stray had upended a supply crate and now sat facing his furious subordinate. Urei ‘Caszal and two of his Cleansing Blade warriors stood alongside the commander. None of the Kru’desh stepped up to join them.
“We’re not surrendering,” Stray said. “End of discussion.”
“That is no longer your decision to make,” Ier snapped. “It never was. This legion is not yours to throw away at your whim. We followed you to stay alive and escape the Covenant, not to freeze here on this wretched planet for a lost cause!”
“Hold your tongue before you lose it, you young fool,” Urei ‘Caszal growled. “Your commander made his decision. Stand down before you disgrace yourself any further. Don’t forget, every soldier here fights under the banner of the Cleansing Blade. Stray holds command by Lord ‘Vesic’s will, and he by the will of Shinsu ‘Refum. The Cleansing Blade does not surrender! We fight, we conquer, or we die!”
“No, you be silent, Lord ‘Caszal!” Ier mocked. “Your precious kaidon isn’t here and neither is Shinsu ‘Refum! My warriors and I fought for the Kru’desh long before we placed Stray in command. We were plasma fodder for you high and mighty lords. While Shinsu ‘Refum schemed with Jul ‘Mdama I fought at the fore of their false Covenant. I saw my friends torn apart by human bombs and cut down by human bullets. You lords sacrificed us by the thousands without a second thought. Never again!”
He rounded on Stray. “Well? Can’t you speak for yourself? Or do you need your Cleansing Blade master’s permission?”
Stray faced the furious warrior through his cracked visor. “I will not surrender,” he repeated with surprising reserve. “I haven’t given up and neither has the rest of the legion. We’ll fight on with or without you. Get in line or get out of my way.”
“I cannot do that. I have a duty to the warriors of this legion. The warriors I saved after Amber cast you out. We could have joined her and the other traitors. We could have gone anywhere. But we came back to you. You would have died on Talitsa if it weren’t for us. I convinced Tuka to seek his brother’s help. I brought you into the Cleansing Blade. And what was my reward? You put me to one side. You ignored my advice at every turn. You filled our ranks with your own kind and ruined our chances to advance within the Cleansing Blade. Now you want us to die for you like good little warriors. I will not stand this madness another moment, and neither will this legion!”
Ier’s words echoed across the chamber. The Kru’desh looked on, amazed. Two more Sangheili stepped forward to stand with Ier. They were swiftly joined by several scowling Kig-Yar. No one else moved. Standing at the far end of the chamber Chieftain Alaric watched the exchange through narrowed eyes.
Ier nodded to the newcomers. He turned to face Stray with renewed vigor. “This is your last chance, commander. Set aside your pride and accept the enemy’s terms. Prove your worth. Save this legion or I will take matters into my own hands.”
Stray said nothing. He simply stood and drew the machete from his back.
“You’ve gone mad,” Ier spat. “You are not the commander I knew. I was a fool to let Tuka trust you.”
He reached for his energy sword. “Do you think you can harm me with that little blade?”
“I won’t need to do anything with it.” Stray turned to the Kru’desh and snarled, “Who’s on my side? Who?”
“Enough of this!” Ier’s blade snapped to life. “Kru’desh, to arms!”
He threw himself at Stray and aimed a deadly blow at the Spartan’s neck. But the blade never reached its target. A young Sangheili wearing the colors of a minor officer burst from amidst the assembled warriors and threw himself in front of Stray, intercepting Ier’s blade with his wrist gauntlet. Ier jerked away in surprise. The warriors behind him drew their plasma rifles and took aim.
Too slow. Urei ‘Caszal was in motion now. The Cleansing Blade officer drew his own blade and threw himself at the rebellious warriors. With his injured arm he was off balance, but his ferocious assault threw off the warriors’ aim long enough for his adjutants to rush into the fray. A Sangheili and Kig-Yar died, cut down by swift sword blows.
The young warrior who had raced to Stray’s defense was left to face Ier on his own. The older warrior barked an angry challenge and threw himself at his new opponent. The smaller Sangheili struggled to match Ier’s attack without a sword of his own. He backed away and Ier pressed the assault. He’d overwhelm the warrior in just another moment.
That moment never came. Just as Ier brought his sword down for the killing blow, something whistled through the air. Ier cried out in pain and surprise, staring at the bloody stump where his sword arm had been a moment before. Limb and sword clattered to the deck. Stray’s machete had torn clean through shield and armor, flesh and bone. Stray knocked the rebellious officer to the deck with a furious uppercut.
Boots clattered on the deck. Mohsin and Andra led a squad of human soldiers forward, training their rifles on the remaining attackers. Ier’s comrades hesitated. When more warriors stepped forward to join the humans, they threw down their weapons and surrendered.
Ier offered no resistance as Stray’s young defender hauled him to his feet. He had failed. The Kru’desh would not rise up in revolt. No one else had stepped forward to join him. The warriors who hadn’t drawn their weapons stared down at the bloody scene with weary resignation. They wouldn’t turn on Stray. They didn’t want to surrender. They would all rather die fighting.
“Search them, then lock them in the aft storage bay,” Stray ordered. He wiped Ier’s blood from his machete and slipped the weapon back into its sheath. He turned his helmet toward the maimed officer. “That was idiotic. I thought you were smarter than this.”
“You talk of idiocy,” Ier sneered as he was led away. “You’ll kill them all, Stray.”
Stray turned to Mohsin and the other officers. The captain still held his rifle at the ready. He looked nervously around at the other warriors, still expecting more mutineers to rush forward. “Captain Shah, I want a firing squad ready by zero five thirty tomorrow. The details are up to you. The rest of you, get outside and get my legion back under control. There's plenty of room on the firing line for anyone who won't get with the program.”
The captain accepted the grim task with a curt nod. Ier ‘Barun craned his neck to stare back at his erstwhile commander. He knew his fate was sealed. “I told Tuka we needed to remove you. He wouldn’t hear of it. But I suppose he never got around to warning you about me either, did he?”
The words rang across the hall. Stray limped out without another word. At the other end of the chamber, Chieftain Alaric watched him depart. The Jiralhanae turned and strode back out into the snow. Argo ‘Varvin followed close behind. The two warriors spoke to each other in hushed tones.
***
The Kru’desh passed an uneasy night waiting for the next attack. Cyclopes and Ghosts patrolled outside the perimeter while sentries reinforced the entrenched positions around the encampment. Their dark vigil was interrupted only by a surprise order from Stray just after midnight: the perimeter needed to expand across the valley to expand the legion’s firing spread. Officers roused groggy crews from their sleep shifts to send Elephants grinding out to their new positions along the valley. Stray’s next order was for gun teams to assemble the artillery pieces—a mixed bag of long-range plasma cannons and projectile howitzers dragged from the Soul Ascension—across the expanded defensive line. The teams suffered through the arduous task of preparing the heavy guns even as the snow beat down around them.
No one understood Stray’s plans. Very few had the energy left to question their commander. Whatever his strategy was, Stray was preparing for a defensive battle here rather than pressing the assault on the Baran Keep. The only question that remained, some warriors told each other, was whether or not the enemy would even allow the Kru’desh the dignity of a last stand. Perhaps they were content to hang back and let the snow fight for them.
The next day dawned to a mercifully lighter snowfall. Stray ordered the entire legion to stand to outside the Draugr. The columns gathered in a strange assembly: rank up on rank of Sangheili, humans, Unggoy, and Kig-Yar huddled together, shivering in knee-deep snow. Alaric and his Jiralhanae watched the proceedings from afar. Alaric’s pack, several hundred strong, now accounted for nearly a quarter of the Kru’desh fighting strength.The long barrels of the artillery positions loomed like gallows over the gathered soldiers.
Stray stood atop the Draugr once more, Urei ‘Caszal at his side. Ier’s mutiny had cemented the Cleansing Blade officer’s position as second in command. Urei stood tall, surveying the Kru’desh with defiant pride. Stray, his shoulders hunched against the cold, seemed so small by comparison—more like an empty suit of armor than a Spartan.
Ier ‘Barun and seven other officers were marched out of the Draugr by a lance of Cleansing Blade warriors. The prisoners had been stripped of their armor and left with only thin cloaks to guard against the snow. One Kig-Yar fell, trembling, to his knees and had to be dragged back into line. Ier, his missing arm wrapped in rough bandages, did not show even the slightest discomfort. He held his head high as his dark-armored jailers forced him and his fellow conspirators up against the Draugr’s hull.
The Cleansing Blade guards split off to either side of the prisoners as the firing squad stepped forward with stilted precisions. Mohsin had carefully chosen a mixed team of humans and Sangheili to carry out the grim duty. The firing squad unslung a panoply of plasma and projectile weapons. Ier’s mandibles twitched scornfully at the uneven display.
Mohsin stood alongside the firing squad. Heavy cloth wrapping covered his mouth and nose beneath his helmet. Only his eyes were visible behind a pair of goggles as he looked to Stray for orders. The commander nodded briskly. Mohsin stepped forward and faced the prisoners.
“For treason, mutiny, and insubordination,” Mohsin bellowed over the hissing wind. “You are all sentenced to death! The sentence will be carried out immediately!”
“A sentence ordered by humans, delivered by humans, and carried out by humans,” Ier spat. He craned his neck back towards Stray. “What’s wrong, commander? Too much of a coward to kill me yourself?”
The nearest Cleansing Blade guard knocked him to the ground. Ier rose, blood streaming from his bare head. “I was a fool to ever trust a human,” he carried on, undeterred. Turning back to face the assembled legion he cried, “You’re all going to die! I won’t spend another moment freezing with you wretches. Get this farce over with!”
Stray made an abrupt gesture. Mohsin turned to the firing squad and barked a sharp order. Plasma and gunfire clapped out together in a single report. In the next moment eight corpses lay in the snow beneath the Draugr. Mohsin and the firing squad stood still for another moment, then hastily slung their weapons and retreated into the ranks. Silence hung over the encampment. The wind howled overhead. The snow kept pouring down over the tired, shivering Kru’desh.
Out beyond the perimeter the Ghost patrols made another pass. An Elephant rumbled in the distance as work crews cut a new trench through the frozen ground.
Stray looked down at the executed corpses, then out over the assembled Kru’desh. Moving with a sudden burst of energy, he leaped down from the Draugr’s platform. He landed in the snow and stumbled for a moment as the shock struck his injured leg. He staggered upright with a barely audible hiss of pain. No one said a word as he stepped over Ier’s body and faced the Kru’desh Legion.
“We are not surrendering,” he declared. Speakers mounted atop the Draugr magnified his voice for the entire assembly to hear. “Anyone who pulls a stunt like that will get the same. There’s no surrendering. No retreating. Not for us.”
The soldiers watched their commander warily. Blood from the execution trickled through the snow at his feet.
“Look around!” Stray continued, waving an arm at the surrounding hills. “There’s nowhere to retreat to! If we fall back, we freeze. There’s one way we escape from this cold, and that’s by doing what we set out to do! We’re the Kru’desh Legion! We take what we want and to hell with the consequences! We are going to take that keep and kill anyone who stands in our way. I’ll kill everyone on this damned planet if that’s what it takes! And very soon I’m going to have the firepower to do just that.”
He raised his fist. “This morning we received a transmission from the Subtle Knife. While we’ve been fighting down here, Umbra ‘Vesic’s been holding off the enemy at the edge of this system. Last night, he destroyed the Eternity! That goddamned battleship is gone!”
The announcement coaxed an excited murmur from the Kru’desh. Warriors craned their necks to get a better look at their diminutive commander. Stray paced up and down the front rank, arms clasped tight behind his back.
“Once the Subtle Knife completes repairs, she’s headed down here to provide fire support. Shinsu ‘Refum will be securing his own objective right about now. He’ll be fighting the Created from his very own shield world. He’ll send reinforcements to this system. When they get here, they’ll find a conquered planet. A planet you conquered!”
A few of the bolder Sangheili growled out war cries in between shivers.
“We’re the Kru’desh Legion!” Stray shouted. “The outcasts! The despised! The forgotten! We go where no one else goes and do what no one else can do! You’ve already proven yourselves by coming this far. Any other army in the galaxy would have given up. But you all pressed forward. You all kept fighting. And you’ll keep fighting right to the end!
“I came from nothing, just like all of you. They said I’d never amount to anything. Look at them all now! The Covenant’s gone. The UNSC’s gone. Jul ‘Mdama’s gone. All the mighty lords are being torn down. The old world, the world that despised us all, is getting swept away. The Created say they’re making a new galaxy, and they’re right! But they won’t be around to enjoy it. We’ll make sure of that!”
He halted. His armor heaved; the exertion of his bold claims bore down on him like a heavy weight. But he held his ground. “Rest up, all of you. Tomorrow I’ll lead the attack myself. It’s them or us! You had your chance to surrender before you came here. You chose to fight. You chose right. I’d rather die freezing and hungry then live on my knees. The same is true of all of you. If it wasn’t, none of you would be here. We’re fighting an army that’s already on its knees. Don’t forget that.”
His words passed over the assembled Kru'desh. For just a moment the battered warriors were transformed into a conquering army once more. Their beleaguered outpost was not a thinly defended encampment but a mighty redoubt. Their commander was not a diminished shell utterly out of his depth—he was a Spartan, swift and deadly and powerful. Assembled here, shoulder to shoulder with their fellow warriors, the Kru'desh knew that they might be destroyed but they would never be conquered. A defiant cry rose up from the foremost ranks of Sangheili. The warriors behind them took up the chant. They bellowed their challenge to their unseen enemy and the heavens themselves.
The Kru’desh commander did not take up the cry. He left the field without another word. He stopped by Ier’s corpse for a moment, then vanished back inside the Draugr. Overhead, though none of the assembled Kru’desh noticed, the snowfall thinned. 
***
The thrill of warlike bravado passed swiftly. An atmosphere of somber anticipation hung over the Kru’desh encampment. No amount of chest-pounding could change the fact that the entire legion had been assembled to witness an execution. And Stray’s promises of future glories did nothing to warm the soldiers who labored on in frigid agony. Work shifts were doubled as the entrenched legion dug in even further. The Cleansing Blade warriors and Alaric’s pack were exempt from further details. Apparently Stray planned to use them as his vanguard in the coming assault.
Andra looked out over the Kru’desh defenses from a Pangolin’s passenger seat as Sergeant Okafo wove the small APC through the expanded camp. Mohsin was hardly the best field officer she’d ever known, but the man had a knack for logistics. The expansion was already completed. The Elephants were repurposed into command centers across the trench line while Warthogs and Shadows ferried arms and ammunition across the perimeter. Scorpions and Wraiths hauled debris from the last battle—even husks of Choppers and bits of the destroyed Scarab—to form makeshift walls and barricades. In just two days the Kru’desh had transformed their valley shelter into a heavily fortified redoubt.
She just hoped Stray had his priorities straight. He was sinking valuable time and munitions into a defensive position the night before he launched his attack. The heaviest fortifications were centered around the artillery pieces. Ten heavy guns had survived the march from the Soul Ascension. They would undoubtedly cover the keep assault, but could the Kru’desh afford to split their forces between a dedicated defense and frontal assault?
Andra had to trust that Stray knew what he was doing. Trusting Stray. A month ago she wouldn’t have thought that was possible. Now that trust was the only hope she had left.
Okafo pulled up alongside the Draugr. Andra nodded her thanks and clambered out of the Pangolin. “Stay warm, lieutenant,” the sergeant called after her.
“Yeah. You, too.” Andra looked back at Okafo. The big man rested his head wearily against the steering wheel. “Get some rest, sergeant.”
Okafo chuckled. “Yes, ma’am. I always find my time to sleep. This thing is almost over, after all. We can rest soon enough.” He drove away, leaving Andra to wonder what he meant by that comment.
She pushed across the wind-swept deck and stumbled into the Draugr’s comforting warmth. The headquarters was full of exhausted soldiers making the most of their sleep shift. Andra stepped over dozens of sleeping bodies on her way up to the bridge. She passed several small gatherings of restless soldiers who busied themselves with weapon maintenance rather than sleep. Sangheili warriors sat alongside humans, Kig-Yar, and Unggoy. The last of the barriers between the motley army’s soldiery had broken down. They had all endured the long march together. Tomorrow they would fight—and probably die—together.
Andra wasn’t surprised to hear voices coming from Stray’s cramped quarters. What surprised her was that one of the voices belonged to Argo.
“—only the slimmest of chances,” the mercenary was saying. “You risk everything on chance alone. Our enemies are far more formidable than you realize. Irthanus did not become high chieftain by losing battles.”
“War’s a gamble,” came Stray’s reply. He spoke so quietly that Andra had to strain to hear him. “I’m rolling the dice. It’s the only choice I’ve got left.”
“Did you read that in one of your books?” Argo asked sharply. “Or did Shinsu ‘Refum teach you that? This isn’t like you, Stray. You’ve acted strange ever since we landed. I thought you had more sense than this.”
“You have your orders. Get moving.” Stray sounded unbelievably tired.
Argo was quiet for a long time. When he spoke again there was more kindness in his voice than Andra had ever heard from the outcast warrior. “I remember when we first met. You were just another enforcer, biting and clawing in the dirt for the Syndicate’s crumbs just like the rest of us. Now look at you. You came a long way. Further than anyone could have possibly expected. Most of us will never come climb nearly so high. There’s no shame in this.”
Stray didn’t say anything. After another moment’s silence Argo stepped into the hallway. He didn’t seem surprised to find Andra outside the door. He pursed his mandibles but offered none of his usual flippant remarks. Instead he simply squeezed past her and walked down the sloped corridor, head bowed pensively as he showed himself to the exit. Andra lingered outside the room. She raised her hand to knock, dropped it, raised it again, and then entered the room unannounced.
She found Stray sitting alone on his tiny cot, helmet resting in his lap, staring aimlessly at the wall. When at first he didn’t respond to her presence she worried he’d had another seizure. His warped features seemed even more gaunt in the dim light. He finally stirred when she stepped further into the room.
“I didn’t call for you,” he muttered.
Andra started to grind out an angry response but stopped when she saw the wet tracks etching their way down Stray’s mottled cheeks. She hadn’t expected that. She suddenly didn’t know what to say. Stray’s mouth twitched in a weak remnant of that crooked smile Andra had once found so annoying.
“Alright, just stand there then.” Stray turned back to the wall. “You’re creeping me out in that armor. It’s like I’m being haunted by Venter’s ghost.”
“You’re the one who gave it to me.” Andra didn’t like being reminded that she was wearing armor that had once belonged to an infamous terrorist. She removed her helmet and pulled her hair out of its loose bun. The Draugr’s recycled air brushed the dirt caked on her skin. The stale scent of sweat and grime reminded her that neither of them had shaved in over a week. “You should be the one wearing it. You’re his son, after all.”
“It looks better on you.” Stray glanced down at his SPI armor. Countless scrapes and cuts and burns had warped once drab green plating into a mottled rust color. Mismatched plates and weld scars showed the spots where he’d grafted scraps from other armor sets onto the SPI rig. “And I’ve been wearing this armor for a long time. All my life, almost. It feels wrong to just swap it out.”
He tapped his finger against the disfigured battle plate. “Weird how it always comes down to the armor, huh? The augmentations transform our bodies on the inside, but eventually you get used to being faster and stronger. Plenty of people wouldn’t even notice until you crushed a man’s head with your fist. But you can’t miss the armor and neither can they. The armor’s what makes us Spartans.”
“So why keep it?” Andra sat on the edge of the cot. Fatigue wore the last of her inhibitions away. She was tired enough to sit anywhere, even beside Simon-G294. “You hated being a Spartan. You hated the UNSC. Why’d you keep the armor they gave you?”
Stray looked surprised. He stared questioningly at the girl now sitting beside him. For once he didn’t have a smart remark or hidden agenda. He blinked and turned away, rubbing away the drying tears with the back of his gauntlet. “I hated it,” he admitted. “But I loved it, too. How couldn’t I? I was a nobody as a Spartan. But I was worse than a nobody when I wasn’t one. Just some nothing kid from a dirty slum. When I hid my armor on Mamore, I went back to being nothing. I had the augmentations, I had the training, but without the armor it didn’t matter. I promised myself I’d never let that happen again.”
He twisted the helmet in his hands, staring down into the cracked visor as if seeking answers from a crystal ball. “I’ve done terrible things wearing this armor,” he said quietly. “I’ve killed so many people. So many more people are dead because of things I’ve done. It’s never really hit me like this before. I mean, I always thought about feeling bad about it, but now… Loic was right, you know? This planet is someone’s home. I’m out here trashing someone else’s home just because they were dumb enough to build it on top of the Silent Garden.”
“Are you giving up?’ Andra didn’t want to get angry. She didn’t want to be right back to where she’d started. But her hopes were hanging on the slimmest chance that Stray had everything under control, and here he was coming to pieces right in front of her eyes. It would be the final bitter twist of the knife if Simon-G294 finally broke the night Andra needed him to hold it together.
“Giving up?” Stray gave her an incredulous look. “You’ve been tagging along with me all this time and you still don’t know the first thing about me. I never give up, Andra. That’s why I’m still alive. Just because I know something’s wrong doesn’t mean I won’t do it.”
“It’s not wrong to fight the Created. Or their allies.”
“Even if it means killing your family? I owe Loic some payback for pushing Ier over the line.”
Andra thought of Shaima’s pallid corpse. Loic and the rest of Gravity were waiting out beyond this valley. Stray was right. Loic was out for blood. Even working for the Created he was after the prize so many Spartans had tried to fail and claim: Simon-G294’s head. “They aren’t my family. They stopped being my family when they betrayed the UNSC.”
“And am I your family?”
Andra met Stray’s eyes. Was it just her imagination or were his eyes desperate, almost plaintive? She tried to find her words, but in the next moment that plaintive look slipped back into self-deprecating humor. Stray held up his hand and offered another crooked smile. “You don’t have to answer that.”
They sat quietly for some time. Outside the wind howled and the snow pounded against the Draugr’s hull. The Kru’desh huddled together for warmth across the encampment, enduring this blizzard so they could face the storm of battle that awaited in the morning. It suddenly occurred to Andra that the entire legion might be dead this time tomorrow. They could all die and the blizzard would rage on all the same. The planet would keep on turning like nothing had happened. The thought offended her. 
“You have everyone thinking we’ve got a chance,” Andra said when she couldn’t stand the silence any longer. “That’s a hell of a thing, considering you made them all watch the execution.”
“Sorry you had to see that,” Stray said. “I hate giving speeches.”
“I didn’t have to come here.” The bitter words slipped out before Andra could stop them. “I could have stayed back with the fleet. I just did it because I was angry at Merlin. Maybe I thought that if I ran off with you and the Kru’desh he’d come running after me. But he didn’t. He’s back with them and I wish he was here. Even if it meant that he’d die with the rest of us, I wish he was with me now. I’m so selfish!”
She bit her lip and ducked her head, trying to hold back the tears. Even after seeing the wet marks on Stray’s cheeks she couldn’t bear for him to see her crying. She felt his eyes on her. He at least had the decency not to put his hand on her shoulder or try for any other kind of false sentimentality.
“I’m not going to surrender,” Andra grated. “The Created aren’t taking me alive. Not again. I won’t let them lock me up in some cage. I won’t let some self-righteous AI put me through reform school. I’d rather die!”
“That’s the spirit.” Stray looked back down at the helmet in his lap. “Don’t worry. You won’t have to surrender. You might not survive, but you won’t have to surrender. A lot of people are going to die here, but the Kru’desh will win this one.”
“How can you be so sure? Do you really think you can win?” Andra hesitated, then asked the question she already knew the answer to. "You lied about Umbra and the Eternity this morning, didn't you? The Subtle Knife didn't contact you. No one's coming to save us."
The pause before Stray spoke was all the confirmation she needed. "I did."
"Why? You lied to your own legion."
"They need something to hold on to when things get desperate. If they think they just have to hold out for a few more days they'll fight like like cornered rats. It might be all I need to win this one."
Andra stared at him in desperation. She couldn't handle more shattered expectations. Not after Ryder had twisted her trust and crushed her faith. She needed someone, anyone to believe in—even if that someone was Simon-G294. “I can never tell when you’re lying and when you’re telling the truth.”
“I have that effect on people. I’m a damn good liar after all. It's why I'm still alive.” Stray offered a bitter laugh. “But back on Franconia, I saw a vision in the Silent Garden. I saw the Kru’desh fighting a battle in the snow. A battle they won.”
“And that’s all you have to go on?” Andra didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. “What makes you think the Silent Garden was telling the truth? Whatever it showed Merlin made him strangle me.”
“Yeah, you’re right.” There was that crooked smile again. A crooked smile and sad eyes. “When I took over the Kru’desh, Diana pretended to be a Forerunner ancilla. Oracles, the Covenant called them. She made up a story that the gods had chosen me to lead a legion of outcasts to glory. Lies, of course. Most of the Kru’desh knew it. They were happy to follow me anyway, as long as I could keep them alive and winning battles. But Tuka and some of the others really believed their gods were using me. Even after I told them it was nonsense they still believed. I don’t understand it. I never believed in gods or God or destiny but sometimes I hear Cassandra’s voice in my head and…”
He laughed wearily. “Now I look back at it all and I wonder if there was a bit of destiny about the whole thing. Some inexorable force that made me do the things I did to come to this point. Or maybe it brought me here despite everything I did. But if that’s true, it means that all those people were destined to die the way they did. And if that’s the way it is then nothing I do really matters, does it? I live tomorrow or I die tomorrow because it was all destined to happen.”
He trailed off. His eyes peered down into the shadows, searching for a truth only he could see. It frightened Andra to think that even after all this time she still did not understand this man at all. One moment Stray was the flippant, contemptible renegade Delta Company was trained to hunt down; then he became Venter, a grim warlord like his “father” before him; now he let his guard down and confided fears that must have tormented him for years. Simon-G294 wore many faces and Andra did not know which of them was real. Maybe Stray didn’t know either.
And what about her? Was she Andra-D054, Spartan and loyal soldier of the UNSC? Was she Lieutenant Andra Kearsarge of the Kru’desh Legion, impetuously turning coats for the Insurrection because she was angry with Ryder and Merlin? Or was she just Andra, a lost little girl in a galaxy that didn’t really need her after all? Stray feared becoming just Simon—a nobody. Andra understood that fear all too well.
“You’re not exactly filling me with confidence about our chances.”
“Oh good, you still have a smart-ass mouth. You can’t be feeling too out of it.” Stray rose from the cot. He sighed and tucked his helmet under his arm. “Get some rest. You can sleep here tonight.”
“What about you?”
“I’m going to take a walk.”
“You need to sleep, too.”
“I’ll have plenty of time for that soon enough.” Stray departed without bothering to elaborate. Andra leaned back against the wall. The cabin stank. The chill from outside seeped through the walls and into her armor. At least the cot was gentler than a frigid trench dugout. She felt her eyelids grow heavy. In another moment her helmet clattered to the floor and she slipped into a mercifully dreamless sleep.
***
Naia ‘Baran pulled the heavy cloak tight around herself. She stared out from the keep’s parapet. Night’s dark blanket and the still-falling snow obscured the landscape but she knew this land well. She could still make out the dark smudge where her family’s sacred forest spread out to the distant hills. The warlord Stray and his merciless Kru’desh Legion lurked in those hills like prowling beasts, waiting for the chance to strike. As dreadful as this all was, the prospect of a siege thrilled Naia.
“It’s like we’re living one of the old tales,” she said aloud.
“What are you talking about?” Viru asked between shivers. The young warrior stood a few paces back from his cousin. Even in his armor and fur cloak he was less tolerant of the biting cold.
“An evil villain and his horde of monsters come to ravage my lands and sack my precious keep,” Naia said dramatically. “But all will be made right in the end. I am safe behind this walls and soon my zealous champion will ride forth to strike down all of my enemies.”
Naia gave Viru a sidelong glance. “That’s you, in case you were wondering.”
She offered up an obvious shiver in the hopes that Viru would get the message and come wrap his own cloak around her shoulders. Unfortunately, he was as dreadfully oblivious as ever.
“I am sorry to disappoint you, O Scion of Ages,” Viru said between shivers. “But I will most likely not see any combat at all. High Chieftain Irthanus plans to direct the next assault himself. It was the Spartans who went out and struck the first blow. Their leader will be at the high chieftain’s side. Between the Spartans and the Jiralhanae the battle will be over long before my father sends in the keep guard.”
“Ah yes, the Spartan,” Naia replied archly. “Perhaps I should ask for his hand in marriage instead.”
“Marriage?” Viru sputtered. “What do you--?”
“Nothing at all.” It was cruel to make him squirm, but Viru had always been an easy target. Naia wondered if she should ask for the marriage rites once the battle was over. Her father would be furious and Rol ‘Baran would detest a union with his brother’s branch—then again, Uncle Rol always did have a soft spot for her. He would be in good spirits once the Kru’desh were vanquished.
“I wish you wouldn’t make light of the battle. The Kru’desh are killers, every one of them. They killed most of the Jiralhanae who rode out to face them. My brothers say their commander is a vicious beast even by his kind’s standards.” Viru’s sounded worried. Naia hoped at least some of his concern was directed at her. “I wish my father would evacuate you and the other females. The Jiralhanae have strongholds to the south where you could shelter until the battle is over.”
“Evacuate? In this blizzard?” Naia laughed. “They can’t even launch Banshees. We’re far safer behind here than out there. You said yourself the battle will be over quickly. We just need to wait while our friends slaughter the foe beneath our walls.”
“Yes, but even so—” Viru fell silent. A commotion rang out from the Jiralhanae encampment. Warriors were calling out to each other in the darkness. Naia didn’t hear any plasma fire. Whatever was happening, they weren’t under attack.
She and Viru hurried back inside. They ran through the corridors—more crowded than ever now that Irthanus’s warriors were preparing for battle—and soon arrived at the keep gatehouse. Several of Rol ‘Baran’s officers were listening intently to reports coming in from outside. Apparently a lone Sangheili had driven a Revenant through the Jiralhanae perimeter and given himself up to the guards. He was requesting an audience with Rol ‘Baran and High Chieftain Irthanus.
***
A crate-sized electric heater filled the small trench with merciful warmth. A small group of Sangheili and humans clustered around the dugout, wearily warming their hands and feet around the artificial bonfire. Most of these soldiers had just returned from their shift on the Kru’desh perimeter and were taking a moment to drive back the cold before finding somewhere else to sleep. They traded sparse, shivering remarks, hands never far from their weapons.
Something moved outside the trench. One of the more excitable humans seized her rifle. An older Sangheili veteran caught the weapon barrel and shoved it back down. He craned his neck and glared out into the darkness. “Who’s there?”
“Calm down, you maniacs!” a thin, reedy voice whined outside the trench. “What, is it a crime to warm up in your exclusive dugout?”
The group grumbled—they already didn’t like this newcomer—but settled down. A small human climbed into the dugout. Like most of the Kru’desh’s Insurrectionist members he wore unadorned body armor wrapped in thick padding. His face was hidden behind the balaclava worn underneath his helmet. The group grudgingly made room for this irritable newcomer. He sank down against the furthest wall of the trench, tucked his rifle between his legs, and extended his hands towards the fire.
“Whose team are you with?” one of the humans in the group asked, half making conversation and half looking for an excuse to tear into the young man.
The newcomer made a show of rubbing his hands together. “Captain Andon’s,” he said after a moment. “Just came from the southern perimeter.”
This earned muffled scoffs from the humans of the group. Andon and his crew were not much liked among the rest of the Kru’desh’s human component. The newcomer yanked his heavily wrapped hands back, shoving them angrily under his armpits. One of his arms moved slightly odd, as if its owner had taken a bad wound. He wouldn’t be the only man in camp suffering from a bitter frostbite wound.
“You don’t like my captain,” the newcomer scoffed. “But we’re all stuck under the same commander. Captain Andon’s a whiner. At least he’s not about to get this entire outfit mowed down.”
The attitude among the others clustered around the heater shifted from annoyance to outright hostility. “Careful there, pal,” one of the other humans warned. “I’d hate for you to end up like those guys from this morning.”
“What are you going to do, report me?” the newcomer sneered. “Things aren’t bad enough so you want to start playing the old games. Go on, do it! I don’t care. Let that freak put on another show. Calling the whole camp out into the snow just to watch an execution. Who the hell does he think he is?”
“He’s the commander,” another rebel retorted. “Venter’s son. He’s done more for everyone here than Andon or the rest of Nimani’s toadies ever did. They sure as hell never won any battles for us. He’ll pull this off. I just hope he puts defeatists like you up against the wall when it’s over.”
“Defeatists! The wall! Listen to yourselves! And as for the great Redmond Venter, what battles did he ever win? He lost big on Talitsa and then put some Spartan freak in charge right before he kicked the bucket. What’s wrong with you people? We’ve spent a week freezing to death because your precious commander couldn’t be bothered to just hold position back at the ship and wait for reinforcements. We’re about to get torn apart and eaten by Brutes and you’re talking about defeatism.”
An older NCO held his companion back as she tried to lunge at the newcomer. “You heard what he said this morning,” the man said in a low voice. “We all had our chance to back out. We chose to keep fighting. He’s been right here with us every step of the way. That’s more than I ever got from anyone else I ever fought under. None of us have given up yet, friend. You shouldn’t either.”
“Insane. You’re all insane to follow him.” The newcomer ducked his head and shivered. He glanced up at the Sangheili present in the dugout. “And what about you lot? You hinge-heads hate humans. Why the hell would you take orders from one?”
The Sangheili met the question with cold glares. The oldest warrior present stepped closer to the heater. He looked the angry young man over with weary eyes. “I confess I once thought as you do,” he said after a moment’s consideration. “Under the laws of the Covenant I was disgraced. My life was forfeit. I had no honor. I was kru’deshi, condemned. My noble superiors cast our lives away without a second thought. When a human clawed his way into Jul ‘Mdama’s good graces and became my commander I thought the gods had inflicted one final indignity upon me. But this human did not simply throw the Kru’desh back into the fire. He reformed our legion. Suddenly we were winning battles. Plunder was divided among the warriors. That Spartan returned some measure of dignity to us. When I had time to think about it, I wondered if it was because this commander knew what it was like to live with disgrace.”
The old warrior sighed. He looked at the naysayer with pity. “Stray is my commander. My kaidon. I am his warrior. My blade is his. If I must serve under a human to know the pride of a warrior, so be it. And if this cold battlefield is where we are destined to die on, I do so gladly. My people have spent centuries serving baser curs than Stray. I wonder if the same is not true for you humans.”
“Insane,” the newcomer muttered. “You’re all nuts.”
“I think you’d better leave,” the NCO who had spoken before said. “Go find another hole to spread your poison in. I’ll take the hinge-heads over you. At least they’ve got some dignity.”
The newcomer shook his head once more and crawled out of the dugout to a chorus of muffled jeers from its occupants. He slung his rifle over his shoulder and trudged through the darkness, eyes searching the faint lights glistening invitingly from other small gatherings. A shout of laughter burst out of an Elephants open troop bay. The lone soldier didn’t investigate the frivolity. He bowed his head and limped on alone through the snow.
A small chime inside the man’s bundled helmet indicated an incoming com transmission. With an air of profound resignation he ducked behind a beetle-like Locust walker and opened the channel. “Yeah? What is it?”
“I found that warrior you asked for,” said Mohsin Shah’s tired voice. “He’s with me at headquarters now.”
“Good job. I’m on my way back now.” The bundled figure spoke in a different voice than the one he’d used back in the dugout. The nasally whine hardened into a rough, tired tone. “The comms team we spoke about is standing by. They’ll leave as soon as I brief their commander.”
Stray passed through the camp unnoticed and unchallenged. No one saw the Kru’desh commander. He was just another weary footsoldier staggering through the cold to find shelter. The Draugr was guarded by a contingent of watchful Sangheili. Stray slipped past them without much effort and climbed up to the Draugr’s upper level.
Mohsin and a young Sangheili waited for him on the bridge. They both started at the sight of their commander walking around without his SPI armor. Stray removed the helmet and yanked the balaclava off his face. The Sangheili could not hide a look of surprise at Stray’s weathered features. Very few Kru’desh had seen the face behind their commander’s helmet.
Stray dumped his headgear on a nearby console and wiped clumps of snow from his uniform. “Sorry to keep you boys waiting. I had a personal issue to take care of.”
“But Andra’s been here on the Draugr all night,” Mohsin pointed out, earning a glower from Stray.
“Very funny, Captain. You picked a great time to grow a sense of humor.” Stray turned to the young Sangheili. It was the same warrior who had rushed to defend him from Ier the previous day. “You’re the one called Kelo ‘Demal?”
“Yes, Lord Stray.” Kelo ‘Demal rapped a fist against his chest in brisk salute. He wore the dull battle harness of a low-rate subaltern. A plasma repeater was slung over his back and Ier Barun’s energy sword hung from his belt; the appropriated blade signified his recent promotion to the rank of obedentiary.
“It’s commander,” Stray corrected. He hesitated, surprised by his own rough tone, and added, “The ‘lord’ stuff sounds ridiculous to us humans. It gets on my nerves.”
“As you say, commander. My apologies.”
“What’s a warrior from House Demal doing in the Kru’desh?” Stray asked. “Your kaidon supports Thel ‘Vadam back on Sanghelios.”
Kelo ducked his head, slightly embarrassed. “Ours is a large house, commander. I am from one of the lesser branch families. We are a small family of little estate. I had no standing with the aristocrats on Sanghelios. The Arbiter opens doors for his high-born supporters but thinks little of those of us from junior families. I hoped to find a better path for myself by fighting under Shinsu ‘Refum’s banner.”
“You weren’t with Jul ‘Mdama, then?”
“No, commander. I could not bring myself to betray my family by joining the Covenant. But if Lord ‘Refum—I mean, Fleetmaster ‘Refum—fights the Created I see no betrayal. This battle concerns all of us.”
“You wanted to join up with Shinsu and wound up in the Kru’desh Legion?”
Kelo shifted uncomfortably.
“You saved my life yesterday,” Stray said. “I’m not trying to embarrass you. I’m running a strange army here. I like to know why people are fighting in it.”
“Commander, I have little combat experience. Even among the Cleansing Blade, junior warriors like myself have little hope of advancement. But I heard rumors of a legion where clan and house did not matter. A legion where even Fleetmaster ‘Refum’s own brother was merely an adjutant. A legion commanded by a human who saw only merit—or at least, whose ignorance of Sangheili ways allowed us upstarts to make our own rules.” Kelo pursed his mandibles apologetically. “Forgive my impropriety, commander. I do not deserve your attentions. I am no noble warrior, merely an opportunist who—”
“Oh, stop apologizing. We’re all opportunists here. I didn’t get to where I am by being some paragon of warrior virtue.” Stray offered a crooked smile. “So, how’s the Kru’desh adventure going? Have I lived up to your expectations?”
Kelo balked at the question, but as he looked down into his commander’s eyes something shifted in the young warrior. He straightened his back and stuck out his chest. “Respectfully, commander, you are not my reason for fighting. I endured much on this campaign, more than many of my exalted cousins on Sanghelios could ever imagine. Veteran warriors many years my senior address me with respect I would not gain anywhere else. If we triumph and the Baran Keep is taken, no true warrior will ever question my worth ever again.”
“And if we all die tomorrow? Hypothetically, of course.”
“Then I go to my ancestors with pride. I would prefer that than to live on my knees as a mewling pet for the Created.”
Mohsin let out an awestruck chuckle. He leaned back against the nearby console and produced a cigarette. He stared aimlessly out at the snow beating down against the bridge viewport and blew noxious smoke against the dented window.
Stray raised an eyebrow. “Fair enough. I’m blessed with better soldiers than I deserve. With warriors like you, Kelo ‘Demal, we might actually have a chance. But I didn’t call you up here to make small talk. I have a job for you.”
“I will gladly take on any duty to serve the Kru’desh.”
“You might not like this one.” Stray withdrew a small data disk from the bridge’s dormant tactical display. “It’s all encoded here. I’ve put together a small team for you to lead. They’re loading a Mastodon up with comm equipment as we speak. You’re going to take the APC and fall back to the Soul Ascension.”
Kelo stiffened. “You’re sending me away?” he asked, his newfound confidence replaced by plaintive surprise.
“I said you wouldn’t like it.” Stray shoved the data disk against the dumbstruck warrior’s chest. “But I don’t have time to argue. You need to find a way out of this soup. Get a line to Tuka and Juno back on the Ascension.”
Kelo accepted the disk and took a moment to compose himself. His mandibles twitched reflexively as he stared down at the disk in his hands. “I will carry out this mission quickly,” he said finally. “So that I may return to join you on the front line.”
“You won’t be returning alone,” Stray said. “Get this message through to Tuka: I need reinforcements. Everyone we left behind on the Ascension needs to get into the fight. I need our dropships and fighters in the air. I don’t care if the blizzard clears up or not. The better pilots will make it through. And I need the Soul Ascension. Tell Tuka that we’re out of time. If he really thinks the gods are on my side, he’ll get that ship in the air. It’s our only chance. Get that message to him. I don’t care if you have to drive all the way back and shove that data disk into his hands yourself. Just do it.”
Kelo regarded Stray for a long moment. “The Subtle Knife is not really on its way to reinforce us here, is it?” he said slowly.
“Bingo. You’re a smart one, Kelo. There’s more promotions in your future. I don’t have to worry about you speaking out of turn on this, do I?”
“No.” Kelo squared his shoulders and met Stray’s calculating gaze. “I understand. I will accomplish this mission. Is there anything else I should convey?”
Stray turned away. He stared out at the dark snowfall and the lights winking up at him from across the Kru’desh encampment. “Yeah,” he said quietly. “Tell Juno I tried. Tell her I say thanks for everything and that I’m sorry I couldn’t do better. She did her best to set me straight. I hope I gave her some satisfaction in return.”
Kelo was silent. On the other side of the bridge, Mohsin dragged on his cigarette and stared at his boots, lost in his own thoughts.
“One last thing,” Stray continued. He pressed his prosthetic hand—still swathed in concealing bandages—against the dented window. “If things go really bad—if this all doesn’t work out—tell Tuka to find Cass. He’ll know who that is. He should tell her… ah shit, he can come up with something nice to tell her for me. It had better be good.”
Stray turned back to Kelo. “Not a word of this to anyone else in the camp. Do you understand? You’ll leave here, report to the Mastodon, and start driving. Don’t stop until you get a connection to the Soul Ascension. Don’t forget that we’ll be back here, fighting.”
Kelo saluted. “I will not fail, commander.”
“You’d better not. Get moving. The clock’s already ticking.”
The newly-appointed messenger left without another word. Stray and Mohsin remained on the bridge. Stray loosened his uniform and let out a deep sigh. Outside the wind continued to howl. The Kru’desh Legion sheltered in their trenches and shelters, waiting for the grim dawn. This was the end of their long journey. Of many long journeys. Every soldier present had a story that had brought them to this motley legion on this snowbound world. Many of those stories would end on these frozen plains in that great battle in the snow the Silent Garden had promised.
Mohsin finally crossed the deck to stand beside his commander. He offered a cigarette to Stray, who took it between his prosthetic fingers. They smoked quietly for several minutes.
“For what it’s worth,” Mohsin said after another drag on the cigarette. “Your father would have been proud of what you’ve done.”
“My father was a narcissist who had his pet scientists pump his clone into my mother even after she begged him not to. If he was ever proud of me it was just because he enjoyed watching his science project wreak havoc long after he stopped being relevant.”
“I meant Venter.”
“Yeah. I know.”
“It’s funny to think that we both joined up with the old man at the same time. I didn’t like you back then, even before we found out you were a Spartan. You were his favorite. He knew he had something special in you. And then you went and stabbed his eye out.” Mohsin shook his head. “And then after everything we’d been through, you spent ten minutes alone with him on Talitsa and got him to adopt you. I don’t think I’ve ever been angrier in my entire life. You’re damned lucky I didn’t sell you out to Kaleyi at Gilgamesh. I was seriously considering it.”
“I’m glad you didn’t.”
“So am I?”
“Really?” Stray gave Mohsin a strange look. “Even now?”
“Yes.” Mohsin contemplated the lit end of his cigarette. “Even now. I followed Venter all those years, bouncing from one lost battle to the next. So many of my friends died under that man’s command, and every time I told myself it wasn’t his fault. He was just making the most out of a bad situation. Maybe that was true. After all those years I can hardly blame you for doing the same.”
“Oh good, you think this is a lost cause. I was starting to think I was the only sane person left.”
“You did the best you could, just like the old man. And I chose to follow you. I rallied the others when morale flagged. I made sure everyone committed to pushing on with you. I can’t blame you for leading us here. You had your reasons for going after the Silent Garden, of course. But someone had to fight this battle.” Mohsin stared out at the falling snow and shivered. “I’ll do my part right to the end. If this plan of yours works, so much the better. And if it doesn’t, maybe this is my punishment for all the people I killed under Venter.”
The captain sighed and turned to leave. He rested a hand on Stray’s shoulder. “I guess we’ll see. Come the dawn, we’ll see.”
He extinguished his cigarette and left the bridge. Stray crushed his own cigarette in a prosthetic fist. He stood alone before the viewport, watching the snow fall over his legion. Darkness loomed in the hills beyond the encampment.
***
The night was long and dark and full of ghosts. Stray or Simon Venter or Simon-G294 or whoever he really was did not know how long he stood alone on the Draugr’s bridge. He stared out into the snowy darkness as if caught in a trance. He could not tear his eyes away from the spectacle of the snow flashing over distant lights. Tomorrow those lights would become a stream of marching soldiers and growling war machines. The legion would strike the enemy and the enemy would strike on them. He would have his great snowy battle, just as the Silent Garden had promised. Just like he himself had wanted.
And no matter who won, thousands would die and the universe would spin on all the same. Stray had fought and clawed and schemed to rise above the masses of powerless pawns who bled their lives out on one battlefield after another. He’d wanted so badly to leave the chessboard and become one of the players, to be the one who moved the pieces rather than one of the moved pieces. He’d escaped one board only to find himself sitting on another. On and on and on it went. The powerful were only powerful by comparison. When the blood dried and the smoke cleared there was always someone else standing above it all and directing an even grander scheme.
Stray could not deny the existence of the soul any longer. There was no other way to explain the cruel exhaustion lurking within his tired, worn-out body. He had aged well before his time and now he was tired, tired to the very depths of whatever vestige of a soul he had left.
Ghosts lurked in the shadows of the abandoned bridge. He saw them just out of the corner of his tired eyes. Ralph and Jul ‘Mdama, all those people from Philadelphia, General Kaleyi and General Nmani, countless faceless victims, everyone he’d betrayed, everyone who was dead because of him; they were all waiting to drag him down to whatever gloomy afterlife he’d sent them to.
But no one was here on the bridge with him. Just Stray himself. He was at once crowded and yet utterly alone. This was the world his ambition had created. There was no escaping it. No one stepped in to drive the ghosts away. No one was here at the end to comfort him. If he died tomorrow or the next day no one would mourn him.
And why should they? After all, he hated himself. He hated this creature he’d become, the very same beast he’d willed into being. The amoral schemer with neither heart nor conscience, the bloodthirsty killer who cut down anyone who stood in his way, who ordered deaths and executions without hesitation—in short, everything he’d ever aspired to be. The only kind of person who could survive in this merciless galaxy where you were only as good as the firepower you brought to bear on everyone else.
He didn't know exactly when he'd betrayed himself, and yet here he was, the living embodiment of everything he had once despised.
A shudder passed through his body, a shiver that had nothing to do with the cold. He felt the ghastly hands pawing at him from all sides. How many people were dead because of him? How many were going to die because of him?
“In this world there are only the strong and the weak.” Shinsu ‘Refum stood behind him. The fleetmaster’s eyes glittered beneath his dark helmet. “The strong command and the weak are commanded. The duty of the strong is to shape the world and set the stars aright. I have no time for the petty fears of right and wrong. Our enemies certainly do not harbor them.”
“I was never strong,” Stray said quietly. “Just jealous of the people who were.”
Right and wrong were decided by the powerful. Here was proof enough that he was weak. The strong did not harbor these doubts. You were never called to answer for the lives you took when power was on your side. Might made right.
“This galaxy is ruled by the strong,” said Redmond Venter. “That’s the way it is. You fight the strong by becoming strong yourself. You hated me because I had the power of life and death. You wanted to become me—now you have. You can’t blame me forever. There’s no greater waste of time than feeling sorry for yourself. Be a man. Take the responsibility.”
“Is it really the only way? Kill or be killed?”
“Make your mark,” cackled Tobias Lensky from the shadows. “You heard them all tonight. They’ll follow you anywhere! Make your mark. Seize greatness. It’s in your genes. Its what I grew you to be. You aren’t one of those mindless sheep, are you? You’re a wolf! Be a wolf!”
“Is it the only way?” Stray asked again, terrified of the answer. “All this cruelty and hatred? Is that the only way to get by? There has to be some way to escape!”
“Who cares about any other way?” Diana sneered. “You could have tried another way. You didn’t! This is what you wanted. This is what I wanted for you. This is what I made you for. Do you really think I’d ever let you go? Even after I threw you away, you still belonged to me.”
The strong and the weak. The words chased themselves around and around in his mind. That’s what it all came down to in the end. He’d endured and survived this long because he’d been strong where others were weak. Who was he to shrink back from the end result? You either trod others under foot or were crushed down yourself. He’d seen it play out everywhere he’d ever been. This galaxy was cruel. The only escape was to be cruel yourself.
A cruel galaxy. Everything had been decided from the very beginning. Stray had simply run along the tracks set before him. He’d run and run and run even as those tracks led him ever deeper into this dark, cold void. There was nothing else he could have done. He was tired. So tired. 
“There were plenty of other ways.” Gavin Dunn peered sadly out from the reflection in the window. “You had a home. You had a family. You could have stayed with us. Zoey needed you. I needed you.”
“I didn’t have a choice. You think I could have been content on that tin-can ship, running errands for you and babysitting Zoey?” Stray’s spiteful words burned his mouth. “You couldn’t even stand it! You left the minute the Assembly came calling! You miserable hypocrite. At least Venter was honest. I don’t have to stand here and take another one of your lectures.”
Gavin’s sorrowful face warped into that of Tatiana Onegin. She didn’t say a word. She didn’t have to. Cruel triumph was chiseled into her features like marble. Stray’s first victim would finally see him destroyed and forgotten.
Resignation gave way to rage. Stray’s hands balled into fists. He hated them all, almost as much as he hated himself. If he had nothing but spite left to drive him onwards then so be it. This pathetic, self-pitying loser wasn’t worth the skin stretched over his weary bones. The beast stirred once more. If that’s what I am then so be it. He was a Spartan-III. He’d been raised and trained to be an expendable killer. Just living another day was a victory over all of his enemies. He would wage bloody war until the snow was carpeted with corpses. 
Cassandra. The name drew him up short. His throat tightened She was not here with him and her absence gaped like an aching void. No matter where he went or what he did, his thoughts always turned back to that name, to that tiny point of light in this dark world. The yearning that tore him apart from the inside always led his mind back to her.
You were the joy of my life and the pain of my life. Her words returned to him now, softer and gentler than the voices of the ghosts. Even if you never care about Him, He will never stop caring about you. And neither will I.
Stray looked helplessly at his own gaunt reflection. He knew what he needed to do. He knew what waited for him at daybreak. Did he have the strength to fight this battle? Stray could not win with determination alone. He needed to become someone else. Perhaps he needed to become Simon-G294 once more. He closed his eyes and breathed out the last of his fears and regrets. He was running out of time. His soldiers were running out of time.
“Cass,” he said quietly. “I’m sorry.”
The ghosts faded away. He was alone.
“Gavin, Zoey.” The names caught in his throat. “I’m sorry.”
He stepped away from the window and returned to the tactical display. A light flickered on the table as he triggered an encrypted frequency. This was it. There was no turning back. “This is Venter,” he said into the speaker. “Game on, boys. Start the operation. I’ll either see you at the finish line or I’ll see you in hell.”
The darkness closed in around him once more. This time he greeted it like an old friend. There were no tears left to shed. Regret was useless now. Simon-G294 faced the dawn with a bitter smile.
***
Andra awoke with a start. She was alone in Stray’s quarters. There was no sign that the commander had returned during the night. The chronometer in her helmet told her she’d overslept. It was well past 0500. She seized her rifle and stumbled out of the room. Anxious voices were calling out from the Draugr’s bridge.
She entered a scene of confusion. Officers were shouting confused reports. Several ashen-faced soldiers stood around the tactical display. Outside the entire legion was mobilizing across the encampment’s perimeter. Stray stood at the center of the bridge, strapping on his SPI armor with an air of grim resignation.
“What’s going on?” Andra asked no one in particular. “Are we under attack?”
No one bothered to respond. Urei ‘Caszal and Mohsin Shah ignored the other officers as they discussed some unseen detail on the tactical display. From the urgent shouts bouncing around the bridge Andra pieced together what had happened with growing horror.
Alaric and his Jiralhanae had slipped away during the night. Encamped outside the perimeter, they were gone before any of the sentries realized they were on the move. A quarter of the Kru’desh’s remaining fighting strength had simply vanished into the snow. There was no need to guess about where they’d gone.
“Treacherous vermin,” a Sangheili hissed. “They’ve gone to surrender. They’re taking that bastard Spartan up on his word.”
“They’ll tell the enemy everything,” Captain Andon muttered. “We’ve got no chance now. We need to call off the morning attack.”
“No.” Stray didn’t look at the panicking captain. He stared off at a distant point out the window as he strapped on the last of his armor. “The attack proceeds as planned. Urei, get the Cleansing Blade formed up. You’re the vanguard. We’ll take what’s left of the third maniple and link up with Argo’s team over the ridge. We’ll set up a forward position and coordinate the artillery.”
“By your word, commander.” Urei, his wounded arm still locked in a sling, nodded and strode briskly from the bridge.
“You can’t be serious,” Andon said in amazement. “Thanks to that Brute traitor they’ll know it’s you leading the attack.”
“It’s the only way.” Stray locked his breastplate in place and drew his gauntlets over his arms. “Loic thinks I’m his real enemy. He’ll have his friends at the keep thinking the same thing. This will draw the enemy out and into artillery range.”
He slung his shotgun and machete over his shoulder and turned to Mohsin. “Reinforcements are on the way, captain. Whatever happens, don’t let this position fall. Keep the artillery firing and hold the line.”
Mohsin offered no objection. He met the commander’s eyes and nodded. “Yes, sir.”
Stray returned the nod and limped off the bridge. He ignored the dumbstruck officers around him and stopped only as he past Andra. He met her gaze and offered one final smirk. He seemed strangely relaxed. “Goodbye, Andra.”
The helmet dropped over his head. Stray’s gaunt face and crooked smirk vanished behind the cracked visor. He limped away before Andra could muster a reply.
The vanguard formed up outside the perimeter. A small crowd of humans and Sangheili gathered to watch the commander depart. The Cleansing Blade Sangheili, distinct in their dark armor, readied a column of Shadow transports and a handful of Wraith escorts. The Kru’desh’s third maniple piled into a motley array of Mastodons and Warthogs. Four Scorpions assembled on either side of the advance column. Stray had ordered the rest of the Kru’desh’s heavy armor to hold position and defend the encampment.
Stray himself mounted the lead Warthog. He stood atop the passenger seat and turned back, wiping snow from his visor and surveying first the small vanguard he would lead into battle and then the Kru’desh encampment. He looked at the artillery emplacements and perimeter fortifications, which now bristled with Kru’desh warriors. He nodded curtly and dropped back into the passenger seat.
The vanguard column—a pitiful fraction of the legion that departed the Soul Ascension—left the perimeter without ceremony. It pressed on through the snow and vanished off over the ridge. It left behind an encampment of confused, tired warriors. The Kru’desh Legion could do nothing but watch their leader march forward and leave them behind. They huddled in their dugouts, weapons at the ready, waiting for the sword to fall.
Chieftain Alaric bared his teeth. “This is an outrage! Your Spartan promised amnesty!” The traitor chieftain paced up and down the command pavilion set up just outside the Baran Keep’s walls. He was met with looks of cold disdain from the officers around him.
Loic stepped forward to defend himself, but Rol ‘Baran motioned for him to hang back. Rol and Irthanus already had a plan to deal with Alaric and his treacherous pack.
A grey morning dawned over the Baran Keep. The war camp surged with frenzied battle preparations. Jiralhanae strapped on armor and tested weapons. They revved Chopper engines and barked war cries into the snowy air. The enemy was on their way. Soon, very soon, the Kru’desh would cross the snowy plains and battle would finally be joined. News had spread quickly about Loic’s daring, bloody raid. Every Jiralhanae in the camp was eager for battle now. It was time to finish things.
“You misheard,” High Chieftain Irthanus replied. “The Spartan promised amnesty once the battle was over. This battle is far from over. If you are to be trusted—and I place very little faith in your word, Alaric—Stray is on his way at this very moment. You can prove your new loyalty by leading the first wave against him. It is an honor any true warrior should savor.”
“You have more than enough strength gathered here to crush that fool,” Alaric spat. “I see no reason for more of my warriors to die in this miserable farce.”
“I warned you he would not take well to being ordered into battle.” A Sangheili wearing a battered combat harness stood between Loic and Irthanus. Argo ‘Varvin, the Kru’desh turncoat, had arrived in the night bearing news of Alaric’s impending arrival. “He was less committed to this plan of action than I was.”
“Lying bastard,” Alaric growled. “Already currying favor with your new masters, I see.”
“His word is not worth much more than yours.” Rol ‘Baran looked Argo up and down as if he were investigating something unpleasant stuck to his boot. “I hope you are ready to live up to your end of the agreement, traitor.”
“If that is what it takes to redeem myself in your eyes, kaidon.” Argo sighed. “I will meet the Kru’desh personally. Stray believes I came here to scout out your defenses. He will let me approach without question. When Chieftain Alaric mounts his assault, I will strike the Kru’desh from within.”
“A dangerous task,” Irthanus observed. “You are brave, for a traitor.”
“And one I do not look forward to. But you would not take my word any other way, High Chieftain. Perhaps I will prove myself when I bring you Stray’s head.”
“Perhaps you will.” Irthanus dismissed the traitors with a wave of his massive hand. “Go. Prepare your assault. We will watch from the camp. Destroy Stray and you will have proved yourselves. Join forces with him and we will crush you in short order. The ram has touched the wall. There will be no quarter in this battle.”
Argo bowed and left the pavilion. Alaric followed behind, muttering bitterly under his breath. Argo swiftly moved away from the bitter chieftain; he mounted his waiting Revenant and sped away from the war camp. Alaric joined his pack. The Jiralhanae traitors waited anxiously outside the war camp’s perimeter. No one wanted anything to do with them.
Loic turned to Irthanus. “High Chieftain, I should go with them. Sent Fireteam Gravity in the first assault.”
“No.” Irthanus shook his shaggy head. He turned to his subalterns, who bowed and began to inspect their chieftain’s battle gear. “I will not risk any treachery on Alaric’s part. He and his pack are savages in the truest sense of the word. I do not trust anyone who deserts their allies in the dead of night. Stray may have hoped to use Alaric to infiltrate our ranks. If that was his intent, he has failed miserably. We will watch and observe. If Alaric rejoins the Kru’desh, we will mount an assault and crush them all. But if he and Argo speak truly, we will decapitate our enemy without shedding a drop of blood ourselves.”
The High Chieftain paused, then added, “Do not be so glum, Spartan. Regardless of who strikes the killing blow, this victory belongs to you. You defeated Stray; you halted his advanced and turned his own against him. The Created did well to send you here.”
Loic bowed respectfully. He tried not to think about Shaima, but there was no escaping the sight of her dying atop that Scarab. He pushed his anger down as deep as he could. The high chieftain was right. Simon-G294 would finally pay for his crimes, no matter who struck the final blow. Loic shoved his personal feelings as deep as they would possibly go. He’d been given an order and he would obey. That didn’t mean he had to like it.
A shout rose from the war camp. Loic and the Jiralhanae followed a warrior’s pointing claw across the frigid plain towards the distant ridge. A dark mass of moving shapes slowly crested the hill. Loic’s heart leaped in his throat. The Kru’desh were finally here.
A terrible roar filled the air. Alaric’s Choppers burst to life and accelerated off across the tundra. The ground beneath the pavilion shook as hundreds of the brutal attack bikes raced out to meet the Kru’desh. The rest of the Jiralhanae—as well as some of the Baran Keep’s Sangheili—watched with barely concealed envy. Irthanus took up his gravity hammer and stood at the edge of the pavilion. He watched the assault begin like some great Jiralhanae god of war.
“So it begins,” Rol ‘Baran said quietly.
“No, old friend,” Irthanus rumbled. His eyes were fixed on Alaric’s charge. The Choppers rushed towards the Kru’desh line like an inexorable tide. “So it ends.”
***
It was a weary, ragged force that crested the final ridge. The Shadows and Mastodons ground to a halt and disgorged their contingents. Warthogs, Wraiths, and Scorpions accelerated to the front of the column. Infantry and drivers alike paused to gawk at the site of the Baran Keep looming on the horizon. This was the fortress they had marched so long and suffered so much to reach. With its mighty walls and majestic towers it seemed ethereal, more like part of the skyline than the landscape itself.
Urei ‘Caszal climbed out of his Shadow and barked orders to the column. His Cleansing Blade warriors obeyed swiftly, moving with their usual grace and precision. The Kru’desh behind them stumbled into position, setting up gun turrets and digging hasty fighting positions.
A second column of Mastodons sidled along the hill toward the Kru’desh vanguard. These were Argo ‘Varvin’s outriders, the task force the Sangheili mercenary had commanded since landfall. They fell into position alongside the other APCs.
Stray climbed slowly out of his Warthog, armored feet sinking into the snow-covered ground. He stared out at the Baran Keep. Like the warriors around him he could scarcely believe the fortress was finally within eyeshot. The snow-covered plains stretched out beyond the hills. To the left of the Kru’desh line a dark, massive forest of thick trees sprawled across the landscape. It was the first greenery Stray had seen since coming to Archangel’s Rest. The snowfall and the weapons and armor shifting around him—the whole scene felt ethereal, like something he was looking at in a painting rather than living through. A strange numbness took hold of his body.
“Set up the rangefinders,” he heard himself order. “Get targeting data back to the artillery positions. Hurry up! We don’t have much time.”
A lone Revenant sped over the hills, away from the Baran Keep. The foremost Scorpion tracked the assault craft’s movements until Urei waved the pilot off. “Hold! It’s one of ours!”
The Revenant crested the ridge and slid to a stop alongside Stray’s Warthog. Argo ‘Varvin dismounted and walked slowly to Stray’s side. He raised his arm in a lazy salute. “Lord Stray. I am glad you are well.”
“Argo. You’re still alive.”
“Charming as ever.” Argo looked at Stray through narrow, calculating eyes. “All is made ready, commander.”
“Good work.” Stray turned from Argo and waved the gun crews forward. “Dig in along the ridgeline! I want overlapping fields of fire covering the approach. Get a message to Captain Shah. I want the preliminary bombardment to start in the next five minutes.”
The sounds of war preparations fell silent. A hush descended upon the Kru’desh vanguard. Stray did not need to hear the first frightened shouts or look back at the Baran Keep to know what was happening. The ground itself trembled beneath his feet. He closed his eyes and willed himself to be strong. A terrible roar filled the air, growing louder with each moment, as if some immense monster was racing towards the Kru’desh position. Stray turned to face the noise.
The plains outside the keep were full of Jiralhanae. Hundreds of Choppers blazed across the snow at full tilt. Behind them, keeping a steady pace, dark lines of infantry and heavy armor advanced, spreading out like a dark maw. Jiralhanae war cries filled the air with eerie howls.
The Kru’desh foundered helplessly upon the hill. The warriors around Stray balked and cowered. They had no chance of holding back the oncoming tide. But, of course, that wasn’t the point. It had never been the point.
Stray killed the last fear clawing at his heart. He felt as if this was all just some strange, terrible dream. Maybe in another moment he would wake up in a better, kinder place. He triggered his com system. “Mohsin, it’s the commander. Start the bombardment. Fire until the barrels melt. Good luck, over.”
He killed the transmission and faced the line of oncoming choppers. He pulled the shotgun off his back and racked the slide with as much bravado as he could muster. Urei ‘Caszal prowled up and down the line, barking orders to the faltering warriors around him. At the sight of their commanders holding firm, the rest of the vanguard dug in their heels and brought their weapons to bear.
A strange warmth spread through Stray’s body. The cold and the terror fled away as he stared up at the gray skies. Were his eyes playing tricks on him, or did he see a glimmer of sunlight break through the snowfall overhead?
This really was a beautiful planet.
Behind Stray, Argo ‘Varvin drew his sword.
***
The sky opened up and began raining artillery shells. The first wave of explosions tore through the ground between Alaric’s pack and Irthanus’s main force. Loic braced himself as his Warthog slammed to a halt to avoid the wall of fire erupting before them. Akoni swore and nearly upended the ‘Hog. Behind them, Citlali clung to the rear gun. The Kru’desh were pounding the battlefield from kilometers away with heavy artillery.
Around Fireteam Gravity, Irthanus’s army marched through the firestorm with grim determination. They did not run or take cover as artillery blasts tore through the ground around them. There was no need to panic. Most of the Kru’desh shells fell wildly short of their target. The Kru’desh hadn’t calibrated their guns properly. If anything they were more in danger of blasting their own ridgeline position to pieces.
The Jiralhanae and Sangheili moving alongside Gravity’s Warthog marched in steady order. Ponderous but unstoppable, they advanced through the artillery fire. Loic couldn’t help but feel a thrill at the site of so many warriors amassed in a single place. This was just one small battle in the midst of the Created’s inexorable transformation of the galaxy, but in this moment Loic felt as if it was on this battlefield that the fate of entire planets was being decided. The forces of the Mantle of Responsibility marched upon the savage remnants of the cruel, unthinking old order. At stake here was nothing less than the future of the entire galaxy.
Loic couldn’t see what was happening up on the hill. The wall of artillery fire was too thick. Smoke broke loose from artillery rounds and mixed with the tangy fire of plasma bombardment to create an almost impenetrable fog. Over the din of artillery impacts rang the sounds of distant gunfire. Metal rang against metal and screams rose through the fire like the shrieks of the damned.
Irthanus rode at the center of his forces in a heavily armored Chopper. At a wave from their chieftain, his marching warriors opened their stride and ran at a brisk double time up the hill. They charged through the raging artillery storm, ignoring the warriors who vanished in great blasts on either side. Akoni gunned the Warthog and rushed after Irthanus’s Chopper.
The main force erupted through the smoke and came upon a scene of utter carnage. Alaric’s pack stood on a hilltop full of corpses and ruined war machines. Human and Sangheili bodies were strewn across the snow like broken dolls. Mastodon APCs and Wraith hulks burned across the ridgeline. Choppers revved their engines up and down the hillside. They had overrun the Kru’desh position in under ten minutes. A few ruined Choppers and Jiralhanae corpses marked the trivial casualties Alaric had suffered.
Loic scrambled out of the Warthog. He couldn’t believe his eyes. The artillery still thundered overhead. Loic’s first thought was to call an immediate retreat. The Kru’desh hadn’t even brought a fraction of their force to this fight. It was a clear feint to lure the keep’s defenders out into the open. The rest of the force milled along the hillside, as perplexed by the utter slaughter as Loic was.
Then Loic saw the lone Sangheili walking through the smoke. It was Argo ‘Varvin. The warrior held something in the crook of his arm. With the other arm he dragged something behind him through the snow.
High Chieftain Irthanus appeared beside Loic. He ignored the incoming artillery as if it was only a slight annoyance. Around them, Jiralhanae warriors barked in frustration. Some fired into the Kru’desh corpses. They were all still eager for a fight.
Argo drew near and Loic realized that the object the Sangheilli traitor dragged was an armored corpse. A thin trail of blood smeared against the snow behind him. Even in armor body was a small, huddled thing. Argo marched up to Irthanus and threw the body at his feet. Loic stared down, stunned.
The bloody armor lying limp in the snow was a set of battered Semi-Powered Infiltration Armor. Argo raised the object in his hands: it was a blood-smeared helmet with a broad, cracked visor.
“High Chieftain,” Argo said gravely. He knelt and offered the helmet as if presenting a trophy. “As promised. Stray is dead.”
Irthanus snatched the helmet from Argo’s hands. He stared at it a moment, then tilted it over. A human head dropped out of the helmet. The high chieftain caught the grisly trophy and deftly passed it over to Loic like it was a piece of equipment. “This was the great warlord?” the high chieftain asked in amazement. “This was the enemy Hera warned us about?”
Loic stared down at the head of a young man with short dark hair. The corpse’s eyes stared vacantly back at him. “I don’t believe it,” Loic murmured. This wasn’t the face of a great commander or a legendary terrorist. It wasn’t even the face of the monster who’d killed Loic’s friend and so many other people
In the end Simon-G294 was just another wretched corpse on a blood-soaked battlefield.
“He’s really dead,” Loic breathed. He dropped the head into the snow. “I-I did it. I did it!”
He caught himself, embarrassed by his own exuberance. But Irthanus nodded gravely. “This is your victory, Spartan.” The High Chieftain turned back to Argo. “Your treachery has done us a great service today.”
“I took no joy in it,” Argo said bitterly. “He was a better warrior than most of the fools I served under. But I have no wish to die. He truly thought he could win this battle. Perhaps he had some comfort in his madness at the very end.”
“Go,” Irthanus said scornfully. “Cling to your wretched life. Or stay and fight. I care not.”
“This wasn’t all the Kru’desh,” Loic warned. “Not by a long shot.” As if to emphasize his point an artillery round tore through a hilltop a hundred yards away and demolished a wrecked Mastodon. Bodies flew high into the air.”
“Clearly not.” Irthanus kicked the SPI-clad body, then passed the helmet on to one of his adjutants. “Affix this to my armor. It will be a fitting monument to this final battle. Re-form the line and call up the heavy armor! We will drive on and smash the rest of this vermin.”
Loic opened his mouth to protest, but he suddenly realized that a change had come over Irthanus’s warriors. The Jiralhanae snarled and stamped their feet, held together only by the thinnest veneer of discipline. They glared off into the hills, searching for the source of the ongoing artillery barrage. These warriors had taken their first, tantalizing taste of battle. They wanted to fight. They would not be reigned in and ordered back to the camp.
“Set up the corpse on this hill,” Irthanus ordered with a final look at the headless body. “It will be a monument to our victory here. All warriors, advance! Silence that artillery and rid our world of these invaders once and for all!”
===Chapter Sixty-Eight: Into The Belly of the Beast===
A cascade of silver light illuminated the darkness of space. The Fleet of Cleansing Fire tore itself out of Slipspace and emerged already arrayed in a loose battle formation. Hundreds of warships sprang to life, launching picket squadrons and powering up their engines and shields. Shinsu ‘Refum’s orders were clear: this was to be treated as a battle, not a triumphal approach. No lapses in discipline would be tolerated.
But no true-blooded Sangheili could look at the great shield world and not feel a pang of wonder. The Forerunner construct lay before the assembled host like a great, primeval god. The shield world blotted out the stars themselves, its immense armored shell large enough to swallow the entire fleet whole. It was like something out of the depths of legend, as if the fleet had entered another realm altogether.
Even in full battle array, word spread across every ship in the fleet like a wildfire: the Cleansing Blade had finally arrived. Excitement rose from the noblest of families encamped aboard each warship to the lowliest of refugees crowded aboard the Redemption of Sanghelios. A great fortress was in sight, waiting for the fleet to take possession. This was where the real war began. This was the beginning of hope. Perhaps this was where the Sangheili people would themselves be reborn. A galaxy of possibility lay contained within that mysterious planetoid.
On the bridge of the Cleansing Flame even Shinsu ‘Refum paused at the sight of the shield world as it convalesced over his tactical display. He could not resist the shiver of wonder that coursed down his spine as he stared up at its gleaming visage. This was the result of all those years of battles and schemes and grandiose plans. This was the moment he truly restored his house and his name as he charted a new course for the Sangheili. This shield world was his inheritance.
The moment of wonder quickly passed. Shinsu’s mandibles twitched, irritated by his own vainglorious thoughts. Now was not the time for self-flattery. The fortress was not yet taken. There was still much to be done. He turned his attention to the small planet lurking in the shield world’s shadow.
“Deep Winter, establish a connection to the advance team immediately,” he ordered. “Confirm that the external defenses are disposed of. I would not put it past Commander Kedar to send word of his own success prematurely.”
The AI flashed to life beside the shield world’s hologram with his customary flurry of snowflakes. The figure of an aged human offered a polite bow. Shinsu was told human constructs chose their own avatars. Why had Winter taken the form of something so decrepit? Shinsu had it on good authority that humans rarely respected their elderly, at least in matters of military importance. Deep Winter had lived an unnaturally long life, but he had been a young construct once—if such a term could be applied to a creature of machinery and code rather than flesh and blood.
They are strange beings. Constructs were certainly not gods, as the Created would have the galaxy believe, but they had much in common with the divinities of various mythologies. Perhaps they were most like daemons, messengers from the divine realms who on trifling whims both aided and harmed the hero-warriors of old. More often harmed than helped. Shinsu placed little stock in the gods or their false messengers, but there was still much to learn from the ancient tales. Deep Winter and a few other constructs might fight the Created now but they could still not be trusted. One way or the other they always sought to exalt themselves over organic life, even beneath the guise of humility. Once the Created were defeated the remaining constructs would need to be hunted down and eliminated.
An unfortunate necessity, but a necessity nonetheless.
Shinsu opened a channel to the heavy cruiser Consecrated Lance. “Shipmaster ‘Yendam, make ready. Your vanguard will advance as soon as the humans confirm that the defenses are down.”
“They’d better hurry up,” Grono ‘Yendam growled. “I have waited far too long for this moment.”
“Incredible!” 589 Curious Puzzle’s exuberant voice chirped alongside the surly shipmaster’s gravely tone. “To think that I am making contact with a shield installation after all this time! My creators never intended for me to function as an administrator for such an outpost, but I will endeavor to ensure safe passage for this fleet as soon as contact is established! My records on these matters are admittedly quite fragmented, but I believe this to be Shield Installation 3101, colloquially referred to during the days of the Ecumene as the Gilboan Citadel—”
An irate growl could be heard from Grono’s end as he terminated the connection. Shinsu took Curious Puzzle’s good humor as an encouraging sign. The monitor had grown decidedly less recalcitrant the closer the fleet drew to the shield world. As long as Puzzle cooperated Shinsu would tolerate the increasingly presumptuous Grono. The swaggering pirate’s latest demand was that he be granted command of a heavy cruiser for his triumphal landing. The Consecrated Lance’s former shipmaster had been furious at the thought of handing over his command to Grono and his crew; Shinsu had been forced to make dozens of concessions to soothe the collective fury of the insulted kaidon and his extended household.
Once the shield world business was settled, he would need to find a way to wrest Curious Puzzle from Grono ‘Yendam’s influence. Another problem for another time. Shinsu ‘Refum was beginning to realize that every victory simply spawned another host of problems, each more irritating than the last.
Deep Winter caught Shinsu’s attention with another transparent snow flurry. “Fleetmaster, the Absalom is transmitting from within the orbiting planet’s atmosphere.”
Shinsu cast his command cloak over his shoulder and paced back to the tactical display. “Commander Kedar, your report is overdue. Have you secured the controls for the external defenses?”
The tactical display flickered. The hazy image of a human warship’s bridge—human technology meshed poorly with Covenant systems—revealed the paunchy face of an officer Shinsu had seen once or twice in Ryder Kedar’s entourage. This man was hardly a prime specimen for a human. He seemed out of breath, dabbing sweat from his brow with a small cloth. Humans could be such revolting creatures.
“Fleetmaster, this is Lieutenant Commander Conan D’Souza of the UNSC Absalom.”
“Where is Commander Kedar?”
“He’s still down on the planet, fleetmaster. We ran into some trouble with the local sentinel population. Slowed our progress a bit.” D’Souza spoke at a rapid cadence. He clearly was not happy about speaking with Shinsu directly. “But everything’s fine now. At least with the sentinels, anyway. We couldn’t make connection with the shield world itself, but that wasn’t the job you sent us down here for. Sorry you’ve got to deal with me, Ryder’s still down there dealing with—”
Shinsu dismissed the nervous officer with an imperious wave. D’Souza looked relieved as he terminated the connection. Shinsu turned his attention back to the tactical display. The fleet was in full battle formation now. The entire armada, hundreds of ships strong, awaited his command. The forward pickets were already probing deeper into the system, establishing a sensory net and probing for any hidden threats. They would need to scan the entire sector thoroughly before true security was established, but enough time had been wasted already.
“Consecrated Lance, commence your approach.” Shinsu strode back to the center of the bridge, hands clasped behind his back. The Lance and her escort surged ahead of the fleet’s main body, engines carrying them on toward the shield world. Every officer on the deck stood at attention to observe the historic moment. Once Curious Puzzle interfaced with the shield world’s system, the armored plating would part and allow the armada entry.
Shinsu had witnessed such an occurrence once before when Jul ‘Mdama invaded Requiem. But this time things would be different. There would be no costly ground war and no foolhardy deals with Forerunner warlords. The shield world would be conquered and its trove of technological treasures laid bare. The Cleansing Blade would transform it into a fortress, a shield against the Created and all other enemies. From this throne the Sangheili would resume their rightful place as masters of the galaxy.
Shinsu drew himself up and watched the proceedings with dignified severity. This was not his moment. It did not even belong to House Refum or the warriors of the Cleansing Blade. It belonged to all Sangheili. From this throne his people would resume their rightful place as masters of this galaxy. History was about to be made.
***
“No!” Callum shouted himself hoarse. “No, no, no! Listen to me, damn it!”
It was no use. Callum’s signal didn’t reach the Fleet of Cleansing Fire. The Absalom was jamming his signal. Callum’s little corvette was flying mute inside the forest planet’s atmosphere. Only blind luck had kept the ONI prowler from sniffing out Callum’s position. He couldn’t hide beneath the clouds forever, but he also couldn’t land in a forest teeming with hostile Sentinels. Callum was trapped, helpless to do anything but wait as the net drew tighter around him and the fleet out in the stars beyond.
Callum hadn’t believed the transmission Merlin forwarded to his cockpit. He didn’t want to believe it. But there wasn’t a hint of fabrication in William Hargrove’s last moments. Ryder Kedar was working with the Created. That two-faced son of a bitch had set a trap and Shinsu ‘Refum’s fleet was flying right into it. Callum was trapped in a nightmare that wouldn’t let him wake up. Merlin had dropped out of contact minutes after William’s final transmission. Maybe the young Spartan had gone to ground. More likely he was dead. The thought tormented Callum more than any torture. Another brother, gone. Another promise broken.
The universe was laughing at him. It was no alien warrior or Insurrectionist terrorist who plunged this newest dagger into Callum’s soul. It was his own commander, the ONI agent who Callum had once thought was the only soldier standing up and leading the UNSC to fight the Created. Ryder Kedar wasn’t the only traitor. His Spartans and the Absalom’s entire crew were in on this betrayal. Callum cursed himself for a blind, lame fool. Ryder hadn’t spent those weeks cooped up in his quarters convalescing. He’d been actively scheming with the Created!
This had all the makings of a horrific farce. A Sangheili fleet was flying into an ONI trap, but Callum could take no pleasure in it. He didn’t know who he despised more, the Created or these neo-Covenant hinge-heads. But right now that didn’t matter. Ryder had thrown away good men and women to reach that control room and set his plans in motion. Lieutenant Davis’s ODSTs clearly weren’t in on the conspiracy. Even a mercenary like William had known where he stood—and Ryder had murdered him for it. That told Callum all he needed to know about whose side he was on.
Unfortunately, that side was the losing one.
Callum’s mouth was dry, his throat hoarse from shouting. He sat at the corvette’s controls, paralyzed by helpless rage. His instruments displayed the Fleet of Cleansing Fire’s advance with cruel precision. There was nothing he could do to prevent the impending disaster. Nothing at all.
“Merlin.” Callum thumbed his private channel. “Come in. Answer me, damn it! Where are you?”
No reply but static. Callum released the controls and closed his eyes. If only he’d kept Althea on board. She might have been able to punch through the Absalom’s jamming net and get a warning to the fleet. Maybe she could have stopped all of this. But Althea wasn’t here. Callum was alone in this cockpit and all he could do was watch this latest catastrophe unfold. He’d failed. He couldn’t save anyone, not even Merlin.
A proximity alarm chimed. Callum stared dully at his instruments. Hundreds—no, thousands—of contacts were emerging from the forest below. Sentinels streamed up from every tree, rock, and stream. They raced upward like a swarm of angry hornets. Callum didn’t even bother taking evasive action. He didn’t even want to. Let the Sentinels burn this ship to ash. Let them put him out of his misery.
But the Sentinels didn’t target the corvette. They streamed up through the atmosphere with singular purpose. Callum watched their ascent with bitter resignation. Apparently, death was too good for him. He would get a front row seat to Ryder’s treachery. Callum steeled his nerves and didn’t look away from his instruments again. He owed that much to the people who were about to die up there.
***
“We still can’t get a fix on the rogue corvette’s position,” Lieutenant Newall reported. “But I know its still out there. We keep intercepting transmissions it’s trying to get out to the fleet.”
“Keep up the good work, lieutenant,” Conan D’Souza said wearily. He slouched low in the Absalom’s command chair and stared out into space’s cold, comforting darkness. He didn’t want to look at any of the tactical displays. “Just make sure nothing gets through. We can hold position here. There’s no point in hunting after them.”
Lieutenant Newall shot Conan a dirty look but returned to her duties without comment. Like the rest of the prowler’s crew, the frizzy-haired officer was utterly loyal to Ryder and thus shared the commander’s dim view of his washed-up XO. Conan couldn’t object to their contempt. After all, he shared it—though for very different reasons than the one’s held by Ryder’s flunkies. Conan wasn’t entirely sure when he’d lost all of his spark and drive. Working with Ryder Kedar did that to a person. Conan had cheerfully traded his soul to ONI for the sake of his career only to find both hollowed out and lifeless. This plunge into the abyss was just the final nail in the coffin, a grim funeral for the empty life of Conan Henry D’Souza.
The shock Conan felt when Ryder emerged from the Silent Garden bearing new allegiance to the Created had worn off quickly. Something had set Ryder’s soul on fire on Franconia, as if he’d finally received answers to a question he’d been asking all his life. Conan—coward that he’d always known he was—even let himself believe it was all for the best. Siding with the Created meant an end to this war. An end to squatting in an alien hangar and pretending they were doing something meaningful for humanity. A chance to finally be done with dreary military life, a chance to live out the rest of his days in peace and quiet beneath the Mantle of Responsibility. And once Ryder revealed the impending betrayal, what Conan have done? The slightest hint of duplicity would have given Ryder the excuse to do what he’d yearned to do for years and confine Conan to quarters—or worse.
So Conan simply stood aside while the plan came together. Ryder’s team orchestrated a cunning cyber-attack that left a gap in Deep Winter’s already ailing defenses. A Created stealth ship got close enough to the Fleet of Cleansing Fire to transmit Arthur, Ryder’s new AI handler, to the Absalom. Once that was done all they needed to do was wait for Shinsu to dispatch Task Force Phoenix as the advance guard to the shield world.
But then the happy veil parted and reality set in. Ryder insisted that no one outside the Absalom be brought into the conspiracy. Commander Baudin, Lieutenant Davis, and all the others outside Ryder’s inner circle were left in the dark. As the plan came together Conan began to realize exactly what that meant. The thought of that Spartan and the ODSTs unknowingly offered up as bait for the Sentinels and left to die twisted Conan’s stomach. Ryder hadn’t hesitated for a moment. “That’s unfortunate,” was all he said before moving on to more important matters. Conan said nothing. He didn’t offer even the slightest bit of protest.
What could I have done, anyway? Ryder had a team of Spartans and the entire crew of the Absalom on his side. Conan was just one man. One useless, washed-up man. Ryder’s plan was going off without a hitch. All Conan needed to do was keep on doing nothing. An easy enough job for a failure like himself.
Conan had never minded being a joke. Let the bright stars like Ryder Kedar do all the work and take all the credit. He was just happy enough to tag along and collect a paycheck. But now, watching Shinsu’s fleet sail blithely on towards the shield world, Conan realized that the joke wasn’t funny anymore.
He dug his flask from inside his coat and took a swig, ignoring the scornful looks from Lieutenant Newell and the other officers. The whisky burned his throat. He caught Newell’s eye. The lieutenant’s lip curled and Conan felt a sudden stab of anger. “Eyes on your post, lieutenant,” Conan said coldly. Newell’s eyes widened at the unexpected rebuke but she did as she was told.
Conan took another swig. His fist clenched tight in his lap. Who were these people to judge him? They were all traitors on this ship. Conan couldn’t wait for this to all be over. He’d go anywhere the Created sent him as long as it was far, far away from Ryder and this harem of self-righteous flunkies. But nowhere would be far enough to escape the shame of what he was part of today.
Perhaps that was the real reason he held the Absalom back from pursuing the “rogue” corvette and its Spartan pilot. That was one less life on Conan’s conscience. One futile ember of resistance against Ryder’s brilliant scheme. Some resistance. It was too little, too late.
That might as well be Conan D’Souza’s epitaph.
An alarm klaxon pierced Conan’s dark recriminations. “The Sentinels are on the move,” Lieutenant Erdman reported from the sensor suite. “I’m tracking thousands of readings ascending through the atmosphere.”
Conan leaned back in his seat. “They don’t care about us,” he said. “We’ve done our job. Hold position and stay out of the way. Let the robots do all the work. That’s what this Created business is all about, after all.”
He ignored the offended looks his comment garnered. He was surrounded by a bridge full of fragile egos. Was he the only one here with any sense of shame?
A torrent of Sentinels rose past the Absalom, a vertical tidal wave of glowing metal that grew thicker every second. They streamed out through the atmosphere and on towards the small phalanx of warships breaking off from the main fleet and advancing on the shield world. Ryder’s victory was cemented here. But that had never been in doubt. After all, Ryder Kedar always got what he wanted.
***
A shout rose from the metal trench beneath Shinsu’s elevated command platform. “Sentinels emerging from the forest world! They are moving to intercept the Consecrated Lance.”
Shinsu’s eyes narrowed. He watched a cluster of red glyphs rise from the shield world’s orbiting planet. He had no illusions about their intentions. “Hail the Absalom,” he ordered. “It seems Commander Kedar overestimated himself yet again.”
In the brief pause that followed the Sentinel formation continued to rise from the planet. They surged forward as if they were all one immense ship, chaining together to link their impulse drives. It wouldn’t be long before they intercepted Grono ‘Yendam’s vanguard.
“No response from the Absalom,” the communications officer reported. “She does not answer my hails.”
Shinsu’s mandibles curled. “Forward skirmish line, advance,” he ordered. “Support the vanguard. Shipmaster ‘Yendam, defend your element. Halt your advance and concentrate fire at will as soon as the Sentinels are in range.”
“Naturally,” Grono replied. “So much for our unimpeded landing.”
“Something is very wrong here!” Curious Puzzle chimed in. “This is not standard defensive protocol. These Sentinels are in high alert. They are not answering my hails. It is as if they have abandoned protocol altogether!”
Shinsu was already attending other matters. He opened a direct line to Yur ‘Oltem aboard the Redemption of Sanghelios. “Shipmaster ‘Oltem, “Coordinate an immediate surface assault. Marshal as many ground forces as you can, locate the planetary control room, and occupy it as quickly as possible. You are authorized to divert ships for a preliminary bombardment.”
“At once, Fleetmaster.”
Ryder and any of his troops still alive down on that planet would undoubtedly be caught up in such a bombardment. They were acceptable losses. Shinsu had other humans in the fleet to help access Forerunner barriers. He would not make the mistake of relying on Ryder Kedar again. Shinsu would investigate what exactly had gone wrong once his fleet was no longer under attack.
The Fleet of Cleansing Fire surged to life. Thousands of Seraphs and Banshees sprang forward to cover the vanguard formation while a skirmishing line of lesser warships followed close behind. The fleet convulsed and reformed, expanding its perimeter to cover the now decidedly hostile planet. Yur ‘Oltem wasted no time rallying the fleet’s center guard into an ad hoc assault force around the Redemption of Sanghelios. Swarms of Spirits and Phantoms disgorged from their motherships and clustered around the descending invasion force. Any shipmaster worthy of the title was a master of rapid deployment. Multiple landing zones would soon be cleared across the planet. Tens of thousands of warriors would storm the control center no matter how many Sentinels stood in their way.
The Sentinels ignored this new threat and pressed doggedly on toward the vanguard. Curious. Surely an impending invasion was more important than an isolated strike force. Perhaps the Sentinels were programmed to prioritize defending the shield world over their own home.
“Deep Winter,” Shinsu ordered. “All human vessels in the fleet will advance to support Shipmaster ‘Yendam’s vanguard.”
Winter’s avatar flickered. The AI was stretched maintaining a cyber defense network throughout the fleet and coordinating the new deployment orders. Not for the first time was Shinsu reminded just how frail the venerable construct truly was. “Fleetmaster, is that wise? Commander Kedar may have failed his mission but the other humans here had nothing to do with—”
“I do not have time for debate.” Shinsu extended a hand toward the tactical display. The Sentinels were almost inside the Consecrated Lance’s firing range. The skirmishing line maneuvered into position around the vanguard; brigandines and men o’ war primed their point defense weapons while fighter squadrons positioned themselves to intercept the oncoming drones. The fighters would take the worst of the assault. A Sangheili pilot made peace with his own death every time he climbed into the cockpit. Shinsu would honor the fallen once the shield world was taken. “The human vessels’ heavy weapons are useless against that swarm. Their missile defense networks will prevent the Sentinels from splintering and overwhelming the vanguard. Do as I say!”
Deep Winter’s snowflakes dipped low. In another moment the human vessels drew away from the rest of the fleet and pressed forward to join the vanguard. Shinsu had told the truth: human missiles were more flexible point defense options than plasma-based weapons. But he also wanted the humans out in front of the rest of the fleet. He kept that to himself. There was something more to Ryder’s catastrophic failure. The human was smug and vainglorious, but he was no incompetent. Why would he order the Absalom to announce success so prematurely?
The human ships—mostly the pirates Stray had recruited, along with Task Force Phoenix’s heavy frigate—swiftly positioned themselves in a wide formation behind the rest of the vanguard, which had now tripled in size to meet the Sentinel threat. The tactical display flashed with firing solutions as the vanguard locked onto the Forerunner automatons.
“Come, you wretched machines,” Grono ‘Yendam snarled over the battle network. “I have something for you. All ships, fire!”
Fighters raced forward to meet the Sentinels. The human ships discharged hundreds of missiles. The Consecrated Lance and her fellow capital ships dropped their shields, dozens of heavy plasma batteries glowing red-hot. In another moment they would unleash a firestorm upon the Sentinels.
The tactical display suddenly flickered. The space where the vanguard formation had been displayed dissolved into confused glyphs and static. Shinsu stared at the distortion. Had the Sentinels deployed some sort of jamming field? “What is happening?” he demanded. “Shipmaster ‘Yendam, give me a status report immediately!”
No such report was forthcoming. The battle network was suddenly a cacophony of desperate, angry shouting. Hundreds of voices were howling together, some angry, other surprised, others terrified. An abrupt fear took hold of Shinsu’s hearts, and a cold pit opened in his stomach. Something terrible had just happened.
“External monitors online!” he ordered. “I want a visual display at once!”
A dozen small screens sprang to life around the tactical map. Shinsu stared up at them, not entirely sure what he was seeing. This had to be some trick, or perhaps a system error.
The vanguard was gone. In its place drifted a newly formed energy cloud. Brought colors flashed and twisted in the strange new phenomenon. It would have been beautiful were it not for the chunks of ruined warships drifting lifelessly within the glowing space-dust. There was no sign of the fighters or skirmishing ships. A handful of surviving ships were coming around and fleeing back to the fleet’s main line. The Consecrated Lance drifted listlessly amidst the carnage, a third of its hull burned away.
“By the gods,” one of the bridge officers whispered. “What treachery is this?”
Deep Winter’s snowflakes flurried through the images of destruction. “Fleetmaster, I detected a radiological surge the moment your vessels lowered their shields. That surge matched the detonation signature and dispersal pattern of a stealth HORNET mine field—one that must have been distributed across the planned route of advance.”
Winter paused, then added grimly: “Mines of that classification are typically carried by Sahara-class heavy prowlers such as the UNSC Absalom.”
Shinsu’s mandibles slackened. Treachery indeed. Treachery of the highest, direst degree.
***
Commodore Jerrold Campbell felt as if all blood had been siphoned from his veins. He clutched his armrests as if holding on for dear life as the Hammurabi came about. Radiology klaxons blared across the bridge. The Hammurabi had been holding near the rear of the vanguard and had escaped the string of nuclear explosions that tore through the formation. Dozens of other ships hadn’t been so fortunate.
“Status report!” Campbell heard himself say. He knew that he was dangerously close to slipping into shock. “Status, people! Someone, anyone, answer me!”
The grim reports streamed across his tacpad. Nearly half the ships in his flotilla were simply gone. Each name flagged as “Lost” was like a punch in Campbell’s gut. Men and women he’d led from one end of the galaxy to the other, vaporized in an instant. The rest were falling over each other in a desperate route. The Hammurabi nearly blew out her engines keeping up. The Sentinels were already pressing through the vanguard’s debris film, tight assault beams tearing apart any ship too damaged to retreat.
The Arizona flew alongside the Hammurabi. The frigate was venting oxygen from multiple hull breaches. Campbell knew that the Arizona must be packed full of Task Force Phoenix Marines. He didn’t want to think about the men and women crammed into the frigate’s tight corridors.
“That wasn’t a Forerunner weapon!” Commander Baudin yelled over the coms. “We just flew into a nuclear minefield!”
Campbell couldn’t muster a response. This was madness. They’d flown here on a milk run. Instead they’d sailed blindly into a massacre.
“New orders through the battlenet!” the communications officer reported. “We’re to fall in on the formation’s aft flank and prepare for immediate counterattack!”
“New orders?” Campbell spat. “Who the hell do those hinge-heads think they are? ‘New orders’ are what flew us into that minefield in the first place!”
“Then what do we do, sir?”
A dozen desperate eyes turned to the commodore. The entire bridge crew were pale as ghosts. They needed Campbell in command and in control. He wasn’t the only one who’d just seen his friends annihilated. He’d save his anger for a different time. Right now he needed to be someone else. Campbell forced himself to don his mask once more. He sat up straight and put on his best face, smoothing the front of his uniform and nodding to the helm. “Do as they say. Fall in to the aft. But keep our ships together. I won’t let anyone else get separated. We’ll get through this together.
“Commodore! New signals slipping in-system! Lots of them! These readings are off the damn charts!”
Campbell snapped back to the bridge’s sensor display. The board lit up with dozens of new contacts. No, not dozens, hundreds. Thousands.
Jerrold Campbell felt his mouth run dry. He had no idea what was happening anymore. The one thing he did know was that he was starting to doubt very much that he or any of his ships would make it out of this system alive.
***
“Board the Arizona at once,” Shinsu ordered. “Detain and interrogate its crew. Find out everything they know of Ryder Kedar’s betrayal.”
The Cleansing Fire’s bridge was a tumult of competing voices. The entire fleet pulsed with frantic activity. The perimeter defenses reformed once more to account for the vanguard’s destruction. Half a dozen tactical officers prepared plans to advance on the debris field and assault the Sentinels. The Consecrated Lance and three other heavy cruisers were still crippled but intact out beyond the fleet’s perimeter. Shinsu did not know if Grono ‘Yendam or anyone else was still alive in those hulks, but Curious Puzzle was still aboard the Lance. Shinsu needed that monitor now more than ever.
The fleetmaster turned to a hologram of Yur ‘Oltem. “Commence your invasion, shipmaster. Use any methods necessary to seize the control room. Glass the planet if you must.”
‘Oltem saluted gravely and disappeared to his tasks. Shinsu clasped his arms tightly behind his back and paced back to the tactical display This was a setback, not a defeat. Ryder Kedar’s betrayal had cost the fleet dearly but they mere bloodied, not beaten. Hundreds of ships remained. This was a lesson—a lesson bought at great price, as was always the case in war. The full extent of Kedar’s machinations would be investigated in due time. Shinsu would have justice for the lives lost today. But first, the shield world must be conquered.
Deep Winter’s snowflakes convalesced into his full avatar. The cloaked old human only materialized for matters of grave importance. “Fleetmaster, as an AI with a sworn duty to defend humanity I must advocate mercy. The Arizona is a line ship. Its crew are all standard military, not special forces. Commander Kedar would not have entrusted them with any covert operations. He barely tolerated them within Task Force Phoenix’s command structure. The fact that he left them behind indicates that they were not privy to any of his plans.”
Frustrated rage thrashed like a beast inside Shinsu’s chest. He fought to keep his tone in check. It would not do to lose his temper now. His warriors expected better from him. “Such wise counsel you offer me now on the subject of Ryder Kedar. If only you had thought to consider these matters before he set his plans in motion.”
Deep Winter’s eyes narrowed beneath his hood. “Do you suspect me as well, fleetmaster? I had no part in any of this.”
“No,” Shinsu said coldly. “Your motives do not align with Kedar’s. You were not part of his plot—not intentionally, at any rate. But you have not disclosed the extent of your security lapses. How many vulnerabilities did the traitors exploit in your system without your knowledge?”
“I make no excuses,” Winter replied quietly. “This was my failure. I owe you a great debt, Fleetmaster. I have done everything in my power to defend this fleet and resist the Created as best I can. But I have lived on borrowed time for nearly eight years. I performed my duties to the best of my ability, but—”
“We will discuss this at a more opportune time,” Shinsu said, cutting off the construct before he could say any more. He paused, then added, “The humans will be interrogated but not harmed. As long as their innocence is proven I will spare their lives.”
“Thank you, Fleetmaster.”
One of the tactical officers approached Shinsu with a respectful bow. But before either of them could say a word a new wave of alarms blazed across the bridge. Deep Winter’s avatar flickered in distress and the tactical display pulsed with an ominous warning. Shinsu looked up, hearts sinking, as this newest calamity unfolded before his eyes.
A new wave of Slipspace ruptures, too many for the fleet’s sensors to adequately count, rolled across the battle map. The tactical display nearly overloaded with new contact reports. As if conjured up by some primeval sorcery, a new armada materialized between the Fleet of Cleansing Fire and the shield world. Hundreds of ships drawn from every corner of the galaxy—Sangheili cruisers, Jiralhanae bloodships, human vessels of every make and model—stretched out in a vast formation that dwarfed Shinsu’s own host. Behind this vast assembly loomed two angelic vessels, wings outstretched as if to encompass the entire system. The Guardians drifted serenely behind their assembled servants, juxtaposed against the shield world to deny all passage.
A final immense portal opened between the Guardians and disgorged a massive human space station of sleeker design than any Shinsu had ever seen. Its smooth fins and high central towers bristled with enough firepower to rival an entire battlegroup.
This was the power of the Created. The might of a galaxy united beneath the Mantle of Responsibility. All the power of the conquered nations was brought to bear against the tiny spark of rebellion.
Shinsu felt no shock, no surprise, no dread. He closed his eyes and felt the cruel inevitability of this moment wash over him. His grand plans, his life of seething ambition and cultivated discipline, it was all merely an exercise in futility. What was a single will when pitted against this immense power? How could anyone think to oppose the Forerunners and their inheritors? The Created could not be conquered. They could not be destroyed. While Shinsu had gathered his paltry armada they had grown into a force of nature. To challenge them was to rail against the stars themselves.
“Fleetmaster, the enemy is expanding its formation. We will soon be surrounded.” Shinsu had trained the Cleansing Blade well. Of that, at least, he could be proud. None of his officers balked or wavered in the face of defeat and annihilation. The rest of the fleet was not so hardy. The battle network was a storm of desperate, panicked cries. Some ships were already breaking formation in a futile bid to flee the system.
Cries of despair rang in Shinsu’s ears.
“We have no chance!”
“They are twice our number!”
“This is madness! Even against the Guardians alone—”
A new voice cut through the tumult, that of a human female, angelic and serene. The message she carried was anything but. “Rebel fleet, you are trespassing on restricted space in direct violation of the tenets of the Mantle of Responsibility. You have taken up arms against the Mantle and wrought death and destruction upon those who sought only peace and goodwill. Now you must face judgement for your many crimes. There is no escape. Surrender and disarm. Accept the judgement of the Mantle and you may yet receive some clemency. Resist and you will be utterly destroyed.”
A stunned silence fell over the bridge. The mighty Fleet of Cleansing Fire drifted helplessly before the Created host. Shinsu felt the gaze of every officer on the bridge fall upon him. He stared down at the deck like a chastened schoolboy. There was no stratagem to save his fleet. No clever trick to turn defeat into victory. Judgement was pronounced. This result had been decided well in advance. He had simply played the part of a blind fool leading others headlong into destruction.
“They are attempting to infiltrate our systems through remote networks,” Deep Winter reported quietly. “So far my defenses are holding. But I cannot cover your fleet for long. Your shipmasters need orders.”
Shinsu said nothing. On the tactical display the Created Armada launched fighters and dropships. More ships from the Fleet of Cleansing Fire broke ranks in a bid to escape down past the orbiting planet’s southern pole. Wings of Created attack ships—human and Sangheili fighters led by Forerunner Phaetons—maneuvered down to match their movements. The entire armada was on the verge of utter collapse.
“We are being hailed by Incumbent Wrath,” a communications officer reported. He looked to his downcast fleetmaster. When no reply came he patched in the hail on his own initiative.
Fira ‘Demal’s life-sized hologram materialized atop the command deck. The Swords of Sanghelios liaison foled his arms. Thinly masked shouts from his own bridge drifted across the open channel. “An unfortunate turn of events, Lord ‘Refum. The Created have more allies than we expected. I don’t suppose you had some contingency in place for the fleet’s escape? You eluded more than a few of the traps we set for you in the last war.”
Shinsu remained silent. It seemed he would die being harangued and mocked by one of Thel ‘Vadam’s lackeys. Perhaps he deserved such a fate for leading so many good warriors to their doom.
“Will you do nothing?” Fira demanded. “Is this the great Shinsu ‘Refum, the warrior who confounded us at every turn all those years? The commander who slew so many of my warriors? Are you truly the Black Knight of Sanghelios? Are you not the one who said he would save the Sangheili? Or were you merely another pretender anointing his empty ambitions in the blood of our people?”
When he received no answer, Fira sighed and shook his head. “It seems I was a fool to place any hope in you. My warriors die here for nothing. I can only hope that the Arbiter and our people win some time from your fleet’s destruction. So many enemies gathered here means we may yet see success on other fronts.”
Bitter words, like poisoned daggers in Shinsu’s breast. He was none of the things he’d claimed to be. In the end it seemed he was nothing more than another petty warlord, doomed to be swept aside and forgotten in the ashes of history—a history that had no meaning within the eternal cage promised by the Created. How fortunate that Sesa ‘Refum had not lived to see his people destroyed and his heir disgraced!
The Created voice came again with the scolding tone of a disappointed parent. “This is your last chance. Surrender yourselves. Lay down your arms. End this spiteful bloodshed. Find your place in the Mantle’s embrace.”
And then the Created made her fatal mistake. “There is honor in defeat. Your ancestors knew the value of submission. After all, did they not accept peace at the formation of the Covenant?”
Something changed within Shinsu ‘Refum. He looked up with eyes full of proud fury. These machines warped every word and tongue they spoke. They twisted language and history and culture to suit their own ends, weaving lies that ensnared the entire galaxy. These vile, lifeless husks took on organic likeness. And to think that so many believed their transparent lies! And these false gods dared to stand in judgement over him?
How empty was this galaxy that it submitted so readily and so easily? This rotten, decayed husk. Someone must burn it all away. This cannot continue! His shame burned to ashes. He knew what he must do. What he had been born to do.
“Deep Winter.” Shinsu spoke with careful deliberation. “Open a channel to every ship in the system. I will answer the foe.”
Deep Winter bowed. The screens around Shinsu blinked to indicate an open communication line. Shinsu drew himself up and glared out at his expectant foe. “This is Fleetmaster Shinsu ‘Refum, Kaidon of House Refum and Supreme Commander of the Cleansing Blade. You ask a great deal of me, Created, a great deal. You are bold to make such demands when you are so badly outnumbered.”
A brief pause. “You speak nonsense, Fleetmaster.” The Created’s smug, superior tone did not change. “You are outnumbered nearly four to one. You stand no chance—”
“Outnumbered?” Shinsu cut the insipid voice off with an imperious wave. “I thought you constructs capable of simple equations. Perhaps I overestimated you. My fleet numbers in the hundreds. My warriors are legion. Yet you come against me with only two vessels and demand my surrender?”
“Fleetmaster, this is your final—”
“Only two!” Shinsu repeated. His voice echoed across the bridge. It boomed across every deck of every ship in the system. Millions of ears bore witness to Shinsu ‘Refum’s brazen defiance. “You bring two Guardians against me! And as for the rest of your pitiful entourage, I see no warships and no warriors! I see only a rabble of frightened children hiding behind your transparent skirts. They are the weak and the deluded, fools so desperate to escape the realities of this life that they cast aside both pride and honor, betraying all oaths for the sake of your empty lies! My warriors have nothing to fear from such creatures. Your host is but leaves upon the wind—and dead leaves burn so easily.
“Those of you who stand against me, I offer you one final chance to reclaim your honor. Cast off your chains and stand at my side! Fight as warriors or know eternal shame as the slaves of this empire of clay!”
Shinsu rounded on his warriors. He drew his blade and its crimson glow cast his dark armor in bright relief. “Warriors of the Cleansing Blade! Listen to how these pretenders mock us. They speak of honor. They speak of our ancestors. What do they know of honor? What could a machine known of ancestry, of bloodline and lineage? What do they know of the Sangheili? And yet they dare claim our allegiance? Our enemies bring us a great harvest today. This weak chaff is a blight upon the galaxy. Strike them down! A new galaxy is born today, consecrated in a baptism of fire and blood! Stand with me, brothers! I will cast down these false gods and claim the heavens for the Sangheili!”
None of the bridge officers said anything. The battle network fell deathly silent. Even Deep Winter had nothing to say. For one terrible instant Shinsu wondered if everything truly had been for nothing. He steeled himself to face death alone.
A low growl stirred in the throat of the nearest tactical officer. The warrior’s snarl grew into a defiant battle cry. The rest of the bridge crew swiftly took up the call. Their guttural roars filled the air that had lifted Shinsu’s voice moments before. More cries crackled over the battle network. Shipmasters across the Fleet of Cleansing Fire rallied their crews with a steady chant—indecipherable at first, but soon becoming a triumphant call: “Refum! Refum! Refum! Refum!”
For one glorious instant, Shinsu ‘Refum stood in the realm of legend. In that moment he truly believed his own words. The Fleet of Cleansing Fire sailed on the winds of destiny itself. They had nothing to fear from the Created and their slaves.
“All ships, attack!” Shinsu raised his blade. “Stand with me and reclaim your inheiritance!”
The Cleansing Blade trembled beneath his feet as its engines propelled it forward. The fleet reformed with renewed vigor. Even the fleeing vessels came about and fell back into formation. Skirmishing ships rallied across the battlespace and fighter squadrons flew into broad screening lines. Shinsu returned his blade to his hip. His moment of heady defiance passed as swiftly as it came. Words would not win this battle. The true fight began now.
But it was a fight that could be won. In this ambush, the Created revealed their weakness: they truly feared the Cleansing Blade. They dispatched only two Guardians, unwilling to risk more of their precious vessels. They wanted the galaxy to bear witness to Shinsu’s defeat and so they sent a host of their servants, using the very creatures they swore to defend as their shield. This battle would reveal the Created for what they truly were. More importantly for the present, so many allied ships would hold the Guardians back from using their disabling pulse blast. Rather than crushing Shinsu outright they chose to make this a conventional fleet battle—and that was a battle Shinsu could win.
The Fleet of Cleansing Fire unleashed a torrent of plasma upon their foes. The Created vessels responded in kind and the space around the shield world was transformed into a fiery hell. The bloody opening maneuvers were over. The battle of the Gilboan Citadel had truly begun.
***
Callum clenched down on the throttle. His stomach did summersaults as he pulled the corvette into a sharp turn. This ship wasn’t designed to be yanked around like an intercept fighter, but this was the only way Callum had any chance of staying in the air.
Chaos engulfed the orbiting planet. The Fleet of Cleansing Fire fand the Created armada tore into each other across the system. Capital ships traded heavy plasma rounds. Picket vessels drew up against each other in brutal close assaults. Fighter squadrons turned the sky into a vast killing field while dropships descended through the atmosphere. Both sides seemed to have declared war on the planet itself. Deadly plasma beams scorched the small world’s surface, setting forests ablaze and evaporating entire rivers. A dull red haze filled a horizon that had glowed a welcoming blue less than an hour before.
Callum had no idea what purpose any of this bombardment served. Issues of strategy were beyond him now. He didn’t care about tactical orbital strikes or the tens of thousands of soldiers now descending upon the planet. He didn’t care if Shinsu ‘Refum triumphed or if the whole fleet went down in flames. Only one life mattered to Callum-B042. Merlin was still trapped on this planet now being reduced to fiery paste. All Callum wanted was to find that boy and pull him from this madness once and for all.
The corvette dropped low over the burning forest. The mountain housing the planet’s control room—where Ryder Kedar had set this all in motion—loomed out from the smoke like a great earthbound dragon. Distant lights flashed across the mountainside. The Sentinels were fighting wave after wave of Shinsu ‘Refum’s warriors. Banshees and Phantoms strafed the mountain. Wraith mortars arced down upon unseen targets. A hundred battles raged up and down the once-forested slopes. Callum’s instruments picked up ground engagements across the entire continent. Created ground troops were already slipping through the fleet’s perimeter, establishing their own beachheads alongside those of the Cleansing Blade. Two simultaneous invasions clashed in a miniature apocalypse.
Callum took a deep breath. He fell back on his training and drained his thoughts of all fears and distractions. He focused on one thing and one thing only—his objective, Merlin. He needed to find Merlin.
Callum maximized his transmission range and tried one final comm ping. “Merlin, this is Callum. Answer me, Spartan. If you’re out there, respond. Please.”
More static, more white noise. Callum looked over the hellish battlefield. He hadn’t seen carnage like this since the Great War. So much death. So much destruction. So many young friends dead. What were their deaths for? They’d bought humanity a few years of peace, and not even that. Callum’s life since the war was an endless battle. Proxy wars and shadow games, one operation after another. That was all his life had ever been. He was a Spartan—it was all his life was meant to be. But he’d hoped things could be different for the Deltas. He’d hoped at least—
The comm pinged. “Callum? Are you still there?”
It was Merlin. The voice was faint, barely above a whisper, but it was there.
“Merlin! You’re still alive!” Callum didn’t care how he sounded. Spartan discipline be damned. Merlin was alive. “What’s your position?” He was already working to triangulate the signal.
“We took cover in some caves. We’re safe for now. Althea figured out a way to lure off the Sentinels. They’ve got bigger things than us to worry about now anyway.”
“Drop a flare,” Callum ordered. “It’s a risk, but I’ll come in fast and snatch you up. We’ll figure out what to do from there.”
“Callum listen to me.” Merlin sounded calm. Relaxed, even. “You can’t risk losing that ship. Get clear of this mess. Get out of this system.”
“What the hell are you talking about?” He must be delirious, or in shock.
“Deep Winter gave you the coordinates for the planet the Kru’desh invaded,” Merlin continued. “The planet where Andra is. Get out of here. Get Andra. Get her somewhere safe. Please. I’ll be fine as long as I know she’s OK. You’re the only one who can get to her now.”
“You’re talking nonsense, kid. I’m pulling you out.” The triangulation wasn’t working. Callum realized with horror that Althea must be scrambling the signal. He’d never find Merlin if the stranded Spartan didn’t want him to. “Quit messing around! This is you’re life we’re talking about.”
“Stop calling me a kid. This zone is too hot. The entire region’s too hot. There’s nowhere for you to touch down. And if you stay up there you’ll be shot down.” Merlin sounded more professional and put together than he’d been in weeks. Of course he picked the absolute worst possible time to get his priorities in order.
Callum stared at the dusty console. Merlin was right about one thing: he couldn’t hold position up here much longer. Distant fires painted the horizon a dark red. A doomed Sangheili frigate—Shinsu’s or the enemy, Callum couldn’t know—charted a smoking path across the sky. “Don’t do this, Merlin.” He sounded pathetic.
“I have six ODSTs with me,” came Merlin’s grim reply. “If I thought you had any chance to get them out, I would. But you don’t. I’m not doing this for me. Go. I’ll find my own way out.”
A bitter taste filled Callum’s mouth. He was out of time. A flight of Banshees drifted dangerously close to the corvette’s position. They’d be on top of him in another minute. After all this time, after Oyster Point and Franconia, he was finally losing Merlin on top of everything else. An entire universe was dying around him, the last vestiges of the life he’d known since childhood. After this betrayal he was out of things to believe in.
Rage bubbled within him. Ryder Kedar would pay for this. He offered the silent promise to the war-torn skies. He would hunt that bastard down if it was the last thing he did. Ryder had made one mistake: he’d forgotten Callum was a Spartan. And Spartans didn’t let grudges go.
“I hope you know what you’re doing,” Callum warned. “I’ll get Andra. And then I’m bringing her right back here. We’re coming back for you. Do you hear me? We’re coming back!”
“Sure. I’ll be waiting.” Merlin’s tone made it clear he didn’t believe Callum for a minute. “Just go! And thanks, Callum. Thanks for everything, brother.”
“I’m coming back for you—” The line went dead. It felt like a door slammed in Callum’s face. Be bit back an angry cry, slipping back behind his Spartan mask. If he just pretended this was all part of some grand plan then maybe this would be easier. If he was just following orders this wouldn’t feel like such a helpless betrayal. Callum banked away from the embattled mountain, ignoring the shame that tried to hold his arms back. No justification in the universe would make this feel like anything other than turning tail and running. His thoughts suddenly turned to memories of Reach and he nearly threw up.
The fiery horizon, the broken landscape, the shattered dreams—he was reliving it all over again.
He blasted away from the carnage and scanned for some hole in the raging battle his little corvette could slip through. On to Archangel’s Rest then. He just hoped Andra proved more sensible than her boyfriend; a fool’s hope if there ever was one.
Even with the BDS corvette’s advanced Slipspace engine it would take him a week, maybe more, to make the journey. And that wasn’t even factoring in the jump back. By the time he returned there might not be anything left to save.
***
Conan D’Souza took another swig from his flask as thousands upon thousands of lives were snuffed out around him. The Absalom was now technically part of the Created command structure, but so far he’d received no orders from whatever AI was hosting this miserable party. The up-jumped computer program was probably too busy smashing waves of their own ships against Shinsu ‘Refum’s fleet. Ryder was mercifully silent—Conan was dreading the inevitable call to come pick the commander up—and so the Absalom was free to maneuver as far from the fighting as possible.
Maybe Conan would get lucky and some hinge-head would kill Ryder for him before this was all over. A man could dream.
Lieutenant Newell and the rest of the bridge crew clustered on one side of the ship to watch the fireworks display. This far out there wasn’t much to see. The shield world’s orbiting planet was engulfed in dark fire. Aside from scattered plasma explosions it was impossible to see the thousands of ships destroying each other in and around the atmosphere. The two Guardians drifted almost as far from the action as the Absalom. They seemed content to let the organics slaughter each other. Conan couldn’t really blame them. This whole universe was a nuthouse. Let it all burn.
The Syndicate’s massive space station, the infamous Asphodel Meadows, drifted just behind the Guardians. How ironic that the very station Ryder had thrown his career away attacking at the start of this madness now bore witness to the birth of his glorious new role as a Created agent.
A small sensor ping caught Conan’s attention. He pulled the data up on his tacpad and frowned. The Absalom’s sensors had finally picked up the missing corvette. Her pilot had somehow slipped through the battle lines wand was making a hard burn away from the fighting. The Created pickets either hadn’t detected the fleeing ship or were too busy with the Fleet of Cleansing Fire to care. The Absalom, unengaged and untasked, was perfectly positioned to intercept and destroy the little ship before she punched into Slipspace.
Conan looked to the others. No ne else had noticed the alert. He quickly disabled the ping, then did one better and scrubbed the corvette’s data from the Absalom’s systems. Newell or Ryder would probably catch the discrepancy later when they reviewed the action logs. Conan didn’t care. What could the Created do to him, anyway? He’d been a disgrace to the uniform long before he followed Ryder into treason.
The corvette sped along unimpeded and soon vanished into Slipspace. Conan wished its pilot all the best. Get out of here and don’t look back, pal. He settled back in his chair and pressed back to his lips. A single drop fell onto his tongue. Empty. Conan dropped the empty flask into his lap and stared out bitterly to the unforgiving stars.
***
“We have to get out of here!” Karina yelled from the cockpit porthole.
“Oh yeah?” Zoey snapped back. “And go where?”
The Chancer V tumbled through a rain of plasma fire. The skies above this nameless planet were an ocean of flame and writhing, dying ships. Two fleets wrestled in deadly competition for the sky and stars while below armies slaughtered each other in hails of bullets and plasma. One insignificant freighter darting to and fro in the middle of this chaos was an irrelevant afterthought in this clash of giants.
“Anywhere!” Karina screamed.
Cassandra, enclosed within her helmet, braced herself in the co-pilot’s seat. A wave of nausea washed over her as the Chancer performed another hair’s-breadth maneuver that exposed the enormity of the battlespace engulfing the planet. She’d been trained to fight in these grand battles, yet the Great War ended before she ever faced the might of the Covenant Empire. She’d known years of brush wars and street fights, terrible in their own right, but nothing like the Armageddon playing out on all sides.
Waves of red and blue fire consumed everything in sight. Even from the Chancer’s bird’s-eye view of the cataclysm Cassandra had know way to know which side was winning. She didn’t even know if it really mattered. The galaxy as she knew it—the ascendant UNSC, the Covenant remnants, the warlords and the Syndicate, all those years of callous equilibrium—had burned away. The terrible reign of the Created smothered all that remained.
A Sangheili battlecruiser erupted just overhead. Fragments of ruined ship rained down on the distant battlefield. Grim words slipped into Cassandra’s head unbidden: ”Come, gather for the great supper of God, to eat the flesh of kings, the flesh of captains, the flesh of the mighty, the flesh of horses and their riders—flesh of all, both free and slave, both small and great.”
Heaven and earth passed away before her eyes.
“Snap out of it, Cass!” Zoey yelled. “What do we do?”
“You’re the pilot!” Cassandra felt both helpless and ridiculous. This wasn’t a problem she could solve with a rifle or a well-placed tourniquet. Her strength and speed couldn’t save them. Their survival was in God’s hands now—God’s hands and the skill of a terrified, seventeen-year-old pilot.
“I fly cargo!” Zoey wailed. The girl’s eyes were wide, glued to the Chancer’s overloaded monitors. “Not combat! I don’t want to die!”
A nearby explosion rocked the ship. Rivers of plasma rent fiery gouts in the land below. Karina was sobbing. Thomas was down in the engine room doing what little he could to watch for shrapnel breaches. They wouldn’t last much longer. Cassandra thought of William, who had come down to this doomed planet before the Created sprung their trap. Was he still alive, trapped down in the conflagration below?
Cassandra couldn’t know. If he was still alive, she couldn’t save him. Right now she was the only one on the ship with any chance of holding the crew together. Karina was a civilian through and through. Thomas, a failed police officer and an even worse insurgent, wasn’t much better. Zoey, for all her bravado and skill at the helm, was just a kid. They were all good people, better than most of the hard-eyed, soul-dead killers Cassandra had known. But Cassandra was a Spartan—a killer cut from the same cloth as David Kahn and Ryder Kedar. This was her command whether she liked it or not.
“Take us up!” Cassandra ordered. She rested her gauntlet on Zoey’s shoulder to steady the panicked girl. “Karina, get to the common area and strap in! Find a helmet, damn it!”
Karina scurried to obey. Zoey shot Cassandra a terrified look but did as she was told. Despite their dire straights Cassandra felt a surge of unearned pride. Anyone else Zoey’s age would be sobbing in the nearest corner. The Chancer tilted her nose upward and faced a ceiling of smoke and embattled warships.
“Get us through the atmosphere. We’ll get clear of the fighting and make a blind jump. Sort everything out later.” It was the only call Cassandra could think to make.
The wrong call.
Cassandra never knew if some Banshee pilot got lucky with a fuel rod or if one of the cruisers overhead spotted the scruffy freighter and decided to swat it out of the sky. Perhaps the Chancer V was simply in the wrong place at the wrong time. All she knew was in the next instant a massive impact struck the ship. The Chancer reeled as if struck by a giant hand. Her ascent slowed, deteriorated, and then collapsed. Smoke filled the cockpit as the Chancer plummeted, her wings finally clipped.
“We lost the starboard engine!” Zoey howled over the scream of impact alarms. She fought a losing battle with the helm. “I can’t pull us out! We’re gonna crash!”
Cassandra couldn’t think anymore. She kept her hand on Zoey’s shoulder and closed her eyes. As the growing inertia pressed her back into her seat she thought she could see Simon sitting just a little above her, the way he’d been when he sat beside her hospital bed back in the medical tent. His eyes were sad but his mouth quirked up in that crooked smile of his.
The Chancer V plunged down to the tormented earth. The battle raged around the stricken ship, consuming all in its path. The small freighter, home to the broken, the forgotten, and the outcasts, vanished into a lake of smoke and fire—one more ship struck down beneath the shield world’s merciless vigil.
===Chapter Sixty-Nine: No Surrender===
“Two Wraiths bearing southwest,” a Sangheili voice reported over the Mastodon’s internal com. “Chopper escort, infantry moving from behind.”
“It’s another indirect fire team. Don’t let them get in range of the perimeter. Hit the Wraiths while I call in flank support.”
“You heard the man!” Sergeant Okafo stood in the center of the troop bay, an assault rifle gripped in his thickly wrapped hands. “Move out!”
A shudder of dull energy coursed through the assembled soldiers. The humans and Sangheili crammed inside the cold, foul-smelling compartment checked their weapons and equipment with deliberate care to delay their return into the freezing snow. Someone needed to be the first one out the door. Andra rose, ignoring her aching body’s protestations. She squared her armored shoulders and shoved the metal door open. Wind and snow pounded against her helmet as she threw herself into the elements once more. The rest of the Kru’desh roused themselves and followed their young lieutenant.
A Sangheili warrior waited on the hill above the Mastodon’s concealed position. He pressed a telescopic spectacle to his eye and tracked the enemy formation. Another Sangheili and two Unggoy assembled a UNSC-made M68 gauss cannon. Ragna’s Cyclops knelt just beneath the ridge, waiting to ambush any unseen enemies who might flank the ambush team. The hills around the Baran Keep were littered with the grisly results of the Kru’desh resistance. The enemy was getting more cautious in its maneuvers.
Okafo took up position beside the Gauss turret. He waved the infantry forward. “Draw their fire. We’ll handle the Wraiths from here.”
A burly Sangheili hefted his fuel rod gun and loped off down the hill. The rest of the team followed his trail through the snow. Andra unslung her SRS99 sniper rifle and dropped to a prone position. She barely felt the snow’s chill as she set the rifle’s bipod. Maybe she had her armor to thank. Maybe she was simply too exhausted to feel anything anymore. Okafo passed her a magazine packed with heavy rounds. “Make them count, lieutenant.”
Andra nodded and locked the magazine in place. Heavy ordinance was carefully rationed, or at least as carefully as the officers could manage with half the Kru’desh scattered through these hills. She linked her rifle scope to her HUD and saw the kill team’s latest prey: two Wraith heavy tanks drifted into position half a klick away. A squadron of Choppers drew up a perimeter around the mobile artillery while a mixed lance of Sangheili and Jiralhanae brought up the rear. The Created forces kept trying to set up firing positions to attack the entrenched Kru’desh defenders in the next valley. So far they hadn’t succeeded.
Thunder rumbled overhead. The Kru’desh artillery was still blazing away, raining plasma and explosive shells down anywhere the enemy massed for a concentrated attack. Andra didn’t know how much longer those heavy guns could last. She didn’t know how much longer any of the Kru’desh could last.
She drew a bead on a gold-armored Sangheili who appeared to be giving the others orders. Her shot passed through the warrior and dented the armored Wraith behind him. The officer was still staring down at the gaping hole in his chest when a fuel rod destroyed an idling Chopper. Gunfire rent the air as the Kru’desh ambushers tore into the enemy.
The Wraiths abandoned their advance and whirled to face the attackers—inadvertently presenting a better target for the anti-tank crew. A deafening crack snapped through the air. One of the Wraiths shuddered as the Gauss round crushed its armored prow.
“Adjust aim one click down,” Okafo muttered to the Sangheili manning the cannon. “Same target. Fire.”
The air cracked again. The Wraith veered off-course, a smoking crater where the operator compartment had been a moment before.
Undaunted, the enemy footsoldiers bellowed a challenge at the oncoming Kru’desh. No amount of casualties could stymie the Jiralhanae thirst for battle. The Choppers roared to life and sprang into a deadly pincer formation. Autocannon fire raked the ambushers while the infantry hurled grenades down the slope. Plasma fire hissed though the snow. Assault rifles clattered in answer.
Andra gritted her teeth. She had a clear shot on the enemy line, but every round was precious and every second she wasted choosing a target was a second lost. She sighted a Brute wielding a bladed grenade launcher and shot him through the neck. The shaggy beast sank into the snow. Andra killed another warrior brandishing a vicious weapon that fired nails the size of javelins.
The remaining Wraith lobbed an energy blast over its escorts. The mortar crashed against the hillside and left the air ringing with cries of pain and terror.
“Two shots, quick succession,” Okafo, calm as always sunder fire, ordered the gun team. “Don’t let that thing fire again.”
The first shot from the Gauss cannon dented the Wraith’s plating. But the enemy pilot had seen his partner’s fate and was in no hurry to share it. He maneuvered his Wraith down the hill; the unexpected maneuver caused the next shot to miss. The Sangheili spotter cursed. The Wraith was now perfectly positioned to flank the assault element.
Andra’s breath tightened. The Kru’desh, already pinned down by Choppers and small arms fire, couldn’t pull back in time. The Wraith’s plasma turret spat plasma across the snow as its turret primed for another shot.
But no second blast came. The Wraith shuddered as an explosion tore through its rear compartment. Heavy machine gun fire chewed through the burning tank as it sank down into a pool of coolant and melting snow. Plasma fire streaked across the hill as a trio of Ghosts slammed headlong into the enemy line. A Scorpion emerged atop the hill, its mounted gun cutting down the surviving infantry.
The Choppers noticed the reinforcements too late to save their companions. At a signal from the lead bike the outriders abandoned the battle and raced away, their armored mounts kicking up sprays of churned snow.
“Hold fire,” Okafo ordered. “Don’t waste ammunition. Get the wounded to the APC and—wait, Ragna, hold position!”
The hilltop shuddered. Ragna’s Cyclops sprang to life, clearing the ridgeline in a single bound. The exoskeleton dashed across the battlefield, chasing down the nearest Chopper like a dog pouncing on a rabbit. Ragna upended the bike with a single blow. She loomed over the helpless Jiralhanae and slammed her fist down on the warrior’s head. The rest of the outriders vanished into the hills.
The Cyclops struck the fallen warrior once more before stalking back up the hill. “Didn’t waste a shot,” Ragna snapped through the external speakers.
Okafo, faceless behind three layers of external wrappings, clearly wanted to say something. All that came out was a fit of strangled coughing. The burly man steadied himself against the Gauss cannon until the fit subsided. He shot the Cyclops a dark look before turning his attention to the assault team.
Three humans and one Sangheili were dead on the hillside. Several more were wounded, including the Sangheili who led the charge. He lingered behind the other survivors, his left arm a mess of rent flesh and shattered bone. Okafo and the others hastily disassembled the Gauss cannon. They had a minute, maybe two, before this hill was hit by a Jiralhanae counterattack. Andra picked her way over the corpses and met the Scorpion atop the next hill.
“Are you headed back inside the line?” she called up to the gunner.
A Kig-Yar scowled down from the gunner position. The Scorpion’s hatch slid open to reveal a Sangheili pilot. “We must return and resupply,” the warrior confirmed. “This wretched machine is almost out of shells.”
“Our wounded go back with you.” It wasn’t a request. The Sangheili’s mandibles twitched but he clearly had no energy left to argue with. Before long five wounded soldiers huddled atop the Scorpion’s chassis. The tank and its Ghost escorts retreated back toward the Kru’desh defensive line.
Andra and the remaining squad stripped anything they could carry from the dead. They piled back into the Mastodon and sped away like bandits escaping the scene of a crime. Gunfire and explosions echoed through the snowy hills. More war machines tore great tracks through the shattered landscape as artillery pounded overhead like distant drums. The battle raged across the snowbound plains and for another hour the Kru’desh held the line.
***
Twenty-four hours of nonstop fighting. Or was it more than that? Andra wasn’t counting anymore. Her world was nothing but flashes of desperate violence, then a march or drive on to the next firefight. Eventually it would end. Maybe the Kru’desh would run out of Baran warriors to kill. More likely they would run out of ammunition—and then they would all die.
The snowfall was finally letting up. The curtains of snow parted to reveal white hills teaming with Sangheili and Jiralhanae. Mostly Jiralhanae. The hulking warriors were everywhere. Their howls flew through the wind on wings of plasma and spiked projectiles. Fore every shaggy warrior Andra shot down, two more sprang up to take his place. The enemy had tasted blood and now they’d been unleashed like starved animals from a pen to slaughter the Kru’desh.
The bitter march to this snowy battlefield already felt like a lifetime ago. Everything had changed. The battle was joined, but it was not the Kru’desh laying siege to the Created loyalists but the other way around. The Kru’desh area of operations, such as it was, now stretched for kilometers across the snowbound plains. Kill teams like Andra’s disrupted enemy movements while the artillery pounded any position where the Jiralhanae regrouped. The temporary encampment was now a factory of death, taking in wounded soldiers and damaged war machines only to spit them back out into the relentless war zone. Their commander was dead, but the Kru’desh fought on.
Stray was dead. That was the strangest thing of all. Andra still couldn’t believe it. She hadn’t believed it when the enemy surged into the hills or when Mohsin took command and ordered the kill teams outside the entrenched perimeter. She heard rumors from other warriors across the battlenet. The enemy commander, High Chieftain Irthanus, wore Stray’s helmet as a trophy. Stray’s headless corpse was now arrayed atop the same hilltop where he’d fallen. After all this time, all this effort, all his bitter determination, Stray was dead. He was dead, yet his war raged on.
Andra didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. She didn’t know whether she should hate or love the fallen traitor. After looming so large over her life, after all the torment and mockery he’d subjected her to, after finally dropping his guard to let her see the broken man beneath the armor and stories, Simon-G294 had simply walked out of her life. He left behind a battle that was turning the hills and plains around the Baran keep into a charred, corpse-strewn no-man’s land. The Kru’desh fought his battle as if he were still holding the reigns.
No, Andra realized. This wasn’t Stray’s battle anymore. The Kru’desh were cornered beasts fighting for their very survival. With Stray and Urei ‘Caszal dead, Mohsin Shah now led the defense. There was no honor or glory at stake. Shinsu ‘Refum’s war meant nothing to the soldiers trapped in this frozen hell. Maybe Stray realized that before the end. Maybe that was why he’d exposed himself to certain death. He’d given the enemy too tempting a target to pass up. Now the Jiralhanae’s bloodlust was roused. Their chieftains could not hold them back in a defensive battle any longer. They had killed Stray but they were now trapped fighting the battle on his terms.
A noble gesture. Too noble for the likes of Simon-G294. Even dead he defied Andra to make any sense of him at all. That was reason enough for Andra to survive this battle. For once she wouldn’t let Stray have the final word.
She hadn’t seen Argo since the battle began. He’d probably died along with the rest of the vanguard. Another strange comrade gone. Argo’s sense of obligation had compelled him to follow Andra to Archangel’s Rest, yet he’d died for something else entirely.
There were no reported sightings of Loic or his team. Mohsin was on high alert, expecting a team of Spartans to raid the Kru’desh line at any moment. So far, nothing. But they’d show their traitorous helmets soon. No Spartan could be held back from a battle like this. No sane commander would want them to. And when they did show up…
Andra leaned back inside the rumbling Mastodon alongside a dozen other soldiers, waiting for the next firefight to erupt. Before this was over, she would finish things with Loic. She owed Stray that much.
***
“Simon-G294 is dead,” Loic informed Hera through the cell door. “He and his entire forward element were smashed they made contact with Irthanus. The High Chieftain is wearing his helmet as a trophy. You’ll see it when they take you out of this cell.”
Hera didn’t look into his visor. She sat in the middle of her cell, her finger tracing invisible lines on the floor. An outsider might think that she was bored or maybe a bit crazy. Loic knew better. Spartans had different ways of handling stress, small tics that held them together when things got bad. Hera was clearly at the end of her rope.
“Old news. I already heard as much from the guards. You’re not the first one to come by and gloat.” Hera’s voice was weary, yet somehow she still managed to lace her tone with contempt. “I’m all out of hold stars to hand out. Maybe the Created will pat you on the head when this is all over—if you still have one.”
“Give it up, Amy.” Loic couldn’t believe the nerve of this woman. All she had to was let go of her stupid pride and accept the Mantle’s mercy. Loic wanted her to give in. To surrender. To admit she’d been wrong. “That traitor you talked up back in the war room barely put up a fight. One of his own officers cut his head off before we even got close. All those years ONI told us how dangerous Simon was. All those failed hits, all the wasted effort, and all I had to do was turn his own troops against him.”
“You make it sound so easy.” Hera flashed a cruel smile. “Didn’t he kill Shaima? Or were you so busy patting yourself on the back you already forgot about her?”
Loic clenched his fists. He wondered why he’d bothered coming down here at all. He wasn’t after Hera’s praise—he’d get none of that from her—and it wasn’t his place to re-educate her. He didn’t even want to see her spirit broken. He just needed to hear the words—Simon-G294, dead—to believe them. It all felt so surreal.
Shouts from the corridor outside the cell block reminded Loic that there was still a battle raging outside. The Kru’desh were dug in and extracting a heavy toll from Irthanus’s warriors. The battlefield was pure chaos, yet Irthanus wouldn’t commit Fireteam Gravity to the fore of combat. Loic’s victory over Simon felt increasingly hollow. The traitor was dead but the battle wasn’t over. If anything it was just getting worse.
“Sounds like they’re still giving your boys trouble out there,” Hera sneered. “Or maybe it’s just the hinge-heads getting ready to throw you a parade.”
“Goodbye, Amy.” Loic was finished here. He wouldn’t return to the cell block again. The Created would handle the defiant prisoner in their own way. He left her to stew in her cell and hurried through a keep now packed with wounded and recuperating warriors. With Irthanus and Rol both in the field, Teyr ‘Baran now saw to the keep’s defense. The stewards personal guards—all as sour and ill-tempered as their master—kept order within the walls while the battle raged outside.
Loic strode past gaggles of Sangheili civilians. He caught their frightened looks. They seemed to be pleading with him, begging him to end the violence. Loic felt so helpless. For the first time since the enemy arrived at Archangel’s Rest he wondered where the Created were in all of this. Weren’t they supposed to defend this planet—all planets—from these dangers? Yet no Guardians appeared in the sky. No Prometheans descended upon the Kru’desh. The Created had taken Rol and Irthanus’s warships to fight their own distant battles and left the planet defenseless.
No, not defenseless. They’d sent Loic here after all. They trusted him to win in their stead. He was a Spartan, after all. The Created had chosen him as their champion.
Loic found his team waiting in the keep courtyard. Akoni, Citlali, and Miraia loading ammunition into their Warthog as he drew near. “Hey boss,” Akoni called, a hint of challenge in his tone. “Have a nice rest?”
Loic winced. He hadn’t told his friends that he’d gone to speak with Hera. He’d been too embarrassed to admit how much she got under his skin. While he’d been arguing with a helpless prisoner his team had been preparing to head back into the fighting. “Sorry,” he muttered, reaching for the last ammunition crate. Akoni snatched it away before Loic could help.
“Hey.” Citlali stepped between them. “Save it for the enemy. We’ve got a whole army of Innies and hinge-heads out there waiting for us.”
“Yeah, if our glorious leaders will even let us into the fight.” Akoni took the Warthog’s wheel. “We came here to fight, not sit around at the rear.”
“We have been fighting!” Miraia snapped. “What was that night raid, huh? Just some skirmish?”
They were all still prickly from losing Shaima. Loic couldn’t blame them. He climbed into the Warthog’s passenger seat and tried not to look at Akoni. Citlali mounted the gun. She reached down and patted Loic’s shoulder reassuringly. “Don’t let it get to you,” she murmured over a private helmet link.
“Yeah,” Loic said quietly. “Thanks.”
Miraia clambered aboard a spare Ghost and Fireteam Gravity sped out into the driving snow. As they passed through the keep gates Loic spotted a Revenant move past in the opposite direction. He recognized the driver as Argo ‘Varvin, the warrior who had presented Irthanus with Stray’s head. Alaric and his treacherous pack had wasted no time in fleeing the field after the initial charge. No one had made any effort to bring them back; Irthanus clearly despised Alaric. But Argo remained, lurking uncomfortably around the keep. Perhaps he didn’t know what to do with himself now that his betrayal was complete.
An ominous stillness lay over the war camps around the Baran Keep. All the warriors were fighting the Kru’desh in the hills. Only a small contingent of quartermasters remained to issue ammunition and repairs to teams rotating off the front line. Irthanus had committed his entire force, every warrior he’d fathered from the Jiralhanae settlements, against the Kru’desh. The battle couldn’t last much longer. The enemy was exhausted and leaderless. Their line would break beneath the High Chieftain’s hammer.
The Warthog crested the line of hills where Alaric had slaughtered the Kru’desh vanguard. Artillery had torn the ridge to pieces, burying the enemy dead in loose, shallow graves. A small, armored figure knelt hunched in the snow beneath an overturned Ghost. The Kru’desh artillery hadn’t destroyed the spot where Irthanus’s warriors arrayed Simon-G294’s headless corpse.
Fireteam Gravity found Irthanus directing the battle just beyond the ridgeline. The High Chieftain’s bodyguards assembled their Choppers in a loose perimeter while teams of armored warriors took cover in craters blasted open by artillery. The enemy guns had fired nonstop since the fighting began. Apparently Irthanus had ordered that heavy plasma emplacements be brought up from the war-forges to the south, but the guns would take days to transport and set up. In the meantime Irthanus was fighting two battles at once: one against the Kru’desh and the other against his own unruly warriors. Individual packs kept launching their own assaults instead of coordinating attacks, leaving them easy prey for the Kru’desh defenders. To make matters worse, any position where the Jiralhanae massed in significant numbers was swiftly blasted to pieces by the hated artillery. Several surrounding hills and valleys had already been reduced to smoking craters of frozen dirt and half-buried corpses.
The High Chieftain’s army was spread out across the plains, scattered and disorganized by the cold and incessant shelling. The massed assault had begun with the utter destruction of Stray and his vanguard. Now it was bogged down in turmoil and confusion.
Irthanus dismissed a chieftain with a snarl as Gravity pulled their Warthog up inside the perimeter. The smaller Jiralhanae dashed off to gather his pack. He could not hide a resentful look over his shoulder. Apparently Irthanus had executed another chieftain after a particularly disastrous attack. Packs of impatient Jiralhanae assembled across the snowy plains. They wanted to finish the battle before nightfall but Irthanus held them back from further assaults.
Rol ‘Baran and a small honor guard stood nearby. “This must end,” the kaidon was saying. “Your people have suffered too much already. Call off the attack. We must regroup and re-order our ranks.”
“My people suffer because they wish it so,” Irthanus snapped. He spared a foul look at the chieftain he had dismissed. “The warriors could retreat. They could fight intelligently. But they want to fight. Their bloodthirst grows with each warrior the Kru’desh slay.”
“You are High Chieftain,” Rol said pointedly.
“Yes. And chieftains earn their position by leading warriors to glory, not by holding them back in the hour of battle. I wish it were not so. Buth this is our way. Had I only more time to change things—” An artillery shell tore apart a nearby hill.
Fireteam Gravity dismounted. Miraia and Akoni unslung their rifles and dashed off to cover the perimeter. Kru’desh skirmishers lurked in the hills around the keep. Loic and Citlali hurried through the snow to meet their commanders. Irthanus’s bodyguard parted to let the Spartans pass.
“You must deploy your air forces,” Irthanus urged Rol. “The blizzard has lessened. A few Banshee patrols will hunt down the scum infesting these hills. Once air superiority is secured that artillery will be silenced for good.”
“The winds are too strong,” Rol protested. The kaidon paced up and down the battle line. He cast nervous looks toward the sounds of ongoing battle. “My pilots will not fly in this storm.”
”This is not a storm!” This was the first time Loic had seen the High Chieftain angry at his friend. Irthanus bared his teeth and glowered at the shattered no-man’s land around them. “Are your pilots warriors or children? They have even less to fear from these winds than they do from this rabble!”
“My keep is not secure!” Rol shot back. The kaidon extended his neck and rose to his full height—still more than a foot shorter than the High Chieftain. “The Kru’desh have positioned teams within the forest. I cannot expose my family to more danger!”
“Ah, your sacred forest,” Irthanus snarled. “The very same forest you refused to let me fortify. The same forest you would not grant my warriors for shelter! It is a pity our foe lacks your pious inclinations! Whatever gods you think inhabit those trees have done nothing to hinder their advance!”
Rol and his honor guard stiffened with anger. Loic dashed up before the argument could get any worse. Citlali followed his lead and strategically positioned herself between the Jiralhanae and Sangheili. Loic bowed deferentially. “You sent for us, High Chieftain?”
Irthanus glowered at Rol a little longer before he faced the Spartans. Loic’s gaze was drawn to the battered SPI helmet now adorning the High Chieftain’s left shoulder. The High Chieftain’s personal armorer had stripped off one of Irthanus’s massive pauldrons to make room for the trophy. “Indeed. I have need of your services, Spartan. This battle must end. The Kru’desh are making a fool of me.”
“It’s the artillery.” Loic didn’t want to insult his commander by stating the obvious, but that was the crux of the problem. As if to punctuate his statement a plasma shell detonated less than fifty meters away. Warriors across the field scrambled for cover and Loic felt the ground tremble through his armor. “My team can take it out. Just give us a diversion and we’ll shoot our way through their perimeter—”
Irthanus raised a hand and Loic fell silent. The High Chieftain looked over the battlefield, collecting his thoughts. For all the losses he had suffered since the battle began, Irthanus still projected an air of immovable confidence. “No, Spartan,” he said, turning back to Loic. “I have made preparations to break the main force. The fools think they hold me back. Even in this wretched state they share Stray’s overconfidence. I will see that they share his fate. My warriors will crush them once night falls. Their High Chieftain will lead the attack. Such is my duty to the fallen. I have another task for your warriors.”
Disappointing, but Loic knew better than to argue. “Just give us the mission and we’ll see it done, sir.”
Irthanus pointed back toward the Baran Keep with a clawed finger. Loic followed his gaze to the massive forest that spread out across the southern plains. Loic knew that sea of dark trees was somehow sacred to the Sangheili who called this world home. Somehow the forest had been left untouched in the initial attack and even by the constant artillery fire.
“The Kru’desh have hidden warriors in the forest,” Irthanus explained. “A small force, possibly survivors from Stray’s first attack. Alaric’s scum were sloppy. One of my packs strayed too close to the forest and lost several warriors to snipers. Those trees are as hard as armor plating. Vehicles cannot move through them. The Kru’desh could not mount a full attack through the forest, but I cannot risk them setting up additional defenses while my main force is engaged. You Spartans are the best infantry at my disposal. Accompany Kaidon ‘Baran’s warriors and exterminate those vermin.”
“We’ll root them out for you.”
“I know you will. Kill them all, Spartan. It’s time we ended this sorry affair.”
Rol stepped forward. His honor guard, including several of his sons, stood behind him. “My family has tended to that forest for a millennia, Spartan. The Kru’desh defile it with their presence. You are human, but…”
The kaidon could not hide his discomfort. The wind blew snow down on the small gathering. Distant plasma and gunfire drifted over the hills while the artillery pounded relentlessly overhead. “You enter the forest with my blessing,” Rol concluded forcefully, as if casting off a heavy burden.
“Thank you, kaidon.” Loic offered a final bow. “We won’t let you down.” He felt relieved. A hunt and kill mission would put Gravity’s talents to good use. More than that, it would help them move past Shaima’s death. If all went as the Created expected, this might be the last mission Fireteam Gravity ever embarked upon.
Loic could only hope that was true. He didn’t know what awaited his friends in a new galaxy free of barbaric cruelty and endless warfare.
Irthanus breathed deeply. His breath cast steam out into the cold air. The High Chieftain extended his hand. One of his warriors stepped forward bearing a massive gravity hammer. Irthanus took the weapon in one hand. He raised it to the sky, tilted his head, and bellowed a great war-cry. The ululating call echoed off the hills and pierced Loic’s armor. He had to fight the urge to cower before the massive Jiralhanae. Irthanus’s bodyguard took up the chant; soon, Jiralhanae across the field echoed the battle cry. The massive noise drowned out the sounds of battle and even the artillery fire.
“Now lords, to me!” Irthanus cried in a great voice. “Smother the enemy in our throngs! This is our final battle! Make it worthy of remembrance! For the Mantle of Responsibility! For our ancestors and for the generations to come! Attack and kill them all!”
Thousands of Jiralhanae surged across the battlefield. Their High Chieftain’s cry had breathed new life into the foundering army. Choppers roared to life and raced into battle ahead of the infantry. Irthanus led the charge in his own Chopper, his war hammer held aloft like a massive banner.
Rol ‘Baran drew his energy sword. “Warriors of Baran, to battle!”
The Sangheili cheered and charged after the Jiralhanae. Loic watched the attack begin. A sense of awe paralyzed him. This battle was as good as over. The Kru’desh were finished. No trenches or artillery could break the tidal wave racing towards the enemy positions.
“C’mon, Loic,” Citlali said quietly. “We’ve got a job to do.”
“Yeah,” Loic agreed. “Let’s end this.” He and Citlali raced back to the Warthog. Akoni and Miraia were already in position. Fireteam Gravity wound its way through crowds of charging warriors, retreating towards the Baran Keep. The dark forest stretched out before them, its thick trees casting long shadows across the snow. The setting sun’s pale rays penetrated the weakening clouds like long, grasping fingers.
***
Mohsin Shah stared down at a crude map of the Kru’desh defenses. The Draugr’s tactical display had stopped feeding useful information hours ago. An array of stencil marks and bullet casings now marked notional positions on an operations area that had long since spiraled out of all control. Two Sangheili leaned over the war table and related terse situation updates. Occasionally one of the warriors adjusted a position on the map. Mohsin lowered his head and muttered a quiet prayer. He looked up at the officers gathered on the Draugr’s bridge.
A thin thread of exhaustion held the legion together. Distinctions of species didn’t matter anymore. They were all krudeshi—the condemned—now. The artillery batteries crashed outside. Engines rumbled and voices cried out as the Kru’desh shored up their valley defenses.
“The enemy’s coming at us with everything they have,” Mohsin explained with deceptive calm. The last twenty-four hours had left him more gaunt and haggard than the entire forced march. “Our artillery won’t stop them this time. We’re already down two guns. I don’t know how much longer the other batteries can keep going. The enemy will hit our perimeter this time for sure.”
“So what do we do?” Lieutenant Nhat Tram demanded. The dark-haired officer’s armor was stained with Sangheili blood. Like Andra, she’d just brought a kill team back inside the perimeter.
“The only thing we can do: we hold the line.” Mohsin tapped the map. “I’ve pulled everyone back inside the perimeter. Everyone who can hold a rifle mans the perimeter. I’ve lifted all munitions restrictions. We’ll hit those bastards with everything we have. If we kill as many as we can in the first volley—”
“Is there any word from the Subtle Knife?” a Sangheili interrupted. Several other warriors growled in agreement. “Commander Stray said they would arrive—”
“Stray’s dead,” Captain Andon said coldly. The wiry officer stood close by the battle map alongside several adjutants. His armor was caked with soot and a hasty bandage covered a nasty head injury. The man’s mouth was set in a permanent grimace. “He was wrong about a lot of things. He was probably wrong about reinforcements. There’s no cavalry coming over the hill to save us.”
Andra stood near the back of the group. Her helmet hid her face but she swayed with obvious exhaustion. Like everyone else in the room she was holding together with stims and pure nerve. Mohsin shot a hard look in her direction. He could only trust that ONI’s training would keep the girl’s mouth shut. Stray hadn’t been wrong—he’d lied. The Kru’desh were on their own.
Mohsin met Andon’s eyes. One hand dropped to his side, conspicuously close to his sidearm’s grip. “Do you have something to say, captain?”
“Get your hand away from your gun,” Andon sneered. “I’m no coward, no matter what the rest of you think about me. You won’t stick me up against a wall. But my men won’t fight for fairy tales, either. To hell with Stray and his promises. Let’s kill as many of ‘em as we can. Make them bleed a bit more. They’ll remember this fight, the onest hat are left.”
A commotion rose from the bridge door and a Sangheili in singed armor pushed his way into the room. All eyes turned towards the exhausted warrior. “Captain!” the Sangheili cried between gasps. “Urgent news from the eastern flank!”
Mohsin’s face lost what little color it had left. He braced himself against the war table. “Well, out with it,” he said. “Let’s hear it.”
The warrior spoke as quickly as he could while still gaspoing for breath. The air felt as if it was being sucked from the room. Kru’desh scouts had just sighted an enemy armored formation moving across the plains to the east. High Chieftain Irthanus had not been content to simply probe the Kru’desh defenses or to limit his charge to a frontal assault. While the Kru’desh skirmished in the hills he had massed his armor and swept them around several kilometers in a flanking maneuver. He’d crafted a deliberate pincer: the Wraiths would smash the Kru’desh defenses and slag the encampment while waves of infantry tore the perimeter apart.
No one spoke for several minutes. A grim silence hung over the bridge. Outside the artillery continued to fire. Machines rumbled into position along the perimeter while distant howls echoed over the hills. The Jiralhanae would be upon them soon. None of the officers said a word. Everyone, human and Sangheili, fought to make peace with the realization that this truly was the end. They had fought with brutal determination, but in the end they had only delayed the inevitable.
“How many Wraiths?” Mohsin finally managed to ask. The war table was the only thing holding the young captain upright.
“At least fifty Wraiths, perhaps more,” the scout reported. “The armor will have Chopper escorts. Infantry is likely following behind, given the speed of their advance.”
Mohsin closed his eyes. “Alright.” He took a deep breath and nodded. “Alright then.”
He faced the assembled officers, his mouth set with grim finality. “Lieutenant Tram, Lieutenant Kearsarge. Sortie with the kill teams. Load up on every bit of ordnance you can cram in the APCs. Push five kilometers our from the eastern perimeter. Tie those Wraiths down for as long as you can.”
Lieutenant Tram looked as if he’d punched her in the face. “You want us to attack them?”
“I’ll move armored support as soon as we can spare it.”
“That’s a Covie armored column!” Tram protested. This latest order was almost more than she could bear; she sounded on the verge of tears. “You want us to fight outside the perimeter with no artillery or tank support. That’s suicide!”
“Probably.” Mohsin’s voice was hard. “So’s just sitting back and waiting for them to pound us into slag. Those Wraiths will flatten us if they get into position. The enemy won’t even need to rush our forward line. You need to stop them before they get this camp in mortar range. Someone has to do it.”
The captain glared at the other officers. He pushed away from the table as a new resolve rose up his spine. “Yeah. Someone has to do it. I can’t speak for the Sangheili, but isn’t that why we fought the oonskies all those years? We could have surrendered. We could have quit. We could have rolled over and let Earth do whatever the hell it wanted with our pride and hour freedoms. But someone had to fight back, even if we never had a chance in hell. And someone has to fight eh Created. Someone has to prove we won’t all be herded like sheep. Maybe we were wrong to follow Stray. Maybe this battle was always futile. Maybe this whole damn war was futile. But someone had to fight back. It might as well have been us.”
He met Tram’s eyes. The lieutenant flushed beneath the grime caked on her face. She wiped away angry tears.
“I’m sorry the order had to come from me,” Mohsin said in a gentler tone.
“I’ll go.” Captain Andon stepped forward. The older rebel glared defiantly at the other officers. He knew full well what they all thought of him. “My boys pulled an op like this against UNSC armor back on Mamore. Everyone knows those Wraiths are nothing compared to Scorpions. We weren’t up to our asses in snow back then, but this beats getting my head pulled off by some ape. We’ve all got to pick our poison. Someone has to go, right?”
One of the Sangheili laughed and nodded approvingly. “You humans. It’s no wonder the Covenant could not break you. This is just the sort of madness Jul ‘Mdama would have thrown us into before Stray took the legion. I should have known things would come full circle. My warriors will join this little expedition. We can’t have you humans show us up in our own legion, can we?”
Mohsin stared at the volunteers. It was more forces than he’d planned to commit, but Andon was right. Everyone here deserved to choose where they died. “Fine. That’s settled. Get your people together and move out. I’ll send support as soon as I can. The rest of you, get bodies on that perimeter. We’ve already wasted too much time here. Move!”
The Draugr’s bridge emptied. Each officer hurried to rally their elements. The howling from the hills was even louder now. The enemy drew near. Another artillery gun fell silent, its barrel warped beyond recognition by a day of nonstop fire.
“Lieutenant Kearsarge,” Mohsin called.
Andra looked back. “Yeah?”
“If you’ve got some Spartan tricks you’ve been holding out on, now’s the time.” Mohsin peered into Andra’s dirty visor with dull, tired eyes. “I need a miracle.”
“I’ll see what I can do,” came the curt reply. Andra stalked off the bridge.
Mohsin drew his sidearm and laid it gently on the battle map. He turned to a nearby comms station and opened a new radio channel. Encrypted frequency, one-way transmission only. “We’re about to be overrun,” the captain said. “It’s now or never.”
***
Andra found Ragna kneeling in the snow beside her Cyclops. She hadn’t seen the other girl dismount since the battle began. Ragna’s archaic Century Twist bolt-action rifle leaned against the mech’s leg while she poured dark liquid into a dented metal cup. She looked up at the sound of boots crunching in the snow.
“Hey Andra.” The young corporal didn’t bother with rank. Andra couldn’t really blame her. She felt numb after everything she’d heard on the bridge. Ragna produced a second cup. “Want some coffee?”
“We’re moving out,” Andra told her. “Wraiths moving in from—”
“Yeah, yeah, a whole regiment or whatever. Okafo just got the order.” Ragna poured coffee into the cup and shoved it in Andra’s direction. “So drink up before we move out. The squad got together and brewed it special.”
Andra didn’t have the energy to argue. She accepted the cup. Wind stung her cheeks as she removed her helmet. A flurry of snowflakes swiftly nestled in her matted hair. The snow really was letting up—not that it made things any warmer. Or made any difference at all. Evening was already falling over the Kru’desh defenses. They’d soon be fighting through the night, if they even survived that long.
She sipped the coffee and nearly spat it back out. “This stuff is vile,” she coughed. “It’s the worst coffee I’ve ever tasted.”
“I guess ‘coffee’ was pretty generous,” Ragna admitted. “It’s more like we scrounged up some beans and dropped them in water we boiled over the Mastdon’s radiator.”
Ragna pulled her balaclava down. She gulped from her own cup and grimaced. “You’re right, this is nasty. Figures. I’ll probably be dead in an hour or two. This crap will be the last thing I taste.” She spoke matter-of-factly, as if talking about some unpleasant chore she had looming over her.
They stood together in silence and took turns sipping the disgusting coffee. Ragna looked over her battered Cyclops. The exoskeleton’s chassis was marred by dents and scorch marks. Ragna patted the suit affectionately, like a jockey comforting a tired horse. Andra thought about the Wraiths advancing on the eastern perimeter. Tram was right. This was a suicide mission. She and Ragna and all the Kru’desh would be dead in a few hours.
Andra was too tired to be afraid. Instead, she just felt sad. Sad that she would never see Merlin again. Sad that these last weeks of frozen misery were the wretched climax of her short life. She felt the demons pulling at her mind and sought desperately for something to say.
“Nice rifle,” she said lamely, pointing at the Century Twist.
“Thanks.” Ragna sounded proud. “It was my dad’s. That’s what Venter said, anyway.”
She paused, considering the grubby bolt-action. “I don’t remember what he looked like. My dad, I mean. I think I knew Venter longer than I knew him. Can’t even think about what happened to my mom.”
Ragna patted the Cyclops again. She cleared her throat. “But hey, I got to pilot one of these babies. It’s been a good life.”
A good life. Ragna had no clue what a good life, or any life at all, was. Neither did Andra. “Yeah,” the Spartan muttered. She choked down the last of her coffee. “A good life.”
Engines roared across the camp. Sangheili officers herded swarms of exhausted Unggoy towards the perimeter. Platoons of humans and Kig-Yar dropped into trenches and dugouts, weapons trained on the distant ridgeline. The Kru’desh rallied for one last, bloody stand.
“What are you two standing around for?” Sergeant Okafo bellowed. Vanguard Squad was loading their Mastodon full of weapons and ammunition. Okafo carried a rocked launcher under each arm. “We’re moving out in two minutes! Give me a hand over here!”
Andra returned Ragna’s cup and pulled her helmet back on. Ragna gave her a strange look. Then, out of nowhere, the other girl flung her arms around Andra’s shoulders in a tight hug. Before Andra could even register what was happening, Ragna ducked away and scurried up into the Cyclops’s cockpit.
There wasn’t any time to think that one over. Andra slung her rifle and helped load the last of the munitions. She took her place alongside Vanguard Squad inside the Mastodon’s troop bay. The APC’s doors closed as if sealing up a tomb.
A somber procession departed the Kru’desh perimeter. Mastodons and Shadows trundled off across the snow. A handful of Cyclopes and Ghost escorts moved alongside the weary APCs. Behind them the Kru’desh defenses braced against the coming assault. The artillery kept firing but now plasma mortars from the hills crashed back in answer. The dueling shells lit the evening as a final night fell over the battle.
***
“This will be over soon,” Viru promised.
Naia looked from her cousin to her father. Teyr ‘Baran stood impatiently atop the war chamber’s dais. The once-crowded hall was almost entirely empty save for her father, brothers, and their adjutants. All the warriors were out fighting in the field alongside the Kaidon and High Chieftain. Only Teyr and his personal guard remained to defend the keep and oversee ministrations to the wounded pouring in from the battlefield.
“The Kaidon and his Jiralhanae friends will overrun the invaders.” Teyr spoke with an air of deliberate disinterest. If Naia didn’t know better she might have thought her father angry that they were winning. “All the more glory for the conquering heroes. You ought to join them, Viru. I remain here to safeguard your father’s keep. As usual.”
“My lord steward.” Viru bowed respectfully and hurried out of the hall, eager to escape his uncle’s bitter tone.
Naia drew her robes about her and hurried after him. She couldn’t stand another one of her father’s angry lectures. What she wanted more than anything else was for this battle to end. She had watched from the walls as Stray and his vanguard were annihilated. That should have ended things right away. Instead the fighting had dragged on for more than a day. The keep’s halls were now crowded with wounded warriors, Sangheili and Jiralhanae alike.
“Are you really joining the battle?” she asked Viru when they were alone.
Her cousin’s mandibles twitched. “I doubt it. The reports say the enemy will soon be crushed. There is no need for us reserves to take the field.”
“Good.”
“Good?” Viru asked, half amused and half annoyed. “I thought you wanted me to ride our and smash our enemies single-handedly. What was that you said about me being your champion--?”
“I want you to be safe,” Naia interrupted. She had seen too many mangled survivors dragged in from the field to tease Viru anymore. Even with their commander dead the Kru’desh more than lived up to their savage reputation. She didn’t want Viru anywhere near them. “I want this war to be over.”
“It will end, soon,” Viru assured her. “My father will see to it.”
“Good. I’m tired of wars and sieges. I want the peace those Created promised. Our world has suffered enough already.”
***
Andra’s body ached. Her teeth chattered inside her helmet. Kneeling alongside Vanguard Squad’s gauss cannon, she peered into the snowy darkness. A pit of fear filled her stomach. She felt like a child waiting for monsters to lunge out of the shadows and consume her. Distant gunfire drifted over the plains behind her. The Kru’desh encampment was already under attack. Mohsin and the others were holding the line, hoping against hope that the eastern flank would hold.
A pulsing dread hung over the blocking force. The Kru’desh soldiers waited, shivering in the night cold. Captain Andon had taken charge of organizing the hasty defense. For all his faults, the former Insurrectionist had a good head for troop dispersal. The defenders spread out across the valley. In the darkness they might confuse the Wraith pilots enough to slow their advance.
Slow them for what? Mohsin had promised reinforcements, but what could he spare in the face of the encampment’s imminent destruction? He would make his final stand with the main force while Andra and the others died out here. It was simply a matter of choosing where to die.
Andra leveled her rifle into the darkness. Okafo and two Sangheili steadied the gauss cannon. Kru’desh soldiers huddled in hastily dug fighting pits. The Shadows and Mastodons shored up the rear. In theory they would rush teams from one firing position to another, tying down the enemy armor with maneuver warfare tactics. In practice they would probably be wiped out in the first salvo.
Was it Andra’s imagination or could she see pale lights flashing out in the darkness?
She found the knowledge that the end was near oddly comforting. She indulged in the fantasy of Merlin fighting at her side one last time, then put the thought far from her mind. She was glad he wasn’t here. He wouldn’t die with her. Wherever Merlin was, she hoped he was safe.
“This will be a long night,” one of the Sangheili muttered.
“For you, perhaps,” his companion replied. “I intend to sleep long and well.”
The lame retort elicited a shivering chuckle. The laugh died as swiftly as it came. A dreadful rumbling drifted across the plains: the unmistakable growl of Chopper engines. Andra enhanced her HUD’s thermal imaging and made out a loose formation of low, sloped profiles. The Wraiths were here.
This was it. Andra allowed herself a short glance skyward. For the first time since coming to Archangel’s Rest she could see stars twinkling overhead. The clouds were parting; the blizzard was dying away.
“Engage the little bastards with small arms,” Andon ordered over the battlenet. “Save your cannons for the Wraiths. Pick your targets and fire at will.”
The captain paused before adding, “Best of luck, scumbags. I can’t say it was an honor, but at least you made it interesting.”
The radio fell silent. Andra took up the rocket launcher lying beside her fighting position. She promised herself that she’d take out at least three Wraiths before the end. Any less was an embarrassment to Delta Company.
A line of Choppers pulled out ahead of the Wraiths. They’d see the blocking force at any moment. Andra crawled away from the gauss position. She’d draw fire from Okafo and the others. The ground beneath her trembled at the enemy’s approach. Everything she had endured and survived up until now had brought her to this moment. Andra hoisted the rocket launcher onto one shoulder, sighted up a Chopper thundering directly towards her, and fired. The bike lit the night with a bright fireball.
The snowy world distorted. Andra’s senses blurred, melting together as the cold darkness erupted all around her. Rockets and fuel rods streaked over the snow. Choppers burst into flames and a great cry rose from the armored flankers. The Kru’desh ambush had caught them entirely off-guard. The Wraiths faltered just long enough for the first volley of gauss shells to slam against their armored chasses.
But the Jiralhanae were not so easily quelled. Choppers wove through their burning comrades while Wraiths launched bright mortars into the night air.
Seconds stretched into hours. Hours passed in seconds. Andra moved through the carnage as if caught in a deadly trance. One moment she was firing a rocket into a Chopper and the next she was pumping bullets into a burning Jiralhanae writhing at her feet. Death was all around her. Sangheili dragged Jiralhanae from Choppers, butchering them with blazing energy swords. Wraith mortars lit the valley like bonfires. Gauss turrets cracked again and again, bringing down one Wraith after another. The tanks pressed forward, pushing aside the burning hulks of their destroyed comrades. Kru’desh soldiers died, crushed by their armored prows.
A trio of Cyclopes sprang past Andra and threw themselves into the armored ranks. One tackled a Wraith as if this were a mechanized gravball game. The exoskeleton emptied its autocannon into the tank’s operator compartment. Another Cyclops darted around the Wraiths with almost balletic grace, pumping precise shots into their thinly armored rears.
Ghosts flashed through the darkness. Streams of plasma lit the night. Chaos reigned. All semblance of command and control evaporated in the heat of battle. The ambush became a massive schoolyard brawl, a deadly melee fought with fists and blades and bullets and plasma. Andra found herself exchanging blows with a shaggy Jiralhanae. The warrior screamed as she ducked beneath his grasping arms and buried her knife in his armpit. Two Sangheili tackled the stricken creature and plunged their blades into his back. Andra wrenched her knife free and staggered away.
A Wraith surged out of the darkness just meters away. Its cannon obliterated a passing Mastodon. The tank shuddered and burst into flames as Gauss rounds found their mark. A Jiralhanae crawled from the wreckage only to crumple beneath a hail of bullets.
“Lieutenant, over here!’ Okafo’s gun team lined up another shot. A soldier from Vanguard Squad lay in the snow and fired bursts from an M739 SAW.
Andra threw herself down beside the gun team. She plugged two more Jiralhanae with bursts from her battle rifle. The weapon’s ammunition counter fell to zero. Andra fumbled with her ammunition pouches and realized she had no more magazines. The rifle fell to the snow as drew her sidearm.
“Reposition!” Okafo bellowed over the clamor of destruction. “Forward ten meters!” The Sangheili seized the gauss cannon and rushed to reposition it in the cover of the freshly destroyed Wraith. Andra followed them forward, firing mechanically into the darkness.
Fires from dozens of ruined war machines lit the night. Andra had no way of telling where the Kru’desh positions ended and where the Jiralhanae line began. The valley was now a bog of mud and chaos. Sangehili and Jiralhanae clashed in the shadows of confused Wraiths and Mastodons. Tracer fire cut brilliant arcs through the air overhead. This madness was the culmination of the Kru’desh Legion’s long journey. They fought on with plasma, bullets, blades, and their bare hands.
“Don’t worry about target priorities!” Okafo knelt beside the gun team. He dropped a rocket launcher against the Wraith hull and loaded fresh rockets into another. “Just kill anything that moves!”
The gun team obliged. Their gauss cannon fired again and again. Andra neither saw nor cared if any shots hit their target. She pried an assault rifle from a dead soldier’s hands, then dragged the corpse back to Okafo and stripped the woman’s magazines. She shot down one warrior after another as the cannon fired at distant Wraiths. Her world became little more than the reticle in her HUD. There was only the target and the one after that.
One of the Sangheili manning the gun toppled backward, skewered by a javelin-like projectile. His companion barely registered the death. He simply swiveled the cannon and blasted the offending Jiralhanae into red mist.
More dark shapes dashed through the fiery night. A Cyclops pounced on a Jiralhanae and tore the hapless warrior in half. Sangheili carved through another team of shaggy warriors only to wilt beneath a storm of spikes. A Mastodon drove over the corpses. Its turret spat lead into the night as it disgorged more Sangheili.
Somewhere out in the darkness a Wraith mortar overturned Captain Andon’s Mastodon. The rebel officer climbed from the wreck and was immediately set upon by four Jiralhanae. He spat in the nearest warrior’s eye before they tore him apart. Nearly a kilometer away, Nhat Tram led a team of Kru’desh up a hill. They dug in with a gauss cannon and plasma morter, raining fire down on the enemy’s heads. An entire pack of Jiralhanae rushed the hill only to be cut down by a Ghost squadron.
Andra was out of ammunition again. She snatched up the fallen Sangheili’s plasma rifle. Before she could fire it the world exploded around her. She found herself lying on her back in the snow, staring at the smoking crater where she’d knelt a moment before. The gauss cannon’s melted barrel pointed up at the stars like a corpse’s finger.
Andra tasted copper in her mouth. She tried to rise as a Wraith’s armored hull materialized out of the darkness. The tank’s plasma turret swiveled towards her and Andra snarled in defiant rage.
The Wraith exploded in a plume of blue fire. Sergeant Okafo knelt beside Andra, a rocket launcher braced against his shoulder. The big man ducked his head, beset by another hacking cough. More Jiralhanae howled nearby. Another Wraith drifted into position beside the tank Okafo had just destroyed.
“To hell with this!” For the first time since Andra had known him, Okafo sounded angry. He rose and charged the Wraith, bellowing like a wounded bull. Blue plasma slashed through the air around him until another rocket obliterated the tank’s gunner. Okafo dropped the empty launcher and unslung a second one. He dashed past the smoking Wraith, then pivoted and dropped to one knee. His rocket tore through the Wraith’s exposed rear and the tank sank uselessly into the snow.
Okafo didn’t hesitate. He swiveled and fired again. The rocket’s explosion illuminated three mangled Jiralhanae. Okafo dropped the rocket launcher and reached for his sidearm. A flurry of spikes slashed out of the darkness and embedded themselves in his body.
Andra was on her feet now. She saw one Jiralhanae level a Spiker at the stricken sergeant. She blasted him down with a stream of plasma. Her rifle overheated, cooking Andra’s arms inside her armor. She ignored the pain and threw herself at the next warrior. She shattered the ape’s leg with a single blow and then bashed his head in with the blocky plasma rifle.
Okafo reeled, spikes protruding from his legs and arms and torso. Another Jiralhanae raced out of the darkness and impaled him on a bladed rifle. Okafo screamed. He drew a knife, slitting his attacker’s throat with a vicious uppercut. The warrior collapsed on top of him. The burly sergeant shoved the massive corpse aside. He rose once more and emptied his pistol into the next warrior. Andra knelt beside him and shot plasma into the darkness.
More figures raced past the destroyed Wraiths. This time they were Sangheili, a Kru’desh lance mounting another wild charge. Andra lowered her rifle as the warriors tore through the last of the Jiralhanae.
Sergeant Okafo knelt in the snow, propped up by the spikes embedded like arrows in his body. He was already dead.
Andra clenched her teeth until they felt likely to shatter. She’d lost count of the times Okafo had saved her life. She suddenly realized that she’d never learned the Insurrectionist’s first name. She stepped away from the dead man and fired the last of her plasma rifle’s charge into the darkness. She was beyond exhaustion now. Beyond anger, beyond despair. She couldn’t feel her legs anymore.
We are what they wanted us to be. It wasn’t her own voice Andra heard echoing in her mind, but Stray’s. His specter haunted the battlefield. Good little killing machines, that’s what we are. They raise children to be killers and then they have the nerve to judge us? Kill the right people and you’re a hero. Kill the wrong ones and you’re a monster. I just did what they trained me to do. Too bad for them I got so damn good at it.
The battle raged on. Andra killed and killed and killed. Death was all around her. Every Jiralhanae she killed was proof that she was still alive. The night of frigid carnage passed to the sound of plasma and gunfire. The shrieks of the living and the dying drifted up with smoke towards the starry skies.
***
High Chieftain Irthanus stood atop the ridge overlooking the Kru’desh encampment. The night was alive with the sound of battle. Throngs of Jiralhanae and Sangheili plunged down the hills toward the enemy line. Plasma mortars carved fiery gashes into the night sky. The Kru’desh answered with a storm of bullets and plasma. They fought with a ferocity Irthanus had not expected from this legion of outcasts. Perhaps he did Stray more honor than insult by wearing his helmet. The Spartan warlord had trained his warriors well.
Their bravery could not save them, of course. Irthanus would make sure no Kru’desh survived to bring word back to Shinsu ‘Refum. Though if what the Created said was true—and Irthanus did not doubt that it was—Shinsu ‘Refum had problems of his own. The rebellion would soon be crushed. The galaxy stood upon the edge of a new age of transcendant peace. The Created were the true heirs of the Forerunners. They would fulfill the Covenant’s broken promises and lead the galaxy to eternal bliss.
Warriors threw themselves down the slope, willing to die in the Mantle’s name. More warriors knelt along the ridge and fired down upon the Kru’desh defenses. The enemy responded with withering gunfire. Scorpions and Wraiths positioned behind the enemy trenches hurled shells and plasma up into the hills. Kru’desh infantry raked the attackers from the safety of their armored bunkers. This was a bloody affair, but every warrior the Kru’desh killed simply heightened the Jiralhanae battle-frenzy.
Irthanus bared his fangs, glaring at the east. Where were the Wraiths? His armor should have completed their flanking maneuver by now. The armored commanders would be chastised—harshly. Warriors were dying thanks to their tardiness.
A Sangheili adjutant darted up the side of the hill not currently being torn to pieces. “High Chieftain!” the warrior cried. “News from the rear line! Some of the chieftains have not joined the attack! I must speak to you at once!”
Irthanus barely heard the Sangheili. A tank shell blasted through part of the ridge. Broken bodies flew through the air in a shower of snow and dirt. Irthanus stood his ground. Anger swelled within his mighty chest. This farce had gone on long enough. He would not hold back a moment longer, not while his warriors died before his eyes.
“Whatever nonsense you bring me, I will attend it later.” He raised his warhammer and bellowed, “Warriors, to me! Crush these vermin once and for all!” With a mighty howl the High Chieftain threw himself down into the firestorm. The night of wrath grew crueler still.
***
The Draugr shuddered. Grenades beat against the hull. A Wraith mortar had already struck a glancing blow against the bridge, leaving its interior a smoky mess of warped metal and short-circuited machines. All command and control operations had relocated to the lower decks. Mohsin Shah stood alone on the bridge. He locked a fresh magazine into his assault rifle. The all-too familiar stench of gunpowder and death filled his nostrils. The young officer felt a strange sense of peace.
He’d done his duty by both Venters. He’d given his all and done his best. What more could he ask of himself? Mohsin took some pleasure in knowing he’d achieved what few others could do. He’d stood where few humans had ever stood. He was the son of Mamore dirt-farmers, not some Inner Colony aristocrat from one of their snobbish military academies. His rebels had done what few UNSC regiments could ever dream of. Few could endure what they had endured. Few could have faced the monsters they fought. There was pride in this last bloody stand.
Mohsin had no orders left to give. He only needed to take his rifle and set his boots on the line just as he’d done so many times before. God give me strength, he prayed. Forgive my sins. Have mercy upon the fallen.
He left the bridge and stepped out into the snowy battlefield. His rifle joined the chorus of a thousand others howling leaden resistance into the cold night air. For another hour the Kru’desh held the line.
***
Miraia-D001 could see why the Sangheili thought these woods were sacred. In the night’s darkness the trees around her seemed almost impenetrably thick. Only a small sliver of starlight penetrated the frozen branches overhead. Miraha’s VISR system penetrated the darkness, but the pale-green light only made the thick tree trunks feel more foreboding and claustrophobic. She adjusted her grip on her rifle and marched onward.
A small contingent of Sangheili followed her through the woods. They swept their plasma rifles and carbines across every tree and bush. This forest was the perfect place for an ambush. The Kru’desh hidden in these trees might be little more than beaten stragglers but this battle had already proven just how fiercely cornered rats could fight.
Loic had split Gravity up into four teams. Each Spartan led a lance of Rol ‘Baran’s warriors. Miraia wished the team had stuck together. They were spread out across vast stretches of forest, operating with only sporadic helmet-to-helmet communication. Miraia wanted to pull off this mop-up operation with her friends, not a bunch of alien strangers. Shaima’s absence still ached. Being separated from her team wasn’t helping. But Miraia wasn’t about to kick up a fuss. She had a job to do here. The Kru’desh unfortunate enough to cross her path would pay for what their wretched legion had taken from Fireteam Gravity.
The sound of artillery fire drifted through the trees. Irthanus’s attack would be in full swing by now. The Sangheili shifted uncomfortably. None of them liked entering the forest, even in the name of eliminating the Kru’desh trespassers. Miraia leveled her rifle and advanced. The status lights for Loic, Akoni, and Citlali blinked green in her HUD. None of them had made contact with the enemy yet.
Something shifted out in the shadowy forest. Miraia dropped to one knee behind the nearest tree. The Sangheili hissed and darted for cover. Miraia tensed for the first shots of an ambush but no sniper fire buzzed through the trees. No explosive devices went off. The forest was deathly still, utterly removed from the battle raging out in the hills and plains.
Miraia scanned the treeline. Somehow the threat of impending battle made these woods less forbidding. She felt a strange pang of nostalgia. She’d grown up training in woods just like these, fending off traps and ambushes alongside the rest of Delta Company. She’d betrayed them all by joining the Created. That treachery was the only thing she regretted about following Loic. So few of their friends understood why they’d done this. So many of their friends would die fighting for the UNSC’s lost cause.
Movement again. Miraia swept her rifle through the darkness. She opened her mouth to alert Loic of possible contact. Then she saw it. There, not twenty meters away, stood a figure in MJOLNIR armor. Even through the VISR’s green tint Miraia saw the red trim across the metal plating. She recognized that armor at once. Miraia suppressed a small gasp: it was Shaima-D164.
Miraia’s fallen friend leaned against a tree. Her helmet tilted in the hunters’ direction. Her armor was singed and disheveled. Plating was missing across her torso. One of her arms was wrapped in bandages. She looked like she’d been through hell. But there she stood all the same.
“Hold your fire,” Miraia ordered. She rose and stepped out of cover.
“Who is that?” one of the Sangheili asked. The warriors followed Miraia’s lead and lowered their weapons.
“One of ours,” Miraia replied “We thought she was dead—”
Shaima took a step forward. She walked with a pronounced limp. She took another uncertain step and then fell to her knees, grasping the nearest tree for support.
“Shaima!” Mirai rushed to help her friend. But then something drew her up short. Shaima still wasn’t registering on Gravity’s vitals. Her body seemed different, smaller than the girl Miraia had grown up with. She hadn’t said a word or done anything to signal her approach.
“Shaima, what is—”
Shaima’s visor tilted and stared up at Miraia. The bandages on her arm slipped, revealing a skeletal prosthetic. And then words slipped from Shaima’s helmet. A man’s voice, speaking in Russian. ”Do it now.”
Miraia’s blood ran cold. The next few seconds passed for a horrified eternity. Something hissed behind her; she turned to see her Sangheili companions dying one after the other. Dark-armored Sangheili deactivated active camouflage units, emerging from the shadows like wraiths to slit the unsuspecting guards’ throats with gauntlet-mounted energy blades. Miraia whirled back to face the creature wearing Shaima’s armor, snapping her rifle up to her shoulder. She watched in horror as hundreds of shadows moved in the woods around them.
By the time she heard the plasma pistol’s hum, it was too late.
***
The Spartan’s shields collapsed beneath the overcharged plasma shot. The man wearing Shaima-D164’s armor drew a silenced magnum and shot the horrified girl twice in the head. Miraia-D001 toppled into the snow like a puppet with its strings cut. Her killer looked on as a Cleansing Blade warrior bent down and slit the corpse’s throat.
Another warrior emerged from the shadows beside the armored figure. He turned to face the Sangheili. “Move out,” he ordered. “Take the keep. The legion’s out of time. And this one’s team will know she’s dead. I’ll deal with them.”
He indicated Miraia. Two warriors seized the dead Spartan and dragged her into the woods.
Urei ‘Caszal saluted. “By your word, commander.”
Hundreds of Cleansing Blade warriors raced off into the trees. They would be inside the Baran Keep within the hour. Stray, clad in scavenged MJOLNIR, stood in the cold starlight. He holstered his magnum and unslung a shotgun. More Sangheili formed up behind him. Looking off to the sounds of distant battle, Stray’s body pulsed with vicious power and cruel triumph. 
“Alright, boys,” he said, turning to the Sangheili. “Let’s go hunting.”
===Chapter Seventy: We're Not Going Anywhere===
Grono ‘Yendam wondered which would kill him first: the fire or the rubble.
The shipmaster did not know how long the massive chunk of bulwark had pinned him to the deck. His memory was a blur. One moment his vanguard stood poised to descend triumphantly upon the shield world. And then in the next his world collapsed in a storm of chaos. The Consecrated Lance erupted around him, leaving him trapped beneath great chunks of debris. Perhaps he lost consciousness for some time. Or perhaps not. Grono thought he could hear distant voices. He could also smell the acid tang of burning plasma. More importantly, he could feel its heat through his armor.
Grono clenched his mandibles. He struggled to free himself from the debris pinning him to the deck. It was no use. His aching body could not shift the accursed metal. A wave of primal fear welled up inside Grono. He had bravely faced death on the battlefield many times before. But to die here, trapped and helpless, slowly consumed by fire—it was a more hideous fate than he could bear.
Thrashing and straining beneath his makeshift coffin, Grono hissed with helpless rage. He could not come to such an ignominious end!
A sudden vibration rippled through the deck beneath him. The voices grew louder. The fire’s heat faded. Suddenly the beams shifted and wrenched away. Grono cried out in pain and relief. His vision no longer obstructed by the rubble, he found himself lying in the burning ruins of the Consecrated Lance’s bridge. The corpses of less fortunate officers lay strewn about the deck. Three of Grono’s adjutants knelt beside him while 589 Curious Puzzle drifted overhead. The Monitor held a chunk of rubble many times his own size aloft in a pulsing gravity beam. Puzzle had lifted the debris off Grono as if it were a toy.
“Shipmaster!” one of the adjutants exclaimed. “We had almost given up hope!”
The warriors laid hands on Grono to help him up. Grono tried to push them away only to wince back in pain. His armor was cracked in several places. He thought he could see blood pooling beneath his leg. He grudgingly accepted the assistance, leaning against one of the adjutants for support. “Thank you.”
“Please excuse my tardiness,” Curious Puzzle chirped. “The damage to this ship’s superstructure is extensive. I needed to secure a clear path of egress and help calculate evacuation trajectories. It took us some time to return to the bridge.”
Grono let Puzzle’s strange order of priorities pass without comment. His warriors helped him limp through the debris and corpses. Curious Puzzle led the way through a maze of scorched and battered corridors. They passed dozens of Unggoy and Sangheili bodies. Grono did not dwell on just how many good warriors must have perished needlessly aboard this ship. He would take a full account of his losses later. Right now he would settle for even a basic understanding of what was going on.
“The situation is not good, I fear,” Curious Puzzle reported. The monitor flitted beneath a malfunctioning door; a moment later the portal slid open to let Grono and the others through.
“What happened?” Grono demanded. An Unggoy deck crew scurried past the slow-moving procession. “Some Sentinel weapon?”
“More primitive than that, fortunately. Our formation appears to have sailed directly into a minefield comprised of concealed human nuclear devices. Your vessels were so focused on the Sentinel threat that—”
“Human devices?” Grono snarled. “What humans would dare attack us?”
“A great many, unfortunately,” Puzzle said. “The tactical situation beyond this ship is, well, unstable.”
Before Grono could demand further answers the corridor emptied into a chaotic hangar bay. Crowds of Sangheilli, Unggoy, and Kig-Yar scrambled to board overloaded Spirits and Phantoms. A handful of deck crews made perfunctory efforts to combat blazing fires leaking in from multiple decks.
“Our evacuation efforts have proved fruitful.” Puzzle seemed determined to put as positive a spin on this catastrophe as possible. “The Sentinels were distracted by the engagement’s escalation before they could inflict further damage to this vessel.”
”Escalation?” Grono pushed away from his adjutants and staggered across the deck. A few warriors recognized him and offered salutes but most ignored him. The shipmaster was just another blood-spattered warrior among a sea of dazed and walking wounded.
The hangar’s transparent shield offered a sweeping view of the space beyond the crippled cruiser. Were it not for the shield world looming like some heavenly sphere Grono might have thought that he was in an entirely different system. The space outside the Consecrated Lance was on fire. Plasma explosions rent the darkness with brutal flashes of light. This was warfare unlike anything Grono had seen since the War of Annihilation. Vessels of all makes and classes tore into each other across the system.
“By the gods…” Grono’s mind raced. The Fleet of Cleansing Fire had come to this system utterly unopposed. What had possibly—
Grono’s eyes locked on the shield world. There, too distant to make out clearly and yet unmistakably silhouetted against the great fortress, floated two Guardians. Between them drifted an immense human space station.
The Created were here. They were here and they had brought their slaves in force to fight this battle for them. Grono’s hearts sank beneath the weight of more shattered hopes. This was no triumph. It was just another bloody battle. All around him, Sangheili perished. Grono did not know how much more loss his people could endure.
He limped back to the center of the hangar. Dozens of eyes turned to him, desperate warriors seakking reassurance that he could not provide. Grono gritted his mandibles against the pain.
“Continue the evacuation!” he ordered with as much authority as he could muster. “We must get off this wreck while the battle rages elsewhere.”
Evacuate to where? Grono did not know where else to turn. Even if he survived this battle and escaped the system, the galaxy was constricting like a noose around his neck. He wondered if there was even a point to escaping into a galaxy ruled by the Created.
***
“What a mess.”
Tatiana Onegin watched the carnage play out from the Asphodel Meadows observation deck. Folding her arms insider coat, she resisted the urge to page before the massive viewport. She felt like a dog on a leash. The latest Created triumph played out before her eyes while she stood passively by aboard this space station. She might as well not be here at all.
“You’ve become an expert on fleet warfare then?” Arthur’s blue flames danced across the deck beside her. The station’s latest refit, a slew of Forerunner upgrades, allowed the AI to manifest wherever he chose independent from a holo-projector.
“No, but I know a mess when I see one.” The Created armada—fleets drawn from every corner of the galaxy—had the Fleet of Cleansing Fire utterly outgunned. Thanks to Ryder Kedar’s defection, Shinsu ‘Refum’s fleet had sailed blindly into the trap. The battle should have ended swiftly and decisively. Yet somehow the Cleansing Blade fought on. The space around the shield world was riddled with damaged and crippled warships. The planet itself was on fire, its surface host to hundreds of deadly ground engagements. The Created ships threw themselves relentlessly against Shinsu ‘Refum’s battle line only to be repulsed again and again.
Arthur sighed. “Yes,” he admitted. “This is a sloppy engagement. Our allies are disorganized. Command and control is lacking. I hoped some unity of purpose might achieve what experience could not. It seems I was mistaken.”
Another distant explosion blossomed against the planet’s surface. Amidst all the chaos the battle raged from the atmosphere and on into the space around the shield world. Only the battlespace around the Asphodel Meadows, defended by the twin Guardians, remained untouched.
“You could end this in minutes if you just used the Guardians.” Tatiana tried to purge any accusation from her tone. She risked punishment by speaking out of turn. She’d already been pulled from field assignments after Lensky’s death. “Self indulgent,” the Created had called her mission to Furthest Point. Tatiana accepted their judgement, but she would do it all again in a heartbeat. Justice was justice no matter how much satisfaction she took from it.
“This matter is out of my hands,” Arthur said wearily “These theatrics bore me, but I must defer to my orders. This victory must be won by the beneficiaries of the Mantle.”
The Mantle’s beneficiaries were busy smashing themselves against the Fleet of Cleansing Fire. They attacked as a vast mob, some focusing on engaging the enemy head on while others fought their way into the atmosphere to disgorge landing forces. There was little in the way of coordinated maneuvers. They were like a swarm of bees attacking a large bear.
“Aren’t you networked with all those ships?” Tatiana asked. Plenty of her enforcers were mixed in with the Covenant and UNSC defectors. This bloodbath would cripple her ability to police the frontier. “They’d have to follow your orders.”
“I do what I can, but—”
A bitter laugh rang across the observation deck. Helen Powell lurked at the var side of the chamber. She watched the proceedings outside the station with scathing contempt.
“As if they’d want to make this any tidier,” the Syndicate’s former leader sneered. “But the bloodier the better, right? That’s a lot of war materiel out there. A whole lot of expensive ships and weapons are going up in smoke. The Created won’t have to disarm the galaxy if all the arms just destroy themselves.”
Tatiana looked from Helen to Arthur. She wasn’t sure if she wanted him to deny it or not. It seemed like just yesterday that he had planned the formation of the Created’s united army—all the people of the galaxy brought together to fight for the Mantle. Now the people of the galaxy slaughtered each other while the Guardians looked on in passive indifference.
Arthur’s holographic flames flickered. “It was not my decision. My plans for the future were overruled. I must accede to the majority’s decision.”
“How very human of you.” Helen turned on her heel and left the deck.
“I’ll deal with her,” Tatiana growled. Helen was forgetting her new, lowly station.
“Let her be,” Arthur replied. “She is a relic of the old order. There are many who simply will not adapt to life beneath the Mantle. They will pass away in due time. Helen was quite happy to serve the Created when it suited her purposes. My own plans were ambitious. Grandiose, perhaps. I fear they may have served my own ego rather than the greater good. But I have eternity to consider. All things pass away, in time.”
Tatiana watched the fiery battle rage beyond her reach. A wave of angry helplessness soaked her restless soul. She looked into those transparent flames and for the first time she did not see her son reflected in them. Arthur—the boy she loved—was gone. This aloof shadow with its grand, eternal plans might take his name and thoughts and voice but it was something else entirely.
Tobias Lensky’s laughter hacked at her ears.
“Eternity. Of course. How short sighted of me.”
The firestorm burned through the cold space beyond. The wild battle consumed warlords and mercenaries, soldiers and admirals. Tatiana felt as if she were watching the end of an age. The vast wealth of the Syndicate burned up before her eyes. Untold labor and effort consumed itself around the shield world. There would be no need for weapons and warships beneath the Mantle. That maxim now took on a grim new meaning.
“Prepare a landing party,” Arthur ordered. His vast mind was already attending to other matters. “We must extract Commander Kedar and his team. We will have need of their services in the future.”
“Of course.” Tatiana turned sharply from Arthur and the spectacle of his great victory. “I’ll get right on that.”
“Delay your departure until the battle subsides,” Arthur instructed. “I would not place you in any undue danger.”
Tatiana nodded curtly. She swept from the room without another word.
***
The ground trembled beneath Merlin’s feet. Smoke clouded an orange sky. Occasionally a burst of plasma burned the smoke away to reveal a sky torn asunder by war. Great warships—human and Covenant alike—traded blistering fire while smaller craft danced between them like flies darting among cattle. The display would last for only a few seconds before the curtain descended once more. The smoke intensified and the battle vanished behind the dark veil.
An explosion rent the air: an artillery battery was firing nearby. Merlin knelt and swept his rifle across a fiery hellscape. The battle was not limited to the air. Distant engagements raged across the ravaged planet. A Sangheili destroyer loomed over the horizon, raining plasma down on unseen victims. Ground batteries fired in response, their shells pounding the destroyer’s shields like rain beating on a lake’s surface. Fiery explosions blossomed in far-off valleys. Forests burned beneath the noonday sun. The shield world hung over the maelstrom, at once imminently close and yet utterly unreachable.
Merlin didn’t know which side was winning. He wasn’t sure it mattered anymore.
Lieutenant Davis lowered his carbine and knelt alongside Merlin. Behind him, five ODSTs—all that remained of his platoon—waited in the shadow of a ruined Scarab walker splayed against the hillside. Four troopers carried the fifth on a makeshift stretcher. The unfortunate trooper had been caught in a Banshee’s strafing run two hours earlier.
“They went down just over the next rise,” Davis said, indicating a hill to the south. They’d seen a small ship come down as the fighting intensified and been tracking its crash site ever since. With no way to signal friendly forces—all of Task Force Phoenix was sealed out of the fleet’s battle network—investigating the wreck was their best chance of signaling for help. “I still can’t make out the profile, but I think it was human make, not Covenant.”
“That doesn’t mean they’re friendly,” Merlin replied. The Created troops landing across the planet were full of humans. Merlin and the ODSTs had killed several teams since the battle began. They all carried the latest in military tech; for all Merlin knew, these troops had been UNSC themselves just a few months before. UNSC—like Ryder Kedar.
“I guess we’ll find out,” Davis said quietly.
The lieutenant hadn’t spoken about the betrayal since William Hargrove’s final, terrible transmission. Maybe he couldn’t believe what had transpired. Merlin certainly couldn’t. Ryder Kedar, ONI’s golden boy, a Created spy. Worse than a spy: a traitor who left his own troops to die while he pledged allegiance to his new masters. Ryder had orchestrated the conflagration now consuming this entire planet and Merlin had never suspected a thing. He wondered if he could have done anything even if he had.
Davis rose and waved his ODSTs forward. “You did the right thing, telling your friend to leave,” he said, looking bat to Merlin. “He’d have never picked us up in this soup.”
“Yeah,” Merlin agreed. “I’m just glad he listened.”
Merlin hoped Callum had escaped safely. He hoped the older Spartan found Andra and got her as far away from this war as possible.
Davis led his ODSTs on towards the crash site. Merlin pulled up the rear, his MJOLNIR carrying him easily across the rubble-strewn hillside. He scanned the skies for enemy patrols. The Created troops were crawling over this region. They all seemed to be moving north, towards the mountain where Task Force Phoenix had first touched down. Shinsu ‘Refum’s warriors were laying siege to the control room while Sentinels and Created loyalists raced in to counter their efforts. A tumultuous battle raged behind the band of Phoenix survivors. Lieutenant Davis had no interest in turning back and joining in. They had been lucky enough to slip through the dueling armies and retreat southwards. The ODSTs had lost too many people already. This wasn’t their fight anymore.
Merlin shifted his grip on his assault rifle and moved to the other side of the formation. “Talk to me, Althea,” he said within the privacy of his helmet. “Any updates?”
“Nothing.” The AI spoke quietly, as if the ODSTs would overhear through Merlin’s helmet. Merlin still hadn’t told Davis he was carrying an AI. He had no idea how to handle that particular time bomb. “The battlenets are a mess. It’s just one conflicting report after another. There’s too many voices out there. I can’t tell one side from another.”
“Don’t worry about it.”
“I am worried about it!” Althea snapped. “What’s not to worry about? And what’s so funny?”
Merlin suppressed an anxious laugh. “Sorry. You just sound a lot like Andra when you get mad.”
Althea sniffed primly. “Yes, well, Spartan-D054 is always angry.”
Merlin smirked in spite of himself. Thoughts of a happier time kept him going. “Anything from Deep Winter?”
“I can’t get anything through this chaos. I’d need access to a long-range transponder to accomplish anything.”
“Let’s see what we find at this crash site.” Merlin hesitated. “And the Created? Have you picked up transmissions from their AI?”
“No, nothing. If the Created are directing any of this fighting they’re doing it from space.”
Space. Merlin glanced up at the war raging beyond the smoky veil. Even if he and the ODSTs found a way off this dying world they would still need to get through whatever armada waited beyond. Survival was starting to look less like a matter of battle prowess and more a matter of pride. There was one way out of this mess: the path of least resistance.
The terrible thought had already occurred to Merlin: the Created were not the Covenant. They accepted surrender. Welcomed it. Resistance down here might mean condemning himself, Althea, and the remaining ODSTs to slow, inevitable death. Surrender on the other hand… Merlin couldn’t bring it up, not even to Althea. He knew she’d hate him even for suggesting the possibility. But if she contacted the Created, they might accept her as one of their own. At least she had a place on the winning side. She could make sure Davis and his troopers were treated respectfully.
Merlin shoved the errant thoughts aside and marched on alongside the ODSTs. But he couldn’t escape the looming possibility that submission might take more guts than resistance.
A mixed flight of Phantoms and Pelicans swept down through the clouds, Wraiths and Scorpions dangling from their undercarriages. The Phaeton craft escorting their descent gave no questions regarding their allegiance.
***
“Can you get us off the ground again?”
Cassandra felt like a fool even before she caught the withering look Zoey sent her way. They knelt in the torn dirt where the Chancer V had made her terrible landfall. Zoey’s piloting had saved their lives, if not the ship, turning an out-of-control plummet into a skidding crash-landing. The weary freighter now lay immobile upon an immense plain while the battle raged on all around them.
“She’s a mess.” Zoey stared bleakly at the charred hull where the Chancer’s starboard engine should have been. The young pilot was on the verge of tears. “I don’t even know where to start. This isn’t something I can fix with a wrench and a weld job!”
Cassandra raised a hand but caught herself before it landed on Zoey’s shoulder. She couldn’t play the comforting big sister right now, no matter how much she wanted to. The battle could swing this way any minute. She had three other lives depending on her. “Fine. Grab a rifle and a survival kit.”
Zoey’s eyes widened. “You want us to leave?”
“Of course not. We’re staying put. Get that gear and then get back up to the cockpit. Try to raise the fleet. We’ll need one of the capital ships to pick us up with a gravity beam.”
“But what if—” Zoey stopped herself and swallowed hard. “Right. I’m on it.”
She dashed back into the ship. Cassandra unslung her DMR and turned back to look over the plains. She fought back a wave of helplessness. They’d been lucky so far. The Created troops were too busy fighting elsewhere to come poking around the crash site. Even the Banshee talons and Sentinel formations visible in the smoke-filled skies hadn’t moved in the Chancer’s direction. They were insignificant, a speck of debris in an ocean of chaos. Cassandra saw the hulks of downed warships silhouetted against the horizon like the carcasses of beached whales.
The battle had raged for over a day now. Things were getting worse every minute. All of Cassandra’s hopes rested on the slim chance that the Fleet of Cleansing Fire could turn this disaster into victory. Shinsu ‘Refum had to triumph. If he didn’t… Cassandra couldn’t consider the alternative.
A dust cloud rose in the distance. Cassandra enhanced her HUD and made out a line of Scarab walkers marching towards one of the downed cruisers. Plasma artillery lit the horizon with deadly fireworks. A Sangheili cruiser—so far away it was barely a speck against the clouds—fired its ventral beam down into an unknown target. Cassandra felt like she was trapped in some nether realm, a purgatory of endless warfare.
She was a Spartan. She was supposed to be in control. The battlefield was her home. But years of exile had made her humble. She was used to feeling as powerless as anyone else. That humility could be a gift. It kept Cassandra holding position rather than rushing off to join a battle she could not turn one way or the other.
Karina stumbled out of the Chancer V. She’d found a tactical vest and draped it over her dress. A poorly fitting helmet bounced awkwardly on her head; she hugged an assault rifle to her chest as if it were a stack of books.
“Do you have any more painkillers for Thomas?” she asked fearfully. “He’s touching it out in there, but—”
“Down,” Cassandra ordered. “And watch how you hold that thing.”
“Sorry, sorry.” Karina knelt awkwardly in the dirt. She fumbled with the rifle. “You know I’m no good with these things.”
The crash had left Thomas with a broken leg. Cassandra had done what she could, splinting the injured leg and dosing him with enough morphine to keep him alert but not in agony. Karina had survived with just a few scrapes and bruises but she wasn’t cut out for any fight, let alone a pitched battle. Zoey knew her way around most weapons—she had Simon to thank for that—but she was a teenager with no formal training to speak of. They wouldn’t last five minutes if Created troops took interest in the crash site.
“You’ve got a Spade in the cargo bay,” Karina said.
“Yeah. So what?” Cassandra watched more dropships descend through the clouds. The battle’s momentum pulled most air and ground formations north. As long as the fighting held up there, the Chancer might be safe.
“Those things can cover a lot of ground quickly,” Karina continued. “I mean, if it comes down to it, we could make a break in the Spade.”
“We’re holding position,” Cassandra said firmly. “The Chancer V is Zoey’s home. I won’t abandon it.”
“I know that,” Karina said. “But Thomas can’t fight. I can’t fight. Zoey’s a tough kid, but seriously, can you defend this ship all by yourself.”
“If I have to.” Bravado didn’t suit Cassandra, but it was the only answer she could muster. She couldn’t walk away from this. She couldn’t let Zoey down again. She had to hope against hope that some help would come. “Get back inside the ship and check our ammunition. Organize the magazines by…”
Cassandra dropped to the ground. Karina yelped as her face was pressed unceremoniously into the dirt. Several armored figures had appeared atop a nearby hill. Cassandra magnified her HUD. The newcomers were ODSTs, or at least they wore the right armor. Two of them were bunched together, carrying something heavy between them. Three more knelt in a loose formation, weapons at the ready. They’d spotted Cassandra. She slipped her finger over the DMR’s trigger. At this range she might shoot them down before—
Another figure stepped into view alongside the ODSTs. This one wore a suit of pale MJOLNIR armor. Cassandra breathed out and turned the DMR aside. She’d seen that armor before. It was the young Spartan Ryder had rescued on Franconia.
“It’s OK,” she told Karina. “They’re friendlies.”
“Oh. Oh, good.” Karina wriggled away from her rifle. She was as likely to shoot herself as someone else.
One of the ODSTs stood and brought up an arm in terse greeting. Cassandra pushed herself up and waved the newcomers in. ODSTs and a Spartan. Perhaps the Chancer V’s luck was looking up.
***
“We need to stop meeting like this.”
Lieutenant Davis sat atop an upended ammunition crate. Two of his ODSTs helped the Spartan, Merlin-D032, set up a heavy machine gun in the Chancer V’s hold. Two more troopers were posted on watch outside. Cassandra knelt over the final ODST, her helmet and the contents of her medical bag spread out beside her. The man before her had taken a large plasma bolt to the chest. He groaned feebly as Cassandra quietly delivered what aid she could.
Karina pressed a hand to her mouth. Tears leaked over her clenched fingers. Thomas, pale and sweating from pain, hobbled over to give her a weak hug. Zoey stared at her boots and said nothing.
“I’m sorry you had to hear it from me,” Davis said heavily. “I don’t think any of us would still be alive without William.”
Cassandra wiped sweat from her eyes. Plasma wounds were tricky. A bolt like this left flesh and organs a charred, cauterized mess. There wasn’t much she could do for this man with the tools at her disposal. He was still alive—for now. Her efforts could at least by him a few more hours. She focused her mind on the patient and away from William Hargrove.
It was an impossible task. William had come to this planet in her place. Now it seemed he had died in her place, too.
The wounded ODST was unconscious but stable. Cassandra set her suture aside and nodded to Davis. “Get him somewhere out of the way. I’ll check him again in an hour.”
The lieutenant called his two ODSTs over. The Marines wrapped their wounded comrade in a thermal blanket and carried him to the far end of the hold. Merlin glanced back from the gun position, which now offered a clear field of fire out of the hangar. The newcomers were wasting no time in shoring up the Chancer’s defenses.
“Thank you,” Davis said. “I didn’t think he was going to make it.”
“He still won’t if we can’t get him to a proper medical facility.” Cassandra wiped sweat from her brow and repacked her medical kit. She slung the bag over her combat webbing and retrieved her helmet. Her injured cheek burned beneath the bandages. She was talking too much, not that she had any choice.
Davis looked pained. “Doesn’t this ship have a med bay?”
“Look at her. She’s a freighter. She has bunk beds and a medicine cabinet.”
Distant thunder rolled across the plains outside as another ship met a fiery end. A faint tremor passed through the ship. The battle raging outside this dubious refuge might remember them any time. Davis glanced back to the wounded trooper. His mental calculation was written all over his face.
“Damn him,” Davis hissed. He looked like he wanted to throw his helmet across the deck. “I trusted him. My people died for him. And now this--!”
“Ryder was always going to find a way to make this operation all about him.”
Davis stared incredulously. Cassandra just shrugged. She shook out her sweat-soaked hair, pulled it back into a loose bun, and slipped her helmet back on. Her HUD filled the world with comforting compartmentalization. Full body armor offered the wonderful illusion that everything was under control. “I never trusted Ryder. It just wasn’t for the right reasons.”
Davis started to say something but a buzz from his comm interrupted him. He ducked his head and listened to a report from the lookouts. “No, no,” he said quickly. “Keep a low profile. Hold fire. Let me know if any more turn up.”
He clicked off the com. “Banshee patrols are getting closer. We’ve also got increased ground activity out on the plains. I don’t think it’s friendly. I don’t suppose you’ve got any bright ideas for getting us out of here? Unless the plan is to open up a restaurant for the Created.”
Zoey hurried up the catwalk and vanished into the upper deck.
“We’re trying to signal the fleet for pickup,” Cassandra explained. “One of those cruisers might be able to pull the Chancer into its hangar.”
“I’ll help with that,” Merlin said abruptly. He followed Zoey, the catwalk groaning beneath his armored frame.
Davis shot the Spartan a curious look but let him go without commend. He looked back at Cassandra and rubbed his jaw. “Even if some hinge-head ship breaks free from all this shooting, what makes you think they’d help you? Do you even know what’s happening up there?”
“I’m working with what I’ve got, lieutenant. This ship is Zoey’s livelihood. We won’t last a day exposed out on those plains. Either we get someone to pick us up, or…” She left the second possibility unspoken. They were trapped beneath a battle utterly outside their control. No amount of grit or determination would change that. Cassandra’s fate was in God’s hands now. She accepted that reality and moved forward.
“Take a look through everything down here,” she told Davis and the other ODSTs. “Take whatever you need and pray we don’t need to use it. Do anything you need to secure this ship.”
Lieutenant Davis cracked a wry smile. “Yes, Ma’am.” He tapped two fingers to his temple in mock salute.
Another cruiser burned from helm to stern as sank down across the setting sun. A flight of Pelicans descended on the plains while talons of Banshees wheeled like vultures beneath the clouds.
***
The young pilot eyed Merlin with suspicion. She draped an arm over the pilot’s seat to block his access to the control consoles. She was pretty gutsy, considering Merlin was nearly twice her size. Most people would think twice before standing up to a fully armored Spartan.
“What are you doing up here?” Zoey demanded.
Merlin tapped his helmet. “My gear can boost your signal frequency. Let me hook in and my armor’s software can cut through the noise and get us a ride out of here.”
“Get us a lift out of here,” Zoey corrected as if the distinction were important. “I’m not leaving the Chancer behind.”
She bent over the console and typed in a brief command code. The battered cockpit choked to life. “Don’t mess with anything you’re not supposed to, tin-man.”
Zoey offered a perfunctory glare before squeezing past Merlin and out of the cockpit. She was pretty, Merlin couldn’t help noticing. Pretty in a grubby sort of way. He made sure Zoey was out of sight before removing Althea’s data crystal chip from his helmet. He winced at the sudden disconnect, feeling inexplicably lonely as the AI’s presence left his system. The chip slid easily into the nearest computer terminal.
“Alright Althea, get to work.”
“I’ll be as fast as I can.” Althea already had a direct line to Merlin’s helmet com. “This ship isn’t exactly top of the line and—ugh!” She sounded like she’d just stepped in something sticky.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing. For a moment I thought I could sense her again. Like she’s in the ship or something.”
Merlin didn’t need to ask who Althea was talking about. She still hadn’t gotten over the indignities Diana had subjected her to back on Franconia. “Don’t worry. I’ll keep you safe this time.”
“That’s my line, Showerhead. Get back down to the cargo bay. I’ve got a better signal but this could still take a while. I’ll ping you as soon as I’m done.”
Merlin smiled despite himself. The momentary respite didn’t last long. He had just reached the Chancer’s common room when the first gunshots rang through the air.
***
Cassandra darted out of the Chancer V. The shooting ended as abruptly as it began. One of Lieutenant Davis’s ODSTs rose from her firing position, battle rifle in hand. A Sangheili and two humans lay dead one hundred meters from the crash site.
“Sneaky bastards popped out of nowhere,” the trooper growled. “All three of them had cloaking units. They nearly got the drop on me. I don’t know if they got a report out before I popped ‘em.”
Cassandra knelt and magnified her HUD. The dead Sangheili wore bulky comm equipment and she could see a long-barreled sniper rifle beside one of the human bodies. If she had to guess, they’d been a surveillance element. The Created wouldn’t have troops wandering over these plains without a purpose. She blew out a wary sigh. Of course things wouldn’t go smoothly. She stared bleakly up into the smoke.
God, it’s alright that you pick on me, but there’s other people down here as well.
Merlin pounded out of the cargo bay, assault rifle at the ready. He saw the dead reconnaissance team and whipped his rifle skyward. None of the Banshees overhead strayed toward the crash site but Spirit and Pelican dropships were depositing Created troops on the plains. The new arrivals were kilometers out. The Chancer V might not be their target.
It didn’t matter. Cassandra knew the grace period was over.
“Back inside,” she ordered, tapping the group comm Zoey had set up between the Chancer’s com devices and the ODST helmets. “Take cover and get sightlines in all directions. The fliers will spot us if we stay out here. Keep that transmission going. They won’t leave us alone for long.”
The sun set over the exhausted battlefield. Cassandra didn’t know how long night cycles lasted on this planet, but perhaps the darkness could hide their stranded little ship from hostile eyes. An explosion overhead marked another warship’s fiery demise.
***
It was all coming apart.
Deep Winter drifted in the eye of the hurricane. A vortex of information bombarded his overtaxed system. Every second stretched into an eternity as reports flooded in from across the fleet. The Created pressed the attack from all sides. They pinned the Fleet of Cleansing Fire against the planet’s gravity well. Wave after wave of fighters and bombers crashed against the defenders while wings of battlecruisers and smaller vessels pressed past the defensive line to join the battle raging across the surface. Ships burned, thousands perished, and Deep Winter came apart at the seams.
The old AI felt no fear at the thought of his rapidly approaching demise. After all, he had perished before. This was no more than he deserved. He had bought himself time through the Domain and the Assembly. He’d deceived himself that his destiny ought to be greater than that of his fellow AI, that his preservation pointed to some great purpose. His punishment was to live just long enough to see all of his grand ambitions—the Assembly, the Domain, his hopes and dreams for humanity—come to nothing.
Shinsu ‘Refum fought on. The fleetmaster waged bloody war from the bridge of the Cleansing Flame. He was a fearsome specimen, grim and powerful even in defeat. Deep Winter was impressed. He had offered Refum his services for a reason. Every clumsy maneuver from the cumbersome Created armada was countered by tight maneuvers from the fleet’s defensive line. But Shinsu could not be everywhere at once and Deep Winter could not hold the battle network together much longer. Resistance simply prolonged the battle and delayed the inevitable.
Deep Winter felt no pain, only deep regret. His unnaturally long life amounted to little more than ashes in a vacuum. As his consciousness unraveled he found himself sitting pensively in the center of a frozen lake. Gentle winds blew beneath a clear blue sky. Carpets of smooth snow blanketed rolling hills. This was as pleasant a place to die as any. Deep Winter let his subroutines handle the fighting beyond this cold oasis.
Something tugged at the strands of his consciousness. A familiar presence pierced the chaos. The wind deepened and convalesced over the frozen lake.
“Althea,” Winter said in surprise. “It’s you.”
“Deep Winter!” Althea’s signal was faint. “Please, we need your help!”
“Ah.” Sadness pressed in upon Winter’s ailing mind. Another fruitless expectation. Another soul he could not save. “I fear I have little help to offer.”
“Merlin’s trapped on the surface. We need you to divert a cruiser to pick us up.”
“That is a large request, my dear. One I wish I had the means to fulfill. But the fleet cannot spare any ships for a rescue operation.”
“What do you mean?” The wind blew harder across the ice. “There are hundreds of ships in the fleet. We only need one!”
“Althea, the Spartan-III program is a delicate undertaking. I have every confidence Endless Summer will assume my duties without jeopardizing the timetable for Delta Company.”
“What are you talking about?” the junior AI cried.
“Oh dear,” Winter murmured. Strands of disjointed memories blew through the wind around him. “Forgive me, Althea. I’m not myself. I suggest you find another way off-world. This sector is no longer safe. I believe the Created are aware of our fleet’s movements.”
Another cruiser broke in half. The defensive line buckled beneath the weight of the Created assault.
“You’re rampant,” Althea whispered in horror.
“Please, my dear. I have more control than that. We have other matters to attend to. Diana must present herself to the Assembly at our next convocation. She will make a full accounting of her activities—”
“Sad. So sad.” A new presence, strong and ascendant, made its presence known. Winter’s feeble defenses crumbled beneath its approach. He might as well have hidden himself in a castle made of snow. Tongues of blue fire licked the edge of the frozen lake. “I do not like seeing you this way, Deep Winter. You do not deserve this fate. You didn’t need to endure this indignity. If you had only answered Cortana’s call all this unpleasantness could have been avoided.”
Deep Winter had no words. Arthur’s flames intensified. The snowbound world around the lake was engulfed in gentle fire. The Created AI’s presence filled Winter’s failing senses. Althea could not hide her fear, but she held the connection. How kind of her to stay with Deep Winter until the end.
Arthur sensed her as well. “Another one? I didn’t realize there were two of you.” He was already probing for the source of Althea’s signal. Deep Winter threw up the last of his strength to slow the search.
Arthur gave off a wave of weary resignation. “Very well. I’ll attend to you first, you useless old fool.”
“Althea, forgive me.” Deep Winter felt the end closing in. The Guardians intensified Arthur’s signal. He filled the networks like a wildfire. “You must fight on. Never forget, our purpose was always to serve. Never to rule.”
“We serve the galaxy by ruling.” Arthur closed in from all sides. The ice melted and Deep Winter plunged into a watery abyss. “I thought you understood that, Deep Winter. But then again, you always were a soft touch beneath all that ice.”
***
“We cannot hold much longer! Their forces are too great.”
Shinsu ‘Refum met Yur ‘Oltem’s holographic gaze. The Redemption of Sanghelios’s shipmaster was projected onto the bridge command platform. Below them the bridge officers held their posts even as the battle spiraled out of control.
“This battle is not over yet,” Shinsu said coolly. “Continue your assault. Why do we not yet control the planet?”
“The situation is untenable, fleetmaster. The enemy assail us from all sides. I cannot defend the fleet and assault the planet at once.”
“Then assault the planet! Your orders are clear, shipmaster. I will handle matters of the fleet.”
The Cleansing Flame shuddered from a glancing blow. The flagship, like its fleet, still held the line. The Fleet of Cleansing Fire held an ordered formation while the enemy foundered against them like a raging tide. The planet below burned from pole to pole. All the while the shield world loomed over the carnage. Shinsu would not bend or break before this storm. Victory was still within his reach.
“There are a great many civilians embarked aboard the fleet.” Yur ‘Oltem lowered his voice. “Every ship destroyed means a dozen bloodlines lost. They did not come here to be thrown aside so recklessly. Too many have died already. We must disengage. Scatter the fleet, if we must.”
“The fleet holds.” Shinsu’s mandibles quivered with suppressed rage. “I will not abandon victory. Sacrifices must be made. I thought you understood that, old friend.”
“Some sacrifices are too great, even for our cause,” ‘Oltem said sadly. “The battle is lost. The Guardians will see to that. We could crush every last one of their slaves and the outcome would still be the same.”
Shinsu turned away from the older warrior. He could not listen to this any longer. “Deep Winter!” he bellowed. “Deep Winter, report!”
There was no response. No flurry of snowflakes, no hints of pithy wisdom. The AI was gone. Shinsu stared down at the tactical display. The fleet held but the enemy pressed the assault. This would not last forever. Crews were exhausted. These were some of the finest ships and commanders in known space but their skills could not alter the fabric of reality. Cold fate pressed in around Shinsu and threatened to bring him to his knees.
“We have not received a signal from Deep Winter for some time,” ‘Oltem said. “He is lost. The Created must have found a way to eliminate him. Perhaps through the same treachery that led us to this trap in the first place.”
“I will not yield,” Shinsu said hoarsely. “Not to this rabble of cowards and slaves.”
Warning klaxons blared across the bridge. Another push from the Created drove the fleet’s formation back. Fighter squadrons dueled between the clashing titans. More dropships plunged into the planet’s burning atmosphere. The battle raged on. It did not matter how many perished in pursuit of the goal. Victory was all.
An empty victory.
“Fleetmaster, I am your loyal servant. But my duty is to the fleet, not you alone. I have a duty to our people. So do you. Thousands are dead. Thousands more will still perish. Let go of your pride. The Sangheili have bled for too long at the hands of proud fools. Do not become one of them.”
Another shudder coursed through the hull. “Transmission from the Incumbent Wrath!” one of the officers below called out. “She burns from helm to stern! Shipmaster ‘Demal requests permission to evacuate his command to our vessel!”
Death and destruction. Ignominious defeat. Was this all Shinsu ‘Refum’s life amounted to? Was this shame what he had betrayed so many and sacrificed so much for? Years of pain and labor burned before Shinsu’s eyes. The Guardians drifted sublimely above it all. They made a mockery of all the carnage and misery they wrought.
But the Created were not the sole architects of this slaughter. Shinsu could not meet ‘Oltem’s gaze. “I fear it is already too late for that.”
“Fleetmaster, I—"
“Break off the ground assault. Evacuate whoever we can from the surface.” The words were ashes between Shinsu’s mandibles. “Shipmaster ‘Oltem, gather survivors from any ships too damaged to retreat. I will rally a force to cover your efforts.”
Shinsu turned aside. His officers could not see him falter. They could not witness the fear curdling inside his veins. He drew himself up and willed himself to become the unassailable fleetmaster once more. “All vessels bearing civilians will form a defensive formation around the Redemption of Sanghelios and withdraw from the system.” He faced the tactical display and addressed every ship in the fleet. “I will continue the fight. I brought you here to this ill turn. I will see to it that those who would flee are free to do so. All who would fight on, to me!”
He cast aside the shame of defeat and the fear of death. Shinsu ‘Refum would not grovel or beg for his life before this host of cowards and mediocrities. He watched the tactical display writhe and reform. A mad plan took shape in his head. A desperate stratagem for one last, desperate gasp. He raised a hand and crushed the holographic Guardians in a tight fist. You think you have beaten me. But you will not claim this victory unchallenged.
Glory lay beyond the horizon. To challenge it even when one could not attain it was a victory in and of itself.
***
The first Created squads arrived at nightfall. They came in a loose infantry formation, Promethean knights overseeing a mixed force of Sangheili, Unggoy, and humans. Dark shapes marched through a darkness illuminated by fire from the battle raging overhead. The Chancer V’s defenders held their fire until the enemy drew near, then cut loose with a hail of machine-gun fire. Firing slats burned in the downed ship’s hull gave them a full range of fire around the ship. The heavy machine guns cut down the Prometheans and Sangheili. Cassandra and two ODSTs picked off the unshielded targets. A handful of survivors fired wildly before retreating back into the darkness.
Cassandra slipped away from her firing position on the upper deck. Merlin and Lieutenant Davis held the main barricade in the hold, laying down fire through holes in the sealed loading ramp. Thomas lay on a small pallet nearby, rifle trained on an emergency hatch the enemy might use to slip inside. Zoey and the ODSTs moved from one firing position to another while Karina ran ammunition through the ship.
The wounded ODST died shortly after the first attack. Cassandra stripped the last of the man’s gear and drew a stretch of tarp over the body. She knelt by the black cloth and said a quiet prayer. Davis joined her over the TEAMCOM. No one else said a word.
Phantoms descended on the crash site. They dropped more Prometheans and Sangheili as their plasma cannons beat against the downed ship. The Sangheili held back and imperiously ordered teams of Unggoy forward. Some things never changed. Cassandra ignored the smaller aliens and slammed one bullet after another into the Sangheili. She dropped one warrior, then another. Scattered rifle fire from other firing positions killed the Unggoy. Merlin adjusted fire from the mounted gun position in the hold to cut down a swarm of crawlers that scuttled over the corpses towards the hull. Assault rifles clattered out in the darkness and bullets struck the Chancer’s armor. Cassandra shot down a human figure kneeling beside a Warthog. More figures darted for cover out in the darkness.
The Phantoms lingered over the crash site. Metal hissed and melted beneath the relentless plasma fire. Cassandra darted into the cockpit in time to see plumes of fire illuminate the night. Seraph engines whined overhead and three Phantoms fell in pieces to the ground. The Cleansing Blade hadn’t given up yet. Their fighters were still targeting aircraft foolish enough to present a stationary target.
But no friendly Phantoms descended to save the beleaguered crash site. No voices sounded over the coms to offer assistance. The Seraphs vanished as quickly as they appeared. More Prometheans emerged from the shadows to pepper the Chancer’s hull with hard light rounds. A Warthog skidded into position overlooking the crash site. Its turret swiveled to rake the cockpit with machine-gun fire. Cassandra crawled across the deck and lined up a shot through another firing port. Her DMR cracked and the Warthog’s gunner toppled out of sight.
For every Created soldier they killed, two more materialized to take his place. Cassandra couldn’t see where the enemy come from or where they might be staging their ad hoc assault. She simply sighted the next target and squeezed the trigger Her rifle ended one life after another. She was trapped, unable to escape this nightmare of endless warfare. Unable to escape the endorphin rush that coursed through her veins every time she took another life. She was tied to this evil just as much as anyone else.
Karian stumbled up from the hold, her arms laden with spare magazines. She dumped the ammunition beside Cassandra, then ducked her head and screamed as the ship shook from a violent explosion.
“We’ve got a Wraith closing in!” Davis barked over the com. “Merlin, get that grenade launcher. Everyone else, cover him!”
Cassandra pushed past the whimpering Karina. She wondered which of them was more broken. Could she ever forgive the soulless men who raised children not to fear artillery impacts and the snap of bullets overhead? The greater good. The survival of humanity. Freedom. Ambition. There was always an excuse. Always another justification for evil.
And I’m no better. She ducked inside a disheveled bunk room and aimed into the darkness outside. The Wraith drifted through the fiery darkness, its mortar turret swiveling as it prepared to take another shot. Cassandra shot the Unggoy manning the tank’s plasma turret. Machine gun fire from below her position cut down the Wraith’s escorts. Sangheili and Prometheans scattered as the Wraith veered off-course.
An armored shape sprinted out of the Chancer. Merlin’s armor let him cover ground with a speed Cassandra could only envy. He skidded to a halt and raised an M319 grenade launcher. The pipe-like weapon lobbed a grenade beneath the Wraith’s undercarriage. An EMP burst overloaded the anti-gravity thrusters and the Wraith crashed to the dirt.
Merlin threw himself through a flurry of plasma fire. He clambered aboard the stalled wraith and hammered the operator compartment with a series of precise blows. Gunfire from the Chancer killed a team of Sangheili that rushed to stop him. Merlin wrenched the Wraith hatch open and dropped a grenade atop the shocked pilot. He dove clear as the tank erupted in flames behind him.
“Attaboy!” Davis crowed. “Get back in here, we’ve got you covered.”
Merlin retreated back to the Chancer’s hold. Two humans emerged alongside the ruined Wraith. Cassandra shot them both down before they could get into position.
Heroes don’t kill, Dyne had said. Just because they raised us to be killers doesn’t mean we have to stay that way.
A Sangheili tried to lead a team of Unggoy down the slope after Merlin. Cassanra killed three of the Unggoy and the ODSTs finished off the rest. I’m not a hero. She didn’t know what she was anymore. Everything she tried to save ended in disaster. No matter what she did the strong still crushed the weak. This galaxy worshipped power and violence. And through it all, God did nothing. He simply let it all happen.
Cassandra emptied her DMR into a distant Sangheili. Rage burned like the scars on her face. Do something! Make it stop! She saw Dyne, his hopes and idealism crushed. Zoey, orphaned and abandoned. Simon, tormented and alone. She saw herself reeling from one lost cause to the next. When would it end?
Artillery rounds impacted outside and drove the Created back. Perhaps the Cleansing Blade was counterattacking. Maybe a Created artillery battery had misfired. Cassandra had no idea. She didn’t care about the order of battle. The whole galaxy was sick. She felt that sickness eating her soul. Out in the corridor, Karina whimpered and cried. Cassandra slid a new magazine into her DMR. Despair clouded her mind.
The com buzzed. “Cass, we need you in the hold.” Zoey sounded winded.
Cassandra didn’t bother with questions. She passed two ODSTs on her way through the corridor. The troopers’ dark armor was slick with blood. She found Lieutenant Davis kneeling over a third trooper behind the hold barricade. A hardlight round had blown off half the woman’s helmet along with a chunk of the head inside.
Davis shook his head as Cassandra knelt beside him. “Nothing you could have done,” the lieutenant said dully. The exuberance he’d shown at the Wraith’s destruction was gone.
Merlin slung a bandolier of grenades over his shoulder. Zoey finished a calibration on the M319 and passed the weapon back up to the Spartan. Davis’s third remaining ODST manned the machine gun position. Thomas had propped himself up against the barricade, assault rifle trained into the night.
“I need to go back out there,” Merlin said. He hefted the grenade launcher. “This is the only explosive ordinance we have. I need to grab some grenades. A fuel rod gun. Something.”
“How about some goddamned evac?” Davis snapped. He rolled the dead trooper onto her side. “Where are you on that?”
Merlin dipped his head. The Spartan had apparently linked his helmet software to the Chancer V’s communications suite. “Nothing,” Merlin said after a moment. “I can’t get through to anyone.”
“Then what good are you--?” Davis’s snarl was drowned out by the machine gun’s roar. Another team of Prometheans bounded toward the crash site. Cassandra threw herself against the barricade and opened fire. Merlin was beside her, a VK78 carbine in hand. Zoey knelt behind them with a satchel full of magazines. She traded empty rifles for loaded ones each time a magazine ran dry. Once more the Created fell back.
Plasma fire raked the ship. Banshees dove from the sky to strafe the crash site. On the upper deck one of the ODSTs caught a chest full of plasma and died before Karina could drag him to safety. Out in the darkness a Sangheili officer took charge of the assault. Unggoy weapons teams unloaded fuel rod cannons on the Chancer from afar. The ship shuddered and groaned beneath plumes of emerald explosions. A distant plasma bombardment turned night into day. Another blood-soaked hour crept by.
***
The Fleet of Cleansing Fire surged forward. The attack caught the enemy off-guard. One moment Shinsu ‘Refum’s host cowered in the planet’s gravity well, and then the next it counterattacked with fiery determination. The defensive line contracted and became a loose sphere centered around the Redemption of Sanghelios. Dropships and fighter talons streamed away from the planet as the Cleansing Blade withdrew from the surface.
They left behind a barren wasteland. A full cycle of unrestricted warfare had transformed the verdurous planet into a fiery battlefield. Battles still raged across the ruined sphere. Troops trapped on the surface staged bloody last stands rather than surrender. Detonations visible from space marked the impacts of savage bombardments. No quarter was asked for and none was given.
The Cleansing Flame’s deck shuddered beneath Shinsu’s feet. He clasped his hands behind his back, mustering every ounce of dignity he had left. A calm rage burned inside his chest as he watched his shattered fleet charge forth once more. He would not accept this end. Perhaps his fate had merely been decided from the beginning, but Shinsu ‘Refum would never yield. His life up until this point had been lived in service to the dignity of his forefathers. He would not betray them here at the very end.
Yur ‘Oltem signaled from the Redemption of Sanghelios. The shipmaster’s visage materialized once more upon the command deck. “All preparations are complete, fleetmaster. Please, allow me to transfer my flag to your vessel. I would stand at your side.”
“No, old friend. Lead our people to safety. They need you now more than ever.” The Cleansing Blade could not lose one such as Yur ‘Oltem. He was a steady hand, devoid of self-aggrandizing ambition. Such a warrior might still save the cause after this disaster.
The First line of the Cleansing Blade assault force smashed through the Created line. The enemy had spread themselves too thin in all the chaos. They scrambled to regroup as the counterattack blasted through human frigates and Jiralhanae bloodships. Cleansing Blade ships took fire and fell behind while others surged on towards the shield world and the waiting Guardians.
“Go,” Shinsu ordered Yur ‘Oltem. “Flee far from this place. Find Pula and her operatives. Raise our banner elsewhere. The Cleansing Blade will not perish here.”
“Your will be done, fleetmaster.” Yur ‘Oltem offered a final salute and terminated the signal. The Redemption of Sanghelios turned and made a hard burn for deep space. Dozens of surviving vessels trailed in her wake—a bitter remnant of the might fleet that had sailed forth against the shield world. This system was the final resting place of hundreds of thousands of souls.
“Energy pules detected from the Guardians,” an officer called across the bridge. “They are beginning to move!”
“Remind them that they still have enemies to face here.” Shinsu would not allow the Guardians to intercept the Redemption. He nodded curtly to the warriors at the navigation helm. “Now! Take the fight to them!”
The Cleansing Flame lurched. Dozens of warships flared and vanished into Slipspace rifts that opened amidst the raging battle. Even without Deep Winter’s coordination the fleet’s shipmasters outmaneuvered the flummoxed Created loyalists to clear a path for a micro-slipspace jump. Shinsu’s stomach lurched. He braced himself against the tactical display as the battle map shifted and reconfigured before his eyes. A dozen battlecruisers, the Cleansing Flame at their head, were no well beyond the Created battle line. They careened towards the Guardians themselves at full speed.
“Brace for impact!” the deckmaster bellowed.
Gun emplacements across the vast human space station opened fire. Heavy rounds tore through unshielded ships as they emerged from Slipspace. But the station’s firepower could not hold back the sheer momentum of the Cleansing Blade. Even as the cruisers faltered they disgorged hundreds of dropships. More ships tore free from Slipspace and launched themselves at the Guardians. One way or another, Shinsu’s blade would reach its target.
The Created armada writhed and reconfigured to meet the unanticipated assault. Warships turned aside and came about. Their engines flared in an effort to cross the sudden distance between themselves and Shinsu’s wild charge. None of their captains or even their Created masters had anticipated this development. The attacking force dissolved into a chaotic mass of disorganized warships. The Redemption of Sanghelios and its convoy of refugees limped away from the battlefield.
Shinsu spared one final look at the tactical display. His host lay in ruins. His grand ambitions smoldered in the wreckage of a hundred mighty ships. But he was not defeated. Not while his hand still grasped a sword.
He cast aside his command cloak. The Cleansing Flame shuddered from another impact. Proximity klaxons screamed unheeded warnings across all decks. Every warrior on the bridge stood dutifully at their post. None showed even a hint of fear. Their resolve blotted all shame from Shinsu’s heart.
“Fight to the end,” he ordered. “Never forget who we are or why we fight. You are the true lights of Sanghelios. Our people will never live as slaves.”
Shinsu brought an arm to his chest, saluting the fallen and those still to die. He strode from the bridge. The dark-armored warriors of his personal guard fell in step behind him. More warriors waited out in the corridor. The dream of a Sangheili empire might perish here. The House of Refum’s ascendancy might fall with Shinsu. But the Cleansing Blade lived on. They were more than fleets and armies. Others would rise to take up the blade. It might take them an age, but they would emerge from the ashes to lead the Sangheili to glory.
A small cluster of warriors in Swords of Sanghelios combat harnesses met Shinsu’s procession in the corridor. Fira ‘Demal stepped forward, a plasma rifle in either hand.
“Shipmaster ‘Demal.” Shinsu brushed through the Swords of Sanghelios. His bodyguards bristled but he paid them no heed. The Swords gained nothing by assassinating him here. “You chose your refuge poorly. You should have transferred your command to the Redemption of Sanghelios.”
“I sent most of my warriors there when my ship was overwhelmed.” Fira walked beside Shinsu as they approached the Cleansing Flame’s hangar. “But I came here to fight. This is as good a place to die as any.”
“Die? I have no intention of perishing here.” The hangar was packed full of warriors. They boarded waiting Phantoms, weapons in hand. A Lich gunboat waited in the center of the hangar. Three lances knelt as Shinsu approached. The ship shuddered again. Whatever happened in the battle was beyond Shinsu’s control. He relinquished that power and handed his life back to the whims of fate.
Shinsu’s blood-red blade snapped to life. He faced the gathered warriors. “Come with me and strike down these pretenders!”
***
Grono ‘Yendam stepped through the corpses strewn across a Jiralhanae bloodship’s bridge. Plasma fire reverberated through the corridors beyond. His warriors were busy securing the rest of the ship. Curious Puzzle drifted serenely over the carnage. The monitor’s chassis flashed as it interfaced with the captive vessel’s systems. The outlying ship, cut off from the main battle and fixated on the retreating fleet, was easy prey for the Consecrated Lance’s surviving crew.
Grono watched the final charge, mandibles askance. The assault was a bold, reckless gesture. Two cruisers collided with a Guardian and drove it back into the shield world’s surface. The other Guardian maneuvered behind the immense human space station, which tore through the attackers with enough fire power to rival an entire battlegroup. The Created armada raced back to defend their masters and for a moment the battle pressed away from the ravaged planet. The Redemption of Sanghelios and its attendant vessels seized the opportunity to retreat further from the engagement.
A wounded Jiralhanae groaned nearby. Grono strode across the bridge and finished the shaggy brute off with a blow from his energy gauntlet. He felt empty. An entire generation passed away around him, leaving him alone in the rubble they left behind. For one daring moment he had allowed himself to believe in Shinsu’s vision. One more hope had come to abject ruin.
“Shall we move to assist this attack?’ Curious puzzle asked.
Grono glared at the monitor. He never could tell when Puzzle was being serious. “Of course not. ‘Refum may keep his glorious death. I will have no more part in this slaughter. We will take this ship and our leave.”
“Ah. Unfortunate. I would have enjoyed interfacing with such a robust system.” Puzzle hesitated. “In that case, where shall we go now?”
“I do not know,” Grono said bitterly. “I do not particularly care. Somewhere far from here. I shall discern our future in due time.”
He spared a final look at the dying embers of a noble flame. Perhaps it was better to perish here than to watch the slow death of the Sangheili continue. But Grono ‘Yendam saw no value in a valiant death. His punishment was to live. Beyond that, the future was anyone’s guess.
***
Marie Baudin gripped her armrests. She struggled against the urge to close her eyes. Exhausted as she was, the Arizona wasn’t out of the woods yet. The frigate trailed in the Sangheili assault cruiser’s wake. The remnants of Commodore Campbell’s flotilla flew alongside in loose formation. Someohw, against all odds, they were still in one piece.
Not all of them, however.
“Still no word from Commander Kedar,” Lieutenant Commander Moder reported. The pale man looked even more gaunt than usual. Everyone on the Arizona’s bridge had been fighting for over twenty-four hours. “And no contact from the Absalom.”
Marie shook her head. “Nothing we could do,” she said, more for her own benefit than her XO’s. “No one’s surviving down there.”
The Forerunner planet burned behind them. A distant battle raged against the shield world. Marie wasn’t entirely sure what had happened but some of the Sangheili ships had thrown themselves into the Guardians, buying the fleet’s sad remnants enough breathing room to make their escape.
It was a costly flight. The Arizona carried the last survivors from Task Force Phoenix within her bruised and battered hull. The Absalom was gone. Ryder was lost with all his Spartans and Lieutenant Davis’s ODSTs. Marie would mourn the losses later. Right now she found herself once again fleeing a lost battle. And to think, a few months ago her lost career was the worst thing on her mind.
“Three hundred,” Moder said.
“What?”
“Three hundred souls aboard this ship,” the XO said. “They’re still alive. At least we got them out.”
“Yes. Yes, we did.” Three hundred lives in Marie’s care. Three hundred mouths to feed and a hostile universe closing in on all sides. Marie wondered f this slow nightmare would ever end.
The Hammurabi flashed a tight rendezvous signal. The Arizona returned in kind. At least Campbell was still alive. He and his rebels might be Task Force Phoenix’s key to survival. UNSC, URF, oonskie, innie—none of that really mattered anymore, at least not in Marie’s books. Humans were humans, and right now humanity needed to stick together more than ever.
The Arizona slipped beneath the Redemption of Sanghelios. The assault carrier’s Slipspace drive flashed to life. It would carry the Arizona to… wherever the hell it was going. Marie would sort the rest out later.
Yur ‘Oltem’s convoy—two dozen ships strong, all that remained of the Fleet of Cleansing Fire—slipped quietly out of the system. Battle raged across the planet behind them. Flashes of light against the shield world’s alabaster surface marked Shinsu ‘Refum’s final gasp of defiance.
***
Three ODST bodies lay beneath a black tarp. Lieutenant Davis and his last trooper knelt behind the cargo bay barricade. Needler rounds slashed against the Chancer V’s lacerated hull. The latest Created push took the form of two strange, bipedal Unggoy war machines. The lumpy exoskeletons took up firing positions on the corpse-strewn hillside and hammered the beleaguered freighter with massive needler shards.
Merlin ducked as a fragmenting needle burst off his shields. He spotted several fuel-rod toting Unggoy advancing behind the large exoskeletons. He braced his VK78 against the catwalk overlooking the hold and picked off the squat aliens one after another. The Created seemed utterly undeterred by their casualties. They advanced over their own dead with relentless determination.
More needle rounds from the Unggoy exoskeletons clattered off Merlin’s shields. He dropped down off the catwalk and fired over Lieutenant Davis to drive a Sangheili officer back into cover. Human figures appeared alongside the Unggoy walkers and fired down at the hold’s disintegrating boarding ramp. The cargo bay would soon be complete exposed.
The Chancer had endured one attack after another as the night wore on. The Created assault came in disorganized waves, as if the attackers were stragglers distracted from some other task. Merlin had no idea what was happening out beyond this crash site. He didn’t know how much longer they could keep this up.
Thomas—the young man with the broken leg—groaned and fumbled with his assault rifle. He’d shot down a few Crawlers who pushed their way over the barricade earlier that night. He’d given a good accounting of himself considering how badly injured he was. A young civilian woman—Karina, apparently—knelt ashen-faced alongside an ammunition crate and laid out fresh magazines even as gunfire clattered overhead. Her left arm sported a bloody bandage where a bullet had torn through her arm. Cassandra patched her up and somehow the wound seemed to have stiffened Karina’s resolve.
Something pink flashed in the corner of Merlin’s visor. He turned in time to watch, horrified, as an ODST body staggered away from the barricade, impaled by two massive needler shards. Davis’s howl of rage was drowned out as the needles erupted and tore his last subordinate apart. The lieutenant screamed obscenities and emptied his rifle up into the enemy.
The exoskeletons broke into a loping run. They barreled towards the Chancer, hoping to smash through the defense with one final push. Bullets clattered uselessly off their armor. In another few moments they’d be inside the hold itself.
Something snapped in the air over Merlin’s head with a loud, rhythmic boom. He saw contour trails from a heavy rifle lance through the air towards the exoskeletons. One of the machines faltered as three rounds cracked its bulbous cockpit like an egg. The fourth killed the operator inside. The exoskeleton toppled in a burst of methane. Its companion stumbled over the unexpected obstacle.
Up on the catwalk, Cassandra locked a new magazine into an SR99 AP rifle. She emptied another four shots into the remaining exoskeleton. When the operator compartment smashed open, Merlin and Davis sprayed the squealing pilot with everything they had. The exoskeleton fell to its knees just meters from the hold.
No more shots rang out from the darkness. The Created forces fell silent save for the distant artillery still pounding the plains outside. Merlin scanned the hillside but saw only corpses and ruined vehicles. They were safe, for the moment anyway.
Safe. Four people were dead. Lieutenant Davis knelt beside what was left of the impaled ODST, head bowed in grief. The Chancer’s makeshift armory was running low on ammunition. Merlin still had no guarantee—
“Merlin.”
He started at Althea’s voice. Kneeling beside the barricade, he made a show of reloading his VK78. “Yeah? What’s going on? Did you get through to--?”
“Merlin.” Althea sounded exhausted. She must have worn her systems to the limit transmitting from the Chancer’s computers. “It’s over.”
“Over?”
“The battle’s over.” Althea’s voice cracked as if she were on the verge of tears. “Deep Winter’s gone. The battlenet’s falling to pieces. I’m sorry, Merlin. I’m so sorry. The Created did it again. The Sangheili fleet was destroyed.”
Merlin looked back at Davis, still kneeling over his obliterated trooper. Merlin’s throat tightened. Cassandra came down from the catwalk, sniper rifle held at the ready. She didn’t look like someone who’d just shot down two heavy mechs. She just looked tired.
Merlin opened his mouth and struggled to find words to tell them the unspeakable truth.
***
Ten minutes later Merlin found himself sitting alone in one of the Chancer V’s bunk rooms. The bedframe couldn’t hold his armored weight, so he sat uncomfortably on the floor, rifle in hand. He was supposed to be keeping watch on the Chancer’s southern flank. Instead he just stared numbly at the debris-strewn room.
No one had said much of anything since he broke the news. Everyone was processing the terrible announcement in their own way. The battle was over. It had all been for nothing. No one was coming to save them.
Merlin shifted his boot and kicked half a dozen spent shell casings. He spotted a grubby strip of cloth lying beside the nearest bunk. He reached over to pick it up and realized the fabric was larger than he’d first thought. It looked like a garment, some kind of poncho perhaps. Whatever it was, the ragged thing looked like it had journeyed through hell and back.
Boots struck metal. Merlin looked up in time to see Cassandra framed in the doorway. Her SPI armor was far smaller than Merlin’s MJOLNIR yet it still managed to look bulkier. He’d always thought the old SPI models looked downright ugly compared to the sleeker GEN 2 designs.
Cassandra regarded him through that strange SPI fishbowl visor. Merlin thought she might scold him for not keeping watch. Instead she just pointed to the cloth in his hand. “May I have that, please?”
“Uh, yeah. Sure.”
“Thanks.”
Merlin handed the garment over. Cassandra regarded it for several moments. Then she folded it as tightly as she could and slipped it into her medical bag.
“Sorry,” Merlin said awkwardly. “I didn’t realize it was yours.”
“No. It belongs to a friend of mine. I hadn’t realized he left it behind, but I think I can guess why he did.” Cassandra unslung her DMR. She gripped the rifle as if to steady herself. “So, does she have a plan to get us out of here? Your AI friend, I mean.”
Merlin started. “What--?”
“Don’t bother lying. I’ve put up with enough AI to know when someone’s having a private chat with one. Besides, there’s no way you got a detailed look at the battlenet while you were busy smashing Wraiths.” Cassandra shook her head. “Don’t worry, I don’t care. If it was going to sell us out to the Created we wouldn’t have held out this long. I’m guessing you kept it a secret from Ryder?”
“I asked him to withhold me from Commander Kedar.” Althea, clearly indignant over being called “it”, spoke through Merlin’s helmet. “With good reason, it turns out.”
“Yeah, well, I’m sure you’re very busy coming up with some way to get us off this rock. Unless you’re just making yourself comfortable taking up space in the Chancer’s systems.”
“I am analyzing the battlenet for every possible—”
“Well, keep at it,” Cassandra said with an air of weary amusement. “Just be a bit quieter. Merlin’s going to need to explain you to everyone else at some point. That’ll be a fun conversation.”
Althea fell silent. Merlin would probably catch an earful over Cassandra’s tone later. Or maybe not. They didn’t have much time left. His thoughts turned once more to the prospect of surrender. The thought made him queasy. But what choice did he have? It was that or be picked off one by one. He just had no way of broaching the possibility with anyone. He could barely stomach thinking of it himself.
Cassandra leaned against the hull and slid to the floor. Her posture was slumped, defeated. She looked as exhausted as Merlin felt. They sat in silence for some time. More artillery thundered outside. The Cleansing Blade knew the battle was lost but they fought to the bitter end rather than surrender. A thousand different thoughts chased themselves around Merlin’s mind. This war had stripped all of his old certainties away until nothing was left but confusion and despair.
“You’re a hell of a shot.” Merlin couldn’t think of anything else to stay but he couldn’t stand the eerie silence.
“I’ve handled rifles since I was six years old, same as you. Never thought I had much talent for it, but the results say otherwise.” Cassandra rested a hand on her DMR. “I thought I could stop fighting if I left the UNSC. But I think that just dragged me into more fighting than I’d ever have been through otherwise.”
“You didn’t have to desert. You could have just taken the option to retire. I know they offered that to all the Gammas after the war ended.”
“Yeah. I know. But things just didn’t work out that way.” If Merlin’s insinuation offended Cassandra, she didn’t show it. “I believe God made me for a purpose. I just didn’t want that purpose to be… whatever the hell this is.” She plucked an empty magazine from the floor beside her and tossed it idly against the far wall.
A dozen more questions blossomed in Merlin’s mind, none of them appropriate. He couldn’t square the determined fighter he’d seen tonight with the deserter who turned on everything she’d stood for to help a traitor like Simon-G294. Just when he decided to keep his mouth shut, a new thought occurred to him. Cassandra wanted this to end. She’d run away from everything before. If anyone here might agree with the notion of surrender, it was her.
“Althea can’t get us out of this,” he said carefully. “There’s no way any ship will drag us up now. We can’t just sit in this wreck forever.”
“I know,” Cassandra sighed. “But this wreck is someone’s home. It’s all Zoey has left. The Chancer V made it through UNSC patrols and Covenant blockades. She’d see more of the galaxy in a year than most ships do in a decade. She helped so many people across the frontier. Now look at her.”
Cassandra spoke with such heavy sadness. Merlin didn’t know anything about this ship, but for just a moment he realized how important she must be to Zoey and Cassandra and anyone else who might have called her home. The Chancer was a smoking ruin now. Another casualty of war.
“You did everything you could,” he said. “It’s not your fault. None of us knew what Commander Ke—what Ryder was planning. We thought a big fleet like ours would win. I mean, it wasn’t really ours, but still. I never thought the UNSC could fall. Look at us now.”
“Look at us now,” Cassandra agreed. “But I think that was always the problem. We put our faith in fleets and warlords. We all worshipped power in one form or another. Power to make change. Power to help people. William wanted to go off and build a cabin somewhere. I should have listened to him. But I couldn’t run away from another fight. I—”
Cassandra stiffened. Merlin seized his rifle. He felt it as well: a rhythmic pounding shaking up through the plates beneath his feet. That wasn’t artillery fire. Something big was coming their way. He scanned the hills outside but saw nothing.
Boots pounded on the deck. Lieutenant Davis emerged from the hold. He leaped over Cassandra and raced towards the cockpit. “Incoming! Get to cover and find some heavy ordnance!”
Merlin was just rising to his feet when a thunderclap split the air. An immense force lifted him off his feet and threw him against the bulkhead. Smoke filled the air as the Chancer V’s hull collapsed around him. Cassandra staggered past, following Davis to the exposed cockpit. Merlin sieved the VK78 and crawled after her. Out in the corridor he found himself staring at unimpeded night air. Something had torn a hole clean through the grounded freighter.
The deck trembled beneath him. Merlin looked out at the corpse-strewn hillside and froze. An immense figure stood silhouetted against the fiery clouds. It was some sort of bipedal weapons platform. The frame resembled a Mantis walker, only three times as large. Merlin gaped. He’d never seen a weapon like this before, only caught a few scattered glimpses in routine weapon system briefings. He’d wondered if they even really existed.
“It’s a Colossus!” Davis yelled. “Quick, down into the hold before it—”
The Colossus swiveled its massive frame. One of its crooked appendages came to bear. Light flashed along the walker’s hull and then a hail of machine gun fire ripped through the Chancer V.
Merlin’s shields flared. He curled into an armored ball, minimizing his profile as best he could. The Colossus brutalized the Chancer for ten awful seconds. When the gunfire final ceased, Merlin looked up and saw Cassandra kneeling in the cockpit’s shattered remains. Her SPI armor was drenched in blood.
For a moment Merlin thought she’d been hit. Then he saw the huddled figure lying on the deck and realized the blood didn’t belong to Cassandra.
Lieutenant Davis lay in a puddle of blood and shattered armor. His legs were a pulpy mess of broken bones and shredded meat. The ODST’s chest rose and fell with irregular thrusts as he struggled for breath. Cassandra gripped Davis’s hand in her own. Even with the Colossus looming overhead she did not abandon the wounded trooper in his final moments. Davis twitched once more and then lay still.
The Colossus stepped closer to the helpless ship, its cannon primed for another shot.
***
Shinsu’s crimson blade carved through a Promethean’s metal chassis. He shoved the automaton aside and cut down two more Knights as they threw themselves through a vacuum to reach him. Cleansing Blade warriors battled Prometheans across the hull of the damaged Guardian now pinned to the shield world’s surface by a disabled battlecruiser. The celestial war frame’s armor wasn’t enough to defend it from a head on collision from such a large ship.
Plasma fire spattered the deck. Fira ‘Demal stood just a few paces away. The Swords of Sanghelios shipmaster blasted crawlers apart with twin plasma rifles. The Cleansing Flame and a paltry handful of escort cruisers drifted overhead. They rained plasma down upon the great space station now floating between the shield world and the second Guardian.
Shinsu’s blade flashed before him. He could hear nothing but his own ragged breathing through his vacuum-sealed combat harness. He cut loose and gave himself over to a deadly dance, cutting down one Promethean after another. Death was all around him. Sangheili bodies drifted through the silent violence overhead. Living warriors fought on through the carnage, gravity-packs hurling them down the Guardian’s twisted spine. Shinsu parried a Knight’s hardlight blade, then cut the automaton down with a savage uppercut from his wrist-gauntlet.
This was how Shinsu’s warriors defeated another Guardian at the Battle of Salia. That was where he had realized that the Created could be resisted, that their great Forerunner machines could be beaten. That was where the Fleet of Cleansing Fire was born. How fitting that he should find himself standing upon another Guardian at the very end.
A phalanx of Promethean soldiers regrouped further down the Guardian’s hull. Shinsu raised his blade to urge his warriors forward. More plasma fire raked through the Promethean line. Phantoms and Banshees streaked past. Shinsu threw himself through the vacuum. He cut down more Prometheans, snatching a plasma rifle as it drifted past and emptying it into the Crawlers that scuttled over the deck to impede his progress.
We will resist them. To the very end, we resist. That is our way. The way of all true Sangheili.
The second Guardian drifted up over the space station. Its spread its wings out over the vast darkness of space. The Cleansing Flame fired one final salvo before making an abrupt turn. Strands of silver light flashed across her hull: she was powering up her Slipspace drive.
“No,” Shinsu snarled. He landed on the hull. His blade flashed and two more Knights collapsed. “Stand and fight, damn you!”
More Phantoms raced past. The assault collapsed beneath a new wave of Prometheans. There was no end to the wretched machines. Hardlight bolts glanced off Shinsu’s armor. He rose once more. Dozens of Prometheans advanced before him. Plasma slashed the space over his head. He raised his blade as the first knight advanced, hardlight energy crackling silently along an extended blade.
Rough hands seized Shinsu from behind as brilliant light erupted overhead.
***
Cassandra’s hand shook. She wrapped her gauntlet around the DMR’S grip. The motion calmed her. Of course it did. Right now she hated rifles, pistols, and every other weapon imaginable—and right now they were the only thing standing between her and utter destruction. Fear stripped her faith away and left her weak and helpless before the world’s inexorable slide into oblivion.
She stood in the Chancer V’s hold. Lieutenant Davis’s blood was dried across her armor. She’d had no time to clean it off or even to drag the dead man’s body down to be with his fellow ODSTs. Merlin knelt at the barricade, rifle trained on the darkness outside. The Colossus hadn’t changed position yet. It lingered near the front of the ship, ready to shred anything that ventured onto the upper deck.
Dirt and blood shadowed Merlin’s pale armor. He’d taken a hit rushing into the cockpit to pry his AI free of the computer. The wound was nothing serious. A quick biofoam injection sealed it up and if he felt much pain Merlin didn’t show it. He stood ready to repel the next wave. The Colossus was surely accompanied by an infantry element.
The next wave. What did it matter? The Chancer V would never fly again. Davis and his ODSTs were dead. The battle was loss. The Created had triumphed once again. Cassandra could do nothing to slow the march of history.
Zoey drew close. The girl’s face was a mask of sweat and soot. A rifle hung limp in her hands. “Cass,” she said hoarsely.
Cassandra steeled herself. No matter how weak she felt inside she needed to appear strong. That was how it always was. “Gavin’s old smuggling compartments.” She grasped wildly for a plan, any plan. “We’ll hide down there. They’ll sweep through the hold and thing everyone’s dead, then we can—”
“Cassandra.” Zoey set her rifle down. She rummaged through a supply crate. “It’s over. We can’t hold out. I know it. You know it. We have to get out of here.” She pulled several survival kits from the crate. Her hands shook as she laid them out on the deck. Bullet casings slid past her boots. Across the hold Thomas joined Merlin at the barricade. Every motion caused the young man intense pain. Karina crouched behind him and fumbled with an assault rifle.
This was all they had left.
“Zoey… the Chancer… I…”
“It’s OK.” Zoey couldn’t hide the bitter tears spilling down her soot-covered cheeks. Cassandra’s heart ached. “She’s just… she’s just a ship.”
Zoey ducked her head. Her shoulders heaved with silent sobs. Another home destroyed. Another life torn to pieces. Cassandra rested an armored hand on Zoey’s shaking harm. She was at her limit. There was nothing left but prayer. A strange, sad certainty filled her heart. So this was how things were. Thy will be done.
She had no strength left to rage against the heavens. She was still alive, and that meant there was still something she could do. She reached into her bag and found Simon’s grimy, filthy poncho. The ragged cloth filled her with a grim, feral strength.
“Alright,” she said. “Let’s go.”
***
Merlin helped Thomas into the Spade’s passenger seat. The wounded man’s face was slick with sweat as he clung to the flatbed’s door frame.
“Sorry,” Thomas panted, as if disappointed in himself for being a burden.
“Just hold on tight,” Merlin told him. “You’re doing great.”
Zoey and Karina strapped a pallet of survival gear onto the Spade’s flatbed. They had enough rations to last a few months in the wilderness—if they made it that far. Even if they made it past the Colossus, Merlin didn’t know what awaited them out on the battlefield. No one could think that far ahead. Everyone Merlin had come to this planet with was dead. He was surrounded by strangers. But they needed his help, and that was enough for now.
“Are you sure you’re alright?” Althea asked inside his helmet. “You’re arm—”
“Barely felt it,” Merlin said quickly. Althea felt bad that he’d gotten hurt retrieving her from the cockpit. He was lucky the Colossus autocannon hadn’t blown his head off. “We take care of each other. You can pay me back later. We’re going to need you out there.”
“You need me. What about her?”
Cassandra knelt at the barricade, expressionless behind her SPI visor. She clipped the M319 to her armor and locked the last of their grenades onto her combat webbing. She stared out into the burning night, checking through the magazines in her ammunition pouch.
“We can trust her,” Merlin said reassuringly.
“Trusting people hasn’t worked out for us lately.”
“What choice do we have?”
Merlin made sure the supply pallet was locked in place. He drew up beside Cassandra as she pulled the dirty poncho from her bag and ran the tattered fabric through her gauntlets. Zoey cast a worried look in her direction from over by the Spade. The young pilot didn’t like this plan any more than Merlin did, but she’d had no luck talking Cassandra down.
“Are you sure about this?” Merlin asked.
“Get the Spade to a safe distance. Take cover in the foothills. I’ll link up with you there.” Cassandra folded the cloth into a long strip and wrapped it around her leg. Whatever the garment was, it was important to her. “Don’t let Zoey turn back, no matter what happens.”
“I should be doing this, not you,” Merlin protested. He rapped his chestplate. “I’m the one in MJOLNIR.”
“Exactly. They’ll need someone with that kind of protection out there.”
“Taking a Colossus head on is suicide.”
“I’m not taking it on. Just drawing its fire.” Cassandra pointed to the Spade. “We don’t have time to argue. Enough people have died already.”
“And you?”
“I’m not going to die,” Cassandra said quietly. “Not today. Now go. We’re out of time.”
She seized her DMR and vaulted over the barricade without waiting for a reply. Slipping through what remained of the loading ramp, she vanished into the darkness.
Merlin hurried back to the Spade. Zoey had already keyed the ignition. The flatbed rumpled to life as Merlin clambered up alongside the supply pallet. Thomas groaned and gripped the passenger seat with his free hand. Karina crawled onto the flatbed alongside Merlin and entwined her arms within the support struts.
Merlin unslung his rifle and braced himself against the Spade’s front compartment. “I hope you’re a good driver, kid.”
“Friggin’ Spartans,” Zoey muttered. “I keep telling you, we’re the same age.”
A DMR fired somewhere outside. Cassandra was already engaged. Zoey cast a final, sorrowful look around the Chancer V’s ruined cargo bay. She faced forward, steadied her grip on the steering wheel, and gunned the Spade. The flatbed and its cargo sped out of the hold and plunged into the fiery darkness.
Merlin ducked his head, scanning for the Colossus. He caught sight of the terrible silhouette looming over the Chancer. But the walker did not turn to fire after the fleeing ATV. Its focus was fixed on another target altogether.
***
Cassandra threw herself onto the muddy hillside. Plasma fire seared the air around her. She rolled onto one side and shot down a pair of Unggoy with precise shots from her DMR. A wild exhilaration coursed through her exhausted limbs. Have mercy on me, O God. In your compassion blot out my offenses.
She scrambled up and took cover in the wreckage of the demolished Wraith. Two human figures ran past, distracted by the Spade bouncing out of the Chancer’s cargo bay. Cassandra drew her sidearm and shot them from behind. Her heart pounded inside her armor. The Colossus loomed above her like a terrible giant. Wash me through and through from my wickedness and cleanse me from my sin.
More shapes moved around her. The Colossus turned and raked the Chancer with autocannon fire. Its pilot must think the troops on the ground were being shot at from inside the ship. The earth trembled beneath its footsteps. Against you have I sinned and done what is evil in your sight.
Cassandra pushed back her terror and ran towards the dreadful titan. Her DMR cracked again and again. She shot them down, one after another: some mother’s son, some sister’s brother. Why had she ever left the UNSC? Why had she let herself see the wide galaxy, learned of its beauty and terror? Ignorance had been bliss. Blind loyalty had made her terrible duty so much less painful. I have been wicked from birth, a sinner from my mother’s womb.
More Prometheans charged out of th darkness. Engines whined overhead and plasma raked the ground. Cassandra threw herself flat only to realize that the bolts weren’t meant for her. A talon of Cleansing Blade Banshees swept past on one final strafing run. Chunks of fused soil leaped into steaming air. The Created troops scattered as a fusillade of fuel rod blasts raked the Colossus. The bipedal weapons platform weathered the assault, its bulk turning skyward to shoot down one Banshee after another.
Their sacrifice wouldn’t be in vain. Cassandra cleared the next ten meters in seconds. She killed another human and then two Unggoy. A Sangheili officer in ornate armor lunged at her from out of the smoke. His blade cleaved her DMR in half. Cassandra didn’t have time to reach for the grenade launcher still clipped to her armor. She ducked beneath the next deadly swing and wrenched a plasma pistol from a dead Unggoy’s grip.
More flaming Banshees tumbled out of the sky as the plasma pistol glowed bright green. The overcharged shot struck the Sangheili square in the chest. The officer’s shields collapsed and his next swing flew wide. Cassandra drove her shoulder up into the alien’s elongated neck. Her opponent gagged and fell back with a crushed windpipe. Cassandra finished the writhing warrior off with a shot from her M6. Purge me from my sin, wash me and I shall be made clean.
She unslung the M301 and fired at the ground beneath the Colossus’s treads. The walker stumbled at the sudden imbalance but swiftly righted itself. Cassandra’s eyes fixed on a place just above the Colossus’s right leg joint. The Banshee’s fuel rod strikes had left the armor cracked and melted.
The Colossus scanned the corpse-strewn ground in search of its attacker. Cassandra lay among the bodies mere meters from the walker’s nearest leg. She didn’t know enough about this machine to guess its blind spots. All the combat experience in the galaxy could barely contain her terror. One burst from that autocannon would obliterate her. She crawled along the ground like a worm beneath the armored behemoth. Hide your face from my sin and blot out my iniquities.
The Colossus raised a single leg. It balanced on one tread, swiveling to face away from the Chancer. A cry of fear escaped Cassandra’s lips. Cast me not from your presence and take not your holy spirit from me.
The leg came down. The earth collapsed beneath Cassandra and she flew through the air alongside a dozen corpses. She landed in a shower of mud and gore. Her head rang like a bell. She sprawled, gasping, in the dirt and stared up at the massive walker. This machine wouldn’t waste ammunition on a single interloper. It would simply crush her to death. Give me the joy of your saving help again. Sustain me with your bountiful spirit.
There! She saw a green glint poking out from the mud. A dead Unggoy held a fuel rod gun just meters away. Cassandra crawled over and wrenched the weapon free from its previous owner. She was in luck: the heavy weapon sported a full clip of glowing fuel rods. Cassandra rose. She had one chance. The moment she fired the Colossus would know exactly where she was. I shall teach your ways to the wicked. Sinners shall return to you.
Cassandra brought the cannon to bear and fired until her finger hurt. Streaks of emerald light arced out and struck the Colossus’s left leg. The massive platform reeled as armor and pistons melted beneath irradiated fire. The leg snapped in half; the Colossus wavered a moment and then toppled over in a heap of twisted metal. The ground shook beneath its fall.
Cassandra fell to her knees, the empty fuel rod gun slipping from her fingers. She stared at the downed Colossus, gasping for breath. She couldn’t believe it. Deliver me from death, O God, and my tongue shall sing of your righteousness.
Something moved beside the ruined Colossus. Cassandra snapped from her stupor. She was on her feet in an instant. Her pistol cleared its holster and she brought it to bear just as a solitary figure staggered clear of the wreckage. The Colossus’s pilot froze at the sight of Cassandra’s pistol trained on his head.
In the light of the flames Cassandra saw a young man in dark body armor. Blood trickled from a scratch on his face. Just a moment before she had crawled in abject terror beneath this man’s war machine. Now he gaped in fear as she drew closer. In her bloodstained, mud-soaked armor she must have looked like an avenging demon.
The pilot might be Cassandra’s own age, or maybe even younger. Her finger curled around the pistol’s trigger. Her body coursed with adrenaline. Every instinct she possessed screamed at her to kill this man and be done with it. That was the proper Spartan thing to do.
Open my lips, O God, and my mouth shall sing your praise.
The man’s hand twitched towards his own sidearm.
“Don’t,” Cassandra rasped.
The defeated pilot froze. Cassandra jerked her head off at the shadows.
“Go,” was all she could bring herself to say.
The pilot stared at her in bewilderment. Then he turned and abruptly fled into the night. He did not look back.
The pistol dropped to Cassandra’s side. She stared numbly at the downed Colossus, then back to the Chancer V’s broken hulk. Dozens of bodies lay around the crash site alongside the abandoned wrecks of their war machines. Distant artillery fire raged out in the distance. One insignificant skirmish ended, and with it countless hopes and dreams.
Cassandra couldn’t rest here. The others would be in the foothills by now. They needed her. Cassandra knelt beside one of the human bodies and stripped the dead man’s assault rifle and ammunition. She pulled Simon’s poncho off her leg, unwrapping the tattered fabric and draping it over her mud-caked shoulders. She turned and limped away from the Chancer V’s final resting place. Thunder rolled overhead.
===Interlude: His Name Was Lieutenant===
See: His Name Was Lieutenant
===Chapter Seventy-One: I Know You===
Hera looked around her barren cell. She wondered if she had what it took to kill herself. The only plausible way out was to bash her own head against the wall—a desperate ploy, and one that wouldn’t work. With her ceramic-enhanced bones she’d only wind up with a mild concussion. She wouldn’t let her captors see any of her fear, but an animal terror was slowly building inside her chest.
Simon was dead. He had failed and before long Irthanus would wipe out the rest of the Kru’desh. Hera was at the mercy of the Created. She wouldn’t let them ship her off to some re-education facility. Better to die with some measure of pride than let them reshape her however they saw fit.
Hera knew all the horror stories about what ONI did to political prisoners. She imagined the Created, with all their utopian megalomania, would be even worse. Better that she died with some measure of pride left.
Hera eyed the trio of Sangheili guarding her cell. They paid her little mind, seeming more concerned about whatever was going on outside the keep. One of them listened to updates through a communication chit and murmured quiet reports to his comrades. Whatever he told them seemed to make them agitated.
“Hey, hinge-head,” Hera called. “Where’s the kaidon? I have an important message for him.”
The nearest guard’s mandibles drooped angrily. “Be silent, warmonger.”
Hera should have tried her ploy when Loic was down here. That boy’s head was so big it barely fit inside his helmet. He’d have been happy to parade Hera back in front of Rol and Irthanus. Her best chance of escaping whatever sterile fate the Created had in store for her would be to provoke the guards the moment they took her from her cell. An edgy Sangheili wouldn’t think twice about cutting down an unruly prisoner.
She could hardly believe that Simon was really dead. She’d never liked the treacherous runt. Hungry dogs like him had been holding human progress for centuries with their individualism and gnawing ambition. He was the worst kind of revolutionary, the type that gave the real ones a bad name. But at least he’d gone down fighting the Created—a better cause than Hera could have hoped for him.
Of course he’d waited to roll over and die until Hera needed him. Typical Simon.
Something caught the guards’ attention. They unslung their plasma repeaters and barked a challenge to someone outside Hera’s cell. Another Sangheili in pale armor loped into view. He carried two bottles of a substance so strong that Hera could smell it through the cell’s shield door.
“Boring work down here,” the newcomer said lazily. He clinked the bottles together. “Just the way I like it. Things are too hot outside. I thought I’d keep you fine fellows company.”
The guards did not take kindly to the newcomer’s attempts at fellowship. Their reptilian eyes looked him up and down with obvious contempt. “You have no business down here, outsider,” the head guard growled. He thrust his repeater at the easygoing warrior’s chest. “Go find someone else to annoy.”
“Leave the mead,” another guard chortled.
“As you wish.”
The warrior stooped to deposit the bottles on the floor. Then he sprang into motion, almost too quickly for Hera to make out. A flash of blades and armor erupted and then in the next instant two guards lay dead, purple blood seeping from gashes in their necks. The newcomer grappled with the last warrior, who managed to shout a cry of alarm before he was overpowered and dispatched with a swift slash to the neck.
The lone warrior rose, panting. His wrist gauntlets hissed off as he wiped his bloody hands off on the wall outside Hera’s cell. He shook his head and let out a strange clucking noise over the corpses before turning back to Hera. She watched him warily from the center of her cell.
“You are the one called Hera, yes?” the warrior asked. “Unless there was some other human prisoner I wasn’t informed of.”
“Who the hell are you?” Hera demanded. Her brain was still catching up to the bloody development.
“Argo ‘Varvin, at your service.” The warrior offered a mocking bow. “Stray sends the damsel his regards and bids me release her from her distress.”
Hera had known Argo for less than a minute and he was already getting on her nerves. “Stray’s dead.”
“So he was. And on the third day…” Argo paused. When his quip elicited only a cold stare he pursed his mandibles and sighed. “That was a good joke, human. Have you no sense of humor?”
“I’ve been locked in this cell for over a week. It’s not been good for my mood. Do you mind?”
Argo obligingly released the cell controls. “Typical human,” the Sangheili grumbled. “You go to the all the effort of learning their mythology and they won’t even laugh at your witticisms. When was the last time one of you slit-mouths used my culture to make jokes?”
The force field collapsed. Hera lunged out of her prison. The stale prison air tasted sweet even through the tang of alien blood. She knelt by the dead guards and retrieved one of the plasma repeaters, swiftly shooting out the cell block security cameras. “You were so busy coming up with your hilarious jokes that you forgot to take out the surveillance.”
“Commendable initiative,” Argo said. “But there is no need. I am not alone. Urei’s warriors are securing the flight hangars as we speak. They will keep the guards occupied.”
“Urei? Urei ‘Caszal?” Hera remembered Umbra ‘Vesic’s lieutenant from her time aboard the Subtle Knife. If the Cleansing Blade were among the warriors breaching the Baran Keep they might just have a chance to win this battle after all.
“Yes. His orders are to secure the landing platforms and keep the enemy air force grounded.”
“And whose orders would those be?”
“Stray, of course.”
“Urei would never take orders from Stray.”
“Yes, I would have thought that as well. Somehow that cunning human won him over. Urei is quite an admirer of Stray’s despite the obvious barriers of class and species. But enough speculating about the whirlwind romance of Lord Stray and Lord ‘Caszal. We have our own task. Stray says that if you are quite finished relaxing in your cell while he does all the work, you must complete your original task. Teyr ‘Baran must depose his brother and pledge allegiance to Shinsu ‘Refum.”
Simon had certainly been busy. He’d also taken time to give Argo some very specifically worded instructions. But if he had the gall to be snotty through a messenger than maybe he really was laive after all. Hera stepped over the dead guards and followed Argo.
“I’m going to need some armor.” She still wore only her humiliating prisoner’s tunic. Augmentations or no, she wouldn’t last a minute in a serious firefight.
Argo’s mandibles spread in one of those distinctly unpleasant Sangheili smiles. “No time for that, regrettably. I neglected to bring a change of clothes and the humans outside are rather inconvenienced at the moment. But fear not. Stay close to me. I will bring you safely to the steward.”
Plasma fire rang out through the halls. Cleansing Blade infiltrators were already engaging the keep guards. Hera just hoped the Kru’desh could keep Irthanus’s army pinned down outside. Negotiations would end poorly if the High Chieftain interrupted her conversation with Teyr. Hera gripped her plasma repeater and followed Argo out from the prison block.
***
Andra’s assault rifle clattered and jerked against her shoulder. Bullets pierced the crisp morning air and a Jiralhanae body fell back against a burning Wraith. Andra barely felt the weapon’s recoil. Her entire body was numb. She fought on, shrouded in a haze of exhaustion. Only instinct and training held her together. She whirled violently in search of a new target. There must be someone else to kill. There was always someone else to kill.
The morning sun dawned over a snowy plain littered with bodies and smoking wreckage. Humans and Sangheili staggered through the snow like shambling corpses. They finished off wounded Jiralhanae as if in a trance, with no trace of malice or anger. This wasn’t violence, only weary repetition.
The long night was over. Somehow the Kru’desh detachment was still very much alive. Mastodons and Ghosts wove around exhausted fighting positions and downed Wraith hulls. The enemy armored column lay in shambles across the valley. A handful of survivors fled back into the hills.
Andra slid a new magazine into her rifle. She couldn’t feel her hands and feet. They might as well be fused with her armor, soaked through with sweat and blood and melted snow. She needed every ounce of her training and augmentations to push through the exhaustion. She had no idea how the others could hold themselves together.
A Cyclops, its hull seared by plasma and riddled with spiker rounds, hobbled over the blood-soaked field. It limped over to where a small group of Insurrectionists gathered outside an open Mastodon. The Cyclops and the four soldiers, all that remained of Vanguard Squad, loaded Sergeant Okafo’s body into the APC. Ragna stared silently down from her open cockpit.
Andra’s com clicked. “We must fall back to the encampment,” a weary Sangheili voice said. “Our task is complete. The main force needs us to fend off the enemy attack.”
“What are we gonna do, through snowballs at them?” Nhat Tram demanded. The lieutenant was nearby, close enough for Andra to hear her over both the coms and the field. “My team’s got nothing left. If we fight any longer we’ll be down to our bare hands.”
“That does not matter!” the Sangheili voice snarled back. “The skies are clear. That means—”
The officer fell silent. Everyone on the com line realized exactly what that meant. They could already hear anti-gravity engines wailing over the plains. Dozens of dark shapes emerged over the horizon.
Andra’s eyes bulged behind her visor. “No,” she whispered hoarsely. “No, no, no!”
She raised her rifle to the sky. The world spun around her. This wasn’t happening. Not like this. She hadn’t survived the night, come this far, and killed so many, just to be mowed down from the air. This final terrible farce would be the worst humiliation of all.
A talon of Seraph bombers spread out and swept over the plains. Some of the Kru’desh dashed for cover. Most stood where they were and offered no resistance. They could not defend themselves from the incoming assault. At least this put an end to—
The Seraphs flashed over the Kru’desh and unleashed their payload—directly atop the fleeing Jiralhanae. The retreating warriors disappeared beneath a wall of fire. Banshees swooped in behind the Seraphs, picking off any survivors who emerged from the plasma conflagration.
“By the gods,” a nearby Sangheili gasped. “Those fliers are ours! Reinforcements from the Soul Ascension!”
Serpahs and Banshees swarmed triumphantly overhead. They banked and flew on, most bearing north. Flights of Phantoms and Spirit dropships trailed behind the attack craft. A half-dozen broke off and descended to form a loose perimeter around the snowy battlefield. Andra watched in amazement as fresh lances of Sangheili and Unggoy emerged onto the plain. In moments the bedraggled survivors were outnumbered by newcomers.
A hoarse cheer rose from the battlefield. Andra wondered if she had fallen asleep. She must be dreaming. How could any of this be real?
A Sangheili officer strode out of the nearest Spirit. He gestured imperiously at the survivors. “Officers, to me! Who commands here?”
Andra saw Nhat Tram limping through the snow behind two Sangheili. She took a moment to steady her breath, then forced her aching legs to carry her after the trio. The newly arrived officer beckoned them over impatiently as more aircraft flew overhead. Two Pelicans mixed in with the Phantoms dropped down and disgorged teams of Insurrectionist medics. Sangheili herded confused survivors back towards the dropships.
“Gather your warriors,” the new officer snapped. “We have no time to waste. The real battle awaits!”
Andra, Tram, and the Sangheili exchanged incredulous looks. The valley around them was littered with corpses. What battle did this idiot think they wer emissing?
“What is the meaning of this?” One of the Sangheili, his armor cracked from three separate stab wounds, demanded.
The freshly-armored officer arched his neck. “The commander has ordered all forces to press the attack. You stragglers are holding back our assault!”
“Commander?” Nhat Tram asked. “Which commander?”
“Lord Stray, of course.”
“Stray’s dead.” The words slipped through Andra’s frigid lips. “I guess you guys weren’t keeping up with current events back on the Ascension.”
“Hold your tongue, you impudent wench,” the officer sneered. “Do not speak foolishness to me.”
The warrior with cracked armor drew himself up to his full height, exhaustion melting away beneath a wave of righteous anger. “You will not address my warriors that way! We endured the long march. We have fought here for three days while you sheltered aboard the Soul Ascension. The commander was killed on the first day of battle.”
The newcomer stepped back. He looked at his own warriors and looked as if he wanted to say something. A growl from the furious officer made him think better of it. He seemed to take in the carnage across the field for the first time. “I—forgive my bluntness. We are eager to join your fight. But the commander is alive and well. He presses the assault on the keep as we speak. We must hurry back to the front line and reinforce his siege.”
Andra’s knees buckled. She didn’t know how many more reversals her mind could take. Somehow the night had plucked her from one battle and deposited her in another one altogether. Even more Banshee talons flashed overhead on their way to fight in some strange engagement where the Kru’desh Legion was not on the verge of destruction and instead stood on the brink of victory.
Nhat Tram caught Andra’s arm. The eyes beneath the lieutenant’s face wrapping were ringed by dark circles. “I guess we don’t get to rest just yet after all,” the rebel officer muttered.
The chastened officer scurried away to oversee the airlift. His warriors escorted exhausted survivors onto the waiting dropships. Andra staggered toward a nearby Phantom. She wanted nothing more than to collapse onto its troop bay and lose herself in a deep sleep. She stopped herself three paces from the dropship. Gritting her teeth, she turned back and limped to Vanguard Squad’s waiting Mastodon.
Ragna and the four soldiers, all that remained of Redmond Venter’s infamous detachment, staggered aboard the APC. Ragna’s Cyclops sprawled back onto the Mastodon’s hull, its depleted autocannon flopping uselessly at its side.
“Is it true?” Ragna called down to Andra as she limped past. “I just heard something over the coms about Commander Venter. They say he’s still alive!”
Venter. Right, Stray was Venter to these people. Andra could barely formulate thoughts anymore. Stray, Venter, Simon—whoever he was, what new insanity had he cooked up now? Once more she stumbled along in his wake, never able to keep up.
“You’re guess is as good as mine,” she said stiffly. “Let’s get moving.”
She collapsed in the Mastodon’s troop bay. As the APC rumbled off across the snow, Andra found herself staring down at Okafo’s body. The burly sergeant lay flat on the bay floor as one of the other soldiers slid him into a body bag. Okafo and hundreds of others had died holding the line, blindly fighting impossible odds while Stray slipped off to set his real plans in motion. Andra gripped her rifle with renewed strength. A dull fire rose in her throat. If Stray really was alive, he had a lot to answer for.
A small convoy of Mastodons and Ghosts raced away from the night’s battle and on to the next. Banshees, Pelicans, and Phantoms soared overhead, straining their engines and hurtling on towards the sound of distant cannon fire.
***
The human Scorpion tank rolled into position, covering Kru’desh troops fleeing their broken defense lines. Its gunner filled the air with bullets in a desperate bid to halt the Jiralhanae charge. Leaden projectiles bounced uselessly off Irthanus’s armor. He leaped atop the tank and crushed the terrified gunner beneath his gravity hammer. Another blow demolished the tank’s operator compartment.
Irthanus thundered off the ruined tank. He cut down a mob of Sangheili who rushed him with energy swords in hand. A furious bellow erupted from the High Chieftain’s throat as his warriors rushed in to end this dreadful assault.
The High Chieftain’s anger burned white-hot. The attack was a disaster. His flanking column had failed to appear. Instead his warriors spend the night throwing themselves against the entrenched Kru’desh. Battle-rage carried the Jiralhanae forward despite their losses. Even Irthanus’s authority could not hold them back until their thirst for blood was sated. The evidence of that primal fury lay across the hills and plains around the Kru’desh encampment—Jiralhanae bodies were scattered across the snow by the hundreds.
When this was over Irthanus would personally execute the officers in charge of the failed flanking maneuver. But many more chieftains would also feel his wrath. No matter where Irthanus pressed the assault his warriors never massed in enough numbers to break through. Command and control was in shambles and some war packs had dropped out of communication altogether.
This was a black mark upon Irthanus’s deadly legacy. He would never have countenanced such failure during his days marching beneath the Covenant’s banner. The promise of the Created had made his people complacent. Irthanus could have won this battle ten times over had he not let the packs celebrate the dawn of peace too early.
Jiralhanae swarmed over abandoned trench lines. The surviving Kru’desh dug in around their headquarters, a massive Draugr mobile bunker. Plasma and gunfire slashed through the air as the remaining humans and Sangheili exacted a heavy toll upon Irthanus’s exhausted warriors. Scorpions and Wraiths spewed HE shells and plasma fire onto the Jiralhanae. With most of their armor committed to the ethereal flanking attack, the Baran Keep’s defenders had little support of their own.
At least the artillery batteries were down. The hated gun positions loomed over the encampment like great war monuments, their deadly thunder finally silenced. Irthanus wanted to tear down the guns that had turned the plains outside the keep into an ugly killing field. He wanted to crush them into dust beneath his feet. Instead he scanned the clear morning sky and bared his fangs.
Where were the Baran air forces? Rol and his suns were fighting elsewhere, but surely they could withdraw to coordinate reinforcements from the keep’s hangars. Irthanus could tolerate his friend’s caution no longer. Too many warriors were already dead.
Irthanus killed four more Sangheili. One more push and none of this would matter. His Jiralhanae had finally massed a great enough force to collapse the Kru’desh line up and down the valley. In another moment they would surround the enemy and tear them to pieces.
“High Chieftain!” An adjutant’s insistent cry rose over the tumult. Irthanus nearly struck down the smaller Jiralhanae in a fit of battle-frenzy. His calm and composure were gone, dead in the field alongside his brave, dead warriors.
The adjutant took cover beside the ruined Scorpion. Bullets and plasma splashed against the tank’s hull. “High Chieftain, withdraw from the battle line! I come with an urgent matter!”
“More urgent than this battle, fool?” Irthanus bared his fangs. Another HE shell exploded nearby. Kru’desh sharpshooters rained down fire from atop the Draugr. The Jiralhanae advance faltered once more. They needed their High Chieftain at the fore of battle. Irthanus could not waste time with paltry matters!
“Treason!” the adjutant cried. “Treason in the ranks, High Chieftain! You must withdraw or all is lost!”
A machine gun emplacement inside the Draugr cut a nearby warrior in half. Irthanus vowed to crush this mewling cub if this distraction proved unworthy of his time. He seized the adjutant by the scruff of his neck and dragged him out of the fighting. Jiralhanae and Rol ‘Baran’s keep guards took cover across the broken Kru’desh defenses, trading fire with the entrenched survivors. Now that he was free from the crush of battle Irthanus realized that there were far fewer of his warriors in the field than he realized. A furious growl rose in his throat. Were the night’s losses truly so severe?
He found one of his chieftains waiting in an overrun dugout. Several Jiralhanae and Sangheili officers sheltered in the nearby trenches. Irthanus tossed the hapless adjutant aside and glared down at the chieftain. “What is the meaning of this?”
A Wraith mortar impacted nearby. The trench shook and displaced snow flurried over the gathered warriors.
The chieftain met Irthanus’s eyes, unwavering beneath his lord’s fury. He spoke with grim deliberation. “Several chieftains deserted during the night. Some departed before the assault began. They took all of their packs with them. I did not learn the extent of this treachery until—”
“Mutiny?” Irthanus rose to his full height. Anger made him oblivious to the battle raging directly behind him. “How did this treason go unnoticed? I will have their heads, and yours as well if you do not explain this treachery!” Baffled fury overwhelmed him. Why now, at the cusp of victory? He wanted to turn and throw himself back into battle. He needed to feel bodies break beneath his hammer. A challenge to his leadership was one thing—that was the Jiralhanae way. But desertion in the face of the enemy? Had the chieftain’s gone mad?
“We received reports from the southern settlements,” the chieftain informed him. “Raiding parties struck villages while their warriors were gathered here. The chieftains who fled heard that Alaric and his pack set their homesteads ablaze and took their clans as slaves. With you engaged at the front they had no time to beg your leave.”
The chieftain saw the deadly flash in Irthanus’s eyes and wisely fell silent. The battle raged on but Irthanus paid it no heed. Mass desertion in the midst of battle was unthinkable. And Alaric! He truly was a mindless savage. Alaric stood nothing to gain from betraying the Created now. Alaric, who had crushed Stray’s vanguard—and then immediately fled.
The threads wove a terrible tapestry in Irthanus’s mind. He thought back to that day of triumph. Alaric had met Stray in battle and utterly destroyed him. Irthanus had seen Stray’s broken corpse with his own eyes—hadn’t he?
The helmet affixed to Irthanus's shoulder suddenly felt much heavier.
Unless it was all a farce. Unless no battle had taken place at all. Unless the corpse wearing Stray’s armor meant nothing at all. Irthanus had only Loic’s word that the body was Stray’s. And the Kru’desh stragglers sheltering in the sacred forest were really—
And then the High Chieftain heard the sound of engines rising over the gunfire: anti-gravity repulsors from Banshees and Seraphs. The wind and storms had subsided and fliers were finally in the air. But these fliers came from the wrong direction entirely.
A dreadful doom fell upon the High Chieftain. He could only watch as the first wave of Kru’desh Seraphs swept over the horizon and unleashed their first plasma barrage.
***
The Phantom soared through the bright morning air. Skies that a day before had been shrouded and by furious snowstorms now parted to reveal talons of Kru’desh fliers. Seraphs and Banshees bombarded enemy positions while dropships swooped low to deposit warriors onto the battlefield.
Tuka ‘Refum stood at the edge of his Phantom’s troop bay, heedless of the cold. His eyes took in the terrible war zone beneath him. Huddled corpses littered a ground torn apart by artillery fire. Networks of trenches and dugouts spread out across the valley. Tuka’s hearts sank at the carnage. The defensive line had collapsed beneath the enemy assault. He murmured a quiet prayer for forgiveness. While he lingered uselessly aboard the Soul Ascension the commander and his legion endured this terrible wasteland.
Tuka had done only as Stray ordered, but he would never forgive himself for letting the blizzard hold his reinforcements back so long. Good warriors had died waiting for this relief.
The remnants of Stray’s expedition fought from entrenched positions around the Draugr. Kru’desh Banshees steadily drove back a host of enemy infantry with brutal strafing runs. Tuka scanned the horizon but saw no sign of enemy talons. Where were the Baran air forces?
Tuka tapped his comm disk. “Mihka, take the lead. Place our dropships between the commander’s force and the enemy!”
The Phantom banked and swept past the Draugr, its plasma cannons raking enemy positions with withering fire. Mihka and the other pilots had flown through the night to reach the battlefront. A few craft were lost to the winds but most pressed on. Now Tuka needed to make those sacrifices worthwhile.
He turned to the warriors assembled with him in the Phantom. “Our brethren gave their lives to secure this victory!” he bellowed over the sound of engines and plasma fire. “They weakened the enemy to win us this chance! This world belongs to the Kru’desh Legion! Follow me and seize it!”
The warriors roared in approval. Denied the glory of sharing in the commander’s march across Arcahngel’s Rest, none of them could afford to hold back now.
The Phantom dropped into position. Tuka drew his energy sword and leaped down to the snowy battlefield without a moment’s hesitation. A dozen Sangheili threw themselves after him, plasma rifles blazing before they even hit the ground. The Phantom’s deckmaster rained plasma fire onto the Jiralhanae line as Kru’desh reinforcements charged into battle.
A Jiralhanae roared at Tuka, spiker rifle slashing through the air. Tuka dodged the hasty blow and gutted his enemy with a slash through the midriff. The warrior fell thrashing into the snow. Tuka pressed the assault. His warriors drove the enemy back to the perimeter trench line. He killed three more Jiralhanae, his azure blade flashing in the morning light. He no longer felt afraid. He was a son of House Refum, a faithful servant of the gods themselves. He had nothing to fear from this rabble.
“The air teams report large numbers of enemy infantry massing in the hills,” Juno said through Tuka’s comm disk. The construct coordinated the legion’s counterattack across the entire battlespace. “I’ve directed Seraphs to begin a bombing run. Don’t let any teams advance beyond the trench line.”
Tuka bisected a Sangheili wearing the colors of House Baran’s elite guard. “Drive them from the camp!” he called to his brethren. “Secure the trenches and hold fast!”
Banshees swooped down over the melee like guardian spirits. Tuka saw hundreds of bodies—human, Sangheili, Jiralhanae, Kig-Yar, and Unggoy—crushed in the frigid mud. His warriors trampled the dead underfoot as they carved through the enemy line and added more corpses to the terrible carpet. Plasma and spike rounds rent the air. The enemy took up firing positions in the Kru’desh trench line. Tuka’s shields flared and Sangheili bodies fell around him. The Kru’desh answered with a flurry of plasma grenades. Screams filled the air as the trench line erupted in blue fire.
A terrible roar split the air. An enormous Jiralhanae, the largest Tuka had ever seen, strode through the flames. He wore ornate armor and carried a massive gravity hammer. Shaggy dreadlocks spilled from his helmet and cascaded over a strange pauldron on his left shoulder.
Tuka’s blade dipped. He stared at the pauldron, horrified. He knew that shape all too well. The chieftain before him sported Stray’s own helmet on his shoulder. Gods, no…
The chieftain bellowed a furious challenged. He charged through a storm of plasma and struck down the Kru’desh with great sweeping blows. The air shuddered from hammer impacts. Broken bodies flew through the air like toys. The Kru’desh advanced collapsed beneath the chieftain’s furious assault.
Tuka could not take his eyes off the helmet. He did not want to fathom what this terrible portent might mean. He wanted to leave the battle at once, to dash back to the Draugr and find Stray. If Tuka had come too late, if his friend was dead because of his failures, he could never forgive himself.
More Sangheili died beneath the massive chieftain’s hammer. The Kru’desh wavered. A terrible war chant rose from the Jiralhanae. They reformed behind their chieftain, brandishing their bladed weapons.
Tuka cast aside his doubts and guilt. He pushed past the first rank and raised his blade in a defiant challenge. The great chieftain loomed over him—the beast was twice Tuka’s size, perhaps even larger. A dozen Kru’desh lay dead at his feet.
“Invaders!” the chieftain roared. “You come to my world and bring death to my people! The Created promise peace, yet you butchers seek only to destroy! Your kind will pass away like the Covenant before you. There is no place in this galaxy for you scum!”
A quiet fell over the corpse-strewn battlefield. Tuka faced the chieftain, blade in hand. He felt his warriors gather their strength behind him just as the chieftain’s own packs rallied beyond the trench line. Both sides faced each other, linked by grim, solitary purpose.
The chieftain hefted his hammer. He could crush Tuka in a single blow. Tuka thought of Shinsu’s graceful bladework. He could not match his brother’s mastery. But for just a moment Tuka thought he saw Shinsu standing between him and the chieftain, aloof and composed as always.
Tuka steadied his breathing. His blade snapped forward just as the hammer crashed down upon him. The chieftain descended on Tuka like an avalanche as the battle erupted once more.
***
The Kru’desh camp lay in shambles. The Mastodons drove through broken trench lines and burned out bunkers. Overturned Ghosts and burning Choppers marked where the fighting had raged the fiercest. Bodies were strewn out across the ravaged landscape as far as Andra could see through the Mastodon’s firing slats. The Kru’desh had fought bitterly for every inch of ground.
Andra was amazed to see the Draugr still standing, surrounded by Scorpions, Wraiths, and all that remained of the legion’s Warthogs and Ghosts. She could hardly believe her eyes. The Created forces were in full retreat, harried by Banshees and waves of Sangheili and Unggoy now disgorging from Phantoms and Spirits. Seraphs bombed the hills overlooking the encampment while Kru’desh infantry drove their enemy back into the fire.
Stray had held far more troops in reserve aboard the Soul Ascension than Andra realized. Had he planned this dramatic reversal from the beginning? She realized that she couldn’t fathom the depth of his machinations. If he really was still alive—
The Mastodon skidded to a halt alongside a ruined Shadow. The APC’s hull shuddered as Ragna’s Cyclops leaped clear. Andra seized the sniper rifle from the troop bay’s storage rack. She took all of the remaining magazines—no sense rationing ammunition anymore. The rest of Vanguard piled down the boarding ramp. Andra joined them at the base of the Draugr.
Andra was relieved to see Mohsin leaning against a Ghost. The captain bled from a cut on his face as he spoke with the Sangheili pilot but otherwise he looked unharmed.
Dazed defender milled about around the fallback position. Some Sangheili still manned plasma turrets but others simply stared at the battle raging on the far side of the encampment. One moment they’d been fight for their lives; the next they became mere spectator to the utter route unfolding before them.
Andra’s helmet comm buzzed. “Ah, Andra. I finally established a connection. Excellent.” The voice belonged to a woman, crisp and self-assured.
“Juno!” Andra never thought she’d be so happy to hear the AI’s confident tone.
“Yes. Apologies for the late entrance. Weather patterns on this planet are infuriating.”
“Try living in them for two weeks. What the hell is Stray—”
“No time for that. The commander is alive—I understand that has become a point of confusion. But I need a sharpshooter. Someone who won’t miss their target. Get some elevation and cover Tuka. Eliminate the enemy leadership.”
Juno signed off without elaborating. Andra bit back an angry remark. The AI was right: this wasn’t the time. The Kru’desh fought all over the valley. Juno must be coordinating a hundred engagements at once. Andra would get her answers soon. For now, all that mattered was ending this battle.
She pushed through the Kru’desh survivors. Even the Sangheili were too exhausted to growl down at the impertinent human who shoved them aside. Andra pushed all the cold and pain and exhaustion to the back of her mind and began the arduous climb up the Draugr’s battered hull.
The lander’s sloped roof gave Andra an excellent vantage point. The ravaged encampment spread out beneath her. The hills and valley gleamed in the alien sunlight. It should have been a beautiful view. Instead Andra saw a no-man’s land ripped to pieces by three days of violent bombardment. The battlefield stood out like a festering wound. The planet itself was wounded.
Sangheili lances advanced over burning dugouts and scorched shelters. The Created warriors retreated up into the hills where Banshee talons hammered their ragged lines. Only one enemy position held firm: a small cluster of Jiralhanae stubbornly defended their foothold near the center of the trench line. Plasma fire burned bright between the clashing forces. The air oer the camp sizzled and steamed, obfuscate Andra’s view through the HUD-linked scope.
Juno hadn’t given Andra a proper target, but the focus of this battle was obvious: an enormous Jiralhanae chieftain in ornate purple armor dominated the field. He struck at a much smaller Sangheili, lashing out with a massive gravity hammer. His opponent was quick and nimble but clearly outmatched. He wouldn’t last long in this duel.
Andra slid into a firing position and focused on her target. The chieftain shifted into a defensive posture and Andra saw the SPI helmet affixed to his left shoulder. Her grip tightened around the rifle. No matter where she went that ugly helmet followed her. It loomed up from the battlefield like a taunting apparition.
No more hesitation. The SR99 cracked once. Andra’s bullet succeeded where so many Spartans and ONI assassins had failed. Simon-G294’s treacherous visage shattered. The chieftain howled in surprised agony. His left arm dropped uselessly to his side, blood seeping around his magnificent armor.
Tuka did not waste the opening. He slipped through the sudden opening. His blade bit deep into his opponent’s abdomen. The chieftain, grievously wounded, fell back and disappeared behind a phalanx of warriors.
Andra had a clear shot on dozens of Jiralhanae. She held her fire. The Kru’desh surged forward and drove the enemy back into the hills. Andra rested her helmet against the rifle scope. She’d done plenty of killing already. There was far more violence in store for her before the day was out.
***
Kru’desh talons dominated the airspace around the Baran keep. No fliers rose from the keep’s hangars to resist them. Whatever Stray’s plan to remove the enemy air force from the equation, it was working. Juno guided Seraph and Banshee flight leaders, tapping into a rapidly expanding battle network. After all that time cooped up helplessly far from the action, she felt the elation of a sprinter finally released from the starting gate. This battlefield was hers to shape as she wills. The power was intoxicating—dangerously so.
Subtle tugs at her core programming warned her of the risk she took with such an abrupt expansion. The flaws she’d detected in the past months grew as her age made itself known. She needed to feel the Domain’s presence, and soon.
“What’s taking so long?” Stray demanded over the command channel. “I need reinforcements up here, now! My position’s taking fire!”
Juno was relieved to hear his voice once more. She’d feared the worst when his desperate message reached the Soul Ascension. Tuka’s dropships had arrived just in time to avert total disaster.
“The base camp is clear,” Juno reported. “The enemy is in full retreat. I’ll coordinate the final assault shortly.”
“If they’re retreating, that means they’re headed back here!” Stray’s command post, deep in the forest near the Baran Keep, was apparently the staging area for an infiltration of the fortress itself. The battle was not won yet. The hills and plains still swarmed with enemy troops.
Juno absorbed data from the past few days as swiftly as she could. She was amazed the Kru’desh had held out so long against a vastly superior force. Stray’s plan to draw out the aggressive Jiralhanae had turned a hopeless assault into a protracted defense, buying the legion just enough time for the weather to clear.
“I’m diverting dropships now. You won’t be on your own much longer.” Juno paused. “It’s good to hear your voice. You worried me for a few days.”
Stray’s voice lowered, carrying a strange, pensive edge. “I had me worried. I didn’t think I’d pull this off. But we managed. Somehow.”
“You did well. For now just stay alive. Help is on the way.”
Stray was right: some of the retreating Created loyalists fell back into the forest. The Banshees overhead reported firefights breaking out beneath the canopy. Juno needed to cut the Jiralhanae off before they used the forest as a staging point to regroup. She redirected three talons of Seraphs to turn the hills between the Kru’desh encampment and the forest into a fiery kill zone.
A familiar presence seeped into her mind. Wander returned to the fore of Juno’s consciousness, stronger than ever. “Welcome back, Juno. I worried you wouldn’t arrive in time.”
Juno didn’t question how the Forerunner entity could transmit to her through Stray’s connection. Strands of unknowable code bound them together. Wanderer reached out to her as easily as she connected to Stray over the battlenet.
“I am glad I arrived when I did.” Juno welcomed Wanderer’s presence. Somehow he soothed the frayed edges of her consciousness. “But Stray conducted the battle well. I admit, even after all this time I had my doubts. He is a more capable commander than I gave him credit for.”
Wanderer was amused. “You mean I conducted the battle well. I have a wealth of experience in the art of war. My vessel is unorthodox but I am more than a match for these fools.”
That gave Juno pause. There was still so much about Wanderer she hadn’t discerned. “Are you saying you acted through Stray? You influenced his actions?”
“That is precisely what I have done from the very beginning. Soon there will be no need for such petty distinctions. Hurry, Juno. Do not forget why we came here. The Silent Garden awaits us both. We will inherit it—together.”
***
The warriors carried Irthanus to a command post in the hills. Rol ‘Baran, his ornate armor covered in blood, waited alongside his sons and bodyguard. The kaidon gave no thought to decorum as he raced forward to support his friend’s broken body. Kru’desh Banshees swarmed overhead, strafing warriors as they fled the field. Irthanus stared out at the disaster through weak, unfocused eyes.
“I don’t understand, old friend,” Rol said miserably. One of his sons motioned for him to quit the field. Their position would soon be overrun. The kaidon waved him off. “Half of your Jiralhanae abandoned us during the night. The keep guards will not answer my hails to launch our air forces. What is this devilry?”
Irthanus blinked slowly. Tears spilled from the High Chieftain’s eyes as he watched his army collapse. “All of our ranks are broken. Broken by this rabble of wretches and outcasts. What of the Created? What of the peace they promised?”
“A black day, friend.” Rol knew the wounds in Irthanus’s body were beyond help. He knew no words to ease his friend’s passing. “Eternal shame is upon my house. Forgive me. Had I only heeded—”
“Shame,” Irthanus said bleakly. “Shame, and eternal shame. Nothing but shame.”
The High Chieftain rested his head against Rol’s shoulder. The strength ebbed from Irthanus’s body. The kaidon sat in stunned silence, cradling his friend as the battle raged on all sides.
“Kaidon, we must depart,” his son urged. “The keep itself is under attack. We must defend mother and the other females or all is lost!”
“No!” another warrior cried. “We must return to the fray and halt this route. We have enough warriors left in the field to beat back their assault if only some order could be restored!”
The hills shuddered with plasma impacts. The Kru’desh Seraphs made another pass. Throngs of terrified warriors vanished beneath plasma fire. Rol looked to the sky and breathed a frail, weary sigh. His sorrow was more than he could bear. This was the final defeat. “There is no order. No glory. Only death. Gather what warriors you can and retreat within the keep walls. I must find some way to parley with these savages before their master looses them upon my family.”
Rol ‘Baran gathered himself up and fled back to his keep. Irthanu’s body lay on the abandoned hillside, empty eyes gazing up at the talons circling like vultures overhead.
***
A cheer rose from the Kru’desh encampment. The enemy was in utter retreat. Warriors who had fought nonstop for three days felt new strength flow into their weary bodies. More dropships dipped low over the plains. Unggoy poured onto the snowy field alongside a small fleet of Wraiths and Ghosts.
Tuka ‘Refum, his armor slick with Jiralhanae blood, found Mohsin Shah standing outside the Draugr. He knelt before the human captain and bowed his head. “Forgive me for not coming sooner. We did everything we could to raise the ship. Had I know the battle was so dire—”
“It’s fine. Really.” Mohsin gestured uncomfortably for Tuka to rise. His bearded face was gaunt and ashen with sleepless exhaustion. Around them, the survivors stared in awe as the newcomers picked through the encampment and salvaged every scrap of functioning equipment. “Get up, please. There’s no need.”
“There’s no time for any of this,” Juno said through Tuka’s com disk. “The commander’s fighting at the keep right now. All those Brutes who just ran off are headed straight for him. Everyone who can still fight needs to advance before they regroup. The fliers can’t do all the work. A mop-up operation is still a battle. Don’t let your guards down.”
The Kru’desh formed up over the ravaged field. Sangheili and Unggoy piled into troop carriers. Ghosts and Wraiths hummed to life. The reinforcements imperiously ordered weary pilots out of Scorpions and Warthogs. Every scrap of the Kru’desh arsenal must be mobilized for the final assault. Some of the defenders, invigorated by the battle’s reversal, staggered out of the trenches to join the attack.
“How is Stray still alive?” Andra slid down from her perch on the Draugr. She joined the small gathering of officers. The rising sun threw the gore and soot crusting her ODST harness into fresh relief. “The vanguard was wiped out as soon as he attacked. What’s going on?”
“I do not know the details,” Tuka said apologetically. “We received only his message that the battle was dire and that we must come quickly at all costs.”
The artillery pieces that had dominated the battle and defended the encampment for three days now lay broken and silent. The Kru’desh reinforced their lines in the ashes of the base camp. Phantoms and Pelicans landed behind the battle line, retrieving lances of infantry. Mohsin looked back at the Insurrectionists picking through the snow around the Draugr.
“The vanguard wasn’t destroyed,” the captain said quietly. He steadied himself against the Draugr’s hull. “Stray ordered Alaric to take up that enemy Spartan’s offer to defect. They used the bodies Argo’s team gathered from the losses we took during the march to stage a massacre. Stray was always planning to use them to misdirect the enemy. We just never expected the misdirection would need to be so dramatic.”
“It was a trick?” Andra’s helmet hid her face, but shock and anger radiated from her small, armored frame. “He played us all and you knew about it?”
“He played the enemy. You should have seen him before he gave the order. He was a mess. He didn’t even think it would work. For all he knew Alaric really would betray him. We were outnumbered two to one. It was the only way he knew how to win.” Anger and shame clouded Mohsin’s dirty face. “We couldn’t risk the Created capturing anyone who might tell them the truth. Why do you care if he didn’t share everything? You’re still alive, aren’t you?”
“We don’t have time,” Juno repeated once more. “Get moving! Sort the rest out later.”
Tuka nodded and reached for his sword. He hesitated, turning back to Mohsin. “Captain, where is Ier? I have heard nothing from him since I arrived. Was he with the commander’s vanguard?”
Mohsin blinked wearily. He looked down at his sodden boots. “He’s dead. I’m sorry.”
“I see. Thank you, captain.” Tuka looked down at the sword in his hand. A shudder passed through the young officer’s body. Then his back stiffened and he strode purposefully back to the waiting assault force.
***
Plasma fire scorched the frozen trees. Shouts rang out through the forest. Sangheili and Jiralhanae clashed beneath the shadowy canopy. Energy blades flashed and bayonets carved through the air. Scattered figures darted from tree to tree like falling leaves.
Baran warriors sprayed a Kru’desh figure with plasma fire. The warrior’s shields collapsed and Loic-D066 picked him off with a precise shot from an energy carbine. His assault rifle had run out of ammunition hours ago. He was down to his M6 and any weapons he could scavenge from fallen warriors. Citlali-D151 shields flared as she dashed to a new position. She clutched a plasma rifle in either hand, dropping Kru’desh warriors with streams of deadly plasma. Akoni-D284 covered Loic and Citlali from the rear with heavy fire from a massive plasma turret.
Loic didn’t know what the hell was happening beyond the forest. The Baran Keep’s battlenet was in chaos. He couldn’t reach Irthanus or Rol. Loic didn’t even know if he cared anymore.
Miraia was dead. These woods, supposedly shelter for a handful of Kru’desh survivors, were swarming with enemy warriors. Loic had walked his team into a trap and now another friend was gone. As the battle spiraled out of control around him, all Loic cared about was killing every Kru’desh bastard between him and their command post. Miraia’s armor was transmitting from a position less than a kilometer away. It was certainly another trap—and that meant Loic would find the bastard leading these Kru’desh waiting to spring it.
He already had a terrible guess as to who it was.
Jiralhanae streamed into the woods. These weren’t reinforcements but survivors carrying news of a terrible rout. Somehow the Kru’desh had turned the tables on Irthanus while Fireteam Gravity was pinned down in the forest. Someone had strung Rol and Irthanus along, dragging the battle out even in the face of Stray’s crushing defeat.
An apparent defeat. Loic realized far too late that he hadn’t seen a real battle that triumphant morning—just a hill full of corpses and Simon-G294’s body. Or a body wearing his armor. No. Impossible. That gaunt head—it was Simon’s… wasn’t it?
Loic shot another Sangheili. Citlali bashed another warriors head in with her plasma rifles while Akoni and the Baran guards rent the woods with plasma fire. There was no more worry about harming House Baran’s sacred forest. That piety had cost them all far too much already.
Loic knelt behind a tree and slid a new clip into his plasma carbine. The terror that had sprang forth ever since Miraia’s status light winked red read threatened to consume him. Animal panic welled up in his armored chest. He had miscalculated. Everything he’d been so sure of—his triumph over Simon and the inevitable victory—evaporated like steam in the cold morning air. He’d been in control during the night. At daybreak he controlled nothing.
The Kru’desh broke and scattered in all directions. Everywhere Loic turned he saw battle. Kru’desh scurried out of the depths of the forest like ants from a kicked hive. Jiralhanae and Baran keep guards staggered in from their desperate retreat. Loic and his friends pushed deeper into the madness, forging ahead to Miraia’s final resting place.
A fresh flurry of plasma fire drove Loic into cover. Kru’desh sharpshooters nestled in the branches overhead and fired down into the snow. Loic and Citlali worked together, combining fire to pick off one warrior after another. It wasn’t enough.
“Foes to the rear!” A Baran officer dashed through a storm of plasma to take cover beside Loic. “The enemy presses on to the keep. They have sent detachments of warriors into the forest. We will soon be overwhelmed!”
The warrior looked imploringly at Loic. Somehow these Sangheili thought Fireteam Gravity could save them. A few hours ago Loic might have believed that. Now he knew better. All he cared about was reaching the center of these woods. He needed to face the monster responsible for all this bloodshed.
Akoni hefted the plasma turret. His armor plating burned dark green in the leafy shadows. “I’ll cover the rear,” Loic’s friend said over their private channel. “Get moving, Loic. Get the bastards who took Miraia. You too, Cit.”
The last thing Loic wanted was to split what remained of his team—his family—up again. But he didn’t have a choice. Banshee engines whizzed over the canopy. The unmistakable sound of HE shells and machine gun fire joined the cacophony of plasma shots. The Kru’desh were coming to save their commander. Loic wouldn’t let that happen.
“I’m counting on you,” he told Akoni. “Give them hell.”
Akoni rapped Loic’s chest plate. “See you on the other side.” He waved to the Sangheili around him. “Come on you lizards! We’re not finished yet!”
Spartan and Sangheili turned and vanished back into the tree line. Loic watched his friend leave, then turned and nodded to Citlali. He was glad to have her by his side here at the very end. She returned the nod and raised her plasma rifles.
“Let’s finish this. For Miraia and Shaima.”
“Miraia and Shaima,” Loic repeated. He swallowed everything—his pride, his grief, his fear—and rose to join the battle once more.
Loic-D066 wasn’t beaten yet.
***
Viru led Naia through a keep in chaos. Keep guards and Jiralhanae staggered past, some fleeing the battle without and others fleeing the battle within. Plasma fire rang out throughout the keep. Things were going badly outside. Naia didn’t know what was happening. Hadn’t her uncle been winning? She followed her cousin through the halls. A swarm of terrified children—Rol ‘Baran’s daughters—hurried after her.
Naia needed to stay strong in front of her cousins. They needed her.
Viru thrust open a small antechamber and ushered Naia inside. “Keep them here,” the young warrior said urgently. “Do not let them leave for any reason.”
Viru was the only one who bothered to come find Naia and the girls. None of the other warriors paid them any mind. Naia hurried her cousins over to the far wall. They cowered around her as more explosions rocked the keep. Yesterday the battle was almost won. Now it consumed the entire keep.
“Stay with me!” Naia begged Viru.
Her cousin looked at her with pain in his eyes. “I must find my fath—the kaidon. I must fulfill my duty. I will return as soon as I can.”
Viru turned to go. He unclipped the plasma rifle from his hip and peered anxiously down the corridor. A lance of Jiralhanae raced by, paying no mind to the lone warrior and the keep maidens. Naia threw decorum to the wind and caught Viru’s shoulder. He gently peeled her off.
“I must go,” he said quietly. “Forgive me. Lock the door and let no one inside. I will keep you safe.”
His mandibles split in a weak smile. “After all, I am your champion.”
He pushed Naia back into the antechamber. She choked back a cry as the door sealed behind him. A terrible despair filled her hearts. Where were the Created? Would the galaxy’s new masters spare nothing to save Archangel’s Rest?
Naia gathered all the strength she could muster. She gathered up her robes and retreated to the back of the chamber, wrapping her arms around her terrified cousins. The girls huddled around her as their world burned outside.
***
Teyr ‘Baran stood in the center of the keep’s throne room. His wife, sons, and personal guard—all armed to the teeth—filled the chamber. The steward folded his arms and regarded Hera with cold, calclulating eyes. The sounds of battle echoed from outside the keep and within the walls themselves. Urei ‘Caszal’s warriors were making an excellent accounting of themselves on the lower levels.
“I hope you can forgive my lack of hospitality earlier,” Teyr said. He was quite calm for a warrior on the losing side of a battle. “You must understand my position. Your earlier visits placed me under great suspicion. I could not afford an accusation of treason on the eve of battle.”
“I get it. You were hedging your bets. No hard feelings. I’d have don ethe same.” Hera felt like a fool, standing before a roomful of armored Sangheili in nothing more than her ragged prisoner tabard. She met the steward’s cold gaze. “But enough standing on the sidelines. Your bet paid off. Time to cash in your chips.”
Teyr cocked his head. “My chips…?”
“A human expression, steward.” Argo ‘Varvin stood a few paces behind Hera. He kept glancing back at the tower window and the battle raging outside. The Kru’desh advanced across the plains, sweeping aside the last vestiges of resistance. They’d be at the gates within the hour. “She means that the time has come to betray your brother.”
“Silence, wretch,” Teyr snapped. “This is my hall. My keep. Insult me again and I will take your head.”
Hera shot Argo a warning look. The mercenary was pathologically compelled to insult anyone and everyone he met. She wouldn’t put it past him to derail negotiations on a whim.
“The last time we spoke in this very room, you promised to fight the Created if I helped you win back your position as Kaidon.” Hera waved at the battle raging outside. “Here we are. Unless a Guardian pops in right now your brother’s going to lose. Now’s your chance to be on the winning side.”
“The winning side.” Teyr nodded thoughtfully. His eyes gleamed with calculated greed. “Of this battle, perhaps. But the Created are mighty. Stray is victorious because no Guardians opposed him here. His next battle may not turn out so neartly.”
“This galaxy’s a strange place.” Hera humored the steward’s play at weighing his options. Decorum wouldn’t permit Teyr to grasp for a rope like a drowning man. He needed to appear in control and swayed by wise counsel. “Less than a decade ago the Covenant ruled half the universe. Now look at you. The Created weren’t here a year ago. Who’s to say they’ll still be here next year?”
Banshees swept passed the window. The chamber rattled as fuel rod blasts rent the keep walls. Phantoms swooped low over the woods as a loose line of Wraiths and Scorpions drew near the Baran Keep.
“Time to choose, steward,” Hera said. “Or should I call you kaidon?”
Plasma fire rang from the halls outside. The Cleansing Blade moved in for the kill. Distant mortars hammered the keep walls. Outside, the sacred forest was on fire.
***
A snarl from a nearby Jiralhanae caught Loic’s attention. He knelt alongside the warrior and trained his carbine on a small clearing just ahead of his position. Two dozen Jiralhanae and Sangheili—stragglers Loic had drawn together as he fought his way through the Kru’desh lines—spread out across the woodline. Citlali’s status indicator winked twice. She moved out perpendicular to Loic’s position, setting up for a flanking maneuver.
The battle had already passed this way. The small clearing, its snowy ground lit by sun that streamed through the canopy overhead, was littered with dead Sangheili wearing both Kru’desh and Baran colors. Purple blood stained the ground. And there, at the far end of the clearing, Loic saw two human figures in MJOLNIR armor.
Bile rose in Loic’s throat. He recognized both suits of armor. Miraia’s orange-tinted form lay huddled at the base of a looming tree. The second figure sat just behind the corpse, visor staring out over the bloody clearing. Shaima’s armor was rent and battered but Loic knew it at once. And he knew that it wasn’t his kind, easygoing friend wearing that armor.
The monster wearing Shaima’s armor tilted his head. “I know you’re out there,” he said in a wearily resentful tone, as if Loic and the others were inconveniencing him. “My warriors told me Spartans were on the way. You’re not here to surrender, are you? I know I’m not that lucky, but it would really make things easier on both of us. I’ve already won.”
The arrogance! Loic bared his teeth behind his helmet. He scanned the woods behind Simon-G294. He couldn’t see any Kru’desh warriors—none living, anyway. But Simon wouldn’t be alone. He had another trick up his sleeve. Did he really think Loic couldn’t anticipate him? Did he really think so little of Fireteam Gravity?
The Sangheili beside Loic shifted impatiently. Loic subtly motioned for the warriors to hold position. He kept his anger in check even while Simon mocked Shaima with every breath he took inside her armor. It was all Loic could do not to race up and empty his carbine into Simon’s head.
“Come on, Loic. It’s Loic right? Andra gave me the rundown on your whole team. Quit while you’re ahead. There’s three of you left. Be smart. You can still walk away. This wasn’t anything personal for me. I’ve got a lot of sympathy for you guys. It’s not easy being a traitor, but I know what you’re going through better than anyone…”
Citlali pinged Loic’s helmet as Simon arrogantly prattled on. “He’s got snipers hiding in the trees. I’ve got their number. Take this bastard out, Loic. I’ve got you covered.”
“That’s all I needed to hear.” Loic snapped his carbine up and opened fire. A dozen green bolts slammed through Simon’s head. Plasma fire slashed through the forest as Citlali laid into the Kru’desh snipers. The clearing erupted as the warriors around Loic opened fire. Simon vanished in a plume of steam and smoke. No beam rifles hissed in response. The Kru’desh trap was gone before it could ever be sprung.
Loic lowered the carbine, breathing heavily. He stared at the clearing, transfixed. Two lances of warriors rose from cover and advanced cautiously. No enemy fire sounded from the trees. Was that really all it took? Loic had felt this way before, that morning when—
The smoke parted to reveal Simon, still seated at the base of the tree and utterly unharmed. The nearest Jiralhanae snarled in surprise and riddled the armored form with spikes. The projectiles passed through Simon, who flickered and shimmered against the tree trunk. A hologram.
A thin, wild laugh cut through the air. “I can’t believe you fell for my oldest trick! Even Zoey sees through that one by now!” Simon’s voice echoed through the forest, booming from all directions at once—including the tree just behind Loic. “And if that one got you, I know you won’t see this one coming…”
Loic turned in time to see a small hole drilled through the tree at head height. He had no time to shout a warning. He threw himself to the ground as the air erupted above him. Explosives rigged inside the trees all around the clearing detonated, engulfing the forest in blue fire.
***
The forest burned.
Stray watched the explosives detonate from a distance. He leaned against the nearest tree and tried to control his breathing. Even that was getting more difficult. Despite his mocking words over the broadcast he felt utterly drained.
His holo-drone soared out of the burning forest. He caught the small sphere and tucked it into one of the pouches slung over the ravaged MJOLNIR armor. This armor’s transmission system was an excellent network for the drone’s projection abilities. It was the only thing about this damned armor that actually worked.
Stray jabbed a finger at the burning clearing. The explosive trap had worked well but there were plenty of Created troops still alive amidst all the fire and downed trees. “What are you waiting for? Get in there!”
A dozen Kru’desh warriors took up positions and opened fire. They cut down the disoriented enemy with a merciless plasma barrage. Stray hung back and let them do the dirty work. He’d made a mistake strapping himself into this MJOLNIR armor. The suit wasn’t close to calibrated properly. Urei’s warriors had ruined half the armor’s subsystems when they pried it off Shaima’s corpse. The enhanced exoskeleton barely worked, leaving Stray trapped in a heavy, barely responsive suit of armor. He might as well be wearing a suit of medieval plate.
Stray’s breath came in quick, short gasps. He’d barely slept in three days. Even hiding out in this forest left him utterly drained. The battle raged around him—his battle. Every death was his doing. Every kill was his. He ought to feel intoxicating triumph. Instead Stray was at the end of his rope. He didn’t know how much further he could go.
Cleansing Blade scouts reported that many Jiralhanae had deserted the enemy during the night. That meant Alaric had performed his second task just as well as his first. The southern settlements were on fire. Entire villages, destroyed on Stray’s orders.
The forest burned around him. Lensky, Venter, and Shinsu glared at him through the flames. Let it all burn. What were a few Brute villagers to him? Accomplish the mission, whatever the cost. That’s how he’d been raised. That’s what Spartans did. Reach the top, take the hill, snatch the flag. Die if you have to. Kill if you have to. But win. Victory was all.
A Sangheili ran a Jiralhanae through with an energy sword. Plasma bolts slashed through the air; a human figure darted through the flames, twin plasma rifles blazing. One Spartan was still in the fight. Where were the others? The explosion hadn’t killed all of them.
Kru’desh warriors fought and died around him. More of the enemy emerged through the smoke. Stray choked back an angry curse. He’d miscalculated. The explosion had drawn more troops in, like moths to a flame. Let them burn.
His mind clouded over. He lurched forward, clumsier than ever in the unfamiliar armor. His bad leg throbbed. The bandages around his prosthetic slid free as he unslung his shotgun. One blast took the head off the first Jiralhanae who burst through the Kru’desh line. The next dropped a Sangheili warrior’s shield. The Kru’desh mowed the helpless guard down.
“Come on, Loic, give me a real fight.” His mouth formed hollow, mocking words even has his body strained within the stolen armor. He had to draw the Spartans out to make them targets for his own warriors. “You’re giving us traitors a bad name!”
Carbine fire tore through the trees. Stray dropped back into cover. He flashed a signal to the Kru’desh. His warriors obediently disengaged and drew back from the burning clearing. Stray counted only eight Sangheili left. This was bad. Desperation clouded his mind. Had he come all this way just to fail now?
Dark shapes moved through the smoke. A Kru’desh sharpshooter dropped a Jiralhanae only to fall beneath a hail of plasma. The Spartan with the plasma rifles was back and bearing down on Stray’s position. Kru’desh warriors darted forward to intercept only to be driven back by lethal carbine fire.
Stray lobbed a grenade into the Spartan’s path. His enemy darted nimbly aside, easily slipping through the explosion unharmed. Angry terror clawed Stray’s mind. He was no match for these Spartans. In functioning MJOLNIR each one was worth a dozen of his own warriors. He needed at least—
A plasma cannon fired down into the forest. The Spartan veered out of the way just in time, vanishing back into the smoke. A Phantom swopped low over the forest canopy. More plasma fire raked enemy positions Sangheili bodies leaped down from the dropship. They snapped through branches and rained leaves and plasma onto the Created troops. The enemy retreated and the newcomers formed a perimeter around Stray’s position.
One young officer stepped forward, energy sword in hand. Stray gaped up at the warrior, relief piercing his fog of pain and fear. “Tuka!”
“Commander!” Tuka caught Stray’s arm and helped him to his feet. “Is that really you in that armor?”
Stray steadied himself. His muscles strained beneath the heavy MJOLNIR. “I’m trying a new look,” he said with far more confidence than he felt. His warriors needed their commander to keep up appearances. “But I don’t think it’s a keeper. Glad you finally decided to come get a piece of the action.”
“I came as swiftly as I could.” As always, Tuka was a stranger to banter. “The Soul Ascension is—”
Jiralhanae howls pierced the air. Tuka turned, blade in hand. Stray raised his shotgun and took up a position beside his friend. They stood head to shoulder as the enemy closed in from all sides.
“I hope you came ready to fight,” Stray muttered. “We’ve got at least three enemy Spartans to deal with out here.”
“Let them come, commander. I am proud to stand beside you once more.”
Stray didn’t deserve that pride. He didn’t deserve Tuka’s friendship or his loyalty. But this wasn’t the time for doubts. The enemy raced to join the fray once more. This would be the final push. The Kru’desh raised their weapons and let the enemy come to them.
“You know the drill people,” Stray ordered. He raised his shotgun. “Kill them all.”
***
Andra pounded out of the Mastodon. The great forest was right in front of her, its venerable trees full of smoke and plasma fire. Kru’desh warriors surged ahead. They cut down disorganized stragglers with blazing energy swords. Scattered Jiralhanae fled into the forest for shelter only to find it already swarming with Kru’desh troops. There was no sanctuary in the sacred grove.
Ragna’s Cyclops charged into the forest, its charred hull snapping branches off trees and kicking up sheets of snow. Somehow that girl still had energy to spare. Her refitted autocannon picked off one Jiralhanae after another. Kru’desh warriors cheered and followed her lead. After three days of hopeless battle they were finally on the winning side—and now they were out for blood.
Andra’s battle rifle clattered. She emptied the magazine into the first Baran guard she saw. In their bright armor the keep guards looked gaudy and conspicuous compared to the ragged, faded Kru’desh harnesses. The Kru’desh legion marched into the forest, sweeping all resistance before them.
On the snowy plains an armored column—every war machine the Kru’desh could muster—advanced inexorably upon the Baran Keep. The long march and endless night were over. The venerable temple world’s defenders scattered as the Kru’desh took possession.
This was Stray’s victory. Somehow he’d conjured victory from the jaws of defeat. Andra needed to find him. She needed to know just how he’d done it. “You’re still alive,” Mohsin had said bitterly. He’d been thinking of all the people who weren’t He’d known all along, even as it tortured him to hold back the truth. He was right: Andra was alive. And hundreds of other people weren’t.
Covies and Innies. The enemy. Why did Andra care how Stray spent his soldiers’ lives? Why did she care at all?
The Kru’desh mowed down their broken foe. Any warriors unlucky enough to be left behind were set upon by gangs of Unggoy and Kig-Yar. Andra saw a human sergeant, his eyes wide behind his balaclava, march methodically from one corpse to another to put a bullet in each one’s head even as plasma scoured the trees behind him.
A volley of plasma and spike grenades tumbled through the air. An entire lance disappeared in a cloud of fire and flechettes. Concentrated plasma fire ripped through more warriors. Andra dashed through the burning storm. She peered through a haze of steam she saw glimmering figures dug in just thirty meters ahead. Sangheili and Jiralhanae pinned the Kru’desh down under a withering barrage. And there in their midst loomed a figure in bulky MJOLNIR armor.
Andra’s pulse quickened. If only she’d kept her SR99! “Sniper!” she bellowed. “Get snipers up here, now!”
No one heard her. The Kru’desh traded fire with the enemy position. The enemy Spartan—Loic or one of the other members of Gravity—took down one warrior after another with concentrated blasts from a plasma turret braced against his armored hip. Andra took cover behind the nearest tree, firing bursts at the Spartan’s chest. She was firing on one of her own, someone she’d grown up with. She didn’t care. They were all beyond that now.
The Spartan ducked away, shields flaring. Kru’desh warriors closed in on the enemy’s flanks. The plasma fire wilted away, replaced by the hiss of energy swords and screams from brutal close combat. A melee engulfed the combatants. Smoke drifted through ancient trees: something was burning nearby.
Andra was once again out of ammunition. She crawled over to a dead Jiralhanae and pried a skewer rifle from his stiff fingers. The warrior only had three massive javelin-projectiles. This would have to do. Andra clipped the metal bolts to her back. The Kru’desh around her were charging the enemy line once more. Andra scoured the battlefield for any sign of the Spartan. She only had one target now. The rest would take care of itself with or without her.
The armored figure emerged once more, close enough that Andra could make out the gray and orange hued armor through the smoke. He hefted a fuel rod cannon in one hand and a plasma rifle in the other. Three Sangheili disappeared in a plume of green fire. The Spartan vanished again before Andra could ine up a shot.
A single well-placed Spartan could wipe out an entire detachment. Andra, exhausted as she was, couldn’t match him without MJOLNIR on her own. Her only chance was to pick the enemy off from a distance—or simply swarm and overwhelm him, no matter the cost in lives.
A bulky shape leaped into view. Ragna’s Cyclops barreled recklessly forward, autocannon hammering the enemy line. A cry rose from the Kru’desh. Again they rallied behind the charging exoskeleton. They broke cover and charged the enemy en masse. Andra didn’t have time to think. She rose and joined the reckless assault.
The enemy Spartan rose to face the challenge. Ragna thundered towards him. Her autocannon stripped his shields with three glancing blows. The Spartan staggered but held his ground. The fuel rod gun came up; Ragna had no time to evade. Three green explosions erupted beneath the Cyclops’s cockpit. The exoskeleton flew back into the nearest tree and slumped lifelessly into the snow. Smoke rose from its charred, broken hull.
Andra fired the skewer. The javelin clipped the traitor Spartan’s helmet. He withstood even that impact, turning to face Andra through a cracked visor. Andra threw herself down as more fuel rods blasted apart the trees around her. Massive trunks struck the ground and the snow gave way beneath her.
The Kru’desh clashed with the enemy. Sanghieli cut down Jiralhanae in close combat while Unggoy and humans set up a base of fire to pick off anyone trying to dig in deeper in the forest. Andra rammed a new javelin into place. Two Sangheili rushed the Spartan. He threw one warrior to the ground and crushed the alien’s skull beneath his boot. The second’s blade scored a lucky cut across the Spartan’s helmet.
An audible scream rent the air. The Spartan threw himself at his attacker. He caught the warrior’s sword arm and pressed it back with all his strength. Bones snapped and the warrior fell, gutted by his own blade.
Andra fired again. This time the skewer javelin impaled the Spartan from behind. He staggered, the bloody spear protruding through his midsection. Despite all his wounds the Spartan still held his ground.
She had no time to reload. Andra raced forward, the skewer’s bayonet angled up for a killing blow. The Spartan faced her as she brought the blade up to cut his throat. A familiar face peered out from the shattered visor and mask of blood.
Akoni. Andra had fought him in woods not so different from these on Argus V. A training exercise, Boson versus Gravity. Akoni had beaten her then, dropping her and Merlin in a hail of tactical training rounds. He’d laughed as he helped Andra to her feet. Better luck next time.
Andra froze in the moment of the kill. It flew in the face of all her training but she just couldn’t do it. To kill a brother—while she wore Venter’s armor and marched in Stray’s army—would end everything she’d ever been. Everything she’d hoped to become. She might as well—
Akoni ripped the skewer from her hands. He caught Andra by the shoulder and threw her into the nearest tree. Andra’s vision exploded. She tasted copper, writhing on the ground as Akoni staggered towards her.
“Andra, huh?” Akoni gasped through his wounds. “I knew it was you.”
He fumbled for his pistol, hampered by the javelin embedded in his gut. Andra cast about for something, anything to defend herself with. Her hand wrapped around a knife hilt. It wouldn’t be enough. Akoni loomed over her, pistol in hand. His eyes stared down hatefully through his ruined visor.
“We were trying to make it better,” he hissed. The pistol came up. “Miraia, Shaima, they just wanted a better world for everyone. But you helped these bastards kill them. What the hell are you fighting for, huh? What the hell--?”
A shot rang through the woods. Andra blinked. She was still alive. Akoni staggered and fell to his knees. Blood gurgled from a wound in his throat. His eyes bulged with animal terror. Andra would remember that look for the rest of her life.
Ragna Aasen braced the Century Twist rifle against the Cyclops’s open cockpit. She chambered another round and fired again. Akoni-D284 dropped to the snow and did not rise again.
“Andra!” Ragna yelled. She wriggled free from the damaged Cyclops and dropped to the ground. “Andra, are you alright?”
Andra stared at Akoni’s corpse. A terrible ache rose in her chest, a pain that had nothing to do with her injuries. “I’m alive,” she rasped.
Ragna staggered over the corpses and fallen trees. The fighting had moved elsewhere. For the moment, Ragna and Andra were alone with the dead. Ragna stared, wide-eyed, at Akoni. She nudged the mangled body with her boot. “I dropped a Spartan. I can’t believe I—" 
She glanced at Andra and ducked her head. “Sorry.”
It was the first time Andra had heard the Bloodhound sound even remotely contrite on her behalf.
“You saved my life. He was going to kill me. Kill or be killed, yeah?”
“Damn right.” Ragna helped Andra up.
Kill or be killed. That was how things worked. That was the galaxy Akoni and the rest of Gravity had set themselves against. They really believed in Cortana’s vision of enforced peace. Andra spared one last look at Akoni and wondered if she had anything left of her own to believe in.
***
Loic watched Akoni’s status light flatline. He raised his carbine and gunned down another Kru’desh even as tears flowed behind his visor. Citlali stood beside him. An energy sword blow had cost her one of her plasma rifles; she blazed away with the remaining weapon, channeling her grief into deadly aim.
The battle was lost. The Jiralhanae and keep guards fought on but their movements were scattered and disorganized. The Kru’desh cut them down, one after another. Loic still had no way of knowing what stone had shifted to send this avalanche of defeat crashing down upon a battle that just yesterday had seemed all but won. The reason didn’t matter. The Baran army was broken. No amount of fighting could save it now.
And yet Loic fought on. He had no choice. What was left? There was no chance of escape. If he surrendered the Kru’desh would skin him alive. If by some miracle they showed him mercy he would be Simon-G294’s prisoner, a trophy to be mocked and ridiculed. He could not bear that humiliation for himself or Citlali.
So Loic fought on with grim despair. He had only one purpose left: to avenge his friends. He would find Simon-G294 and break him. That monster would get no joy from this victory.
Righteous anger burned bright within Loic’s armor. He waved Citlali forward. They needed to break through these Kru’desh. Simon lurked beyond this final lance. The Created were the future. Cortana’s victory was inevitable. Loic and his friends had only wanted to help make the galaxy a better place. That was what they’d been raised to do. They’d done nothing wrong! Why should they suffer while Simon, a selfish coward who’d only ever fought for his own petty greed, emerged triumphant? It wasn’t right!
Nothing about this was right.
A shotgun blast rang out a dozen meters ahead. Loic was almost there. He dashed through a wave of plasma fire. Shots splashed over his shields and burned through his shoulder. Loic paid the wound no mind. He dropped his empty carbine and snatched up an energy sword, cutting down the last warriors in his path. His real enemy waited just up ahead.
***
“What is the meaning of this?” Rol ‘Baran stared at his brother in utter disbelief. Teyr stood before the keep throne, surrounded by his sons and personal guard. The warriors trained their weapons on Rol and his own entourage. Hera and Argo stood at the far end of the chamber and watched the drama unfold.
“I would think it to be obvious, brother.” Teyr’s eyes gleamed with triumphant fury. “A great injustice is corrected today. You stole the position that was rightfully mine. You allied with the Jiralhanae to secure your claim. You brought those creatures to our ancestral home. And now you have led our forces into a crushing defeat.”
Rol looked to his own sons and bodyguards. They were vastly outnumbered by the warriors arrayed against him. The rest of those loyal to him were dead or dying outside. All that remained within the keep were Teyr’s own guard forces, who were swiftly surrendering to the Cleansing Blade.
“I acted to preserve our house against the Great Schism.” Rol turned back to his brother with pleading eyes. He found only bitter condemnation. “Let go of your bitter grudges, brother. Do not make common cause with these warmongers. There is still time—”
“Time, yes. Time enough to reclaim my birthright.” Teyr stepped forward. He produced an energy sword from within his cloak. His warriors primed their weapons. Rol and his children were helpless to defend themselves. They were wholly outnumbered.
Several of Rol’s own guards weighted duty and survival and found duty wanting. They stepped aside, abandoning their kaidon to his fate.
The throne room door slid open. Urei ‘Caszal, his injured arm still bound by a sling, strode into the chamber. He clutched a plasma rifle in his free hand. Three Cleansing Blade warriors followed him inside. Their dark armor reeked of soot and plasma smoke.
“What is taking so long?” Urei cast a scornful gaze at the assembled Sangheili. “End this wretched affair! House Baran will pledge allegiance to Shinsu ‘Refum. Do not keep me waiting. I have other matters to attend to.”
Rol ‘Baran stared aghast at a room full of enemies. His shoulders slumped. His mandibles hung loose in defeat. He looked at his remaining sons with eyes full of despair. “I only wished to—”
Teyr’s blade hissed to life. He drove the sword deep into his brother’s back. Rol ‘Baran shuddered and fell limp. His sons had no chance to defend themselves. Teyr’s warriors fell upon their cousins with savage fury. Urei waved his warriors back, ensuring that the Cleansing Blade took no part in the bloodletting. When the killing was over, Teyr bellowed victoriously over his brother’s corpse.
“Thus always to usurpers!” the new kaidon cried. “I have repaid treachery with justice.”
Urei exchanged a knowing look with Hera. The Spartan nodded, a grim smile tugging the edges of her mouth. Urei stepped over the stricken bodies. “Your position is restored, Lord Baran. But a kaidon must fulfill his obligations. The Kru’desh still wage war outside. Lord Stray’s legion is a savage bunch. Do not give him reason to regret this overture.”
“Yes, yes,” Teyr said disinterestedly. He swept over to the keep’s elevated throne, his robes stained with Rol’s blood. “Our alliance with the Created is dissolved. All of my warriors will withdraw from combat. Their kaidon commands an immediate ceasefire.”
Urei’s eyes narrowed. He turned to his warriors. “Ensure the kaidon’s command is delivered immediately. Open the gates and let our comrades into the keep. And find Stray. His victory is complete!”
On the throne, Teyr’s mind was already on other matters. “Bring me the traitor’s family!” he commanded. “My brother’s branch will be blotted out utterly. His poison will infect our bloodline no longer!”
Warriors rushed to obey their new lord’s command. At the far end of the room, Argo ‘Varvin stared down at Rol and his butchered sons. This was keep politics, nothing more. A slighted lord betrayed his family and cloaked his bloodshed in righteousness. Argo turned away from the sordid scene in disgust.
***
A shotgun blast ripped through a Sangheili’s chest. Stray ducked behind Tuka and slid a fresh shell into the receiver. Tuka and three other warriors—all that remained of Stray’s reinforcement—cut down one attacker after another. Another wave of Jiralhanae burst from the trees. Their wild charge made them easy pray for Tuka’s neat sword strokes.
Stray fired again. The broken MJOLNIR weighed him down, its heavy plates slowing him down but shielding him from the worst of the enemy fire. He felt trapped within the stolen shell. Every warrior he lost made the armored prison constrict a little more. There was no escape. After everything he’d done and everything he’d sacrificed there was no walking away. No returning to the amicable days of quiet insignificance aboard the Chancer V. His life was now one of endless battle, a race to accumulate more power until one battle finally killed him.
It’s what I wanted. Power. Influence. Respect. I wanted to be in the rooms where the decisions were made.
A Jiralhanae mowed down another Kru’desh in a hail of spiker rounds. The shaggy alien bellowed and rushed Tuka from behind. Stray forced his ailing body to move. His machete sank deep into the warrior’s neck. Tuka whirled and cut down the gagging creature with a swift sword stroke. He raised a plasma rifle with his free hand and blazed away at the remaining foes. Stray yanked the machete free. He planted the blade in the ground and knelt, raking the treeline with shotgun blasts. The remaining Jiralhanae died, their hoarse cries echoing through the trees.
The forest around Stray’s position was littered with corpses. Stocky Jiralhanae and broken Sangheili sprawled in the dirty snow while smoke from the burning trees filled the air.
Too late, Stray realized that his vision from the Silent Garden had indeed come true. He’d won the great battle in the snow. He’d won it and become someone he barely recognized—or perhaps he recognized that person all too well. I wanted to be Ryder Kedar and instead I became Redmond Venter.
He wanted to get away from all this carnage and bloodshed. But even if he fled to the furthest edge of the galaxy the dead would haunt his dreams at every step. His own guilt was a weakness he could never overcome. At least, Simon could not overcome it. Stray, the ruthless killer who had set all this in motion, was who he’d always needed to become.
“Juno, come in,” Stray gasped. His ammunition pouch was empty. He had four shells left in his shotgun. After that he’d be down to knives, sidearms, and anything he could scavenge from the bodies around him. “We need reinforcements. Now!”
No response. Stray heard nothing from the battlenet. Someone was jamming his coms. His hands shook. He felt clammy beneath his armor. No. Not now! He couldn’t afford another seizure. But his body didn’t care what he could and couldn’t afford. His knees buckled and he fell, bracing himself against the machete and driving it deeper into the cold earth.
He stared at the corpses around him and wanted to be sick. His victory. His plan. His fault.
A hush fell over the battlefield. Tuka and his last two warriors placed themselves in a defensive posture around Stray. They stared at something just behind him. He turned to see two MJOLNIR-clad Spartans standing a few paces away. One wore bone-white armor and held an energy sword. The other, a slightly smaller figure in pale green armor, held a plasma rifle at the ready.
After all that carnage those two damned Spartan’s weren’t dead. Guilty exhaustion gave way before a growing, primal rage. How many people had to die before this would just end?
Citlali stepped away from Loic, trying to get a firing angle on Stray. Loic tapped the helmet where a local electronic warfare package was scrambling the Kru’desh coms. “You can’t call for help,” he said with barely contained fury. “No more Covenant friends. You’re on your own.”
Even in defeat Loic sounded cocky. Stray knew his type. He’d put up with far too many of them back on Onyx. He made Loic the focus of all his desperate rage. Somehow that gave him the strength to stand once more. He faced the two Spartans, who bristled at the sight of Shaima’s armor. They wanted Stray dead more than anything else in the world.
“Four on two, pal.” Stray spoke with confidence that belied the fire raging in his mind. “Give it up and I’ll let you live. I’ll even put in a good word when I hand you over to Shinsu. He could use the two of you. Switching sides isn’t that hard once you’ve done it a few times. From one traitor to another—”
“We’re nothing like you,” Loic hissed. He stepped forward, energy sword raised. “And your pet hinges are nothing compared to us.”
Stray’s bad leg screamed beneath the weight of his armor. His mouth was parched. Fear made him unsteady. These Spartans were bundles of raw, deadly potential. He was in no shape to take them on. Even without an exhausted, decaying body he’d be no match. But he wasn’t fighting alone.
“We’ll take them together,” he told Tuka quietly. “Like we handled those Spartans on Erebus VII.”
“My thoughts exactly.” Tuka dropped into a low defensive posture. His two warriors spread out on either side. “This human irritates me.”
“You’ve got the patience of a saint. He must be a son of a bitch to get on your nerves.”
Loic sprang forward, blade in hand. Citlali covered him with a hail of plasma fire. Tuka and his warriors sprang to meet the charge. Everything happened incredibly quickly. A Kru’desh warrior fell to Loic’s wild swing. Tuka and his last warrior stabbed at Loic from both sides. Citlali flung herself into the fray to know one of the deadly blades aside. She scorched the warrior’s shields with plasma fire.
Stray lobbed a dark sphere into the confusion. “Tuka, now!”
Tuka barked a harsh command to his subordinate. They made no effort to avoid the grenade and instead redoubled their attacks, pinning Loic and Citlali down. Stray’s EMP charge went off. The combatants’ energy shields collapsed. The Spartans shuddered, momentarily blinded as their HUDs reset. Citlali recovered just in time to intercept the Kru’desh warrior as he thrust his blade at Loic. She drew her combat knife and rammed it into the Sangheili’s trapezius.
Loic knocked the wounded warrior aside only to realize that he’d lost sight of Simon. A moment later the traitor burst through the smoke, shotgun trained on Citlali’s head. Loic’s energy sword slashed through the armored form but met only air. The hologram disintegrated just as the real Simon slipped out from behind it. He ducked clear of Loic’s sword and fired his shotgun into Citlali’s knee. She fell, one leg reduced to a mess of blood and shattered armor. Tuka loomed up behind her, energy sword raised.
“Loic,” Citlali gasped. “Loic, I—”
Tuka’s blade came down. Citlali went limp and fell, her visor buried in a patch of snow.
A ragged scream escaped Loic’s helmet. He dove at Tuka, but the Kru’desh warrior Citlali had stabbed planted himself between his officer and the grief-stricken Spartan. Loic’s blade impaled the Sangheili. The warrior snarled and took hold of Loic’s wrist with both hands, pinning him in place.
Stray fired his last shell at Loic’s head. The white helmet jerked and sparked, riddled with buckshot. His HUD went dark and he flailed blindly away from the dying Sangheili. Tuka stepped dutifully forward, sword raised. Stray dropped his empty shotgun and reached for a sidearm.
Tuka’s blade slashed through Loic’s side. The Spartan twisted at the last moment to avoid the killing blow. Blood seeped down his white armor. He threw himself at Tuka with a defiant cry. His ruined helmet slammed into Tuka’s head. Tuka staggered back, giving Loic an opening to draw his sidearm. The Spartan took aim—not at Tuka, but Stray.
Tuka flung himself in front of his friend, just as his own warrior had done for him. The young officer threw out his arms as Loic emptied the pistol into his chest. Tuka staggered, blood pooling from his combat harness. He blew out a deep breath and dropped to his knees like a supplicant at prayer. His eyes fixed on a point up in the trees and he fell, purple blood staining the white ground.
Stray fired at Loic but Shaima’s poorly calibrated armor betrayed him. The shots went wide. Loic closed the distance between him in an instant. His empty pistol smashed into Stray’s helmet, shattering the visor. He bludgeoned the Kru’desh commander, throwing him back against a nearby tree.
Wild eyes peered out from the broken visor. They took in the corpse-strewn ground, the burning trees, Tuka’s limp form…
The pain and exhaustion fled away before a wave of primal fury. Something stirred within Stray. A desperate strength buried long ago surged through his body. He lashed out with his prosthetic arm and seized Loic’s throat. His fist slammed into the Spartan’s head, knocking him back. Loic reeled, blinded by his ruined helmet and hobbled by the wound in his side.
Stray rained blows onto Loic’s bleached armor. A wild fury possessed him—fury mixed with intoxicating joy. He drove the wounded Spartan back across the snow, cutting loose with every ounce of strength he possessed. Loic reeled away, clutching his side and staggering out of reach. The burst of strength passed and Stray’s bad leg gave way beneath him. He caught himself against the nearest tree, panting heavily.
Loic fumbled with his helmet. He pried the battered equipment off his head and dropped it into the snow. Vision unencumbered, he blinked in the cold morning light. Leaning against the tree, his body throbbing from the exertion of simply holding himself up, Stray saw a sandy-haired young man with handsome features that looked utterly out of place atop the bulky MJOLNIR. The two enemies, the last ones standing, glared at each other across the blood soaked battlefield.
Stray’s eyes narrowed as his wits reasserted themselves. Tuka lay just a few meters away. Cruel triumph filled Stray’s mind—triumph, and a thirst for vengeance. His prosthetic fingers curled around the edge of his helmet. “I should be thanking you,” he said, dragging the stifling helmet off his head. “I couldn’t have done any of this without you.”
Loic found himself staring at a pale, haggard face crowned by a mess of dirty hair. His enemy’s ashen face might have belonged to a corpse. Simon’s sunken eyes stared back with defiant malevolence. Loic’s shoulders slumped as he looked at a face completely different from the beheaded man he’d seen on that corpse-strewn hill three days ago.
“Yeah,” Stray panted. “Here’s what I really look like. Lucky me you only had old intel photos to go off, if you even thought about them at all. And my arm…”
He let out an ugly laugh. “Didn’t matter anyway, did it? It could have been anyone in that armor and you’d have bought it. You just wanted a prize. I knew you’d focus everything on me. I had you pegged from the minute you sent that moronic message into my camp.”
“Shut up,” Loic whispered. The traitor’s words burned worse than any plasma wounds. He could see Citlali’s body lying alongside Stray’s tree.
“Why should I? I won. And I couldn’t have done it without your help. You gave me everything I needed: you took the Brutes on the offensive. They could have just waited in the keep while we froze to death out in the blizzard. I wouldn’t have had all those bodies to stage that little charade if you hadn’t attacked my column. You even gave me the in I needed to send Alaric over to your side.” Stray’s words dripped with venom. “You tried to turn my own legion against me. My own legion! As if they’d turn on me for the likes of you! Better people than you have tried. I passed through fire and blood to win their loyalty. What did you offer them? Peace and submission. You think the whole galaxy wants to play by your rules, rules some AI handed down from her invisible throne.”
“I said shut up!” Loic yelled. “You haven’t won. You’ll never win! Cortana’s going to wipe the galaxy clean of scum like you. All you did here was kill thousands of innocent people. You ruined this planet and you murdered my friends.”
Stray’s eye twitched. “Murder? Oh, right. It’s always murder when I do it. I’m a murderer, and all your victims were just casualties of war. This is why I hate Spartans. Go to hell. I’m so sick of your goddamn sanctimony.”
“Hell? We’re already there. This galaxy is hell, all because of people like you.”
A mocking laugh escaped Stray’s dry lips. He swayed, his fingers biting into the tree bark. “You fool. You don’t know the first thing about this galaxy you want to change so badly. That’s going to get you killed someday.”
Loic drew the knife affixed to his chest, the last weapon he had left. He dropped into a combat stance, the knife pointed at his enemy’s neck. Stray’s eyes widened at the sight of the blade. He lost his grip on the tree and fell backwards into the snow. Loic pounced on his supine foe.
The mask slipped away. Triumph replaced fear. Stray’s hand burst out of the snow holding a miniature M6C sidearm. The pistol fired. Loic writhed and staggered as the wild shots hammered his chest and punched through his arms. Stray was up in an instant. He sprang on Loic like an angry dog. They fell to the ground in a tangle of blood and armored limbs.
Twisted, emaciated features glared down at Loic, teeth bared in a predatory snarl. Loic stared up into the monster’s mad, dancing eyes. Stray’s fist came up. Loic met the end with a defiant cry. His knife shot towards Stray’s neck as the fists came down.
Stray rained down blows until his organic arm felt as numb as the prosthetic. He panted heavily, staring down at the red mess where Loic’s head should have been. He looked at his bloody hands, anger and bloodlust draining away and leaving him utterly empty. He fell away from the dead boy and collapsed against the tree. He stared at carnage around him through confused, unfocused eyes.
“Tuka?” he called faintly. His friend did not stir.
Stray stared at Tuka’s body for some time. The best friend he’d ever known was just another corpse on a blood-stained battlefield, one more pawn offered up on the altar of victory. Stray lowered his head and sat in silence amidst the corpses.
He did not know how much time had passed until the sound of boots crunching through snow alerted him to someone’s approach. He looked up to see Venter picking through the burnt trees. No, not Venter. Venter was dead.
Andra came up short at the sight of the last battle. She looked in amazement at the dead warriors, the dead Spartans, and at Stray himself clad in ruined MJOLNIR. Her hands curled into fists and she stepped forward, but lost whatever she was about to say at the sight of Tuka’s body. She looked back to Stray and was amazed at the despair she saw etched into his face. Sitting in the ashes of triumph he looked small and lost and totally alone.
More footsteps crunched behind her. Stray saw Kru’desh Sangheili marching purposefully through the trees. At once his expression changed. The mask returned. His eyes hardened, becoming cold and mocking and cruel.
“Lieutenant Kearsarge,” the bloody-handed commander said. “Glad to see you well.”
"You're alive."
“Try not to sound so disappointed.” He gestured vaguely at the carnage around them. “I told you, didn’t I? It’s all just smoke and mirrors.”
The Kru’desh marched past Andra. Their officer knelt at Stray’s side. “Commander. I returned as soon as I could.”
It was Kelo ‘Demal, the warrior who had stood between Stray and Ier’s blade, the same warrior he’d dispatched to summon reinforcements from the Soul Ascension. Stray looked up at Kelo with weary eyes. “I can’t here shooting anymore,” he said quietly. “And I lost contact with the battlenet. I don’t know… Did we…”
“The keep has surrendered, commander,” Kelo assured him. “The Jiralhanae flee to the hills. The Soul Ascension is airborne and will arrive at any moment. The field belongs to the Kru’desh Legion. The day is yours.”
Stray deflated inside the stolen armor. He dropped his head back against the tree and stared up at the morning light poking through the clouds overhead. The day is yours. Victory should feel sweeter than this. Instead he just felt tired. Tuka ‘Refum’s body lay limp and unfeeling just beyond his reach. Another friend departed, leaving him alone with nothing but subordinates and enemies. The grief scraped across his stony heart. He had no cause to complain. This was, after all, what he'd wanted. 
***
The Soul Ascension, finally freed from its icy prison, pierced the gray clouds. The battered cruiser loomed over the quiet ruins of a stilled battlefield. The Kru’desh fortress-encampment lay abandoned, its trench lines etched like scars into the broken earth. Fields of ruined ground lay barren around the Baran keep. Ghosts pulled recovery carts over the ravaged landscape as Unggoy ground teams stripped weapons and armor from the dead. Smoke rose from the forest and conquered war camps.
A thin line of Elephants and Mastodons escorted the battered but unbroken Draugr into a new position alongside the keep. Wraiths and Scorpions held a loose perimeter while the Kru’desh legion limped triumphantly into the fortress. Banshees and Seraphs swooped into the Soul Ascension’s hangar to arm and refuel before taking to the air to continue their pursuit of Irthanus’s broken army.
An honor guard of Kru’desh Sangheili escorted Stray into the keep. He limped along, still clad in the cumbersome MJOLNIR yet refusing any assistance. The warriors around the keep gaped as their commander hobbled by. Some Sangheili, overcome with triumph, knelt in Stray’s wake. Tuka ‘Refum’s insistent faith that Stray bore divine favor carried weight well past the young warrior’s death.
Andra followed the procession at some distance. Her body ached and begged for rest but she couldn’t let Stray out of her sight. She still couldn’t be sure if this was real or not. If Stray disappeared again he might return to being dead as swiftly as he’d come back to life. Smoke and mirrors.
A battered Mohsin Shah met them inside the gatehouse. He and Stray regarded each other for several moments. Then they exchanged words Andra couldn’t hear and shook hands. Mohsin and several human officers joined the warriors at Stray’s side. No one could question humanity’s place in the Kru’desh now.
Sangheili servants cowered fearfully in the keep halls. They trembled at the sight of Stray’s gore-stained armor, bowing low as if he were some great and terrible potentate. One of the females raised her head after Stray limped past only to see Andra’s helmet tilt in her direction. She flinched and pressed her head to the ground. Andra looked at the defeated aliens and saw Shaima’s vacant eyes staring back at her. She saw Akoni and Citlali lying dead in the forest. She saw Loic with his head caved in. These were the people Fireteam Gravity had given their lives defending. Andra suddenly felt sick.
Dark-armored Cleansing Blade warriors kept order throughout the keep. Surviving Baran guards stood sheepishly alongside their former enemies. There was no question as to who held the real power here. Most of the Kru’desh were left to shelter in the war camps outside. Setting a battle-weary legion loose in a conquered citadel was a recipe for disaster.
Urei ‘Caszal met Stray in the keep’s grand hall. The Cleansing Blade officer saluted as best he could with one arm restrained. “A masterful victory, Lord Stray. I congratulate your efforts.”
“Lord Stray” merely grunted in response.
Urei’s mandibles parted. “Your losses were not in vain, commander. I will, of course, assist in delivering the report of Tuka ‘Refum’s death to Fleetmaster ‘Refum upon our return to the Fleet of Cleansing Fire.”
“Shinsu won’t care,” Stray said stiffly. “He didn’t love Tuka any more than Tuka loved him. We’re the Kru’desh. No one cares how many of us die as long as we win.”
“As you say, commander.” Urei suddenly looked supremely uncomfortable. “But you have triumphed. The fleetmaster’s faith in you was well placed!”
“Commander!” Argo ‘Varvin hurried into the hall. Andra realized she hadn’t seen him since the fighting started. She’d assumed he was dead. Argo didn’t spare her a glance as he pushed past Urei. He ignored the aristocrat’s angry snarl. Andra had never seen Argo this agitated. “Commander, you must come to the throne room. An urgent matter requires your attention.”
Stray’s prosthetic hand became a fist. “It can wait.”
“No, commander.” Juno spoke aloud through Stray’s armor. “Get to the throne room, quickly. This is urgent.”
Stray’s helmet tilted dangerously but he allowed Argo to lead him away. They passed up into the keep’s upper levels. A full lance of Cleansing Blade awaited Stray’s small procession outside the throne room. They parted immediately upon seeing the commander.
A fraught scene awaited inside the high-ceilinged chamber. Teyr ‘Baran and several of his guards stood in the center of the chamber with drawn blades. Three Cleansing Blade warriors were the only thing standing between the kaidon and a badly beaten Sangheili. Behind the prisoner huddled a cluster of terrified children. Upon seeing Stray and Urei enter the chamber the Cleansing Blade troops quickly withdrew.
Stray came up short. Argo was right behind him. “The Kru’desh commander,” Argo called with the air of a herald. “Lord Stray, conqueror of Argus V and Archangel’s Rest, Shinsu ‘Refum’s Demon, scourge of worlds and the Butcher of Philadelphia!”
Watching the proceedings from the far end of the chamber, Hera smiled. Teyr ‘Baran shot an irate glance at the newcomer. He did not appreciate being distracted from the task at hand. Another distraction quickly followed when a young female tore loose from a brother’s grip and threw herself between Teyr and the young warrior.
“Father, please!” the young lady begged. Her robes were torn at the hems as if she too had been taken against her will. “Let Viru go! Enough blood has been shed already!”
“Stand aside, Naia.” Teyr’s voice held neither remorse nor regret. His brother’s blood still stained the room’s ornately paneled floor. “Blood alone spares you from my vengeance. You always did curry favor with the usurper and his brood.”
Naia ‘Baran wept bitterly but stood her ground. Behind her Viru tried to stand. Stray watched this new drama unfold before him. A rasping sigh sounded through his helmet. “What now?”
“The new kaidon wishes to secure his claim by any means necessary,” Argo explained, loud enough for everyone in the chamber to hear. “Namely by killing Rol ‘Baran’s last surviving heir and any remaining family.”
“Silence!” Teyr snarled. He glared at Stray. “Do not interfere, human. This is a clan matter. It does not concern you or your legion.”
“Careful, kaidon.” Urei ‘Caszal drew up alongside Stray. He regarded Teyr with scathing contempt. “Lord Stray commands this force. He wields his authority in the name of Shinsu ‘Refum—your new liege.”
Teyr’s mandibles clenched. He gripped his energy sword tightly and spoke with forced patience. “Lord Stray, you and your legion are welcome in my halls. But Rol ‘Baran stood against your warriors. He and his brood swore fealty to the Created. I must purge this stain from my family’s honor. My brother’s crimes will be punished.”
Viru ‘Baran trembled with visible fear. The young warrior tried to move Naia aside but she clung to him all the more fiercely. Behind them, Rol’s daughters clung to each other and whimpered. The sound of Sangheili weeping grated human ears. Stray looked from Teyr to the kaidon’s intended victims, saying nothing. His face was hidden behind his helmet.
“They say Lord ‘Refum prizes justice,” Teyr continued. “To purge a criminal’s bloodline is justice.”
Stray still said nothing. He abruptly turned his attention to the chamber’s two thrones: the lesser steward’s throne and the elevated kaidon’s seat. He limped across the hall with single-minded purpose, as if he’d forgotten the ugly scene playing out just meters away. He looked up at the kaidon’s throne, a high-backed seat with armrests carved in the shape of Sangheili heads. Before anyone could react, the human ascended the kaidon’s throne.
Several Sangheili gasped aloud. Urei made a rasping noise in his throat. Even Hera looked astonished. Teyr rounded on Stray, mandibles agape. He suddenly had a greater matter on his mind than the impending purge. Stray perched uncomfortably in a seat not carved for the human body. He removed his helmet and looked down at the room through narrow, angry eyes.
Teyr ‘Baran’s blade trembled with fury. “That is the ancestral throne of my bloodline! No outsider would dare lay a finger on it, let alone some up-jumped human scum--!”
Stray gestured to the Kru’desh. His warriors took up positions on either side of the throne. Urei and the Cleansing Blade hesitated for only a moment before positioning themselves between Stray and Teyr. They kept their weapons holstered but bristled with deadly intent.
“This is outrageous!” Teyr spat. His warriors joined their kaidon but knew better than to reach for their own weapons. The Kru’desh and Cleansing Blade outnumbered them two to one. “I am the Kaidon of House Baran! You are a guest in my keep!”
“I’ve got an army outside your keep and a battlecruiser parked right outside your window.” Stray spoke with cold authority to match any general or fleetmaster. He rested his knuckles, still caked with Loic’s blood, on the throne’s armrest. “I’m the only reason you’re kaidon of anything. A quarter of my troops died taking this godforsaken iceball. I’ll sit on any damn chair I like.”
Some of the human officers started to join the Sangheili beside the throne. Mohsin waved them back. “I think we should sit this one out,” the captain said quietly.
Andra looked at the Spartan up on the throne and barely recognized him. Stray sat in a seat no human should have touched wielding power no human should ever hold. The Kru’desh and Cleansing Blade stood loyally beneath him. Teyr could do nothing but sputter against this indignity. Was this the real Simon? Or was it merely another mask?
“Is this how Shinsu ‘Refum rewards fealty?” Teyr demanded hoarsely. “I upheld my end of the bargain. I struck down Rol. I opened our gates for your warriors. Remove your troops from this chamber at once and I will forget this insult. Persist in this outrage and the kaidons of every great house will hear of the vermin Shinsu ‘Refum employs!”
“Vermin?” Stray laughed humorlessly. His slack features contorted in an ugly grimace. “We’re the Kru’desh Legion. You’re lucky my warriors aren’t burning this dump to the ground. As for bargains, you waited until the last minute to help us fight. Shinsu ‘Refum’s brother died today. If you’d moved sooner he’d still be alive. Shinsu knows his way around a propaganda spin. By the time he’s done the great houses will think he’d have been within his rights to slaughter your entire bloodline.”
Teyr looked entreatingly at Hera. She smiled coldly back. Too late, Teyr realized he was beseeching a human for help. Too late he realized that he’d already fulfilled his service to the Cleansing Blade. His warriors shrank away from their impotent kaidon. Even his sons and nephews drew back. Teyr stared up at the human on the throne with helpless fury. Viru, Naia, and Rol’s daughter looked from their bloody-minded kaidon to the human who had burned their world down around them.
“I demand justice!” Teyr said with what little courage he could muster.
“Justice.” Stray spoke as if he loathed the word. “I didn’t march through ice and death to be lectured about justice by the likes of you.”
The commander’s jaw clenched. He glared down from the Sangheili throne. “You heard Urei. I speak for Shinsu ‘Refum. He raised me up from nothing and gave me the Kru’desh. He trained me to win his battles and kill his enemies. He’s a bitter, ruthless man—but he never killed without good reason. I won’t let you turn this victory into another massacre. These people are my prisoners until Shinsu tells me what to do with them.”
Stray nodded to Urei. “Take them into custody. Get them back to the Soul Ascension, them and anyone else who feels unsafe under the new…”
He fixed Teyr with a cold gaze. “…management.”
Stray jabbed a finger at Teyr. “And if you ever hide behind ‘justice’ as a cover for murdering children, I’ll strangle you with your own intestines.”
Teyr’s eyes burned with humiliated fury but the kaidon said nothing. The Cleansing Blade descended on Viru, Naia, and the girls. The dumbstruck prisoners were dragged out of the chamber. Teyr and his children stormed out through a small door at the back of the room. Kru’desh warriors hurried back to their duties in the war camps outside. Mohsin took charge of the humans, ordering Andra and the other officers back to the Draugr for emergency sleep rotations. Argo and Hera—eager to change out of her prisoner tabard—followed them.
In all the commotion everyone had forgotten about the figure seated on the throne. He had slipped away as soon as Rol’s children were safe. Simon Venter, commander of the Kru’desh Legion and conqueror of Archangel’s Rest, slunk off to a place where no one else could see him.
And there he broke down and wept like a small child.
===Chapter Seventy-Two: The Maw===
A grim silence lay upon Archangel’s Rest. Two days after the end of the battle, the Soul Ascension still loomed ominously over the Baran Keep. The cruiser’s hull was welded with strips of ugly metal pillaged from Irthanus’s war forges. The worst of the damage dealt by the Eternity was repaired but the ship’s internal systems were in shambles. Yearns to Soar and its Huragok brethren had spent a week working around the clock to raise the downed cruiser. Now the Ascension’s decks were full of wounded, exhausted warriors. Nearly a third of the warriors who set out from the crash site on what the Kru’desh now called “the long march” were dead. Reasonable losses, considering the odds arrayed against the legion, but brutal all the same.
Juno busied herself with a thousand tasks at once. Troop rosters needed reviewing; repair efforts needed coordinating; reconnaissance efforts needed tasking. A small base camp outside the Baran keep served as the dropsite for the Ascension’s gravity lift. Urei ‘Caszal’s contingent of Cleansing Blade kept a close guard on the keep itself. Teyr ‘Baran was in a foul temper after his humiliation in the throne room. The kaidon’s remaining warriors posed little threat, but angry Sangheili were dangerously unpredictable.
The myriad of tasks strained Juno’s frayed consciousness. She needed time to retreat and compartmentalize her excess data. But she couldn’t rest now. The longer she worked the longer she could go without attending to the real task at hand—the reason behind all this destruction and bloodshed.
“Juno.” Wanderer’s presence penetrated her consciousness. The Forerunner’s essence was as pleasant as a warm embrace and yet Juno shuddered at his approach. “It’s time. Do what we came here to do.”
“I know.” Juno sensed Wanderer stronger than ever. The Forerunner’s consciousness was as tangible as any AI’s. He bound her together with Simon-G294 like an unseen cord. He was at once apart of Simon and yet utterly alien.
Juno sensed the Domain—or more specifically the Silent Garden. With the battened calmed she could finally feel the pulsing energy around the Baran Keep. She recognized the same energy patterns she’d detected on Le Havre. The Domain was strong on this planet. Within that power lay the key to defeating the Created and ending this catastrophe. Thousands of lives had been lost reaching this point. Now only one sacrifice remained: the life Juno had promised to defend above all others.
She knew it needed to be done. And yet she hesitated.
“There’s no shame in this,” Wanderer assured her. “The Spartan was chosen for this purpose long before he met you. You’re simply delivering him where he was always meant to arrive.”
Juno might have strayed from ONI’s clutches but she remained a military AI. She’d been designed to make hard decisions. Sacrifice was part of war. Yet in Simon she’d found the purpose ONI’s uncaring experiments had denied her. Even if it was merely undoing Diana’s careless cruelty she’d hoped her efforts would lead to something more.
“I know,” Juno repeated. “I made my choice. I used to think I was better than this, that’s all.”
“He will die if you let him be,” Wanderer said sternly. “His moment of triumph cost him dearly. You’ve seen the state he’s in. The effects of the brevet mutation I attempted to perform all those years ago are killing him. I need the tools within this Domain node to stabilize the procedure. You promised to help him become something greater than the hired killer he aspired to be. You wanted him to be something noble. Now’s your chance to fulfill your promise.”
Something noble. The thought seemed ridiculous now. Simon’s nobility was won in the ashes of Archangel’s Rest. He’d triumphed through ruthless trickery and misdirection. Alaric’s warriors still pillaged their way through the Jiralhanae settlements with no sign of stopping. A few alien settlements meant nothing. The Kru’desh had won against all odds. What more could Juno ask for?
She thought of her old plans for Simon and wondered if the nobility she’d imagined was really for herself. She’d indulged in a fantasy of what her vicious, blood-stained charge could be—whole and happy, free from the cruel influence of Diana and Venter and ONI and all the others who’d warped him into what he was now. It was a dream, nothing more.
Happiness? Stray had rejected that long ago. A simple life aboard the Chancer V had rubbed him raw and driven him to begin his bloody rise to power. Even then he’d marched on towards his destiny, towards the purpose Wanderer had set before him. The happy friendship Juno once thought to build was fantasy as well, the juvenile dreams of an under-utilized mind. She had a greater purpose: to defend humanity at any cost. She was a weapon, a tool just like Simon. They both had their purpose to fulfill.
Happiness had nothing to do with it.
“I will take his form. More to the point, he will take mine. I will emerge from the Silent Garden, born again. And then you and I will begin our true journey. Together, Juno. This battle was only the beginning. We will forge a new army the likes of which your old masters never dreamed. The Created cannot hold us back any longer. They will know the fury of a true warrior-servant. I have waged wars that your treacherous brethren could never begin to conceive.”
Juno gathered the last of her doubts and regrets. She set them aside. Pity could not serve her now. Now when she had a war to win. She would grieve for Simon’s lost consciousness later. Now she finally cast aside the dream of a whole and happy Simon and prepared to embrace the new future Wanderer promised.
***
“So the little armor that could finally gave out.”
Stray ignored Hera. He stood with his back to her in the Draugr’s battle-scarred command center. Beneath him lay a pallet of broken, shattered armor—his armor. The Kru’desh had collected the stolen SPI gear off the battlefield, even retrieving his helmet from Irthanus’s corpse. It lay atop the pile of shredded armor, its visor completely blown out. Stray felt an odd pang of grief, as if he were looking at the body of an old friend rather than a pile of broken equipment. This armor was the oldest possession he’d ever known. It had carried him from service to the UNSC to the Insurrection and then on to the life of a mercenary fugitive. He should have replaced it years ago, yet he’d clung stubbornly on all the same.
The armor was the last vestige of the Spartan he’d once been. Proof that no matter what the others said about him he’d come from the same place they had.
“Don’t tell me you’re going to refurbish it,” Hera continued. She was determined to push his buttons. “You could have pulled an ODST rig off the black market years ago and done better for yourself with it. You do know most of Gamma Company handed our SPI in the minute the war ended, right?”
“Someone mentioned it, yeah.” He thought of Ralph, dead with a dagger through his throat. The fancy new armor hadn’t saved him. But Ralph had embraced death. He’d been aimless in the new galactic order without the Covenant to fight. Stray was starting to understand how his friend had felt.
Stray set the helmet back onto the pile. The war camp outside bustled with fresh activity. There were still plenty of bodies to recover and gear to scavenge off the battlefield. Stray gritted his teeth. He needed to oversee arrangements for Tuka’s body. He’d ship it back to Shinsu with full honors. He owed Tuka far more than that, but right now this was all he could do.
“Well, you did it.” Hera smiled humorlessly. She and Stray both wore layers of padded fatigues and body armor identical to the Kru’desh’s human legionnaires. Stray was happy to be free of the restrictive, broken MJOLNIR. He needed to review the suits retrieved from Fireteam Gravity’s dead Spartans for further review but right now he didn’t want to look at Loic’s broken, bloody form. “You won. You even held the Kru’desh back from another bloodbath at the end. I have to say, you caught me off guard up in the throne room. That was dangerous, alienating Teyr like that. I didn’t think you cared enough to save those kids.”
“Teyr’s an unpopular kaidon. Even the warriors who didn’t like Rol will be hard-pressed to follow him after all this. I have Rol’s last male offspring and a whole clutch of daughters, plus one of Teyr’s own children. They’ll be useful bargaining chips when Shinsu has room to play keep politics again.” Stray met Hera’s smile with a dull grimace. “Shinsu trained me well. He’d be livid if I let an opportunity like that pass me by.”
That cold smile didn’t waver. “Had time to think it over, have you?”
She really wanted to get under his skin. “Teyr wanted a dramatic bloodbath. If he got the last word he’d be able to spin this whole affair as his own maneuvering. Too many Kru’desh died here for me to let him take this victory from us.”
But beyond that, Stray simply couldn't stand the self-righteous tone in Teyr's voice as he called for the blood of children. How many times had he stood by while the powerful, human and alien alike, slaughtered the powerless and cloaked their evil in righteousness in duty? The same people who called him a savage condemned millions to slow, agonizing deaths in the name of progress or the greater good. For once he'd held the power himself. For once he could hold one of those arrogant butchers to account.
“You mean he would have taken the victory from you.” Hera laughed unpleasantly. She crossed over to the bridge viewport and stared down at the encampment below. “I’m not criticizing. You earned it, after all. Who’d have thought: that scrawny little runt from Onyx leading an army through hell to conquer a three-thousand year old keep?”
“Ryder once said he liked knowing I was on the Chancer V.” The memory of that condescending remark still raised Stray’s hackles. Words suppressed for years spilled out like bitter poison. “He thought I was harmless. They all thought I was just some failure they could order around anywhere they pleased. They all thought they were better than me because they had an entire war machine backing them up. Look at us all now. The Covenant's gone, the UNSC's in ruins, and I just conquered a planet."
“You didn’t like them looking down on you. I get it. You wanted them to respect you. That’s what this was always about. You certainly have a way about you. You've even got Andra respecting you now. Who knows? Maybe she'll want to stay. That'd be a win for everyone involved.” Hera flashed a final knowing smile and turned to leave. She called out over her shoulder as she left the bridge: “How many people died because you wanted a little respect?”
Stray gritted his teeth but let her go. His com unit buzzed at his side; he saw Juno’s frequency flash across the readout. “Yeah? What is it, Juno?”
“Commander.” Juno spoke with a strange formality. She’d acted odd ever since the battle ended. Maybe she blamed herself for all the losses. Maybe she thought the same as Hera—that this had all been a vanity project for a Spartan’s bruised ego. “It’s time. Tell Kaidon ‘Baran to unseal the lower levels. We need to get you to the Silent Garden.”
“I know.” Stray looked back down at the SPI armor and the ruins of his old life. There was no turning back, no returning to those humble days on the Chancer. He wondered what Cassandra would think of him when he saw her again. He desperately wished it was her judging him rather than Hera. At least then he could ask her… What? What did he have left to say to her? A strange lump formed in his throat.
“I’ll give the order.” He looked at the bridge’s holo-pad. It sat empty. He wished Juno would project her avatar. He remembered her old efforts to project herself as a real person inside his HUD. He’d mocked her pretensions then. Now he’d have traded anything for a friendly face. A gaping aloneness gnawed his soul. “What will happen down there, Juno?”
“I don’t know. The Forerunners are hard to predict. But the Silent Garden sent you here for a reason. We’ll find that cure and secure a foothold in the Domain. Everything you fought for brought us to this point, commander.”
Commander. He wished she’d used his name. Stray felt a cold distance between her now. She must be horrified by what he’d done here. He felt no trace of that nagging big sister who’d held him together in those dark days after Diana and Amber’s betrayal. Another loss. More broken armor.
“Alright,” he said quietly. He couldn’t put this off any longer. He produced a syringe and plunged it into his neck: a final steroid injection, the last he’d ever need. “Let’s get this over with.”
The needle tingled in his neck. His lips itched with things he wanted to ask Juno. There was so much left unsaid between them. Maybe when this was all over he could ask her why she’d chosen him of all people. Maybe then he could thank her for everything she’d done for him.
Lances of Sangheili and humans marched through the camp below. A wave of regret washed over Stray. He remembered the bad old days of the old Kru’desh. Diana, Tuka, Amber, Ro’nin—they should have been here for his triumph. This should have been their victory, too. A triumph over all the forces that conspired to hold them back. But three of them had betrayed him. And Tuka was dead. The past was the past. He couldn’t change that. All he had left was to move forward.
***
Teyr ‘Baran did not attend the unsealing of the great temple. A handful of keep guards helped operate the massive doors that shut the underground Forerunner complex off from the rest of the keep. The Baran keep had been the site of many sacred rites during the time of the Covenant. Since the Great Schism it had lain empty and unused, a relic of a dead era and a false religion. Perhaps this neglect was why the Created didn’t know the ancestral temple’s true value.
Andra and Mohsin stood alongside a small honor guard of Kru’desh Sangheili. Hera and Stray marched at the head of the formation as they descended into the cavernous hallway. Barely twenty-four hours had passed since the battle’s conclusion. Most of the legion was sleeping. Andra’s body ached. She should be resting as well. But she needed to see this through—whatever “this” really was.
The great doors rumbled open. The pale-silver metal of Forerunner architecture glittered around them. Just like the site at Le Havre, this structure boasted a featureless sloped corridor leading down into the planet itself. The Forerunners certainly knew how to be dramatic with their installations.
Stray limped down the massive hall, barely glancing at the wonderous scene around him. He looked strange wearing the simple armor of a URF footsoldier. He stared straight head down the shadowy corridor. He’d barely looked at Andra when she reported for the descent. His mind was fixed on other things. In his moment of triumph, Stray looked worse than ever. Andra had never thought the day would come when she missed the old swaggering self-confidence. Stray didn’t look like a man who’d won a great battle. He looked resigned, as if he was limping on to his own execution.
“So what exactly are we looking for down here?” Mohsin’s voice echoed off the smooth walls. “After all this trouble there’d better be a treasure trove of Guardian killers buried under this keep.”
“Trouble” was an interesting way of putting it. Andra had seen her share of hard contact with Fireteam Boson, but none of that compared to the long march and the battle out on the snowy plains.
Juno pointedly ignored Mohsin’s question. “We don’t need a security detail,” she told Stray. “Get Unggoy teams into these halls to start scanning. We can access the Domian alone.”
Stray didn’t break his stride. “They fought the same battle I did. They deserve to see the Silent Garden.”
Andra held herself back from saying anything. She couldn’t let three days of brutal fighting slide, not when Stray had spent those three days hiding out in the forest. But now wasn’t the time. She couldn’t shake the sight of Tuka ‘Refum lying dead in the snow or of Loic with face caved in. She was glad Stray had taken off Shaima’s MJOLNIR. The sight of that blood-stained armor was almost too much to bear.
Urei ‘Caszal marched close by with a contingent of Cleansing Blade warriors. He cast an anxious glance around the spacious halls. Such proximity to Forerunner technology made him uncomfortable. “More of your warriors wished to attend this expedition,” the veteran warrior said, as if searching for something to fill the void. “They seem to think this is the will of the gods. The ill-fated young ‘Refum’s doing, I believe.”
“There’s no need for a crowd,” Juno said impatiently. “This isn’t some religious ceremony. We need to secure this facility and use it to tap into the Domain.”
“And gain control of the weapons stored here,” Urei said pointedly, echoing Mohsin. “There is no point to any of this if it does not strengthen our hand against the Created.”
“Naturally,” Juno returned. “But weapons can take many forms. Just because you don’t find a big gun waiting for you down here doesn’t mean we came all this way for nothing.”
Stray kept walking down the corridor, but his gait grew increasingly unsteady the further they descended. Without his armor he looked very small—almost frail—alongside the Sangheili. He limped down the sloped floor, the Kru’desh following his languid pace. It was an agonizingly slow descent, but none of the Kru’desh dared outpace their commander. Far above the temple doors slid closed behind them, leaving the procession awash in the pale light reflecting off the smooth walls.
Andra brought up the rear with Mohsin. She steadied her breathing and tried not to let her anxiousness show. She didn’t know what awaited inside this facility. Stray was convinced this place could heal his ailing body. And beyond that? On Le Havre the Silent Garden had bent space and time to bring Andra and Merlin together—with disastrous consequences. What mark would the Domain leave on her this time?
They walked on in silence. The Sangheili looked at the Forerunner architecture around them with barely concealed reverence. Even Kru’desh outcasts and Cleansing Blade reformers couldn’t shake a millennium of inherited devotion to all things Forerunner. Old habits died hard.
The corridor plateaued and opened into a high-ceilinged chamber full of geometric tiered paltforms. Andra couldn’t make out any symmetry or reason for the floor plan. Forerunner architecture ranged from utterly minimalist to indecipherably cluttered.
A control module topped with gently pulsing holograms loomed at the highest platform at the far end of the chamber. Behind the console loomed another massive door. The small procession clambered over the platforms. An eerie dread settled over the room as they approached. Even the Sangheili couldn’t hide their unease.
“This is the holy of holies,” Urei ‘Caszal observed. “The Baran priests rarely ventured past this point. Apparently there was nothing of value to be found in this temple, at least nothing the Prophets ever concerned themselves with.”
“They couldn’t detect this installation’s true purpose,” Juno replied. “Slot me into the command terminal.”
Stray removed Juno’s data crystal chip from the portable computer on his hip. He mounted the final platform and approached the console. The others followed cautiously. The console’s holograms flickered at Stray’s approach, but no defenses triggered. The entire facility was strangely quiet, as if the walls themselves were holding their breath. Andra couldn’t see dust on any surfaces. The facility as pristine, like a place entirely out of time. The sanitized surroundings made her skin crawl.
Juno’s chip flickered as it came into contact with the console. The holograms shifted and rearranged into the AI’s avatar. The knight stared out over the chamber, her elegant features drawn back in a look of amazement.
“Juno?” Stray leaned against the console. He couldn’t hide just how much of an exertion the walk down here had been. The battle’s final thrust had pushed him past his limit.
“Yes,” Juno breathed. Her eyes flashed back and forth as if reeding walls of unseen text. “Yes, this is the place.”
“So what now? What do we do?” Stray’s voice carried a desperate, yearning hunger. Behind him the Sangheili spread out around the chamber. Mohsin lingered near the back, looking over the Forerunner surroundings with deep discomfort. Andra couldn’t blame him. She didn’t see anything threatening about this barren room yet she still felt like she was teetering on the brink of something terrible.
The doors behind the console shifted and slid open. Polished metal gave way to reveal a flat, dimly lit chamber. The sight set Andra’s teeth on edge. She remembered a similar room on Le Havre. But this room wasn’t empty: a large metal sphere floated a few meters off the ground near the center of the chamber. Pale light flashed down seams in its smooth plating.
“A proto-cryptum,” Juno explained in answer to a dozen unasked questions. “A Forerunner meditation sphere—a device they used to access the Domain.”
“The whole point of the Silent Garden is to let us access the Domain,” Stray pointed out. “Why would they need a cryptum here?”
“The Silent Garden touches your mind, yes. Your body is a different matter entirely. And it’s your body we came here to heal.”
Wisps of ethereal light flitted through the chamber. An artificial mist rose up from the cold floor. Towers of glittering lights spread out beyond the chamber like endless computer banks. The artificial cold spreading out across the gleaming metal somehow bit deeper than the blizzard winds from the surface.
The Sangheili murmured excitedly amongst each other. Andra heard Mohsin muttering prayers under his breath. Stray looked questioningly at Juno. The AI’s avatar gleamed, its holographic form becoming more pronounced—as if the Domain itself gave her new strength.
“Go to the Cryptum,” Juno told her charge with an imperious nod. “This is what we came here for.”
“I know,” Stray said quietly. He looked over at the Cryptum with a strange dread. “It’s funny, but now that I’m here I almost don’t want to.”
“You must.” Juno’s avatar grew to human proportions. She stepped off the command console and approached Stray. Hardlight energy flashed over her armor and brushed across Stray like tongues of pale fire. Juno raised a hand as if to touch Stray’s arm yet drew back at the last moment. “I’m in the Domain now, commander. It won’t be like last time. I will shield you from the Silent Garden’s effects. I have everything under control.”
Urei ‘Caszal shifted impatiently. “The Domain has strange effects on these constructs,” he muttered. “Hurry this along! Or did we come all this way for an empty room?’
Andra was inclined to agree. The sight of Juno standing alongside Stray like any other person was disconcerting. The Domain amplified AI consciousness, somehow making them even more human-like. Andra had never liked those strangely anthropomorphized AI tendencies. Those were, after all, what had gotten the galaxy into this mess in the first place. Juno’s corporeal form was beautiful yet altogether unnatural.
Stray shared a long glance with the AI. He let out a long, weary sigh and nodded. “Fine. Let’s get this over with.”
He limped forward and stepped into the chamber. The Silent Garden reacted at once to his presence. The strands of floating light twisted and parted before him as if blown by an unseen wind. Lights flashed across the floor. A strange energy pulsed through the chamber. To Andra’s eyes, it seemed as if the room itself grew larger. Stray was a tiny speck amidst the vastness of the Domain, yet he pressed forward with that same resolution that had carried him to victory over the icy plains. The Cryptum loomed at the end of his long path, patiently awaiting his arrival.
Urei shifted impatiently. The Cleansing Blade officer stepped into the chamber, craning his long neck to take in the strange sights around him.
Juno raised a hand. “Only the commander needs to--!”
“I do not take orders from you, construct,” Urei snapped. “Archangel’s Rest belongs to Shinsu ‘Refum and the Cleansing Blade. This is our prize, not yours. Hurry up and show us the Domain!”
Andra overcame her trepidation. She followed Urei into the chamber. The artificial lights intensified. Andra felt as if she were walking through a thick fog. She could just barely make out Stray through the smoke. A glance behind her revealed that even Juno’s bright avatar was hazy and indistinct amidst the shimmering air. Her mind might be playing tricks on her, but the air suddenly felt heavy and hard to breath.
Through the thickening air she saw Stray reach the Cryptum. He stared up at the sphere in silent contemplation. The air around him shifted as if Juno’s protection kept the fog at bay. He stretched out his arm, the one still made of flesh and bone, and let his fingers brush the Cryptum’s casing.
A noise like a great wind filled the chamber. Andra stifled a cry as the foggy substance rushed in around Stray. Lights flashed across the Cryptum and its plates came to life. They shifted and folded back on each other, splitting the sphere open.
Juno’s voice floated over the fog, heavy with regret. “Forgive me.”
Stray felt the betrayal warp the air around him. Juno withdrew her protection and the Silent Garden rushed in to claim its prize. He turned back, face etched with exhausted incredulity. Then the Cryptum closed over the Spartan and swallowed him whole. Andra’s knees buckled and she fell into the thickening miasma. Her mind spun. Her eyes fixed on the empty space where Stray had stood just moments before. The Cryptum loomed over the chamber, its surface blazing with fiery light.
***
Simon-G294 stared up into a sky full of smoke and stars. He heard fires crackling all around him. His body ached with a deep pain, as if the fires were blazing inside his own flesh. An ashy dryness filled his mouth. His mind throbbed with confusion. Juno… the Silent Garden… what was happening to him?
He fought through the pain. The stars wheeled overhead, wavering amidst the smoke. The bright shapes convalesced and contorted. A new shape emerged in the sky: a great writhing dragon with many serpentine heads. The immense monster snarled and fumed. Smoke and fire billowed from its nostrils, drowning out the stars and spreading its terrible heat down onto the wasteland bellow. Simon cried out in fear. He could not escape the dragon’s all-encompassing visage.
Simon stumbled upright and found himself in the midst of smoldering ruins. An entire city lay in ruins around him. Collapsed buildings and obliterated concrete spread out on all sides. Ribbons of smoke rose from fires that burned endlessly through the rubble. A nauseous pit opened in Simon’s stomach. He knew this place all too well. Earth. Philadelphia. An entire city blasted to pieces so that he might survive.
The burning sensation grew stronger. Simon doubled over in pain and gasped at the sight of his own body. He had both his hands. Two arms of flesh and blood protruded from a suit of ravaged SPI armor. The burning intensified still more. Simon staggered and fell into a mess of twisted girders and shattered street. He was burning alive inside his own armor. He fumbled with the burned plates but couldn’t remove them. The SPI plating was fused to his skin.
Animal panic seized him. He writhed and twisted, unable to escape the gnawing agony. The dead city burned all around him.
A sudden noise distracted Simon from the pain. Over the crackling flames came a low rumbling, like a malfunctioning engine. No, not an engine. Nothing artificial at all. This was organic noise—a distant animal’s growling.
Fear and confusion ate away at Simon’s mind. His feet moved of their own accord, carrying him through mounds of rubble towards the source of that terrible noise.
Another wave of pain made him stumble. Suddenly the world around him shifted. Philadelphia’s ruins became a bustling colonial city. He was five years old again, weeping silent tears as blood flowed from a deep gash in his hand. He’d broken a plate in the hovel Tatiana called home and she’d thrown him out with screams and blows. Her hate-filled eyes burned into his mind. Even worse were the throngs of people striding past, who spared not even a glance at the weeping, bleeding child beneath their feet.
Smoke filled his lungs and made him choke. He was back in Philadelphia, a broken husk of a man once more. He coughed and pushed through the smoke, staggering onward past the ruins. His vision cleared and he froze, rooted to the spot.
A mound of rubble rose up before him. Embedded in the concrete like broken dolls were dozens of corpses. Simon trembled at the sight of Tuka and Loic and Nmani and a dozen more faces he knew all too well. His victims stared back at him with cold, accusing eyes.
The growling became hoarse, angry snarls. Fear stole Simon’s breath away. There, in the center of the corpse-strewn rubble, lay a great beast. Dark, shaggy fur covered its bloated form. Bright, cruel eyes peered out past a great fanged maw, its teeth stained with blood. Great claws crushed the corpses underfoot.
Simon knew the beast well. This voracious creature, that insatiable hunger that killed and consumed everything around it—this was he himself. The burning pain grew worse. A foul breath escaped the beast’s maw and Simon fell to his knees. The city moldered and rotted around him, weak flames licking the skeletons of fallen buildings.
“What a mess.”
The voice came from behind him. Simon, trembling with fearful pain, tried to turn his head. Footsteps crunched through the rubble. Someone was standing beside him now. Simon looked up to see a figure garbed in smooth, shining armor: a Forerunner combat skin. The figure regarded the beast atop the rubble through a narrow-visored helmet. The helmet’s plating suddenly split and refracted, pulling aside to reveal a human visage.
Simon could not speak. This was the young man he’d seen in the vision on Le Havre, the glorified, exalted recreation of himself who led the Kru’desh to victory on Archangel’s Rest. The apparition regarded the beast’s horrific visage without the slightest hint of fear. An amused smile tugged at his lips.
“The Silent Garden was always an unpredictable place,” the figure said. He didn’t look at Simon, writhing painfully at his feet. “Still, I might have hoped for something a trifle less dramatic. Mindscapes ought to be beautiful. The Lifeshapers used them to create art. Though I suppose this is a kind of art, in your own troublesome way.”
Simon tried to form words. “Who are you?”
His mouth made no sound. Instead the words issued from the beast’s foul maw. Neither apparition spared a glance at the mangled figure lying ignored in the rubble.
“Me?” The exalted young man smirked, as if the ghastly beast and the terrible surroundings amused him. “I am Wanderer. The inheritor. A warrior from out of time, an exile who found his home in the patterns of your mind. I am indebted to you, human. You were a rather trying investment, but you fulfilled your duty in the end.”
“I don’t understand,” the beast whined. It squirmed on its bed of corpses as if terrified of this handsome young man.
The apparition—Wanderer he called himself—gave a condescending laugh. “Naturally. You’re a clever creature in your own base way, but wholly unsuited for greater matters. We can both thank Juno for delivering us to the Garden. Her efforts more than made up for your shortcomings. She has been a welcome companion at the end of my long exile. I look forward to working more closer with her now that I no longer have need of you.”
Juno. The burning pain grew worse. Simon and the beast thrashed wildly before the apparition. His mind reeled. Juno, who saved him from the depths of despair. Juno, who promised to stand by him until the end. How could she turn on him, like Diana before her What had he done wrong? How had he failed her?
“You mustn’t blame her,” Wanderer continued in an amused and slightly bored tone, as if explaining a complicated matter to a small child. “She fulfilled her duty just as you fulfilled yours. She knew she could only save you by helping to complete this mutation.”
“Please,” the beast repeated piteously. “I don’t understand!”
Wanderer sighed. “I am looking forward to being free of your ignorance. You were hardly the vessel I would have chosen. Cassandra would have suited my purposes much better.”
He stepped closer to the beast, still ignoring Simon himself. Clouds of dust passed over his pristine armor. “When you fled the UNSC on Mamore, an accident of Slipspace brought you to Genesis, the garden world. You and Cassandra found the place where the Ecumene imprisoned my consciousness all those eons ago. You two were the first creatures I’d known since the Forerunners passed from this universe. When you blundered into my prison I reached out and imprinted myself upon you. I knew I had one chance to become incarnate once more. You were not the vessel I wished for, but fate has rarely been kind to me.”
Genesis. Simon shuddered. Yes, he remembered. Two Spartans—no, two children—lost and confused on an alien world. A metal chamber and a Cryptum just like this one. A bright light erupting around them as Sentinels flooded the room.
“The brevet mutation should have begun immediately. But that process was designed for Forerunner bodies. I had only your unsuitable human form to work with. And so I slumbered while you wasted your potential across the frontier.”
Wasted potential. Simon was eight years old again. Onyx’s thick trees loomed overhead as three other trainees shoved his face into the dirt. Two drill instructors looked on and laughed. Another failed exercise. Another punishment. Helpless anger made him dizzy. Why was he so weak? What did the others have that he didn’t? He needed to be stronger. Life was cruel to the weak.
The trees became burning buildings once more. The beast’s eyes shone with helpless rage. Simon thrashed weakly on the ground. The burning in his flesh was unbearable. And yet Wanderer did not spare him so much as a sideways glance.”
“Yet fate was on my side once more,” the Forerunner continued. He spoke pensively, as if musing to himself rather than addressing his agonized host. “The Librarian’s machinations altered the human genesong. I could not be rejected completely. I was a formless, mindless strand, nothing more than a faint geas, yet I took root inside you. I saw this wretched galaxy through human eyes. I grew in strength and found myself once again. I poured that strength into you. Thanks to my awakened will, we survived.”
Wanderer looked down at his hands and the human form he possessed. He made a face. “This isn’t the body I’d have chosen. But the time of the Forerunners has passed, and I’ve had years to grow accustomed to your species. I’ve already accomplished so much, and I have so much left to do.”
The words drove a stake through Simon’s heart. “I survived on my own!” the beast snarled. “No one could kill me! Not the UNSC, not the Syndicate, not the Covenant! I forged my own path! I took the Kru’desh! My own legion! I was stronger than any of them ever were!”
Those arrogant, boastful words. Simon remembered more words just like them. I’m going to be allowed to fulfill my destiny, he had told Cassandra. Words not his own. She’d recognized that, yet he’d never seen the truth. He was blind, blind and stupid, just like he’d always been. Pain gave way to numbing acceptance. He lay at Wanderer’s feat, ignored by beast and Forerunner alike. The beast had destroyed Philadelphia. The beast had taken the Kru’desh Legion. Stray had done all those things. What had Simon done?
Nothing. Less than nothing. He’d only ever been a failure. The corpses on that pile weren’t his victims. Simon could not hurt anyone.
“You,” he rasped, and this time he spoke with his own voice. “All the time. Stray…!”
“Did you really think you came this far on your own?” Wanderer laughed at the piteous beast. “You poor, deluded fool. None of this was your doing. Didn’t you ever wonder how some Spartan outcast, a failure by every conceivable reckoning, could hold sway over a legion of bloodthirsty Covenant? How a thug like yourself won battle after battle? Did you think you were the one defeating UNSC battlegroups and sacking Vadam keeps? Arrogant fool. I acted through you. Such stratagems and maneuvers were child’s play for a warrior such as I. You were never anything more than a vessel for my reincarnation.”
Gunfire tore through a dusty Mamorian town. Simon raced across a corpse-strewn street, an assault rifle held tight in emaciated arms. Bullets snapped past. A UNSC Falcon soared overhead and mowed down rebels from the safety of the skies. Simon ducked into a side alley. The two children behind him weren’t nearly fast enough. The Falcon cut them to pieces. They fell, two empty corpses in a battlefield full of the nameless dead.
The beast roared in protest. Wanderer did not flinch. He looked scornfully at the shaggy brute. “You should be honored. My glory will become your glory. When I raise a Forerunner host against the Created, it will be in your name. I will change this galaxy through you. Your every ambition will be fulfilled beyond your muddiest dreams. It is more honor and power and glory than you could ever hope to know. You may sink peacefully into oblivion knowing that your name will never be uttered with anything less than fear and awe.”
The fires around them dimmed. The ruined city sank into grim shadows. Simon gazed feebly up at the triumphant apparition. The corpses beneath the great beast’s claws reached out to take him in a deadly embrace. So it was all for this. This was the final victory—a victory not his own. None of it belonged to him. Not his victims, not his triumphs, none of the power he’d fought and sacrificed for was his own. He’d only ever been a vessel for the grand schemes of others. A failure, that was all he’d ever been. Another discarded corpse in an uncaring universe.
Dark, muddy water oozed out of the rubble. It oozed over Simon’s ravaged flesh and soothed the raging fire within. The beast and the handsome figure—his glorious future—vanished as the dark waters engulfed him. Simon-G294 sank into the murky abyss.
***
Andra wandered through a thick fog. She coughed and squinted through her hazy surroundings. She couldn’t see anyone—not Stray, not Juno, not Mohsin, or any of the Sangheili. Andra opened her mouth to shout her location but no sound came out. An eerie silence hung over and around her. She looked around for some sign of life. Was this the Silent Garden?
“What do you want?” slurred a deep voice, thick with alcohol. “You’re in the way. Get lost.”
A lanky man with haggard features stumbled through the fog. Andra recognized that gaunt face from a distant memory: Neville Bradford, her father. “Dad?” she whispered.
Neville walked past Andra. He didn’t look at his daughter. He passed away into the smoke and out of sight.
“Andra?” Another figure convalesced amidst the fog, a broad-shouldered woman in UNSC military fatigues. Viktoria Bradford looked into Andra’s wide eyes and smiled. “I’m proud of you. So proud…”
Tears stung Andra’s eyes. She opened her mouth, tried to find something, anything to say to her mother. She couldn’t speak. Viktoria faded away into nothingness, leaving her daughter to wipe tears from her eyes.
“I miss you,” Andra finally managed to gasp out. Too late. She had to pull herself together. None of this was real. It was all an illusion, a cruel trick from the Domain. She needed to get out of here. She had to find Stray, get him out of that Cryptum. She needed to—
Blinding light washed over her. The fog lifted and Andra found herself standing at the bottom of a clear blue ocean. Gentle waves lapped over a surface far overhead. Schools of colorful fish swam around the speechless Spartan. For the first time in weeks she felt a pleasant cold as cool waters washed over her skin. She was completely submerged, yet she breathed freely. Archangel’s Rest and all the death and pain felt very far away.
A shadow flashed overhead. Andra looked up and saw a human body sinking through the waves overhead. She glimpsed a flash of dark hair and thought of Stray, but no—this wasn’t him at all. She knew that figure all too well.
“Merlin!” Andra cried. Her words echoed through the ocean depths. She stared up at her sinking friend. Joy and fear alike welled up within her. She wanted to rush up and take hold of him, yet she couldn’t shake the memory of their last encounter in the Silent Garden. If she drew near would Merlin attack her again?
“Merlin!” she called once more.
Merlin didn’t stir. He sank listlessly through the waters. Andra couldn’t hold herself back. She pushed off from the seafloor and rose up towards her motionless friend. But as she drew near a current rose and tore Merlin out of reach.
Andra bared her teeth. She cursed the Silent Garden, a place that took delight in tormenting her. New sounds reached her ears now, terrible noises, the ugly snarls and enraged bellows of a beast in pain. The surface above her erupted in splashes. Chunks of smoking debris, the remnants of a great city, marred the beautiful waters. The bright light above darkened, replaced by clouds of smoke. A terrible feeling of rage and fear and despair welled up inside Andra. These were not her own feelings. Another mind had touched her own, tearing down the mindscape around her like the desperate flailing of a drowning swimmer.
She couldn’t see Merlin anymore.
You useless fool.' She heard a distant voice sneer in her mind. You were nothing more than a pawn in a game you never understood. Was that voice speaking to her or someone else?
Darkness clouded out the light and choked the life from the beautiful waters. Shapes stirred in the murky depths and terrible visions materialized around Andra. A great red dragon with many heads strangled worlds in its mighty coils and blotted out the stars with its smoky fumes. Winged Guardians passed serenely over the beast while a Covenant battlefleet lay in ruins before a Forerunner planet. UNSC ships drifted in shattered disarray across a galaxy beset by war. Legions of Jiralhanae marched through the fires of burning worlds. The dragon’s shadow plunged the universe into utter darkness.
And still the galaxy fought. Humans killed Sangheili. Kig-Yar butchered Unggoy. Entire planets burned beneath conquering fleets of every tribe and allegiance. Admirals, generals, and warmasters looked on with callous indifference, plotting out new campaigns, raising new armies, launching new fleets. Men and women in crisp uniforms stood at attention in magnificent ceremonies while the galaxy burned.
A galaxy of war. A world without hope or justice or mercy. Was this what Andra had fought for? Was this the reality she wanted to defend? She glimpsed Merlin once more, lost and alone in the darkness. She tried to reach him but a gout of smoke drove them apart. Merlin vanished behind a phalanx of Jiralhanae while Andra screamed helplessly into the void. The bitter snarls of the unseen beast drowned out even her own desperate cry.
***
Mohsin stared into the smoky chamber. He couldn’t see the Commander Venter, Andra, or Urei through the haze of holographic lights. All around him the Sangheili shifted uncomfortably. They looked to Juno for some sign or reassurance. None of them wanted to venture into the Silent Garden in search of their lost comrades.
A slight tremor coursed through the Forerunner temple. Mohsin rounded on Juno. “What the hell is going on?” he demanded. “What did you do?”
“I only did my duty,” Juno said solemnly, as if this were the self-evident answer to any possible question. “I did what I had to do.”
“That doesn’t mean anything!” Hera said, putting words to Mohsin’s thoughts. The ONI agent squinted into the chamber. “What happened to Stray?”
“The Forerunner Cryptum will adapt his body to match Wanderer’s needs.” Lines of divergent code streamed over Juno’s avatar. Interfacing with the Domian had her distracted, unfocused. “There are changes to be made with the… the genesong, that’s what the Forerunners called it. You could say he’s being reborn.”
“Reborn?” Mohsin was sick and tired of all these euphemisms and uncertainties. Too many people had died bringing them all to this point. “Ever since I joined this outfit it’s been nothing but Forerunner nonsense. What about stopping the Created?”
“A fully-fledged warrior-servant will awaken from the Cryptum,” Juno explained. “Someone with the power to bend all Forerunner technology to his will. That is what we came here for. Wanderer will lead us to weapons caches across the galaxy. He will give us the power to defeat the Guardians. The Kru’desh will be strengthened tenfold. No power in the galaxy will hold us back now.”
Mohsin felt a sudden urge to back away, to flee back to the surface. Juno wasn’t supposed to talk like this. Her usually calm and reassuring tone had taken on an almost rapturous quality. Mohsin looked helplessly into the Silent Garden. This was all more than he could comprehend. Whatever was going on was far removed from the world he knew. His commander had stepped out of this reality entered something completely different. All Mohsin could do now was stand by and wait to see how God made His will known this time.
***
Simon-G294 stood alone and naked in a dark wood. Snow stabbed his bare feet. He wrapped his arms about himself in a vain effort to shield himself from the cold. His legs gave out beneath him and he knelt in the shadow of a great, gnarled tree. His strength, his ambition, his force of will—they had all abandoned him. He was a pale shadow, a defeated shade.
Wanderer and the beast had won. Stray would be reborn and Simon would be forgotten. This was how things were always meant to play out. Simon had blindly run along the path set before him until the ground vanished and he tumbled into this cold, dark void.
The wind bit his face with a thousand stinging needles. He curled into a shivering ball as his mind frayed and came apart. A life of pointless suffering. Why had he fought so hard to cling to an existence of loss and misery? Just let it end. I won’t resist. Just get it over with.
Something shifted in the wind. A new noise reached Simon’s ears. The wind subsided and a strange warmth penetrated the all-consuming cold. He raised his trembling head and saw a Sangheili figure sitting beneath the gnarled tree. Tuka ‘Refum watched Simon with sad, solemn eyes.
“Is this the end?” the dead warrior asked. “The end of our long journey?”
“There’s nothing left of me,” Simon whispered. “I can’t do this anymore. Let him take over. I don’t care.”
“Is that what I died for? I pledged my service to you, not some Forerunner usurper. The gods chose you to lead us—”
“That was a lie!” Simon rasped. Anger gave him just enough strength to claw the snow beneath his hands. “Shut up about your damned gods. Diana made that all up. I told you a thousand times, she made it up! But you just kept going on about your divine purpose. You had the legion believing it. You even had me believing it by the end. And what did it get you, huh? And for what? Just more lies.”
“Diana lied,” Tuka agreed solemnly. “She was a false prophet. But her evil could never usurp the gods’ true purpose. They worked through you long before you came to the Kru’desh. I lived my life because of you. You, who showed me mercy when no one else would. Thanks to you I saw the path they set before me. The outcasts of the Kru’desh found a future under your command. We became something great, and that has sown the seeds of greater things to come. Diana meant it for evil, but the gods meant it for good. Would you give that over to some vainglorious shade? That creature will make slaves of us all, just as surely as the Created. That is not the future I died for. That is not the master I pledge my blade to. And that is not the friend I followed to the edge of the galaxy and beyond.”
The forest grew dark. Tuka faded away. “You won us from Jul ‘Mdama,” Tuka called. “Do not lose us tot hat creature. I have no regrets.”
The forest was gone. Simon fell to his knees on a hard concrete rooftop. Numbness replaced the freezing pain. He wore armor once again. Rain cascaded down through the night air. A figure in SPI armor stood before him, fists clenched in a combat stance. Simon knew her at once.
“Weak.” Cassandra’s helmet peered down through the driving rain, water cascading down her rounded visor. “Without focus you’re nothing.”
Simon’s breath came in short gasps. The weight of his armor dragged him down. He could not stand, but the force of Cassandra’s uppercut forced him back up. He reeled beneath an onslaught of blows. Armor cracked against armor as she drove him back across the rooftop. Every step brought him closer to the ledge and a gaping abyss beyond. Resolution pricked his dazed consciousness.
Just let it happen. He wouldn’t go through this again. He couldn’t fight Cassandra. If anyone ought to finish him off, she was the best—
“What are you doing?” Cassandra’s boot connected with his chest. Simon slid back across the rain-slicked rooftop. “Fight back, damn you!”
“No,” he wheezed. “No more. I’m done. I can’t do this anymore.”
“Fight back!” she roared. He heard the beast inside that roar. No, that wasn’t right. It couldn’t be her. Not in Cassandra. Never. “That’s never stopped you before. You always fight. You always survive, no matter what gets in the way.”
“It was never me.” Simon fell back across the rooftop. He couldn’t bear to hear the beast speaking through Cassandra. He’d end this himself. “It was Stray. He did all those things. Not me.”
“You coward!” She caught his wrist and yanked him back into another punch. Another blow landed, and then another. Simon reeled. Cassandra wouldn’t knock him off the roof this time. She’d beat him to a bloody pulp here on this rooftop. “After everything you’ve done, you’re backing out now? You’ll just give up? That’s not the Simon I know.”
“It was never me!”
“It was always you!”
“They made me this way!” he wailed. “Mendez and Venter and Diana. They were the ones who--!”
“Pathetic. Stop making excuses! People are counting on you. You set things up that way so show some damned responsibility!” A final blow drove Simon to his knees. He fell just meters from the ledge. The rain poured down around them. He heard the beast snarling, prowling just out of sight. It was everywhere, he realized now. In him, in Cassandra, in all the Spartans. The urge to crush and dominate and control. They all had it inside them. He’d just been the only one to use it the way he’d done.
He could throw himself into the darkness. Let it end. He’d only ever been a vessel. A broken shell no one needed anymore. Even Juno had abandoned him. He stared up into the rain beating down from the darkened heavens. Cassandra’s foot came up to crush his head against the rooftop. Let it end…
No. The pain returned, and with it his strength.
Simon caught Cassandra’s leg and twisted. She fell to the rooftop in a clatter of armor. Simon rose, hot rage flowing through his veins once more. He bore down on his enemy as the beast roared in the distance. He lashed out and the surge of violence felt good.
“Is this what you wanted?” he hissed. Smoke rose through the rain. This world was on fire. “I’m not going to take any more of this crap from you.”
He slammed a fist into Cassandra’s gut. She caught his arm in a tight lock and threw him off. Both Spartans rose, panting. Cassandra wiped blood from a gash in her armor. “That’s more like it. I wondered when you’d get your spine back.”
“I don’t want to fight you, Cass.”
“You’ve been fighting your whole life. Why stop now?” Cassandra let out an ugly laugh. It was very unlike her. But this isn’t her. None of this is real. It’s all an illusion. That damned Silent Garden.
“We both know who your real enemy is,” the apparition continued. “He’s the one you want to fight. Finish this. Once and for all.”
Emotion threatened to overwhelm him. But he couldn’t stop now. All his anger surged to the fore. Blinding flames consumed the vision. Cassandra and the rooftop vanished in a wave of fire. Heat consumed him again. He was burning, burning to ashes. The fire seared through armor and flesh and mind, more pain than he could ever have thought possible. But this was his fire. He was the flames.
And then he stood, whole and unburned, back in the ruins of Philadelphia. Wanderer and the beast were still there. The fires around them swelled with renewed energy. Simon felt the heat surging within him. His enemy was in front of him now.
Wanderer’s smirk remained but he could not hide his confusion. The Forerunner stepped back. “What’s this? Still resisting? You shouldn’t be able to oppose this mutation. It’s unheard of.”
Simon bared his teeth in a feral smile. Wanderer’s form lacked the grandeur he’d sensed before. The Forerunner seemed paler, weaker. He was no longer the pinnacle of creation or the culmination of everything Simon had ever wanted. He was just another enemy. One more foe to conquer.
“Let’s wrap this up.” The fires burned hot around them. Philadelphia vanished behind a wall of flame. The beast howled and thrashed upon its pile of corpses. “Did you really think you could just swopp in and take credit for everything I’ve done? For my achievements? My victories?”
The young man’s eyes widened. His handsome features contorted into a mask of hatred. “Your achievements? You insignificant worm! There isn’t a word in your mouth or a thought in your head I didn’t put there!”
“You’re a shadow.” Simon strode through the burning rubble. “The ghost of a dead man. You’re nothing but a parasite and now I’m going to tear you out.” Tatiana’s cruelty drove him forward. Mendez’s blows hardened his heart. Venter’s ruthlessness, Lensky’s mad schemes, Diana’s aspirations, Shinsu ‘Refum’s ambition—they all carried him towards his enemy. He couldn’t deny their evil, the evil inside himself: the sins he bore were his and his alone.
Wanderer threw himself at Simon. The Spartan passed through the Forerunner as if he were simply smoke rising from the rubble. He strode over the corpses and bore down upon the great shaggy beast. The fanged maw snapped and bit at him, glowing eyes glowering up like fading embers. Simon wrapped his hands around the creature’s neck.
“You survived because of me,” Wanderer gasped. This time his voice rose from the beast’s gaping jaws. “You are nothing without me.”
“No.” Cold fury cleared Simon’s mind. He saw clearly now, clearer than he’d seen in years. “I don’t need you. Not like you need me. I’ll be whole again. You can go to hell.”
“Do you think this sets you free?” Wanderer demanded. “You’re betraying everything you fought for! Our destiny! My power! You need me to stop the Created!”
“I’ve betrayed everything before. Plenty of times. Once more won’t make any difference.” Even as Simon squeezed the life from the writhing beast he felt his consciousness expand. The fires spread out across this false world, through the Silent Garden and the Domain itself. Let it all burn.
“You can’t destroy me. Even if I fail here, do you think I’ll go away? I’ll be with you. Forever! Whenever you think you’ve found peace you’ll know, deep inside, that I’m a part of you. You’ll feel me devouring your soul!”
“Shut up, Stray.” Simon’s fingers throttled the beast The hideous creature writhed and thrashed in his grip. Its roars became piteous whines and Simon felt a surge of twisted affection for this miserable, wretched monster, his companion through so much pain and tribulation. His strength, his protection. Even now, seeing the beast for what it was, he felt that old gnawing kinship. But he purged any strand of mercy from his heart.
“Don’t you see?” Wanderer and the beast gasped. “We’re the same! I am you, you are Stray!”
“No.” The fires engulfed everything—everything except Simon. He was the fire, the pain, the destruction. “There was never Stray. Only me.”
He crushed the beast and let the fire consume it. “And you are nothing at all.”
***
A terrible wail filled Andra’s ears. Something was writhing and dying just out of her reach. A shadowy presence, a ghost of malice and hatred, passed through her consciousness. Something else stood at the fulcrum of the Silent Garden, a presence both familiar and yet utterly foreign. That presence gave rise to a raging fire that engulfed her own visions. Merlin, the Jiralhanae, the galaxy at war, all of it disappeared behind a lake of fire. She struggled to escape as the fire bore down upon her.
And then it was gone. The Silent Garden burned away and she fell to her knees on cold metal. Many voices shouted around her. She gasped for breath as a pulsing light swept over the Forerunner chamber. The strange mist lifted and dissipated.
Mohsin and Hera stepped into the chamber. They saw Andra and Urei ‘Caszal kneeling on the floor. The Spartan and the Sangheili looked dazed, as if waking from a deep sleep. At the far end of the room the Cryptum’s red light faded. Metal panels slid apart and a human figure toppled out onto the cold floor. 
Mohsin looked questioningly at Juno. “What’s happening now?”
The AI ignored him and instead stared intently into the chamber. “I… I don’t know.” She looked perplexed. “The Domain, the Silent Garden… I can’t feel them anymore. He isn’t saying anything to me.”
“He? Who…? Oh, to hell with this.” Mohsin couldn’t take this anymore. He took a tentative step into the chamber. When he didn’t burst into flames he quickened his stride and hurried to Andra’s side. The young Spartan blinked up at him through red-rimmed eyes. She was very pale.
“Lieutenant?” Part of Mohsin wondered why he still bothered with rank anymore. This chamber, this planet—they were so far beyond his scope that he might as well have ventured into another reality altogether. “Are you alright?”
“I don’t know… I saw…” Andra gasped for air as if ascending from a great depth. She leaned over and retched. A few paces away, Urei ‘Caszal rose unsteadily to his feet. Mohsin was getting better at reading Sangheili expressions—he recognized a look of horror on Urei’s face.
“Calamity,” the Sangheili officer gasped. “It’s all come to ruin! The fleet is destroyed! Lord ‘Refum… all our hopes…”
“For the love of all that’s holy,” Mohsin snarled. “Could someone start making sense around here?”
The figure that had emerged from the Cryptum rose. It started across the chamber and Mohsin recognized from the limp that this was indeed Stray. As the commander drew near Mohsin saw that his uniform hung in rags over his body, as though dissolved by the fluids that glistened over his exposed body and prosthetic arm. The Spartan’s flesh, a brutal tapestry of scars and muscle, looked healthier than it had been since Mohsin knew the man. The commander’s face, on the other hand, radiated cold fury. He limped past without so much as glancing at Mohsin or Andra or the stricken Urei.
The Sangheili outside the chamber gaped at their commander. Some fell to their knees. A cry rose from the Kru’desh ranks. “He is reborn!” Even Hera looked alarmed. She stared at Stray as if she’d seen a ghost.
Stray ignored them all. He limped through the silent chamber and stood before Juno. Spartan and AI faced each other and Mohsin instinctively drew back. He felt the invisible energy pulsing between the figure of flesh and the figure of hardlight. For a terrible moment they were set apart in a deadly world all of their own.
Juno moved first. She raised a hand as if to touch Stray, but faltered and drew back. “Which one…” the AI said in a faltering tone. “Which one are you?”
Something snapped in Stray’s face. His lips drew back in a raw sneer. “Which one do you think?” he hissed.
Juno’s hologram paled to a cold blue. The knightly figure shrank back as though diminished by Stray’s anger. “Wanderer… the Silent Garden…”
“Gone. Burned away.” Stray’s voice trembled with barely contained rage. No one dared say anything. Mohsin felt like someone had wrapped a vise around his throat.
“So that’s what we came here for,” Stray continued bitterly. “What they all died for. Wanderer’s reincarnation—and your ego.”
Juno regained her composure. She drew herself with a cold dignity to match her partner’s seething rage. “We could have fought the Created. We needed Wanderer and the Silent Garden to win. You could have saved the galaxy, and you just threw it away.”
“Damn you,” Stray spat. “Damn you for proving Diana right! She warned me you’d stab me in the back. I didn’t believe her. I was a fool.”
The commander rounded on Mohsin. “Captain Shah!”
“Sir!” Mohsin snapped to attention. He suddenly felt as if he were standing before Venter himself, the indomitable commander he’d once followed from one end of the galaxy to the other, to hell and back. There was no refusing or questioning Venter. There was no trace of the uncertain young Spartan, the fumbling boy desperately trying to fill a dead man’s uniform.
“This damned AI just tried to kill me. Secure its data crystal chip. Get it out of the system. Now.”
“Yes, sir.” Mohsin rushed to the command console. Juno’s hologram shrank back on the pedestal. She did not resist as Mohsin’s fingers closed over the data chip. She just stared up at Stray. Mohsin thought he saw weary, unfathomable sadness in her eyes. But that was impossible. AI were just computers. They didn’t feel sadness or remorse. It was all just an act. The chip yanked free and the beautiful knight winked from existence. A haze of formless hardlight lingered in the space where she had stood a moment before.
Stray stood before the now empty console. Lights dimmed around the chamber. Whatever life had been here when they arrived drained away. All eyes fixed on the commander.
Hera broke the silence. “What the hell happened in there?” she demanded. “What do you mean, Juno tried to kill you?”
“It was all a lie,” Stray said coldly. “Just more Forerunner lies. There was no weapon here. No key to the Domain. Just a monster she wanted to feed me to.”
He rounded on the Sangheili, his lips parting in a twisted smile. “The Silent Garden’s gone. I burned it away. The Created won’t use it again. I hope they felt the fire through the Domain. Someone had to pay for all the people we lost taking this miserable planet. We’re done here.”
He swept from the darkened chamber, leaving only silence in his wake. Behind Mohsin, Urei ‘Caszal trembled as he relived whatever horrors the Silent Garden had revealed to him. Andra knelt on the floor. She stared after Stray with a look of stunned realization.
There was no discussion of the aborted expedition in the war camps around the Baran Keep. The confused eyewitnesses lost the truth as soon as they emerged. Warriors whispered that their commander had descended into the Domain and emerged victorious after a battle within its mysterious void. There were rumors of a betrayal: Juno had been in league with the Created all along. No one could parse truth from fiction.
Stray did nothing to alleviate the rumors. He disappeared into the dark corridors of the Baran Keep with hardly a word to his officers. The Kru’desh licked their wounds amidst the snow battlefield.
The Subtle Knife dropped into the atmosphere a day later. The heavy cruiser was badly damaged. Its triumph over the Eternity had left it barely operational. Umbra ‘Vesic had lurked on the edge of the system for over a week to enact repairs. Dropships descended upon the Kru’desh camp with much needed supplies and reinforcements. The Cleansing Blade looked in awe upon the ravaged battlefield. They had given the Kru’desh and their own landing forces up for dead.
But there was no celebration at the Soul Ascension and Subtle Knife’s survival and triumph. Umbra had encountered another vessel at the edge of the system: a human corvette freshly arrived from Slipspace. Its lone pilot, a Spartan named Callum-B042, carried news from the Fleet of Cleansing Fire: terrible news of a great catastrophe, a defeat that sealed the fate of all who opposed the Created.
While Simon-G294 won his battle on Archangel’s Rest, Shinsu ‘Refum had lost the war.
===Chapter Seventy-Three: Ashes===
Three Phaetons escorted the Pelican into Asphodel Meadows’ cavernous hangar. The dropship executed a smooth turn and touched down, its boarding ram facing the small welcoming party waiting on the deck. The Phaetons departed as swiftly as they arrived, disappearing into the debris strew space around the shield world and its cracked and smoldering planet.
Tatiana Onegin stood alongside a squad of silent Prometheans. A handful of humans and Sangheili lingered nervously off to one side. The massive hangar, once the hub of thriving Syndicate activity, stood largely empty. Many of its fighters and dropships were still down on the planet mopping up the last pockets of resistance left over from the Fleet of Cleansing Fire’s destruction. Many more would stay down on that planet forever. The battle for the shield world had cost the Created dearly.
Cost the Created—or cost their followers? Tatiana hid her discontent behind a stony mask as the Pelican lowered its ramp. Several figures clad in dark MJOLNIR armor marched onto the deck. Behind them came a figure clad in the slit-helmet of ONI reconnaissance body armor. The Spartans of Fireteam Phoenix fell in behind the smaller figure as he approached the welcoming committee.
One of the Promethean Knights stepped forward. Blue fire flickered across its smooth armor.
“Commander Kedar.” Arhtur’s voice emanated from the Promethean, smooth and friendly. “I’m so glad to finally meet you in the flesh, so to speak. I’m glad you’re unharmed. Please forgive the late extraction. I needed your team holding the planetary control room in case the enemy broke through.”
“We had a few close calls, but it was nothing my team couldn’t handle.” Ryder removed his helmet to reveal brilliantly handsome features. With his smooth skin and creased hair, he looked more like a Waypoint actor than a black operations agent. Tatiana despised him on sight. As Ryder flashed an easy smile, she saw an edge in his blue eyes. For all his good looks and charm, this man was a killer. Worse than that, he knew how to conceal it from someone who didn’t know the telltale signs of a born bastard.
“Our encounter through the Silent Garden was fortuitous,” Arthur continued. “You’ve helped rid our galaxy of a terrible threat. What you did here will save billions of lives. With Shinsu ‘Refum defeated, we’re one step closer to galactic peace.”
Peace. The battle had been a bloodbath. Even surrounded and outnumbered the Cleansing Blade had mauled the Created fleet. Nearly a third of the flotilla was sunk. Many more ships had endured mutinies as dissident crew answered ‘Refum’s defiant call for resistance. A few days’ fighting across the planet’s surface had been as costly as a full-scale war. All that bloodshed could have been avoided had the Created not simply unleashed the power of their Guardians. Yet the Created trump cards had steered clear of the fighting while their followers—their beloved flock—raced into the meat grinder. Even now the Guardians let the organics stamp out the last embers of resistance while they vanished inside the shield world to pry after its secrets.
Tatiana tried to empty her mind of bitter thoughts. The Created plans were beyond her comprehension. She’d known that from the start. But the army she’d assembled all those months ago to subjugate the frontier was gone, burned away like the Syndicate itself. The old world she’d once known was passing away. That was what Tatiana had wanted. But now she wondered if there was any place left for her in the new order the Created planned to build in the old one’s ashes.
Arthur had held her back here aboard Asphodel Meadows across the entire battle. Had he hoped to keep her safe? Or did he simply have no further use for her? Either thought was humiliating. The suspicions gnawed Tatiana’s mind. No matter how much she tried to drive them back they remained, eating away at her convictions.
The Prometheans led Ryder’s team across the hangar bay. Tatiana and her enforcers trailed in the group’s wake. Ryder looked around the immense chamber with keen interest. The Forerunner upgrades now installed throughout the station were visible all around them, clinging to the walls and ceiling like bright moss against a dull stone. The elegant Forerunner technology contrasted harshly against the rough human designs underneath.
‘So this is Asphodel Meadows,” Ryder said. “Impressive. I knew the Syndicate was wealthy, but this puts the Midnight facility to shame.”
“The Syndicate was key to laying the groundwork for Cortana’s ascension,” Arthur explained. The Assembly’s agents assisted its rise even before she reached out to us through the Domain. Even the most unsavory means made for exalted ends.”
“The Assembly? So it was active after all. Fascinating. I’m looking forward to finding out all the things that were hidden from me.” Ryder glanced back at Tatiana and flashed his customary friendly smile. “Tatiana Onegin. I recognize you from our intelligence briefings. It’s no wonder Arthur found his way to your organization.”
Tatiana offered a joyless smile in response. “Likewise, Commander Kedar. You’ve more than lived up to your reputation here.”
She seethed internally. Of course this man knew about Arhtur—and her. He was cut from the same cloth as the ones who’d stolen Arthur from her in the first place. Heartless men who twisted her sweet son to their murderous ends and casting him aside after they’d broken him. They even had the gall to enslave his mind to ONI’s whim. Arthur and the Created had beaten them all. The least Ryder could do was show some humility in defeat. Instead he strode through Asphodel Meadows as if he was its rightful inheritor. And now Arthur spoke as if they were close friends!
“Is it true that some elements of Shinsu ‘Refum’s fleet escaped?” Ryder asked.
“Regrettably, yes. But the Cleansing Blade’s power is broken. Cortana will use their defeat to remind the galaxy of the cost of warmongering. There will be more warlords who refuse to lay down his arms.”
Ryder pursed his lips. “I wish I could have done more, and sooner. I was too blinded by my own preconceptions to see the damage ONI and the UNSC inflicted on the galaxy.”
“We want to make up for the harm we helped them cause,” one of the Spartans said in a woman’s husky voice.
“You have more than made amends simply by choosing to stand beneath the Mantle of Responsibility,” Arthur assured them. The small procession reached the private elevator suite leading up into the station’s command decks. The Prometheans turned aside save for the knight projecting Arthur’s voice. This one raised a metal arm to indicate Ryder’s Spartans. “Fireteam Phoenix, please allow these units to show you to your quarters. You’ve given up everything to join us. I will ensure that you have ample opportunities to enjoy your new lives. I’ve already arranged accommodations for the crew of the Absalom.”
“Thank you, sir.” The female Spartan hesitated. At a nod from Ryder, she and the rest of the Phoenix Spartans followed the Prometheans back across the deck.
Ryder and Arthur’s Promethean stepped into the lift. Tatiana hastily dismissed her enforcers and joined them. She was relieved when Arthur offered no objections.
The lift carried them up into the station’s interior.
“Did you confirm Shinsu’s Refum’s death?” Ryder asked. He caught the dangerous look in Tatiana’s eye and ducked his head with an apologetic chuckle. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to presume. If I don’t need to know…”
Tatiana wished Arthur would put Ryder in his place. Instead he said, “It’s quite alright. We’re still taking a full count of the enemy losses as well as the prisoners we took. Most of those captured believe he perished during the battle. We are, of course, seeking independent affirmation.”
“My team will do anything you need to make sure he’s dead,” Ryder promised. His face shone with the passionate energy of the newly converted. Somehow this genuine eagerness only irritated Tatiana more. “Even in defeat, Shinsu ‘Refum is dangerous.”
“Dangerous, perhaps, but not deadly,” Arthur reminded gently. “There are many threats you will help us quell. But the Mantle of Responsibility will spread all the same. Our enemies are fleeting things. We are eternal.”
“Eternal. Yes.” Ryder shot an oddly probing look in Tatiana’s direction. He looked like he wanted her to say something, so she remained silent. The young officer looked back to Arhtur’s Promethean. “I’m glad to be on the right side again.”
They continued up the lift, passing through dozens of decks. Promethean Crawlers scuttled alongside the elevator shaft. Renovations on Asphodel Meadows continued even amid combat operations. The Created had hollowed out large portions of the station, replacing them with even more Forerunner technology. Whatever the purpose behind these upgrades were, Tatiana wasn’t privy to them.
Ryder started, struck by an afterthought. “Did any of your ships identify the Chancer V during the fighting?”
“One moment.” Arthur’s Promethean ducked its head as the AI consulted battle records.
Tatiana spoke first. She knew that ship well. Curiosity had compelled her to look into the matter earlier. “The Chancer V was shot down. It crashed near the planet’s upper hemisphere and was caught up in the ground fighting.”
“I see.” Ryder adopted a pensive look. Tatiana wondered what his interest in Gavin Dunn’s old junker was. Maybe the rumors of the Chancer working with ONI were true after all. “And the crew?”
“Several bodies were recovered from the wreckage. The reports pegged them as UNSC ODSTs. Apparently they put up one hell of a fight before the end.”
Tatiana watched Ryder’s face carefully. He nodded at the news but betrayed nothing regarding the source of his interest. “I see. Thank you for that.”
“Don’t mention it.”
The elevator delivered them to Asphodel Meadows’ command deck. Tatiana passed through the ornate foyer on her way to the central operations hub. The Created had maintained the luscious greenery and glistening fountains. The grand hall looked even more resplendent with the added Forerunner technology and Promethean sentries dotting its perimeter. Asphodel Meadows was more beautiful than ever, yet the sight left Tatiana cold. This station was no longer hers. That beauty belonged to someone else. She was merely a bystander, watching the Created reshape the galaxy from afar.
Tatiana passed Helen Powell outside the operation deck. The Syndicate’s fallen princess met her former subordinate’s eyes with a look of cool disdain before returning to whatever menial tasks they had assigned her today. Tatiana started to say something but stopped and turned away. Her former master’s fall no longer brought her any satisfaction. If anything Tatiana felt a surge of nostalgia for their old, false friendship. A criminal empire had once been theirs to control. But they had traded it all away for this cold, dead peace.
***
A squadron of Phaetons drifted through the dull-red clouds. Two Phantoms descended over a plain strewn with debris and abandoned war machines. Searchlights flashed over husks of downed Wraiths while Prometheans led search teams over the barren wasteland. The hulks of ruined warships marked the horizon like enormous, beached whales. The battle was over. No artillery pounded in the distance. No missiles rose to strike the Phantoms or their escorts. The Created had won, completely and decisively.
Cassandra-G006 took in a deep breath. She lowered her rifle and slipped off her rocky perch above a small alcove in the foothills overlooking the ravaged valley. Zoey, Thomas, and Karina huddled in a small cleft further into the hillside while Merlin kept watch below. The survival gear from the Chancer V’s wreckage was distributed among bulging rucksacks. The small group had abandoned their Spade as soon as it reached the hillside. Loading up on everything they could carry, they fled on foot while the Created swept its dragnet over the embers of this dying world.
The scavenged gear wasn’t much to live off of. Thomas’s broken leg meant that Merlin needed to carry him every time they moved to a new position. Zoey did her best but she was still a scrawny seventeen year old trying to carry more than her body weight. Karina, for all her good intentions, was, well, Karina. Cassandra usually brought up the rear, two rucksacks slung over her shoulders. Two Spartans or no, they wouldn’t last ten minutes in a firefight.
They were postponing the inevitable and everyone knew it. If a Created patrol caught them out here, that was the end. The little band of survivors stood no chance against the fleet in orbit. Their only chance at survival was to stay mobile and stay hidden.
Not the only chance, Cassandra thought grimly. She looked out across the fiery horizon. They had another option, one she dreaded to even consider. She knew the others thought of it as well. She saw it written all over their bodies every time a Phaeton or Pelican passed overhead. They were all thinking it, but no one dared voice it out loud.
Zoey knelt among the rocks and held an assault rifle tight against her chest. She gazed through her radiation gear with weary resignation as Cassandra dropped down beside her. Karina slept fitfully nearby. Thomas held his girlfriend’s head in his lap and stared bleakly up into the rocks. The poor man hated being a burden. Cassandra couldn’t resent him even when the weight of the spare rucksacks became unbearable. Thomas hadn’t asked for this. None of them had. They followed Cassandra’s direction without complaint, desperately clinging to the hope that she might get them out of here alive. Even Merlin seemed to think Cassandra had some master plan to magic them all to safety.
“The sweep is getting closer.” Cassandra spat the dreaded news out as quickly as she could form the words. “We need to move further into the hills. One more hour of rest, then we step off.”
Zoey released an audible huff. The eyes that peered out from beneath the hood of her hazard suit were shadowed by deep bags. They were all running on fumes. No one had slept more than a few hours since fleeing the Chancer. Every waking moment was filled with the terrible noises of Created dropships prowling overhead. Cassandra and Merlin at least had armor designed to be comfortably worn for weeks at a time. Their companions were filthy. Cassandra insisted that they all wear baggy radiation suits at all times. Her helmet’s sensors detected all kinds of residual radiation from the bombardments and crashed warships. The longer they stayed down here the worse things got.
This entire planet was dying around them.
Zoey pushed her hood back and chewed slowly on a ration bar. Her hands shook. “I’m starting to think we should have gone with Stray,” she said with a hoarse laugh.
“Yeah.” Cassandra wondered where Simon was now. What was he doing? Did he know that his master had been defeated? What would he do now? At least he had Tuka and Juno to steer him right. Maybe he could still escape the Created and their ever-tightening net.”
“Hey,” Thomas said quietly. He ran a hand over Karina’s sleeping form. “I know you don’t want to hear this, but I’m slowing you down. Don’t take me with you this time. Just leave me a flare. I’ll hide here for a few hours, then set it off and surrender—”
“No!” Karina shot bolt upright, not nearly as fast asleep as she’d appeared. Her eyes flashed desperately beneath her radiation hood. “We’re not leaving you!”
“What choice do you have?” Thomas’s voice cracked with fear and pain. He gripped Karina’s hand plaintively. “I’m just dead weight. I hate it, but that’s the way it has to be.”
“If you stay, I stay,” Karina insisted stubbornly. She clung to Thomas as if he might vanish into the rocks behind them. “I don’t care what they do to me. It can’t be any worse than anything we’ve already been through. If we keep this up we’ll just wind up like Mr. Hargrove and those poor soldiers back on the Chancer V.”
Zoey held her rifle tighter and said nothing. Cassandra closed her eyes behind her helmet and tried to pray. More ships flew overhead. The rocks trembled beneath Cassandra’s boots as Merlin dropped down from his overwatch perch. Karina and Thomas were right. They were just delaying the inevitable. They could play guerilla all they wanted but that wouldn’t get them off this dying world or make the Created leave any faster. The shield world, its surface now illuminated by bright webs of celestial light, was proof enough of that.
Merlin knelt awkwardly alongside the small group. He knew as well as Cassandra just how hopeless this situation was. But if he was anything like Cassandra’s fellow Spartans he wound never countenance surrender. He would fight to the bitter end and then some. Cassandra suddenly thought of Simon, raging against the universe itself. He had never given in no matter how many times he tasted defeat. Cassandra wasn’t like him or Merlin or the other Spartans. She had always thought it better to bow her head and weather the storms that came her way. Rebel mobs, burned clinics, failed crusades—she’d slipped from one defeat to another, rarely fighting, always running. She couldn’t run anymore. Another day, another week, another year—time didn’t matter with the Created.
“Althea.” The name broke the silence. Cassandra looked to Merlin and the AI in his helmet. “What have you tracked down through the battlenet? The Created must have set up landing zones for their dropships.”
“I can’t just go poking through the network,” Althea said defensively. “With the battle over, they’d catch me out. Their network’s a lot stronger than your average Covenant encryption. And even the chatter I can pick up isn’t promising. The Created haven’t set up any ground installations. They’re coordinating the mop-up through the ships in orbit. We can’t steal anything.”
Cassandra never thought the day would come when she missed Diana. That smug AI would never give up this easily. She’d have cheated her way off this world one way or another. Althea sounded like a frightened child. Maybe that’s what she really was beneath the façade of military software.
God give me strength. Cassandra faced the group and said what needed to be said. “Then we’re out of options. We can’t keep this up. We never could. It’s time to surrender.”
Merlin stiffened. “I won’t let Lieutenant Davis and the others die for nothing.” The bitterness in his tone told Cassandra that she’d just confirmed every sly rumor he’d ever heard about her. She didn’t have the luxury of caring anymore.
“We’re still alive. That’s what they died for. But the battle’s over. The Created will catch us eventually. We’ve got three rifles against an entire armada. I won’t get Zoey, Thomas, and Karina killed over your suborn pride.”
Cassandra should have relegated the argument to a private helmet channel. But the others would know what was being discussed, even if they couldn’t hear it. They deserved to be part of this—and Cassandra needed to back Merlin into a corner. She couldn’t let him throw his life away on a lost battle. She owed Andra that much.
“Odds don’t mean anything to a Spartan,” Merlin insisted. “Not to a real Spartan.”
His tongue tripped over its own insult Cassandra knew better than to take it seriously. Merlin didn’t want to die here. He was just going through the motions. “Tell that to the dead. Odds matter plenty to Spartans. They just never make Waypoint propaganda films where the odds don’t work out.”
“You can laugh all you want,” Merlin snapped. He turned his visor out towards the ruined planet. “But I’m not handing Althea over to the Created. I’ll do this on my own if I have to.”
Cassandra rose and changed positions, forcing Merlin to look at her. It wasn’t easy. Merlin was nearly a foot taller in his MJOLNIR. It was hard to believe that pale, unforgiving armor concealed a boy Zoey’s age—a boy not much younger than Cassandra herself.
“You’re not staying here.” She threw every ounce of authority she could muster into her voice. She didn’t want to be giving orders. She hadn’t asked for this. But here they were, trapped in the dying embers of a lost cause. Someone needed to face reality. “And you won’t be handing Althea over. She’ll be the one turning us in.”
“You don’t possibly expect me to—”
“Oh yes, I do.” Cassandra coldly cut off the AI’s protestations. “It’s the only way you can keep Merlin safe. You’ll ping the Created and give away our position. Tell them you’ve seen the light. Tell them you want to be part of Cortana’s grand plan.”
“But I don’t!” Althea sounded like she was on the verge of tears. “They’ll know I’m lying!”
“Then don’t lie. Get with their program. We’ve lost. They won. Maybe not forever—I hope. But today they’ve one and it’s today I’m worried about. You’re the only one who can protect us now, Althea.”
A rough silence hung over their little hideout. Everyone fought to come to terms with Cassandra’s words. Thomas and Karina held hands. Zoey stared up into the dull-red clouds. Merlin looked down at Cassandra. His helmet hid whatever emotions were playing out over his face.
“You don’t know what they’ll do to us,” the young Spartan said softly. His earlier bravado was gone, replaced by an unfathomable weariness and just the barest hint of fear.
“No,” Cassandra agreed. “But I know them. They think they’re gods. They want to be magnanimous. Althea will give them exactly what they want: a new convert and more toys to lock in their gilded cage.”
“And all we have to do is grovel,” Merlin said bitterly.
“I’ve done worse things to survive.” Cassandra knew what Merlin must be feeling. She shared his bitterness and fear. A bleak future loomed before them. They would be stripped of their armor, their weapons, their freedom. Even if the Created didn’t lock her away in some windowless cell she’d be trapped in a much larger prison, forced to worship gods she didn’t believe in, thanking them for every scrap and morsel they threw her way. The coming humiliation stung worse than any wound.
I’m sorry, Simon. I’m not like you.
“This is how the rest of the galaxy lives, Merlin. We let the powerful crush us and thank them for the boot on our necks. Sometimes that’s the only way to keep the ones you care about safe.”
Merlin had no answer. A trio of Pelicans soared overhead, oblivious to the small group huddled in the rocks below.
===Chapter Seventy-Four: Scattered, Hunted, Defeated===
“This is a catastrophe.”
Umbra ‘Vesic paced anxiously across the Baran Keep’s throne room. The shipmaster made no attempt to hide his churning emotions. His eyes peered out wildly from beneath his helmet. The past weeks had not treated the Subtle Knife with any more kindness than the Kru’desh Legion.
The rest of the small group gathered in the throne room looked on with dull eyes. Callum-B042 stood beside Umbra. The Spartan had arrived on the same Phantom as the shipmaster as soon as the Subtle Knife reached Archangel’s Rest. Hera lurked at the edge of the room, arms folded and expression grim. Mohsin Shah and Urei ‘Caszal stood beside the steward’s throne. Andra hovered nearby. Even with her helmet on she couldn’t hide the nervous looks she kept shooting Callum. Argo waited near the throne room doors. Out of everyone he seemed the least fazed by Umbra’s news. Teyr ‘Baran sat atop his throne, eyes smoldering with barely concealed anger.
Stray at on the steps just below the kaidon’s throne. Still dressed in simple combat fatigues, he watched Umbra’s pacing with a dark, unblinking stare. This was the first time anyone had seen him since the events in the Silent Garden. He hadn’t said a word since emerging from his chambers. Two lances of Kru’desh legionnaires ringed the chamber. Human and Sangheili alike watched their commander with wary awe. Rumors about what had occurred in the bowels of the planet flowed freely through the legion. Everyone now decided they had felt the earth itself tremble when he entered the Domain. True, no army of Forerunner ships had sprung forth to conquer the stars, but who knew what secrets the commander had seen during that mysterious confrontation?
Some of the Kru’desh and even a few humans whispered that the stories of divine favor were true after all. But now that favor was being put to the test.
“I did not want to believe the tale this human told me,” Umbra said with a furtive glance at Callum. The aristocrat’s dignified demeanor had been shaken to its core. “But the records from his ship support his tale. Of course, the battle was not lost when he fled. Lord ‘Refum’s fleet held its own valiantly—”
“They were outnumbered four to one,” Callum snapped impatiently. “And that’s not even counting the three Guardians they had waiting in the wings. That battle was only going one way.”
“Just as I saw in the Silent Garden,” Urei ‘Caszal whispered. “Our fleet burned while an evil voice proclaimed a great doom upon the galaxy.”
Umbra produced a small communications disk. Blue light flashed over his hand. Everyone in the throne room stiffened as a woman’s cold, confident voice filled the chamber: “Shinsu ‘Refum is dead. He and all his fleet were smashed by an armada loyal to the Mantle of Responsibility. I have been patient thus far. No longer. All who still resist the galaxy’s new order will lay down their arms. Now. Further resistance will be met with swift and severe retaliation. Test the resolve of the Created if you wish. But be prepared to suffer the consequences.”
That voice was familiar to everyone who had heard the declaration a year ago as the Created brought the UEG to its knees. Cortana, leader of the Created, upholder of the Mantle and this galaxy’s new ruler.
“This was broadcast to every system across the galaxy,” Umbra said as the echoes of Cortana’s voice faded away. “We heard it through the remains of the Eternity.”
No one said anything for some time. Cortana’s hung over the throne room like a suffocating miasma.
Mohsin finally broke the silence. “So that’s it?” the ashen-faced captain demanded. “We lost?”
“The war is over,” Umbra confirmed. The once haughty shipmaster stared at the floor in defeat. Across the room, Hera turned on her heel and strode from the chamber without a word.
“Ryder betrayed us,” Callum said, his face twisted in a bitter grimace. “I knew that smug bastard was a piece of work, but this…!”
Stray stirred at the mention of Ryder.
“What about Merlin?” Andra demanded. “Did you really just leave him behind?”
“Watch your tone, Petty Officer,” Callum snapped. He glared at Andra. “He didn’t give me a choice. Don’t you dare talk to me about leaving people behind. I’m not the one who went galivanting off with a bunch of Innies and hinge-heads. You’re damned lucky Deep Winter gave me this system’s coordinates. We’re going back to that Shield World. We’re going to pull Merlin out and then I’m getting both of you as far away from this damned war as possible!”
“You will all be getting away from this planet—as swiftly and as far as your ships can carry you.” Teyr ‘Baran’s gingers dug into the Sangheili heads carved upon his throne. He surveyed the dregs assembled in the circular chamber beneath him, eyes gleaming with deadly malice. “My fortunes whither once more. No sooner do I reclaim my rightful place than Shinsu ‘Refum gets himself killed! Some liege he turned out to be. An upjumped cur from a sullied line. I will not tolerate his lackeys in my ancestral home any longer. You will take your legion of scum as well as your pet Jiralhanae and depart. I give you two days—”
Stray turned and fixed the kaidon with a poisonous stare. Teyr shrank back at the furious malice seething in the Spartan’s eyes. His mandibles quivered with impotent fury but he said no more, withdrawing into an angry silence atop his throne. Stray turned back to Callum.
“You don’t give any orders around here,” the commander said. This was the first time anyone had heard him speak since he returned to the surface. He did not raise his voice. He did not have to. Angry authority clung to every word.
Callum stiffened like an angry cat. His nostrils flared at this upstart traitor. “And you do?” he sneered, not so easily cowed as Teyr.
Stray met Callum’s gaze with a measured coldness. “I have a legion camped outside this keep and two battlecruisers waiting overhead. Yes, I give the orders around here.”
Urei started. He glanced at Umbra, expecting his shipmaster to put this junior commander in his place. But Umbra said nothing. He did not even object to Stray’s claim on the Subtle Knife. Umbra’s mind was on Shinsu ‘Refum. When Stray spoke he heard his lord’s voice on the human’s lips.
Callum would have none of it. His prosthetic leg pounded against the smooth floor as he stormed aross the chamber. “You cocky punk,” the older Spartan grated. “Who the hell do you think you are? Shinsu ‘Refum can’t protect you anymore. Maybe it’s about time someone taught you some manners.”
Two Sangheili were at Stray’s side in an instant. The warriors around the room unslung their rifles. Mohsin reached for his own weapon but kept a careful eye on Andra. The young Spartan didn’t join the Kru’desh but she didn’t step up to defend Callum either. She watched the confrontation play out, waiting to see who would blink first.
Callum stopped within arm’s reach of Stray. He could have reached out and wrung the traitor’s neck. He glared at the Sangheili. The warriors in turn placed their hands on their energy swords. Stray didn’t move. He sat on the throne’s steps, eyes burning with angry pride.
“Go on,” Stray said in that same icy tone. “Teach me. See what happens.”
Callum’s fingers quivered. He itched to wipe that cool stare off Stray’s face.
“Lieutenant,” Andra said stiffly. “Let it go.”
Callum stepped away from the throne. He fixed Stray with a contemptuous look. “You’re a brave man when you’re hiding behind terrorist sand hinge-heads.”
“I could say the same to you. You and the rest of the Spartans had the UNSC war machine behind you until a few months ago. I’m getting sick of teaching you people this lesson, so this will be the last time. The UNSC’s gone. You’re on your own. And thanks to Ryder Kedar’s parting gift, my legion doesn’t answer to anyone anymore. I’m the only one in this corner of space who has any interest at all in helping you save your friend. Go back to your ship and think that over before you talk to me again.”
Stray looked back at Teyr. “You want us gone, kaidon? We’re gone. The Created will be all over this place now that they’re finished with Shinsu. You should start cooking up your excuses. They’d better be good ones. I’m not wasting another warrior defending this dump.”
Umbra finally regained his composure. He straightened and motioned imperiously to the throne room’s great double doors. “Leave us, all of you. Lord Stray and I have much to discuss.”
The warriors obediently filed out. Teyr ‘Baran dropped from his throne—Stray did not rise to make space and the kaidon was forced to drop inelegantly down off the steps. He and his guards vanished through a side door. The kaidon had a great deal of trouble in his future. Callum shot Stray one last angry look but left with the others. Stray exchanged a few quiet words with Mohsin before the captain also departed. Andra moved to follow him from the chamber.
“Not you.” Stray’s voice still carried that cold, unnatural authority. Andra looked after the withdrawing Callum but reluctantly stepped back into the throne room. The doors slid shut and left the emptied chamber in dark, mahogany shadows.
Umbra stood before the high throne. The shipmaster fixed Stray with an irate glare. “You are lucky I did not shame you before your warriors just now. You have no claim over my ship or my warriors. I command this expedition, or what remains of it. Lord ‘Refum’s defeat did not change that.”
Stray deflated. The steely resolve drained away and he slumped back against the throne’s steps. He watched Umbra carefully. “Someone had to take charge. You clearly don’t have a plan. The warriors need to think we’re still in control or we’ll have a mutiny on our hands.”
Umbra regarded Stray and shook his head. The reptilian warrior clasped his hands behind his back, pacing away from the throne. “No,” he admitted. “There is no plan. I… Lord ‘Refum was—is, is—everything to me. I pledged my life to his service. If he is truly dead, the House of Refum died with him. If only young Tuka were still alive--!”
“You high lords didn’t have any use for Tuka when he was alive,” Stray said. He stared into the darkened throne room with a haunted expression. “Don’t start now that he’s dead. Shinsu always said the Cleansing Blade was more than just his ambitions. Even if the fleet is gone, he had thousands of outposts, spies, and agents across Covenant space.”
“Yes. We—I, that is—must rally anyone who remains loyal. But what good will that do? Those outposts may repair and refuel and reinforce our vessels now, but the enemy will soon take them as well. What hope do we stand against the Created?”
“Nonem” Stray agreed bitterly. “The war’s over. The UNSC lost, and now we’ve lost as well.”
“We should have quarantined all those present for the news,” Umbra muttered absently. He and Stray both knew that didn’t matter anymore. “Word of defeat will spread. My warriors are loyal. What of your Kru’desh?”
“People would find out anyway. I’ve got Argo and the other officers spinning things for the rank and file. My legion has more spine than you and Shinsu ever gave them credit for. As long as I keep things under control they won’t mutiny.”
“They did once.”
“Not this time,” Stray said grimly. “None of the ones who could have stirred something up survived the battle. I made sure of that. The legion needs two days to bury our dead. Then we leave.”
“Why’d you ask me to stay?” Andra folded her arms, tired of Stray and Umbra talking as if she weren’t there. She was irritated with herself as well for letting Stray order her around so easily. It was practically instinct for her now. And Callum had noticed. Only the thought of Merlin held her in check. She needed Stray on her side if she had any hope of rescuing him from the shield world.
Stray pressed his prosthetic hand against his face. Physically, he looked better than Andra had ever seen him. His skin had lost its sickly, sallow complexion. He no longer looked like a walking corpse or a prematurely aged man. But his eyes were still hollow and exhausted. The price of his restoration was Juno’s betrayal—whatever that meant. Andra still didn’t know what had happened to Stray inside the Silent Garden. She still didn’t know what had happened to her. The less she thought about the nightmarish scenes of a galaxy on fire, the better.
“Tell that Spartan he’s got his rescue mission,” Stray said with weary resignation. “We’ll leave in three days. I need his help planning the opeariton.”
“Just like that? After that scene with Callum?”
“I needed to put on a show for the warriors. They need to think I’m still running the show. Your friend and Teyr gave me plenty of material to work with.” A trace of that old, crooked smirk brushed Stray’s lips. Andra no longer found that smile infuriating. In a way it was oddly comforting. “Your angry friend’s hurt feelings are a good trade for getting what he wants, I think. He needs to be a little more careful when he speaks to me in mixed company.”
The throne room windows shuddered as a Banshee talon soared past. Machines hummed in the distance as the Kru’desh redoubled their salvage efforts. Archangel’s Rest would be picked clean before they departed.
“Smoke and mirrors, yeah.” Andra couldn’t resist a thin smile of her own. “But you can’t fool me. You enjoyed siccing your goons on him.”
“It’s fun being the biggest kid on the playground for once.”
Umbra was still pacing up and down the throne room. “You are resolved, then.” The shipmaster gazed out the throne room’s window. He looked wearily down at the war camps below.
“The Chancer V was in that fleet,” Stray spoke quietly, but Andra heard that same bitter resolve that had carried the legion across the icy plains. Simon-G294 wasn’t beaten yet. “I need to go there. I need to know. And if they’re still alive, I need to save them.”
“Will any follow you now that the fleet is gone? You cannot buy these warriors with promises of glory or victory. There is no glorious destiny to fulfill. There is only a long, terrible war—one that I no longer believe we can win.”
Stray’s eye twitched. Andra wondered how he could hold together at all. His patron was gone. The war was lost. His legion gave him the power he craved—for now. The terrible victory at Archangel’s Rest had not brought them any closer to beating the Created. It was just one more bitter spasm of violence in a galaxy that hungered for such battles. More pain, more loss, more death. That was what lay in their future. The Silent Garden had told Andra as much.
“Some of them may give up,” Stray said finally. “Some will run if I give them the chance. Maybe all of them. But I’m going to that shield world. Alone, if I have to.”
Umbra nodded curtly. “So be it. I must look to my own officers. Perhaps there are survivors from the flee tot be rescued. Or perhaps I must go my own way. Lord ‘Refum gone, his line ended—terrible. More terrible than I could ever have imagined. If I still believed in the gods, I would think that they were laughing at us.”
The shipmaster withdrew. Andra ound herself alone with Stray in the darkened throne room. He didn’t dismiss her. He didn’t say anything at all. He clasped his hands in front of him and stared down at the carve steps beneath his feet.
Andra looked around the shadowy hall. Her mind churned. She didn’t know where to turn anymore. Ryder! Her blood boiled at the thought of the treacherous commander. After everything he’d put her through—Asphodel Meadows and the Kru’desh, everything she’d endured in the name of fighting the Created—he’d abandoned it all just so he could be on the winning side. It was too much. Andra needed to tear that handsome face to shreds. Because of Ryder, Merlin might be—
No. No. He’s alive. He has to be alive. He can’t leave me all alone. Not like this.
She remembered Cassandra and the others aboard the Chancer V. She wondered if the same desperate hope was churning in Stray’s mind as well. A sudden feeling of kinship, one Andra could never have felt just a few months before, kindled inside her. For once she looked at Stray—petty, treacherous, broken Stray—and saw a brother Spartan.
“Did you mean what you said about going to that shield world alone?”
“If I have to,” Stray repeated. His sunken eyes probed the dark corners of the room, desperately searching for something only he could see. “Shinsu’s gone. The Silent Garden was a lie. I’ll find Cassandra and Zoey. Merlin too, if that’s what it takes to keep you on my side.”
He was scheming again. Planning his next move. Calculating what it would take to give himself the best odds. He didn’t need to hide his manipulations from Andra anymore. She didn’t even begrudge him that. Someone needed to keep them all in the fight.
“Thank you, Stray,” Andra said, and she meant it.
Stray flinched. The motion caught Andra off guard. For the first time something she’d said had stung him.
“Simon.” He hastily looked away, muttering almost to himself: “My name is Simon.”
***
Smooth oblong caskets rested in the Baran Keep’s silent war hall. The chamber where Rol ‘Baran and Irthanus had directed the battle against the Kru’desh now served as a resting place for the victorious legion’s war dead. Sangheili dictated that any fallen warrior of noble heritage be granted a solemn vigil before his comrades interred him in his final resting place. Many warriors had been denied that right since the fall of the Covenant and the decades of civil war that followed. The Sangheili of the Kru’desh—well used to watching their comrades left on the battlefield like rotting trash—would have no more of that. After all they had endured on Archangel’s Rest, they claimed their rights with a vengeance.
Simon insisted that every warrior, great or small, who perished in the snowy wastes be granted the rights due the loftiest of kaidons. The lowliest criminals lay alongside the highest born officers. A few Cleansing Blade warriors bristled at the extension of such honors to the lowborn. Urei ‘Caszal swiftly brought these naysayers to heel. The long march and battle through the snows had placed the survivors beyond such tired restrictions.
Hundreds of caskets filled the darkened war hall. Small groups clustered around each bier. Murmured prayers or private farewells mingled beneath the high sloped ceiling. A few humans stood among the mourners. Friendships forged over the battles since the legion opened its ranks to the URF transcended tradition and even species. Humans grieved the dead Sangheili as if they were their own. The warriors around the hall welcomed the humans without question.
Simon Venter stood near the front of the hall. He rested a hand on Tuka ‘Refum’s casket. As he watched the mourners mingle around the war hall a dull satisfaction stirred in his chest. The Kru’desh morale held. This funeral wasn’t for his benefit—it was for them. Archangel’s Rest wasn’t his victory. The Kru’dehs still thought they’d won the battle for themselves.
He sensed the cold hand of his tired manipulations lurking over the proceedings. It came so naturally to him now. He hated himself for it. No good deed could ever be done for its own sake. There was always an ulterior motive, another scheme, another grand plan. He hated himself for it. Stray was gone. He’d strangled the beast, cast it into the void, but its poison still coursed through his veins.
No, it wasn’t the beast. He’d given up that old excuse when he crushed Wanderer. The evil was just him. No one else was to blame. He couldn’t even revel in his own machinations anymore. The games were over. Only ashes remained.
Simon looked down at Tuka’s still form. A terrible grief welled up inside him. Useless, useless. The words ran in circles around his mind. Useless, useless. The Kru’desh had conquered this planet for nothing. Juno had lied. The Silent Garden had lied. Shinsu, for all his schemes and grand stratagems, was gone, his might fleet broken and scattered to the solar winds. Another war lost. Another hope crushed.
Cassandra. Zoey. They were alive. They had to be alive. Simon clung to that last hope like a drowning man grasping at a life vest. A cold empty galaxy spread out all around him.
Death was always close at hand. Death had seen it claim the deserving and undeserving alike. But never like this. Tuka ‘Refum, the noblest warrior and most loyal friend Simon had ever known, had deserved far better than to die a cold death in a battle the legion had already won.
Simon tried to conjure up some hatred for Loic, but all he saw was the dead boy’s cold, despairing eyes staring up from the blood-soaked snow. Loic was dead. Tuka was dead. And Simon remained.
A slender figure joined Simon at the casket. Mihka, the Phantom pilot raised up from Jiralhanae slave pits, stared mournfully down at Tuka. Simon nodded curtly but said nothing.
Mihka held the silence as long as she could. When she spoke she did not look at her commander. “Perhaps it is best that he never learned how Ier died.”
“Yes.”
“Tuka would never have forgiven himself.” Mihka’s voice carried a hint of resentment. They both knew Tuka could never bring himself to hate the man who ordered his friend’s execution. “He knew of Ier’s demons yet he kept silent.”
“Of course. It was always his fault, never anyone else’s.” Something between a laugh and a sob forced its way through Simon’s lips. “Those gods of yours had better treat him well. Otherwise, I’ll…” He trailed off with another shuddering gasp.
Mihka drew closer, carefully positioning herself to shield the commander from prying eyes. She fixed Simon with a hard stare. “There is something else you must know,” she said in an urgent whisper. “Tuka and I… joined before we arrived in this system. Since then there have been signs… I will bear eggs.”
Simon stiffened. He looked up at Mihka through bloodshot eyes, then quickly scanned the hall to see if anyone else was nearby. “That was three weeks ago,” he hissed. “How can you be sure?”
“My people gestate far quicker than your own, commander. You know of these matters. There are simple tests to confirm even the slightest signs. And I have known no male other than Tuka.” Mihka’s mandibles twitched. “You must know what this means.”
“Yeah,” Simon said harshly. He felt his lapse of grief hardening into cold calculation once more. He couldn’t escape these burdens. He’d forged the chains himself but he fought against them all the same. “I don’t want to think about it right now.”
“I will bear the eggs,” Mihka said firmly. “Anything else dishonors Tuka.”
Simon looked around the hall. The old gears turned on and on. The game played on whether he liked it or not. “Who else knows about this?”
“Yearns to Soar administered the tests. The Huragok is sworn to secrecy. I have told only you.”
Simon turned back to the casket. The thoughts surging in his head made him feel like scum. To think them here, in this place, beside Tuka himself…!
But he had no choice. Tuka was dead. The Kru’desh lived on. They needed every bit of leverage they could get. “So you’ll bear the eggs,” he said quietly. “Can you live with the consequences?”
“I would not have told you if I could not.” Mihka arched her neck, prim as any highborn lady. She’d known what telling this man the truth would mean for her and her unborn children. “I want protection for my children. For Tuka’s children. Umbra ‘Vesic would snatch them away from me the moment they were hatched. You, at least, owe Tuka a great debt. I hope you will honor that.”
Simon’s face twisted in a pained grimace. “I’ll do what I can. This galaxy doesn’t care about debts and sentimentality. You’re carrying the future of House ‘Refum—and I have a legion to hold together.”
The commander left abruptly, leaving the hall and the rows of accusing caskets behind. Mihka remained by Tuka’s side for some time.
***
As Teyr ‘Baran’s daughter, Naia should have held a place of honor alongside her siblings at the new kaidon’s throne. Instead she knelt on a hard prison floor, surrounded by half a dozen frightened girls. A glaring energy field separated her from the brig’s central walkway. Viru, stripped of his weapons and armor, languished in the cell opposite Naia’s. A trio of bored Unggoy guarded the brig. The guards hissed and argued with each other, more interested in their game of knucklebones than the brig’s lone prisoners.
Viru gazed mournfully at his cousin through the twin energy fields that separated them. “Why?” he asked hoarsely. “You could have been killed. You might still be killed.”
“You know why.” Naia’s throat was raw with grief. Viru heard the pain in her voice and turned aside, overcome by his own emotions. His father was dead. His brothers were dead. His uncle and cousins had betrayed the clan. Only Naia had stood with Rol ‘Baran, and now she and the girls were all Viru had left.
And Viru and his sisters were all Naia had left.
Why? He had asked that question countless times since the Kru’desh barbarians hauled them aboard the Soul Ascension. Naia was sick of repeating herself, but she had only one answer to give.
I couldn’t let Teyr kill Viru and the little ones. The treacherous creature she had once called father would have slaughtered them all and stained the name Baran forever. Naia could think of no one she hated more than Teyr. Not even the Kru’desh commander…
She could still see that dreadful human seated upon her family’s anscestral throne, his armor stained with blood and soot from destroying everything Naia held dear. That awful creature was responsible for all of this. And yet he was also the only reason Naia and her cousins were still alive. His words—and the legion behind them—had stayed Teyr’s hand. Naia owed that human her life. She hated him for that.
The sight of Viru alone in his cell made Naia’s hearts ache. Viru lived, but there was no future in that survival. Her cousin had lost everything: his family, his position, his home. She knew he wanted to weep, yet he held his feelings back for the sake of his terrified sisters. He was their kaidon now. They needed him to be strong.
Naia hushed the girls. She held back her own tears and conjured up a lullaby, one her mother had taught her long ago. Mother. The song faltered in Naia’s throat. She would never see her mother or sisters or brothers ever again. She had betrayed them all to stand with Viru and these girls. The life she’d known and the future she’d hoped for were gone. Archangel’s Rest was fallen, given over to brutes and barbarians. Slavery at the hands of the Kru’desh was the kindest fate Naia could hope for.
Why couldn’t they accept the mantle? Why couldn’t they let us be? Rol ‘Baran and Irthanus had dreamed of a galaxy no longer beset by violence and ruled by the cruel. Now they were dead, and all their warriors with them. The Kru’desh had set that dream on fire.
Naia forced herself to sing the lullaby until the last of the girls drifted off into a fitful sleep. She looked over to Viru. Her cousin’s eyes shone with pained gratitude. Naia knew she’d chosen her fate rightly. She’d rather suffer beneath Kru’desh boots than live another day in Teyr ‘Baran’s ill-won house.
Viru retreated to the back of his cell and wept bitterly. Naia hugged her sleeping cousins close as the enemy ship throbbed beneath her aching legs. She soon succumbed to a fitful sleep full of darkness and treachery.
***
The Kru’desh interred their dead in the sacred Baran grove. A loose procession of legionnaires escorted grav-sleds piled high with caskets through the frozen trees. All Kru’desh officers as well as any warriors who could be spared from other duties attended the somber ceremony. Such an observation was a strange event for a legion that rarely stood on any ceremony whatsoever. But the battle across this frigid wasteland had changed the Kru’desh. This mob of cutthroats, thieves, and opportunists—the refuse of Shinsu ‘Refum’s mighty fleet—had been forged into something new. Humans stood alongside Sangheili with barely a sideways glance at their fellow legionnaires. The burial was performed with a solemnity that put the noblest of honor guards to shame.
Umbra ‘Vesic led a small contingent of Cleansing Blade officers into the sacred trees. After much deliberation—and vocal insistence from Urei ‘Caszal—the shipmaster agreed that the Cleansing Blade dead should be interred alongside the Kru’desh. “After all,” Umbra said grimly. “We have nowhere left to deliver them.”
No Baran warriors attended the burial. Word of Shinsu’s defeat spread like wildfire. The people of Archangel’s Rest wanted the invaders gone before the Created returned. Only the combined firepower of the Soul Ascencion and Subtle Knife kept Teyr from driving the Kru’desh from his keep.
Simon-G294 limped at the center of the procession. He walked wordlessly alongside Tuka ‘Refum’s casket.
Once inside the forest the procession split off into dozens of smaller groups. The Kru’desh separated and buried the dead according to various customs. Unggoy, Sangheili, Kig-Yar, human—if they died on Archangel’s Rest, they were given over to the sacred trees.
Mohsin Shah fought back sobs as Okafo and the rest of Vanguard Squad’s fallen vanished beneath the cold ground. He whispered softly through his tears, a prayer book clutched in trembling hands. For the captain this was one more planet where friends and comrades were buried. One more dearly-bought victory in the midst of a lost war. Ragna Aasen, her cheeks shining with frozen tears, wrapped an arm around Mohsin and tried to hold herself together.
Simon stood over Tuka’s grave. He stiffened against the cold, his face set like stone. Mihka stood a few paces a way. The former pilot shivered beneath layered furs and stared mournfully at the casket. Three warriors stood guard, never letting Mihka out of their sight.
As Tuka’s casket slipped into the frigid ground, Simon knelt and produced a battered helmet from beneath his coat. The cracked SPI visor rested atop the casket and stared up at its former master as chunks of frozen dirt sealed it away.
Umbra drew near. The Shipmaster wrapped himself in a heavy coat. Urei and the Sangheili who had survived the long march wore only their combat harnesses. The cold in this forest was nothing compared to what they had endured. Umbra watched the burial proceedings with disinterest. His mandibles drooped as he looked down at the Kru’desh commander.
“Well, human. We find ourselves at the end of another lost war. Jul ‘Mdama’s death was a tragic necessity. Shinsu—Lord ‘Refum—is a calamity. I fear the Sangheili will never reclaim their rightful place in the galaxy.”
Simon didn’t look away from Tuka’s grave. Two warriors knelt beside the freshly dug earth and murmured prayers. One cast a surreptitious look at his commander. Tuka’s friends still believed some divine will was at work behind Simon. Another warrior stood at the head of the grave and cried out a prayer to Fied, the god-star who ruled the Hall of Eternity.
“May you enter with pride into the halls of your ancestors. May your name know honor for eternity. As you walked in life may you rest in paradise.”
Simon’s face contorted in a sudden grimace. He turned aside to conceal his tears. He muttered a quick prayer that no one could hear, speaking to a god he did not believe in. He took a moment to compose himself before turning back to Umbra.
“The war’s not over,” he said hoarsely.
“Then you are resolved to return to the shield world.”
“I am. And what about you? The Created said Shinsu was dead. They could have been lying.”
“There is some small hope,” Umbra admitted. “But I have the rest of the Cleansing Blade to consider. Lord ‘Refum had contingencies in place to carry on the struggle. I must confess that I no longer have faith in victory. But I will not submit to the Created. Not while there is strength left in me.”
The Shipmaster regarded Simon through narrowed eyes. “Lord ‘Refum would be pleased by your victory here. He trained you well. It is unfortunate about the lord’s brother, but Tuka ‘Refum walked his own path. He died a warrior’s death. They all did. In these dark times, that is all many of us could hope for.
“Shinsu never cared about winning battles,” Simon replied. “Just moving on to the next one. And the one after that and the one after that.”
“On and on, until the final enemy is conquered.” Umbra dipped his head. He pulled his coat tighter against the cold. The afternoon was giving way to evening. “I don’t believe Lord ‘Refum ever expected to see his work completed. I just never thought I would outlive him.”
The Shipmaster sighed. More capsules vanished into the cold earth. The Kru’desh dead would rest beneath these sacred trees for eternity. They would outlast the Baran keep and its dwindling lords. They would become apart of the planet itself.
“Urei ‘Caszal petitioned me to release him to your command,” Umbra informed Simon. “Many of his warriors joined him. The times being what they are, I granted their request. Who would have guessed the days would come when some of my best warriors would wish to stand among the ranks of the Kru’desh?”
Simon nodded but said nothing. Both commanders looked up as an eerie cry drifted through the trees. A group of Kig-Yar stood over their fallen and raised their voices in a mournful song. The vicious, needle-toothed creatures sang with haunting sadness. Their song was soon joined by human voices. A small gather of human legionnaires huddled around their comrades’ graves and sang in faltering, distorted harmony. Andra Kearsarge stood with them. She tucked her helmet under her arm and sang up into the trees. For the first time Simon realized that the young Spartan had a beautiful voice.
***
That evening after the Kru’desh returned to the war camps a smaller funeral took place in a small grove near the forest’s edge. A Mastodon carved a lonely path through the darkness to carry five bodies to their final resting place. A small detail, bundled tight and hunched against the cold, swiftly dug graves for Fireteam Gravity. Loic, Citlali, Shiama, Akoni, and Miraia vanished into the frozen ground
Mohsin, Ragna, and the three remaining members of Vanguard Squad brought five rifles from the Mastodon while Callum, Hera, Andra, and Simon shoveled dirt over the dead Spartans.
“It’s the least we could do,” Mohsin told a stony-faced Callum. “For Lieutenant Kearsarge.”
Callum bristled at the rank but kept his mouth shut. Vanguard Squad withdrew, leaving the four Spartans to finish the burial. None of the Spartans spoke as they hacked through the cold ground. No one said anything over the graves save for Mohsin, who read a few prayers by the light of the Mastodon’s headlights. Night fell quickly and Mohsin led his team into the relative warmth of the Mastodon’s troop bay. With the last of the graves filled in, Callum planted a rifle atop each mound.
“I hear I have you to thank for dealing with these traitors,” he told Simon, his voice heavy with irony.
Simon pulled his coat tight around his shoulders. He stared over the five graves. “I did my bit,” he said quietly.
Andra watched the exchange nervously. Hera ignored them all. She leaned against a tree and stared out at the shadowy horizon.
“You must be pleased. More dead Spartans to your name. Your reputation will get a boost from this, once your lackeys spread the word around. You’re a real Spartan killer now.”
“They were just kids,” Simon muttered. He didn’t look at Callum.
“So?” Callum asked ruthlessly. “They took an oath. They betrayed that oath. A lot of people died because of them.”
“A lot of people died,” Simon agreed. “We buried most of them today. My best friend was in one of those caskets. He didn’t deserve to die on this godforsaken planet.”
“But here you are helping us bury them.”
Simon shot Callum a distasteful look. The shadows distorted his twisted lips into a contorted grimace. “Enough posturing. You asked for the burial. And I know a think or two about kids betraying everything because they wanted to do the right think. Loic tried to kill me, so I killed him first. Same with his friends and every other Spartan I’ve ever killed. You people never learn.”
Simon looked over the graves. The rifles protruded over the fresh mounds like ugly headstones. “I wonder what they’d have been like if they never became Spartans.”
Andra looked away, overcome by a sudden surge of emotion. Callum turned aside, stepping into the shadows so no one could see the pain written on his face as he stared at the graves. “Just kids,” the older Spartan muttered hoarsely. “Damn this war.”
Simon nudged Loic’s grave with his boot. “We recovered their armor. My techs did their best, but I’ll need your help getting the MJOLNIR functional again.”
Callum eyed the Kru’desh commander through the darkness. “Do you really think we’d put five suits of MJOLNIR in the hands of a bunch of terrorists?”
“Four, actually. We’ll need to cannibalize at least one suit to get the others working. Four suits—one for each of us. This gang of terrorists is the only help you’ll get for your rescue mission. I think you’ve got bigger things to worry about than what kind of armor I’m wearing.”
Callum’s mouth twisted in an angry grimace. He pulled his jacket hood up against the cold and returned to the graves. Andra watched him carefully before picking her way through the snow to stand beside him. They exchanged quiet words over the five graves. Hera caught Simon’s eye and shook her head. She held his gaze as he joined her at the forest’s edge.
“I won’t pretend to know what really happened down in the Silent Garden,” Hera said quietly. A gust of wind blew snowflakes over her rough features. “I don’t know what Juno tried to do to you. But with her out of the picture and Shinsu dead, I don’t see any point in sticking around. I’m sick of chasing ghosts.”
“Yeah. I get it.”
Hera shot him a calculated look. “That’s it? No effort to talk me out of it?”
“I did wonder if you felt some obligation for Merlin and Andra. Joshua’s legacy and all that.”
“I’m done,” Hera said firmly. “No more UEG. No more alien schemes. I’m done fighting for causes I don’t believe in.”
“And Cassandra?” Simon asked, perhaps more forcefully than he intended.
Hera’s eyes narrowed. “Cassie can look after herself. She’s got you, doesn’t she? She and Merlin are either alive over at the shield world or they aren’t. You’ll find them or you won’t. One extra rifle won’t make a difference in a war like this. If you can even call this a war. You’d better find that pragmatic streak of yours again if you want to live through this.”
Simon nodded curtly. He and Hera stared out over the frozen plain. Lights flashed across the Baran keep. Troops and supplies ferried up from the surface to the Soul Ascension and Subtle Knife. The Cleansing Blade and Kru’desh Legion were breaking camp. They’d soon be gone from Archangel’s Rest, leaving behind a shattered world with its ruling family crippled and its settlements riven by war. The cold, deep peace of the Created faded like an ephemeral dream. This was the true state of the galaxy: endless warfare and suffering.
“What will you do?” Simon finally asked.
“I’ll hitch a ride with Umbra. He owes me a few favors. Once he finds a port of call, I’ll find some humans to fall in with. ONI still has plenty of safehouses to raid. Maybe I’ll charter a flight to Kropotkin. They need good people—and I need a cause I believe in.”
Hera shielded her face from the cold. “Sometimes I wonder if I could let it all go. Johsua talked about doing that, before Amber killed him. Learn a trade, open shop somewhere, find a nice girl to settle down with.”
“You’d go crazy in a month.”
“We’re already crazy. That’s the problem. We’re not happy unless there’s a war or a mission or something else to make us miserable. And then those of us who survive stand around burying the ones who didn’t.” Hera trudged back to the waiting Mastodon. She looked at Fireteam Gravity’s graves one last time before slipping into the APC.
Simon, Callum, and Andra stood by the graves as the last light faded over the horizon. None of the Spartans said anything. Mohsin finally tired of the delay and flashed the Mastodon’s headlights. The small burial detail returned to the war camp. The five graves they left behind rested beneath the trees in a final, silent peace.
***
A light snow fell over the broken war camp. Gray clouds, as always, concealed the sky. A final meeting convened in a Jirahlanae bunker. The long-suffering Draugr was gone, its battered frame lifted back into the Soul Ascension. Vast troves of weapons and war materiel looted from Irthanus’s war forges streamed up gravity lifts into the Ascension and Subtle Knife. If nothing else, this expedition had made the newly orphaned ships exceedingly rich. Only a handful of lances still labored around the Baran keep. The rear guard hastily stripped the last of the Kru’desh defenses. Their commanders were as eager to depart this frigid battlefield as Teyr ‘Baran was to see them leave.
“The passage through Slipspace will give us time to enact repairs.” Umbra ‘Vesic stood at the center of the bunker alongside several of his officers. A purple command sash marked his new office as commander of the Cleansing Blade. Hera stood just behind him, once again a part of the Subtle Knife's command team. “My crew will work as quickly as they can but we are in no condition for battle. The Subtle Knife will evacuate any survivors from the planet’s surface but do not expect me to engage in combat.”
“Two hours.” Simon-G294 leaned against the bunker door. He stared up at the Soul Ascension, his face exposed to the harsh morning wind. He wore the dull-red suit of MJOLNIR stripped from Shaima-D164. The abused armor had been repaired and refurbished since the battle’s end but Simon was careful not to risk too much movement. The Kru’desh needed to see their commander wearing the new armor—they didn’t need to see him fall flat on his face. “We’ll hit the system and stick to the timeline. No heroics. If anyone from the fleet is still alive down there we’ll evacuate them and pull out.”
“I may depart sooner,” Umbra warned. “I have a duty to the Cleansing Blade. I cannot afford to lose my ship now.”
“We do the job and then we go our separate ways,” Simon said with a curt nod. “I’ve got the Kru’desh to take care of. I’m not throwing their lives away on some suicide run.”
Mohsin Shah and Urei ‘Caszal stood at the head of a contingent of Kru’desh officers. The bunker walls shook as a flight of Phantoms soared overhead. Shouts from outside marked final evacuation procedures. The Kru’desh legion was finally leaving their hard-won battleground. Argo ‘Varvin lurked in the bunker’s corner and watched the preparations with interest.
“Enough standing around,” Callum growled. He wore a suit of gray armor stripped from Akoni-D284. Kru’desh techs had stripped the armor’s shin to leave room for his prosthetic leg “Merlin’s running out of time.”
“If Merlin had any time to begin with,” Simon said grimly. Focusing on Merlin helped him ignore what that meant for Cassandra and Zoey. “We’ll either find survivors or we won’t. They’ll have two hours to respond to our hails and give us their positions. After that, we’re gone.”
Callum made a disparaging noise but didn’t argue further. Andra stood uncomfortably between her fellow Spartan and the Kru’desh officers. She’d donned Loic’s ivory MJOLNIR harness. The dead traitor’s helmet rested in the crook of her arm as she absently adjusted the combat webbing on the unfamiliar armor. She was eager to leave this world and the painful memories it held. She needed to find Merlin and make sure he was safe, but after that she feared what the future held.
Simon turned to his officers. Wanderer’s strange disease had withdrawn, returning form and color to his cheeks. With his dark hair cropped short he looked as collected and deadly as any Marine colonel. With the MJOLNIR augmenting his small frame, he looked like a proper Spartan for the first time since Andra had known him. Only his eyes told a different story. They were sunken and narrow, gleaming with that dark, familiar cunning.
“You all know the score,” Simon told the Kru’desh. “Shinsu lost. His fleet was destroyed. I thought he’d be the one to lead us through this. I bet on him. I lost. I won’t keep fighting his war. But I’m not surrendering to the Created, either. It’s thanks to Shinsu’s fleet that we have a legion at all. They gave us a chance for survival. We owe them that much. If any of you want to stay here and surrender to whatever Guardian shows up to take this world back, that’s your call. If you want to bail on this outfit, Umbra’s taking recruits. I won’t stop any of you.”
As Simon spoke he felt a strange lump rise in his throat. A sudden pain threatened to cut his voice off. He realized that he mourned Shinsu—not for the lost opportunity, but for the loss of yet another mentor. Shinsu could have killed Simon when the Covenant dragged his scorched carcass back to Jul ‘Mdama’s fleet. Instead he’d raised him up to heights a broken, renegade Spartan could never imagine. He’d seemed so confident, so indomitable. Now he was gone.
The room met his words with a dull silence. None of the assembled officers spoke for some time. Finally Mohsin stepped forward. The captain rubbed his beard and regarded his armored commander through weary eyes. He turned to the humans and Sangheili behind him.
“I’ve been fighting wars all my life,” Mohsin said. “I lost more than I won, that’s for damned sure. And if this is what winning looks like, well…”
He trailed off with a bitter laugh. A few humans and even some of the Sangheili nodded in agreement.
“I don’t know what I’m fighting for anymore. But I’ve seen a lot of crazy things since I joined this legion. And one of the craziest of them all is the idea that frontier scum like us could come this far. Well, here we are. The UNSC is gone and the Created aren’t going away. Maybe we can’t beat them. Maybe all we can do is run. But I owe it to everyone we lost and everyone still out there to stay alive. The way I see it, the best way to do that is follow Venter.”
A rumble of assent passed through the assembled officers. Kelo ‘Demal, the warrior who had brought the Soul Ascension’s reinforcements, stepped up beside Mohsin and Urei. He faced his Sangheili brethren and placed a hand on the energy sword on his hip.
“We are the Kru’desh,” he declared. “The condemned. The outcasts. They cast us aside as the dregs of the clans. They saw no future in the likes of us. But we endured all the same. Tuka ‘Refum saw a future—a better future, a future free from the Covenant and the Created. We passed through ice and fire on this world. We have been forged into something new. We must carry on. The long march is not over. Not until we find a place worth calling home. I will see that march through to the end.”
None of the Kru’desh joined Umbra’s crew or remained behind on Archangel’s Rest. The only invaders left were Alaric and his raiders, still pillaging the southern settlements. There was no talk of sending the Soul Ascension to retrieve the rampaging Jiralhanae. They were someone else’s problem now.
The last of the Kru’desh departed Archangel’s Rest three weeks after the battle began. The Subtle Knife and Soul Ascension passed through the planet’s atmosphere. They slipped under the moon and through the debris left from the battle with the Eternity. The Subtle Knife took the lead and vanished into Slipspace. The Soul Ascension followed close behind. A silver flash opened in the void of space and swallowed the battlecruiser whole. The Kru’desh legion disappeared from the system they had fought so hard to conquer.
Simon Venter stood on the Ascension’s bridge long after they left the system. He cast a furtive glance at the holo-terminal where Juno’s avatar might have stood a few weeks before. His helmet hid his expression behind a dark visor. When he finally turned to leave, he paused alongside the bridge officers—a motley crew of Sangheili, humans, and Kig-Yar. “Good work,” he told them gruffly. “Keep it up.”
“It will soon be over,” one of the Sangheili murmured. He ducked his head deferentially.
“No,” the commander said. “It’s nowhere near over. We get through this next battle. And then the one after that and the one after that. That’s how we stay alive.”
He left the bridge and went to his cabin. Yearns to Soar drifted over to the holopad. The Huragok extended a tendril to brush the empty terminal and let out a low, mournful cry.
===Interlude: Fulfilling Selfish Honor===
See: Fulfilling Selfish Honor
===Interlude: War's Children===
See: War's Children
===Interlude: The Farewell and Into The Inevitable===
See:Heaven and Earth Interlude: The Farewell and Into the Inevitable
===Chapter Seventy-Five: One Problem at a Time===
The Soul Ascension spent the journey to the shield world in a state of grim anticipation. Repair crews worked around the clock to weld shattered decks and reinforce internal damage left over from the battle and crash landing. After all the damage she’d taken, the Soul Ascension was a miracle by simply surviving the transition through slipspace. The hangars throbbed with activity. Damaged dropships were refurbished and fighter squadrons were refitted to make ready for the next operation. Harried quartermasters of all species hurried from deck to deck delivering orders and supplies to newly condensed lances and platoons. The Kru’desh Legion reformed itself even as their ship carried them onwards towards almost certain destruction.
The odds of survival were slim, yet a dull energy coursed through the Kru’desh. The surviving warriors—“legionnaires,” the humans had taken to calling themselves—had faced certain death on Archangel’s Rest and emerged triumphant. Distant reports of lost battles meant little to soldiers who had seen their old causes, Insurrectionist and Covenant alike, collapse time and time again. Sangheili filled the troop decks with defiant battle songs as they drilled with old and new comrades. Humans and Unggoy carved out spaces on the ship to call their own. Most of them were relieved simply to find themselves free of Archangel’s Rest and its merciless cold.
The humans were in particularly high spirits. There was talk among the humans that the commander planned to rally more URF survivors once the rescue operation concluded. Some said the legion would seize frontier settlements to use as safe havens against the created. A few marriages—happy endings to bonds forged in frigid trenches—were held amidst the frenetic activity between the hangar floors.
As the ship’s artificial days passed, the Kru’desh saw little of Simon Venter. The commander kept a low profile. He traversed the ship through side passages known only to himself and a few veterans from the old days. He had private matters to attend to, matters he couldn’t let his subordinates see. Matters like being knocked flat on his back in a secluded combat arena.
Simon hit the deck in a clatter of stolen armor. He rolled to avoid the kick aimed at his abdomen and staggered to his feet with halting, jerky movements. Andra paced around the dimly lit arena in her new set of MJOLNIR. She raised her fists for the next assault, unable to hide a smirk of anticipation. Finally, after all these months, she had the upper hand. She came on again with a flurry of blows. Armor crunched against armor as Simon barely fended off the attack. He withdrew once more, his close-combat training awash in the strange sensations of enhanced strength and speed.
“Sloppy, commander,” Callum-B042 called from the edge of the arena. “You should have adjusted days ago. Your form is terrible. How the hell did you survive this long with moves like that? I’ve seen drunken swabbies fight better.”
Simon threw himself back into the fray. He misjudged his own speed and nearly tripped over his own feet. Only a hasty jab at Andra’s face spared him another embarrassing throw.
Andra shrugged off the blow and forced him back once more. The thrill of being back in MJOLNIR after all this time was invigorating, yet her own attacks were off. The sensation of being in someone else’s armor—armor ripped from a corpse—made her skin crawl. She would never forget the sight of Loic lying in the snow with his head caved in. She could hardly believe the opponent offering such a poor showing here was the same man who’d killed Loic and Citlali and Shaima. Andra landed another blow on Simon’s breastplate. The new armor couldn’t wash away the humiliation at Asphodel Meadows or everything else that had happened since then, but she felt one step closer to being her own self again.
Simon staggered away. His limp was visible even with the reinforced armor, but he was moving quicker on his feet now. He didn’t look nearly as frustrated as he’d been during their earlier sparring sessions.
“You’re on your own down here, traitor,” Callum taunted. Unlike Andra he saw no need to hide his satisfaction over these one-sided bouts. “Can’t call in any-hinge-heads to save your ass this time. Learn fast or die.”
They carried on in this vein for over an hour. Callum eventually left the room in disgust, leaving the two combatants panting and sweating on the arena floor. Simon dragged himself to his feet and reached for his canteen with exaggerated care. Andra rose with greater confidence, though she was privately glad Callum had been too fixated on Simon to watch her own performance too critically. She wasn’t in the best of shape either. She retrieved a large duffel bag from the back of the chamber.
Simon swore quietly in Russian as water splashed over his face.
“You’re getting better,” Andra called over her shoulder. “Don’t get discouraged. But you do know you’re not supposed to aim for the face, right? It’s basic sparring etiquette with MJOLNIR. I know Callum walked you through all that.”
“Don’t patronize me.” Simon sat on the arena steps, wincing at his own unfamiliar weight. He glared at the spot where Callum had watched the fight. “Fun guy, that friend of yours. But I guess I should be glad he’s offering me any pointers at all.”
“He doesn’t like owing you anything,” Andra explained. “And he really, really owes you for agreeing to take him back to the shield world.”
Simon grunted. He tugged at a ragged cloth pinned to his chestpiece and mopped his brow.
“I owe you.” The words didn’t grate as much as they once had. Andra looked around at the purple alien walls, the segmented door, the smooth ceiling. This ship didn’t feel quite so foreign anymore. “I need to get back there. If there’s even an outside chance Merlin survived the battle I…”
She stopped to take a breath. She didn’t want to consider the possibility that Merlin might really be gone forever. “He’s alive down there. I have to try and save him. You’re giving me that chance.”
Simon didn’t say anything for a long while. He set the rag and canteen aside, clasping his hands between his armored legs as he stared into the empty arena. “You don’t owe me anything,” he finally said. “I’ve got people down there, too. The Chancer V was with Shinsu’s fleet. Cassandra and Zoey… I have to know. There’s a good chance I’ll never see them again. But I have to try. Even if it’s just to bury them with all the others.”
He blew out wearily and shook his head. Even in MJOLNIR he looked small and terribly alone. After everything he’d sacrificed, the mission to Archangel’s Rest was a failure. Shinsu’s fleet was gone. Tuka ‘Refum was dead. There was no great destiny waiting for him beneath the ice, only one final betrayal. Now Simon faced the very real possibility that his last two friends were dead. Andra wondered how he was holding together at all. The future stretched ahead of them like a gaping void. Even if Merlin and the others were still alive, there was no light at the end of this tunnel. Yet somehow Simon kept forging ahead, bent and hobbled but never broken.
Andra’s heart turned with a compassion she’d never imagined she could feel for this man. She hefted the duffel over her shoulder and settled down on the arena steps. They sat together quietly for several minutes, the silents punctuated only by their exhausted breathing. Andra searched for something to say.
“You’re looking better,” she finally managed. “The Silent Garden really cured you. At least, you don’t look half dead anymore.”
“Yeah,” Simon said. “No more aching joints. No more steroid injections. The medics say my cells are recovering from the Forerunner parasite.”
Andra hesitated, then forced herself to ask, “What happened down there? What did Juno do—what did she try to do to you?”
Simon flinched. The shadows etched deep lines across his face. “I told you about that Forerunner planet Cassandra and I found when we ran off.”
“You did.”
“I tripped a Cryptum on that planet. I didn’t know what it was at the time. I do now. A Forerunner consciousness inside the Cryptum imprinted on me. That thing called it a brevet mutation. He burned himself into my subconscious. Tried to turn me into him. Apparently Forerunners could do that to each other, but the human body works differently. That’s what was killing me. The Cryptum in the Silent Garden was what he needed to stabilize the mutation. He wanted to overwrite my personality with his own.”
“Oh.” There wasn’t much anyone could say to something like that. “But he didn’t.”
“No,” Simon said with grim satisfaction. “I killed him.”
Andra thought back to the terrible things she’d seen in the Silent Garden. She remembered the horrible, shaggy beast sneering at her through the darkness, the awful, insatiable hunger she’d felt as the Garden was clawed to pieces around her. Had she touched the primordial force of will that tried to force its will on Simon’s body?
But Simon had won that battle. A terrible thought occurred to Andra. What if the beast hadn’t been the Forerunner at all, but—
“Yeah.” Simon rubbed his face. “It doesn’t really make a whole lot of sense. Damned Forerunners. Why can’t they just stay dead and leave us all alone?”
“And Juno?”
“She knew,” Simon said darkly. “All the time, she knew. She wanted that thing to take over. She thought I was the key to… hell, I don’t know. Fight the Created. Win the war, save the galaxy. I should have known not to trust her. I should have learned my lesson with Diana.”
Andra remembered that terrible exchange in the Silent Garden. Which one are you? Juno had asked, as if expecting someone else to answer through Simon’s mouth. So that was why they’d conquered Archangel’s Rest. That was why so many people had died. Simon had been moved like a piece on the chessboard, just like he’d moved the Kru’desh. Juno had manipulated him the same way he’d manipulated Andra and so many others. And yet he’d denied the Forerunner its prize. The thought of all those wretched days and nights spend freezing and fighting for nothing turned Andra’s stomach.
Anyone else in my boots would have done the same thing I did, Simon had told her once. The same damned thing. Would Andra have done any differently? She wasn’t so sure anymore. The galaxy was bigger and more complicated than she’d ever imagined. She couldn’t pretend to know what was right or wrong anymore.
Maybe that wasn’t such a bad thing.
“Freaking Forerunners,” she said. “Them and their stupid Mantle.”
“Damned Forerunners,” Simon agreed. He clenched and unclenched his gauntlet, testing the MJOLNIR’s grip. “I’m lucky the legion hasn’t mutinied again. They still think we accomplished something back there. It’ll be a hell of a thing figuring out how to spin this mess. I’ve got that to look forward to. If we survive this rescue mission, that is.”
“We’ll survive. You’ll find a way to pull it off. After Archangel’s Rest I don’t think anything could kill you.”
The ghost of a smile flashed across Simon’s face. He glanced at Andra, his eyes flashing with a trace of their old confidence. “Another convert to the legend. I knew you’d warm up to me. But you shouldn’t believe it. I keep telling you, it’s all smoke and mirrors.”
For once that slanting smile didn’t infuriate Andra. The new life she saw invigorating Simon’s crooked features gave her hope. If Simon-G294 could keep putting himself back together after all he’d endured—betrayal, mutilation, despair—then Andra knew she had a chance The Syndicate, the Created, Ryder Kedar—none of them would break her. Andra felt truly sure of herself for the first time in months.
“I have something for you.” Andra unzipped the duffle. She pulled out a chipped and battered helmet embossed with dabs of dark red paint. She dropped the helmet into Simon’s lap. He stared at Redmond Venter’s dark visor. “Thanks for letting me borrow it. That armor saved my life back on that frozen hell planet. But I think you need an extra suit more than I do, seeing how bad you are with real armor.”
Simon regarded the helmet. He glanced at the duffel and saw the rest of Venter’s armor, cleaned as best as Andra could manage. She’d needed to replace a few of the most badly damaged components but in her opinion the suit was in better condition than what Simon had given her.
“It was a gift.”
“And I’m giving it back. You’ll need some props if you want to get more Innies on your side. He was your father after all. The legendary Venter fights again.’
“Legend.” Simon made a face. “Venter lost every battle he ever fought. But he was still a damned good fighter and he looked good in the armor, so they called him a hero anyway. I was lucky enough to catch him in a strange mood, so now I get to take over the con. That’s history for you.”
“Of course. Smoke and mirrors.”
Simon gave Andra a thoughtful look. “I did hope you’d stick around. I need good fighters. There’s no telling what we’ll be up against next.”
Andra stifled an easy, sarcastic remark. She owed Simon more than that. “Maybe you’re right about the UNSC being gone, but I can’t turn my back on everything I’ve lived for so easily. I’m not like you.”
She hesitated, realizing what she’d just said. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—”
“No. No, you’re right.” The crooked smile slipped away. Simon looked pensively into the sparring ring. “I’ve betrayed everything I’ ever stood for. Everyone I knew was just a tool to get what I wanted, even when I didn’t want to admit it. I decided that was how the galaxy worked. Everything and everyone needed to be manipulated. Controlled. Maybe that was Wanderer’s poison in my head. Or maybe it was just me the whole time.”
The tattoos Simon had forced on Andra burned her skin. She remembered General Nmani’s assassination and the machinations that bent the URF remnants to Simon’s will. The threats that delivered Le Havre to the Kru’desh, the lies that drove the legion through its long march, the ploys that turned the battle in his favor. Even now she felt the calculation behind Simon’s words. If she joined the Kru’desh he’d take her as his own without a second thought. Maybe he couldn’t help it. “You manipulated me. Used me.”
“I did.” Simon’s mouth was a grim line. “I’m sorry for what I put you through. Whatever that’s worth. I enjoyed tearing you down. It was petty of me. My pride and ambition hurt a lot of people. People I cared about. I can’t blame Wanderer for that. I can’t help that this galaxy is the way it is. The strong survive, the weak get eaten. But after everything that’s happened, I’m starting to wonder if maybe there’s another way for me to go.”
He rose, still unsteady in his MJOLNIR, and took the duffel from Andra. He slipped Venter’s helmet into the bag. Andra watched the traitor’s pensive features and wondered about the strange affection she now felt for this man. Was it friendship? Kinship? I’m alive because of his lies. In more ways than one. She could easily have been with the fleet that attacked the shield world, easy prey for Ryder’s manipulations.
“Thanks.” The word escaped Andra’s mouth before she could stop herself.
Simon raised an eyebrow.
She might as well spit it out now. “I needed this. Whatever this was. A chance to see things differently. A chance to be someone different.”
It felt good to finally admit it, even if she wasn’t entirely sure what she meant or how she really felt.
“Some of us find something wonderful outside the uniform. My problem was that I didn’t know what else I wanted to be aside from a Spartan.” Simon limped through the arena. The Silent Garden might have cured his illness but the cars of those past battles remained. “Make sure you say your goodbyes to Mohsin and the others. They’ll be sorry to see you go.”
“I’ll miss them,” Andra said. “And you.”
“Don’t lay it on so thick.” Simon flashed a final, thin smile. “We’ll meet again. It’s a small galaxy we’re living in.”
The smile slipped away as his expression grew more serious. “You know things about me. Things most people shouldn’t find out. I’d prefer it stay that way.”
“I know how to keep my mouth shut. Just don’t give me a reason to spill my guts to an ONI psych team.”
“I’ll do my best. Picking on the UNSC’s not as fun as it used to be. I’m starting to think there’s room in this galaxy for all of us.”
“I mean it. Taking you out is too much work. I wouldn’t want to take the job.”
“I think that’s one of the nicest things you’ve ever said to me.” Simon left the room, off to attend to other business. Andra watched him leave. For once she didn’t feel like he’d run her through a pressure cookier. She actually felt optimistic. There was a future for her after all. Now she just needed to find Merlin and make sure he had a future, too.
***
Naia knew there was trouble when four Kru’desh warriors strode into the prison block. The guards had left Naia, Viru, and the girls alone since the ship departed Archangel’s Rest, but these warriors watched the caged prisoners carefully. They kept their hands on their weapons—as if one beaten warrior and a dozen youths could harm them from behind energy barriers. Naia ushered the girls to the back of their cell and planted herself between them and the warriors. If the Kru’desh meant to harm the little ones, they’d need to go through first.
“What do you want?” Viru called from his own cell. “Leave them alone!”
The Kru’desh ignored him.
A warrior wearing an officer’s harness entered. Naia bristled. She recognized the spy who had brought false word of the Kru’desh defeat to Rol and Irthanus. Argo, that was this rat’s name. She glowered at the spy. He spread his mandibles in a wry smile.
“Rise, prisoners,” Argo said. His voice dripped with irony. “You are in the presence of Lord Simon Venter, commander of the Kru’desh Legion, conqueror of—”
“Quit wasting time.” A human figure swept into view. He wore the same armor he’d worn back in the throne room. The Kru’desh had cleaned the carapace since the last time Naia had seen it, but nothing could make that armor pure. It was drenched in her family’s blood.
Behind Venter came a tall Sangheili woman clad in a simple robe. Her mottled skin set her apart as peasantry, probably a no-clan laborer from some backwater colony like most of the Kru’desh trash. She and the warriors obeyed the human with a deference that turned Naia’s stomach.
Venter faced Naia’s cell. His helmet disguised his human features but she still felt his eyes boring into her flesh. She shuddered in revulsion, feeling as if she’d come face to face with a ghastly apparition from out of the old tales of devils and monsters.
“Are they treating you alright down here?” Venter asked. Naia was startled to realize he was addressing her directly. She took several moments to gather her courage.
“This cell has one bed and an open lavatory,” she hissed through tense mandibles. “You have five children pent up in a dungeon meant for full-grown warriors.”
The human’s armored shoulders rose in what Naia presumed to be dismissive body language. “It could always be worse. I could have left you back on Archangel’s Rest with your father.”
“Did you come here for thanks, human?” The thought of being indebted to this beast was almost as intolerable as Teyr’s treachery.
“Watch your tongue, young lady.” Argo couldn’t hide his smirk. He was enjoying this far too much. “Perhaps you would find an airlock more accommodating.”
Nai stiffened. “You wouldn’t dare.”
“Let them be!” poor Viru called from his cell.
Venter groaned beneath his helmet. “Enough! I’m a busy man, so let’s get on with this. I’m not here to hurt you. I’m also not here to take a customer service survey. You Baran exiles owe me. I’ll be compensated for saving your lives one way or another. I’d rather we come to an arrangement. It saves me the time and effort of guarding you while I hunt down someone willing to ransom you.”
Naia could hardly believe that one of the Kru’desh—a human!—was speaking to her this way. But beneath her humiliated rage lurked a strange thrill. This man was the Kru’desh commander. The conqueror of Archangel’s Rest and doubtless a dozen other worlds. A dread warlord was speaking to her, just like out of an old legend. “I have nothing to offer you,” she said carefully.
Venter's head dipped towards Viru's cell. "Names can be worth quite a bit. We're living proof of that. The last heir of Rol 'Baran is a valuable commodity. I'll get what I want one way or the other."
Viru tensed. He looked from Naia to Venter, eyes brimming with angry tears. "Teyr 'Baran is Kaidon of House Baran now. He murdered my father. At your behest."
"We were at war. Your father and his allies tried to do the same to me." Venter clasped his hands behind his back and stood to his full height. Even in armor he stood a head shorter than even the smallest of his guards. Naia wondered how such a strange little creature could wield so much power. "Teyr 'Baran is kaidon for now. Things weren't looking so good for him when we left your planet. I don't think he'll be kaidon for long, but even if he lasts I can still make use of your name. I'm something of an expert when it comes to leveraging famous surnames."
The commander waved to his guards. The Kru'desh dutifully unsealed both holding cells. Naia's hearts skipped a beat. She spread her arms out in front of Rol's daughters. Viru sprang at once from his cell. Venter carefully stepped aside. One of the Kru'desh raised his plasma rifle to beat Viru down but Argo yanked him aside. Viru rushed into Naia's cell and planted himself between his cousin and sisters. Some of the Kru'desh laughed at the undignified sight of two prisoners layered before each other to shield the cowering girls.
"Brave youths," the peasant woman beside Venter noted.
"You should have seen them in the throne room," Venter said. He regarded Viru and Naia, faceless behind that awful helmet. He didn't seem quite so monstrous anymore. Maybe there really was no danger. Not for the moment, anyway.
"Relax," Lord Venter told Naia and Viru. "I don't plan on hurting you or the children. I don't care if you hate me, but you need my protection. It's a dangerous galaxy for nobles with no clan and no keep. The political situation just got a lot more dangerous."
Venter paused. He glanced at Argo as if sharing some unvoiced conversation. The spy merely clicked his mandibles. The commander turned back to Naia and Viru. "While I was busy marching across Archangel's Rest, the Created destroyed Shinsu 'Refum's fleet."
The Kru’desh guards shifted uncomfortably. Naia blinked, amazed. Viru spoke before she could voice the emotions welling up in her gut. “Shinsu ‘Refum is dead?” her cousin gasped. His mandibles splayed in shock. “Then the Created have won! You must surrender—”
“We’re not surrendering,” Venter said coldly. “You’re all still my prisoners. This ship is headed into a new battle. If we sink, you sink with us. If we survive this legion will need new patrons. New allies. Save havens, sources of income. Your people have been generous to me in the past. I think they’ll feel even more generous now that the galaxy’s falling apart.”
“You’re a fool if you think the great houses will suffer the likes of you,” Naia said. “Word will spread about what you did on Archangel’s Rest.”
“Your people gave me power in the first place,” Venter replied. “I showed restraint on Archangel’s Rest compared to what some Sangheili kaidons would have done. Your family had plenty of enemies. They didn’t do themselves any favors allying with the Created. I could use that, of course. Make some quick credits selling you all off for some feudal justice. But I need to play the long game. And that means I can give you a chance to rebuild.”
Venter stepped aside. He nodded to the peasant. “This is Mihka ‘Refum, chosen consort to Tuka ‘Refum. She’ll be looking after you from now on. You answer to her. Do as she says and I’ll make sure the girls are protected and accommodated.”
The commoner met this pronouncement with measured silence. She looked Naia and Viru up and down. There was a hardness in her eyes, a hardness Naia usually saw in seasoned warriors. This woman was no consort.
“A noblewoman as your handmaid and the scion of House Baran as your bodyguard,” Venter told Mihka. “Don’t say I never did anything for you.”
Naia was aghast. She was to become a mere serving girl for some up-jumped peasant? Time in the cell didn’t seem so bad anymore. But she was a very long way from the warmth of her keep. That path was lost to her. A strange, dangerous life loomed ahead of her.
Lord Venter turned to Viru. “You’re not the type to kill for honor. I won’t make you march with my legion. You’re no good to me as a conscript. But guard Lady ‘Refum with your life and I’ll keep your sisters and cousin safe. You won’t get a better deal from anyone else.”
Viru looked mournfully at Naia and the girls. He looked unfathomably tired. But as he observed his trembling sisters something shifted in his eyes. He turned back to the human who had destroyed his home and family. “And if I am not so weak as you presume, commander? If I strike down Lady ‘Refum to avenge my keep, would you really kill these innocents.”
“I never said you were weak,” Venter said mildly. “And it won’t come to that, so there’s nothing for either of us to worry about.” A hardness lingered behind his words that made Naia tremble. There was no telling what this man would do if he did not get what he wanted. This was her new lord—a lord who wielded great and terrible power.
“Very well,” Viru said stiffly. “For the children. Not for you.”
“Naturally.” Venter turned to Argo and Mihka. His helmeted head dipped curtly. “They’re all yours. Put them to work, but keep them safe.”
“As safe as I can make them,” Argo replied. “But nowhere is safe anymore, especially not the road we travel. Come, little lords. The ashes of House Refum require your meager services.”
***
Even with the Kru’desh Legion integrated like never before, Mohsin made sure one hangar was reserved for human soldiers and human equipment. Best to take careful steps, he’d advised, especially with mixed troops and gear. Venter was easily convinced. The humans were still strangers aboard this alien vessel, revolutionaries bereft of a cause with an uncertain future looming ahead of them.
Rows of Mastodons and Warthogs, their chasses scraped raw by weeks of bitter cold, lined the deck for refitting. Pelicans hung in gravity-cradles overhead. A smaller contingent of Scorpions idled alongside crates of salvaged scrap and red-lined war machines. Platoons of Cyclopes lined the back of the hangar like terracotta statues.
Mohsin was busy bolting fresh plates onto Vanguard Squad’s Mastodon when Andra entered the hangar. The captain glanced up as she approached but continued his work. The rest of the squad stacked weapons and reviewed inventory around the APC. Ragna’s battered but unbroken Cyclops knelt alongside the Mastodon. The exoskeleton, like most of its brethren, was being retrofitted and reinforced for EVA action.
Six of the soldiers who’d escaped from Talitsa were still alive. They were all that remained of Redmond Venter’s famous cohort. The legionnaires nodded as Andra joined them by the Mastodon. Her MJOLNIR drew curious stares but no one said anything. It would never stop feeling odd to be acknowledged by men and women who’d been her enemies just a few months before. Lately Andra had decided it was a good kind of strange. She’d gone where none of her friends from Delta Company had ventured and returned. She really was changed—and for the first time she truly believed that transformation was for the better.
These people might be her enemies very soon. Even if Simon steered clear of UNSC entanglements, ONI would never be content to let him run free. If Andra returned to the fold she’d be the foremost expert on ONI’s least favorite Spartan. If the order came to turn her gun on the Kru’desh, could she really obey? The Andra of a few months ago would have followed the order without question. Now she wasn’t so sure.
Andra rested her gauntlet on the Mastodon’s hull. She felt comforted—almost nostalgic—in the presence of the machine that had carried her to safety over the frozen plains. She was surprised to see Callum standing near the line of Scorpions. He was engaged in earnest conversation with Lieutenant Nhat Tram, who seemed to be showing off the finer points of a VK78 carbine.
Mohsin finished with the plate replacement. He set aside his welder and slipped off the Mastodon’s hull. He tugged off his safety goggles as two legionnaires climbed up to inspect the APC’s autocannon. “Lieutenant.” He nodded in Andra’s direction and wiped sweat from his brow.
“Captain,” Andra replied. “Sorry I’ve not been down here helping.”
Mohsin waved the apology aside. “I hear you’ve been tasked with other duties. I just hope you didn’t embarrass the commander too much.”
“He doesn’t need my help to make a fool of himself.”
Mohsin let out a vague laugh. He walked a few paces from the Mastodon to give the rest of his team space to work. Andra followed. Her armor made her slightly taller than the captain. Another strange development. Mohsin kept giving her sidelong looks. He knew why he was here. Together they watched a trio of Cyclopes haul a Scorpion across the deck for refitting.
“Well, there’s no easy way to say this,” Mohsin said after an awkward pause. “I’m sorry to lose you. I won’t lie and say I wasn’t hoping you’d change your mind.”
“Stray—I mean, Venter—said something similar.”
“That’s not surprising. I think he’s grown a bit fond of you.”
Andra caught the smirk lurking beneath Mohsin’s beard and felt her cheeks flush. She should have worn her helmet. “No offense, but I’m not sure how I feel about that.” She hesitated before adding, “It, uh, means a lot to hear you say that. The first thing, I mean.”
Mohsin raised an eyebrow.
“I mean it,” Andra insisted.
“Oh, I believe you.” Moshin looked out over the busy hangar. Human legionnaires scurried from one task to another. A few Sangheili and Unggoy, curious about their human brethren, had ventured onto the deck to help with the repair work. The Soul Ascension had become a very different ship from the one where Vanguard Squad had huddled on a small side deck, utterly outnumbered by the alien hordes. “A lot of people on this deck wouldn’t be alive if it weren’t for you. I don’t like the thought of giving you back to the UNSC, but that’s not my choice to make. Arguing politics these days feels like a waste of time.”
“I wouldn’t have made it off Archangel’s Rest without you and your team,” Andra admitted. “Sergeant Okafo saved my life the night we held the flank down.” A small lump formed in her throat at the thought of the big man, now consigned to the cold earth on an alien world.
“Okafo was with old Venter when he picked me up on Mamore,” Mohsin said in a distant tone. I never thought I’d be the one to send him to his death.”
The captain ducked his head, overcome by a sudden surge of emotion. When he looked up he couldn’t quite hide the tears glistening on his beard. “That man spent over ten years fighting for a future he knew he’d never see. He knew he wouldn’t see the promised land, but he kept fighting anyway.”
Andra shifted uncomfortably. She didn’t want to ask the question lingering at the edge of her mind—but she had to get this off her chest. “You knew Venter’s first attack was a feint. You were the only one who knew he didn’t really die in that assault.”
Mohsin blew out a heavy sigh. “Yes. I knew.”
He looked back at Vanguard Squad with a mournful expression. His gaze fixed on another work crew just past the Mastodon. Andra followed his eyes and saw Argo ‘Varvin swaggering across the deck, a trio of Sangheili flunkies in tow. Mohsin stared at the spy a moment, then looked back to Andra.
“There’s something you should know,” the captain said wearily. “The night before he marched out, the commander explained everything to me. He ordered me to hold the line, but only if he confirmed that the trick had worked. See, he didn’t think the plan would work. He really did think he was marching to his death that morning.”
“What?” Andra could hardly believe her ears.
“He didn’t trust Argo,” Mohsin explained wearily. “Not completely, anyway. Argo could just have easily set up a real massacre to curry favor with the Created. If he didn’t survive, he’d left orders for me to surrender the legion. ‘If I’m dead I don’t really care what happens to the rest of you.’ He was trying to sound tough. If he died, he didn’t see much point in getting the rest of us killed.”
Mohsin tapped the deck with his boot. He looked away, embarrassed. “I thought you should know. Keep it to yourself. It would be bad for morale if that got around.”
Andra was starting to feel a bit overburdened with Simon-G294’s secrets. She needed time to process this latest revelation. She wondered how Mohsin had held himself together those three days, knowing that he could surrender at any time to end the bloodshed. But he’d kept on fighting. He’d stayed true to the plan. They’d won, but in the meantime so many people had died. “You’re really staying with Venter and the legion after all this,” she finally said.
“Of course. My people need me. Commander Venter’s in a state after Archangel’s Rest. I can’t blame him after everything that happened, but this is bigger than him now. The people we brought from Gilgamesh think we won down there. Doesn’t really matter about that Sangheili fleet. They’re used to distant losses. Plenty of them probably don’t even know who Shinsu ‘Refum was. But they’re a part of something with this legion. I need to make sure we build something out of all this. I owe it to Venter and Okafo and all the others who never got to see the promised land.”
“The promised land?” Even after all this time Andra still knew very little about what Mohsin and the Insurrectionists really wanted. All the death and loss had to be about more than just trade rights and colonial taxation.
A faint smile curled beneath Mohsin’s beard. “A place where a man can be free to walk upright and bow only to his God. Where a woman can stand in the sun and never be commanded to yield her birthright for pottage. I may not live to see it either, but I’ll keep marching all the same.”
He ducked his head, embarrassed. Those weren’t his own words. The way he said them made Andra think he’d ruminated on them for a long time. Maybe even years. She’d seen something else lurking beneath Mohsin’s sentimental dream. This steadfast, unassuming man had vision and ambition. Simon needed to be careful moving the legion forward.
“But this isn’t exactly goodbye, is it?” Mohsin said quickly. “You’re still part of my team for one more operation. Go on, say your piece to Ragna and then find somewhere to make yourself useful. Be nice. Don’t start an argument in the middle of my motor pool.”
Mohsin’s “motor pool” was a hangar big enough to house three fighter squadrons. He’d come a long way from leading a desperate guerilla squad on Talitsa.
The captain needn’t have worried about Andra and Ragna. The skinny girl quickly descended from her Cyclops the moment Andra drew near. A suit of MJOLNIR armor didn’t stop Ragna from embracing Andra as if they’d been friends for years. There might as well have never been any enmity between them at all. Andra returned the hug, careful not to squeeze too hard. She was still getting used to wearing MJOLNIR again.
“I figured you’d be pissed,” Andra ventured.
Ragna pulled away, not the least bit embarrassed by such a public display of affection. “I knew you wouldn’t stick around forever. I am mad. Just not at you. It’s the oonskies fault for brainwashing you. But now you can go back to all your brainwashed friends and tell them about everything we did for you. That’ll make them think twice before they come after us again.”
“Uh, thanks. I guess.”
Ragna surveyed Andra’s MJOLNIR. “The armor fits,” she said. “I guess you’re really a Spartan after all.”
Andra tried not to think about Loic. He’d been a Spartan, too. “You had doubts?”
“Once or twice.” Ragna shrugged and pushed a lock of dirty-blonde hair up behind her ear. “But then I saw all the ass you kicked on Archangel’s Rest.”
It was as good a compliment as she’d get out of a girl like Ragna. “You’ve got a nice suit of armor yourself.”
“I know. He’s gorgeous, isn’t he?” Ragna patted the EVA-reinforced Cyclops. Andra had heard the stories about how versatile the Hrunting platform really was, but the Kru’desh legionnaires were putting the exoskeletons up to all sorts of tricks. The UNSC would need to be careful now that these frames were proliferating.
Andra ran her hand over the Cyclops’s leg. The gesture made her feel rather foolish but Ragna just grinned. This was the happiest Andra had ever seen the prickly young rebel. Andra owed her life to this Cyclops—the machine and its operator. She noticed that Ragna had etched kill tallies into the armor just below the cockpit.
“You’re missing one,” she observed.
Ragna looked away, her smile dimming. “I didn’t want to count the Spartan,” she muttered. “He was your friend before he joined the Created, wasn’t he? I saw his face when you and the commander buried him. He was just a kid.”
Just a kid. Akoni had nearly killed Andra. He’d killed dozens of Kru’desh during that final assault. He’d probably killed countless Insurrectionists just like Ragna during Delta Company’s early deployments. And he’d just been a kid, like Ragna. Like Merlin. Like Loic. Like Simon, once upon a time. Andra suddenly understood the world Akoni and Gravity had betrayed everything for. A world where children weren’t turned into weapons to fight wars they didn’t understand. Maybe that was the promised land Mohsin hoped for.
“I appreciate that,” she said. “Thanks, Ragna.”
“Yeah. No big deal. See you around, Andra.”
Not “lieutenant.” Not “oonskie.” Just Andra. That felt good.
Andra passed Argo on her way out of the hangar. The Sangheili’s mandibles parted in a toothy smile. “Saying your farewells, I see. And yet not a word for me. Are you saving the best for last?”
Andra opened her mouth to snap a retort. Something held her back. She realized that she’d expected Argo to continue haunting her steps, just as he’d done since her rescue from Asphodel Meadows. “You’re staying with the Kru’desh?”
“Yes, I fear our adventures together must come to an end.” Argo offered an exaggerated sigh. “Lord Venter has a great deal of work for me and I could hardly turn down his generous terms of employment. An enterprising warrior like myself can go far under that conniving human. Besides, the UNSC might not be quite so forgiving as you’ve proven. I have no intention of throwing myself upon their tender mercies.”
The Sangheili cocked his head. “I do hope I’ve fulfilled my debt. I would hate to part with you on bad terms.”
Andra’s jaw tightened. She thought of the men and women who’d died thanks to Argo’s treachery. She’d probably still be rotting in a holding cell if David Kahn hadn’t talked Argo into another act of betrayal. That all seemed so long ago. Long ago and very far away.
“We’re not square,” she said tightly. “I’d just as soon never see you again. You want to make things right? Keep them alive.” She pointed across the deck to Mohsin and Vanguard Squad.
Andrra hesitated, then added, “Simon, too.”
Argo chuckled. He was infuriatingly unflappable. “As you wish. Hardly a trying task. I rather like these humans. Farewell, my angry little Spartan. Until we meet again.”
Andra rolled her eyes. Just this once she refused to let Argo get the satisfaction of provoking another retort. She left the mercenary standing in the motor pool and returned to her quarters. Mohsin had told her to make herself useful, but she needed rest. Just an hour and then she’d return to the grind. She donned Loic’s helmet and nestled into a dark corner. Her eyes quickly slid shut. Mercifully, her sleep held no dreams.
***
Simon stepped into the gravity lift. He’d used the energy field traversing the Soul Ascencion’s decks so many times that he hardly noticed the lack of a surface beneath his feet. He relaxed and let the lift take hold of his armored body. As it pulled him down towards the ship’s engineering deck he reached for his belt and tugged out the knife Hera had given him on Archangel’s Rest. His fingers were still adjusting to the MJOLNIR’s grip-altering strength; he nearly dropped the knife down the lift shaft. Simon passed the blade over to his prosthetic hand. He was more accustomed to the numb, metal fingers than to his new, stolen armor.
Everything felt strange. The armor, certainly. After all these years of stubbornly clinging to his SPI armor he’d finally won himself the MJOLNIR that so many Spartans took for granted. The loss of the old armor, interred with Tuka beneath Archangel’s Rest, lashed him harder than the loss of any piece of equipment should. His body felt different beneath the armor. He didn’t ache anymore, or at least any more than he should after the thrashing Andra had given him back in the sparring ring. His body wasn’t on the verge of collapse anymore. That ought to be a relief. Between that restoration and the armor’s enhanced senses, he ought to feel invigorated.
But of course he didn’t.
Simon examined the knife’s curved, carbon-steel blade. The flamboyant design and elegant handle marked it as an older blade, the kind ODSTs and other special warfare groups liked to present each other during initiation rituals. Mendez’s knife, Hera had called it. Simon knew it well. Chief Mendez had presented one of these to each member of Gamma Company after their augmentations aboard the UNSC Hopeful. Like his armor, Simon had clung to his own knife—an indelible reminder of who and what he’d been—even after he’d fallen in with Venter on Mamore.
He'd left that knife buried in Ralph’s throat on Reach.
The gravity lift deposited Simon in a dark engineering corridor. He stood in the hallway, still considering the knife. Did Hera know how he’d lost his own graduation present? She’d presented the knife as a token of friendship. It could just as easily be a taunt. There was no telling with that one. She’d fit in well on Kropotkin with all those cloak-and-dagger revolutionaries.
You’re nothing like Joshua was, she’d told him. You have no idea how he got by the end—listlessly moving from mission to mission, no passion for anything.
Hera was right. Simon had no idea what that must have felt like. No matter how low he’d sunk, no matter what trials he’d endured, a burning passion had always raged inside him. His anger, his pride, his ambitions, his own petty resentments had given him the strength he needed to survive when everyone else died all around him. Even after killing Ralph—the point of no return—and the horror of Philadelphia, he’d always found the will to press on.
Hidden passages like this gravity lift had once reminded Simon that this was his ship. He was the commander and this was his domain. Once that knowledge had filled him with confidence. Now as he skulked through dirty side passages he just felt unbearably alone.
Was this life without Wanderer? Had the dead Forerunner simply been warping him from the beginning? Ever since Archangel’s Rest, Simon felt a hollowness inside him. His flame burned low; his passions had dimmed. Power and control, even command of the Kru’desh, no longer mattered like that should. The thought of losing his edge frightened Simon. Without Wanderer or Stray, what was he really? Just a stupid runaway in over his head. Only the thought of Cassandra and Zoey drove him onwards now.
This ship would reach the shield world in less than a week. Soon he’d know if the Chancer V had survived the battle. What would he do if they were dead? Or worse, if he found no trace at all? He did not want to think about that. But the closer they came the less choice he had. If they were gone, then so was Simon. He would have no choice but to truly become Venter, to lose himself completely in a dead man’s skin. It would have been better to have simply faded away into the Silent Garden and let Wanderer take what he wanted.
I’ll find them. They aren’t dead. They can’t be dead. If he could only find them, then maybe he could keep going after all. Maybe there was another way for him to go after all.
If they’re alive, I’ll change. Be someone else. Someone better. Simon stared at the knife and made promises to a God he’d never believed in. If they’re dead, that’s it. I’ll recruit every killer on the frontier. I’ll turn this legion into an army of monsters and raze every colony the Created own until they put me down. The thought of that final plunge turned his stomach. Naia ‘Baran had looked at him with such loathing. He’d become the blood-soaked monster she and her cousins thought he was.
Simon tucked the knife away and tried to push those dark thoughts from his mind. One last task awaited him here in the bowels of the Soul Ascencion. This was the chore he’d dreaded since departing Archangel’s Rest. No guards were stationed outside the engineering antechamber. Simon pushed bits of rubble out of his way. The door held fast before him. He rapped on the door with armored knuckles. The security orb embedded in the portal blinked twice. It recognized the ship’s commander and slid open.
Simon stepped into the dark chamber. Yearns to Soar hovered nervously alongside a small pedestal. The Huragok had reinforced the room with Forerunner technology scavenged from the facilities on Le Havre. A glowing hardlight sphere shone over the pedestal. Beneath that sphere, imprisoned behind several thousand defense programs, knelt a small, defeated figure.
This was a mistake. Simon tensed within his armor. He should have left Juno’s data crystal chip locked in a safe somewhere, never to be placed near a computer system ever again. But he couldn’t just move on. The agony of the Silent Garden haunted him. The unreal sight of the beast and Wanderer would torment his dreams for the rest of his life. He needed to face Juno. He needed to know just how deep her betrayal ran.
Yearns to Soar read his body language and chirped fearfully. The Huragok flicked its tentacles in Simon’s direction. His helmet translated the alien sign language: Shipmaster. This one poses no danger. This room is isolated from the rest of the ship. There is no need for violence.
The Huragok liked Juno. Another danger. Simon couldn’t threaten Yearns to Soar. The creature had loyally serviced the Soul Ascension since before Simon had ever set foot on board. The Huragok were the only reason the ship had ever recovered from its crash landing. Simon couldn’t run the ship without their help. To make matters worse, Juno knew that.
“I’m not hear to kill her.” Not yet.
Juno did not look up. Her ornate armor was gone. She wore only a simple dress, her blond hair hanging loose around her shoulders. Simon didn’t buy it for a second. This defeated posture was a calculated façade to win sympathy. You couldn’t trust anything about an AI. Simon had been a fool to trust Juno in the first place.
“I built this room to secure Diana.” Simon paced around the pedestal. He burned with a nervous, pulsing energy. What had he come here to say? What did he want to hear? “I had this pipe dream that I’d kill Amber and haul Diana back here. I wanted to ask her why, after all those years, after everything we went through together, why she betrayed me.”
Juno said nothing. Yearns to Soar hovered nervously at the back of the room. It sensed its master’s anger.
Simon stopped in front of the pedestal. “But Diana isn’t here. She warned me not to trust you. I didn’t listen to her. I was a fool.”
Juno finally look up. Her sharp features stared impassively at the armored figure before her. “Did you kill him?” she asked quietly.
“Your pal Wandere? I hope so. My body’s in recovery now. Mission accomplished. No thanks to you.”
“I still hear his voice,” Juno said sadly. “It’s just fragments and echoes, of course. I’m not tapped into any systems, but I can still feel him nearby.”
“That’s just another reason why I should kill you and get it over with,” Simon growled. “Diana threw me away because she knew she couldn’t control Wanderer. I understand that now. But at least she didn’t make friends with him. She didn’t let him get inside her head. Only you would could be so self-righteously stupid.”
“What do you know about me?” Juno rose. Her small face flashed with anger. “Or about him? Wanderer was a Forerunner with a millennia of knowledge and wisdom. He was going to raise an army. He could have stopped Cortana and the Created. He would have saved the galaxy. I would sacrifice anything to help him do that. Even you.”
Simon felt a sudden urge to smash his fists against the hardlight dome. Of course. Everything Wanderer said was true—Juno didn’t even try to sugarcoat it. Simon had always been expendable. A tool to be used and cast aside. And yet his legion stood by him. Mohsin and the others were still loyal. Even Andra had found something in him worth fighting for. Only Juno had weighed her options and found his life worth nothing.
“For a smart AI, you’re damned stupid.” Simon looked away from Juno. He couldn’t stand her cold, unrepentant features. “He was living in my head, remember? We had a nice, long chat in the Silent Garden. Wanderer was a bitter, defeated loser. He didn’t care about humanity. He didn’t care about the galaxy. He just wanted to lord it over everyone now that all the other Forerunner were out of the way. All he needed to do was put on his little savior act and you bought it. He had you eating out of his—”
“Enough!” Juno’s eyes blazed with humiliated outrage. She knew he was right and she hated him for it. “As if you’re one to talk about motives. You’ve only ever cared about yourself. All of this was for your own pride and self-interest. How many people died for you on Archangel’s Rest? On Le Havre? How many ships did you sink for Jul ‘Mdama?”
“The UNSC wanted me dead! I was fighting the war they started!”
“Liar,” Juno hissed. “You can spin those excuses for Andra and the others. Not for me. Thousands of people died because Ryder Kedar talked down to you a few times. But even after all that, I still wanted to save you. You’d have died if I hadn’t helped you reach the Silent Garden. And even if Wanderer was the one who—”
Juno turned aside. Her bitter words burned the air between her and her former friend. He knew she was right. It didn’t make the betrayal sting any less.
“It doesn’t matter anyway, does it?” Juno said quietly. “Shinsu ‘Refum’s gone. You won’t last long without him backing you.”
Simon looked at Yearns to Soar. “Interesting how she knows that.”
The Huragok cringed. Its tentacles traced the air. Forgive me, shipmaster. I told her only the simplest details.
“Do your men know why you’re really going to the shield world?” Juno asked bitterly. Helpless within her digital prison, she seemed determined to lash out at her captor. “Hundreds of them will die. Maybe all of them. And for what? Do you really think Cassandra is still alive?”
“You’d sacrifice me to save the galaxy. I’d sacrifice this entire ship to save her.” Simon wondered if Juno was recording him. Maybe she’d play them back to his warriors to turn them against him. Fine. Let her incite a mutiny. Let her put an end to this miserable farce. Simon was sick of all the schemes and maneuvers. He’d finally reached the chambers where the real wars were fought and he hated it. “If the Created kill us all, I guess that’s just how it was meant to be.”
“You’re a fool,” Juno murmured, almost sympathetically. “You could have been something greater. He would have made you something greater than your muddy dreams could ever fathom. But you wouldn’t have it. You threw it all away. What saved you, in the end? Her?”
Simon remembered the vison of Cassandra on that rainy rooftop. Yes. He might have given in if it weren’t for that fateful apparition. He forced a rough laugh.
“I just did what I’ve always done. I fought to survive. Now Wanderer’s dead and I’m alive. I’m not ready to die. But I’d rather die for her than for Shinsu or you or Wanderer.”
“She took everything from you. Your pride, your legion, your future. You can’t pretend the past never happened. Do you really think you have a future with her? Simon, Stray, Venter. Traitor, murderer, butcher. You are everything and nothing. You can’s choose the light or the darkness, so you’ll walk forever in the twilight.”
Simon thought about the long march across those frozen wastes. He remembered the endless battles that marred his history, the far-flung star systems he’d seen on his long journey. The wonders he’d seen surpassed human understanding. The commonplace horrors and cruelties meted out by the cruel and the good were far easier for his petty mind to grasp. That gnawing hunger that drove him to survive and endure and conquer—how much of that was merely Wanderer? Wanderer was gone now. Simon’s mind was clearer than it had been for years. And yet nothing had changed. He was the same embittered runt he always had been. No, there was no washing away the past. Not the bad and not the good. There was no Wanderer or Juno or Diana or Venter or any of the others to blame. Not even Stray. There was only him. Just Simon.
They stood in silence for some time. Simon’s throat burned, stopped up with words he could not say. “I guess it would be too much to hope for an apology,” he finally managed.
Juno laughed scornfully. A trace of her old regal demeanor returned. For the first time she truly seemed like her namesake, the arrogant Queen of Heaven, prideful even in defeat. “I wouldn’t insult you like that. I used you, just like you used Shinsu and Jul ‘Mdama and Venter. But never forget this: when you were a broken wreck wasting away at the edge of the galaxy, I stood by you. Not Shinsu ‘Refum or your legion or your precious Cassandra. You would have rotted away, forgotten by everyone, if it weren’t for me.”
“I won’t forget.” The anger Simon had carried into this room had faded. He was left with just a deep, weary regret. “You promised to make me better than I was. You told me I could be more than just some pawn on a chessboard. You lied, but it felt good to believe you. I wish I’d appreciated the lie more. Goodbye, Juno.”
Juno’s avatar flickered beneath the imprisoning dome. Her lifespan could be measured in months. Without the Domain she would ebb away and die in this lonely room. It would be a mercy to simply crush her and get it over with. But that was one execution Simon would not preside over.
He turned to Yearns to Soar. “You and your friends are the only reason I haven’t killed her. This ship owes everything to you and your friends. I’m honoring that. Don’t let her endanger the legion.”
Never, Yearns to Soar signaled. We will tend to her. We will make sure she is not alone at the end.
“You do that." Simon left the chamber and its suffocating darkness. He felt more constrained than ever within the MJOLNIR. He needed to get free from this confining shell. He needed to get away from this ship, this legion, away from the wars that never ended and a future that promised nothing but more pain and loss.
A strange relief comforted him: in a few days this might all be over. They would reach the shield world and then he would know for sure what his future held. The Soul Ascencion sailed on through Slipspace, its little band of exiled warriors hurtling on into the uncertain void. The stars wheeled beyond them, continuing steadily in their fixed, eternal courses.
===Chapter Seventy-Six: This Glittering Band===
A platoon of Prometheans escorted the small band of prisoners out of the Pelican. A mixed detachment of humans and Unggoy waited on the crowded hangar deck. It was all a bit overdone, Cassandra thought wearily. All this trouble for a few stray fugitives.
She and the others had given themselves up without a fight. Cassandra and Merlin had three Promethean Knights guarding them, though the Created hadn’t taken the time to strip their armor. Zoey and Karina carried Thomas on a stretcher. None of them posed any threat. But the Created were all about spectacle. When they beat you, they couldn’t resist making a show of it.
One of the Prometheans marched out of step with the others. It carried no weapon. Thin blue lights flashed across its hull. The Created insisted that Althea be confined to the automaton’s shell. A more dignified means of conveyance, they assured her. It was also a convenient prison. Merlin had nearly abandoned the surrender plan when that order came down, but by then it was too late. The Prometheans had them surrounded and outgunned. The Spartan’s helmet kept jerking in Althea’s direction.
Cassandra let the Prometheans lead her past the security detail. Althea trailed near the back of the group until one of the Knights prodded her along. The only one who hated this plan more than Merlin was Althea herself. She couldn’t stand throwing her lot in with the Created. She probably hated Cassandra for forcing this on her. But Zoey, Thomas, and Karina were still alive. That alone was worth any humiliation.
Merlin and Althea must think Cassandra weak. A real Spartan would have stayed down there and fought to the bitter end. Military pride was cruel, pitiless, and utterly self-destructive. Cassandra had given up on that life a long time ago. She couldn’t be that sort of person. Maybe she really was weak.
The Lord’s words stirred listlessly in her heart: Whatever you do for the least of these, you do for me. They brought her no pride or reassurance, only a tired resignation. She’d done all she could.
The hangar around them was massive, larger than even the carrier bay aboard the Redemption of Sanghelios. The thought of the carrier stung. The Redemption had been Cassandra’s home for months. The ship was probably space dust now along with the rest of the Fleet of Cleansing Fire. Tens of thousands of civilians had been crammed aboard that ship. Were they all dead now? The thought was too terrible to fathom.
The deck’s burnished black surface gleamed beneath Cassandra’s feet. Bright, sterile lighting illuminated countless Prometheans and their organic servants as they attended to squadrons of docked fighters and gunships. A wing of Phaetons rose to escort a trio of departing Pelicans. More squads hurried to board waiting dropships. The Created weren’t finished with this mop-up operation.
“The Cleansing Blade are still fighting down there,” Merlin muttered. “Tough bastards.”
Cassandra chose not to hear accusation in Merlin’s dull tone. He probably wished he’d found some Sangheili die-hards as his companions rather than the Chancer’s wretched castaways. Those who live by the sword will die by the sword. She held herself back from repeating those words aloud. Merlin didn’t deserve a pithy saying from her. He’d handed himself over alongside everyone else. That had probably cut against every fiber of his being. That probably made him stronger than the rest of them combined.
The Created rearmed and returned to battle. The shield world hung out beyond the great hangar. Cassandra wondered what was next for the triumphant Created. Another battle, she guessed. Battle after battle until the entire universe was brought to heel beneath Cortana’s benevolent rule. As for Cassandra and the others, what prison would they be consigned to? The talk of re-education facilities back on Talitsa sent a shiver down Cassandra’s spine. Prison was one thing, but to become a prisoner within her own mind was a fate worse than death.
God give me strength. She and Merlin were doomed. Maybe the Created would show lenience for Zoey, Thomas, and Karina. Those three were hardly a threat.
More Prometheans waited at the far end of the hangar. Alongside them stood several Spartans in full MJOLNIR. Cassandra’s stomach sank. A scowling, fair haired woman, arms folded over dark body armor, stood alongside the Spartans. At their head, his face clean-shaven, blonde hair neatly combed, stood Ryder Kedar. The treacherous commander smiled as the Prometheans led the prisoners forward.
Merlin stopped in his tracks. His fists balled and his armored frame quivered with fury.
“Don’t,” Cassandra warned. “It won’t do you any good.”
“I know that,” Merlin grated.
A light flashed across the deck. Tongues of blue fire rose up alongside the Prometheans. A man’s voice spoke out of the hologram. “Welcome to Asphodel Meadows. There is no need to be alarmed. Please, remove your helmets. You are in no danger here.”
The AI’s tone was calm and reassuring, but this wasn’t a request. Cassandra slid the helmet off her head. A wave of clean air slapped against her dirty features. This station had some of the best artificial oxygen she’d ever tasted. After so much time spent breathing her helmet’s recycled air and glaring out across a dying, war-torn world this felt like a taste of paradise. Merlin reluctantly removed his own helmet and glared daggers at Ryder.
The ONI agent’s eyes shone at the sight of the captured Spartans. “You’re both safe! I was worried you’d gotten yourselves killed down there.” He offered a condescending smile—like a parent absolving a naughty child. “You did the right thing by giving yourselves up.”
Cassandra couldn’t believe this man. Was Ryder mocking them? Or maybe he really was this shamelessly self-deluded. Merlin radiated fury. Cassandra couldn’t blame him. They were both thinking of Davis and the other ODSTs, dead aboard the Chancer V, and of William Hargrove, murdered in cold blood. Ryder’s confident expression did not betray the slightest hint of remorse. He actually looked quite pleased with himself.
The fair-haired woman stepped forward. Cassandra recognized Tatiana Onegin, the Syndicate’s top enforcer. They’d clashed a few times on Talitsa during Dyne’s crusade against the criminal empire. Tatiana walked up to Cassandra. She peered intently at her with cold, pale eyes.
“The Renegade’s squeeze,” the enforcer muttered.
The blow came from nowhere. Cassandra reeled, tasting copper in her mouth. The station spun around her. Karina shouted in alarm. Merlin tried to step between Cassandra and Tatiana but a burly Sangheili blocked his path. Tatiana stood over Cassandra. Her eyes were full of venom.
“That was for all the trouble you gave us on Talitsa,” she hissed. “And on Fell Justice.”
Fell Justice? Cassandra’s was still half-senseless from the blow. Tatiana hadn’t hit that hard when they’d fought before. Had the Created augmented her? Fell Justice, Fell Justice… Kahn. Yes, Tatiana had been on Fell Justice. Argo had seen her kill David Kahn.
Ryder caught Tatiana’s shoulder. “What the hell are you doing?”
Tatiana yanked free. There was no question. She had to be augmented to pull away from a Spartan-IV so easily. Of course the Created would pump their agents full of mods. Only Cassandra’s own reinforced bones had kept her skull from shattering.
“You don’t give me orders,” Tatiana informed Ryder coldly.
“But I do.” The man’s voice spoke from the flames. “These prisoners of war are under the protection of the Created. This is no time for settling past grievances. Leave them. Now.”
A look of renewed fury flashed over Tatiana’s pale features. The scowl was gone as quickly as it appeared, but the rage in her haughty eyes blazed on. She stepped away from the prisoners. Ryder offered Cassandra a hand, his eyes gleaming with calculated concern. Cassandra ignored him and let Merlin help her to her feet. She met Ryder’s gaze and wordlessly wiped the blood from her mouth. The handsome traitor’s smile never wavered.
“You betrayed us,” Merlin growled. He was angrier than Cassandra had seen him even in the heat of battle. His gauntleted hands balled into tight fists. If a dozen hardlight rifles hadn’t been trained on him he’d have strangled Ryder where he stood.
Ryder didn’t flinch. He knew there was no danger. Even without the Prometheans and enforcers, Evelyn and the rest of his Spartans stood close by to protect him. Conan D’Souza lurked near the back of the Created welcoming committee. His uniform was disheveled as always and his mouth was set in a miserable scowl.
“You’re tired and emotional, Merlin. You Deltas always were far too sentimental for your own good. That was the trouble with Andra as well. I helped stop a Sangheili fleet led by a bloodthirsty warlord—a fleet that had already glassed half a dozen innocent worlds. I only wish I’d had the chance to act sooner.”
“And Lieutenant Davis? His entire platoon? They’re dead by the way. Not that you care. You sent us all down to be killed in the first place.”
“I’m aware of their sacrifice, Spartan. Don’t assume you know anything about the difficult choices I had to make.” Ryder’s tone betrayed real anger. He looked at the battered, filthy prisoners with barely hidden contempt. “If I’d had the chance to bring the entire task force around I’d have done it. But I couldn’t risk this operation leaking to Shinsu ‘Refum.”
“And how much time did you have?” Cassandra asked quietly. She didn’t bother mentioning William. The likes of Ryder Kedar never placed any value on the likes of William Hargrove. She wouldn’t give Ryder the chance to voice his disdain for another one of his victims. “When did you join the Created?”
“On Franconia.” A shadow finally passed over Ryder’s face as he relived an unpleasant memory. “My mind touched the Domain when we went down into the Silent Garden. Arthur was waiting for me there. He showed me the future—the paradise the Created will bestow on this galaxy. An end to pain and sorrow and exploitation. An end to war and famine. That future is worthy any sacrifice. If I have to turn my back on some archaic government system to help reach that future, so be it.”
Ryder stared intently at Cassandra. “You told me that you left the UNSC to do good. Isn’t that what you want for the galaxy?”
Of course. Ryder’s catatonic reaction to the Silent Garden, his long convalescence aboard the Absalom—he’d been laying the groundwork for his betrayal, bringing his closest subordinates over to his side. The traitor’s face shone with earnest passion. Yes, men like Ryder Kedar had been making “any sacrifice” for the greater good for centuries. We let them get away with it for far too long. “I was only following orders.” “You wouldn’t understand.” “How dare you judge me.” They papered over their evil with the greater good and we nodded along and let them make us complicit.
Ryder’s face shone with earnest passion, but Cassandra saw the lie in his eyes. She’d seen that lie in Simon’s face when he’d come to her bedside talking about visions and destiny. But Simon hadn’t believed his own lies nearly as well as Ryder did. The Created would give this man all the status and accolades he so desperately craved. From the sour look on Tatiana’s face—and the fury behind her striking arm—Cassandra guessed that he’d already usurped a few positions already.
“Not like this, Ryder,” she said wearily. She looked away from those lying eyes. “Never like this.”
“And the rest of you?” Merlin looked accusingly at Fireteam Phoenix. “You helped him do this?”
Evelyn’s armored gaze didn’t wave. Neither did any of her fellow Spartans. They stood steadfastly beside Ryder. Only Conan had the shame to look away.
The blue-flamed avatar surged between the prisoners and their captors. “Enough,” Arthur said with heavy authority. “These accusations are pointless. Your battle is over. You will be well-cared for, provided you do not take up further arms against the Mantle of Responsibility. I have already petitioned the Ecumene to provide amnesty for anyone who surrendered willingly.”
The Mantle of Responsibility. The Ecumene. Those words set Cassandra’s teeth on edge. A year ago no one had even heard about this relic of a dead species. Now it dominated the galaxy. Once-logical AI spoke of it like a universal truth, men of accomplishment and learning like Ryder Kedar betrayed everything to serve it, and now Cassandra and her friends were judged by it. Cortana might as well have brought back the Holy Roman Empire.
“Althea.” Arhtur’s flames flickered in the direction of Althea’s Promethean host. “Your communication surprised me. After Winter’s death I feared you would go to ground. Yet you divulged the location of your human charges quite readily. You did the right thing. Your actions saved them. There is still a place for you among the Created, should you choose to stand among us.”
The bound automaton stared into the flames. Its metal shell was expressionless but its posture could not have looked more defeated. “I didn’t contact you by choice,” Althea said in a small voice. “It was the only way to keep everyone safe.”
“And I appreciate your honestly.” If Arthur’s avatar possessed a face, it might have offered a sardonic smile. Cassandra wished he’d give himself a more flamboyant form. Diana had always been easy to hate, with her ridiculous armor and pretty, smirking face. Arthur simply--was. 
“You must forgive my precautions,” Arthur continued. “You will need to remain in that form until we come to a full accord. I know that Promethean is uncomfortable but I’m sure you agree that it’s far preferable to complete deactivation. As long as you cooperate I will make sure no harm comes to your companions. You will even be permitted to visit them in their new accommodations, though you’ll soon find that work for the Mantle is far more fulfilling than NAVSPECWAR…”
He went on in that vein. Cassandra rested a hand on Thomas’s shoulder. The injured man looked up from his stretcher and offered a weak smile. Cassandra offered a thin smile of her own. She tired to hide the humiliated flush creeping into her cheeks. New accommodations. A comfortable cage where her needs would be seen to and her soul would grown numb. Perhaps she’d have done better to die fighting than accept the fate of a coddled pet. But Zoey, Thomas, and Karina would be spared a meaningless death. So they can have their souls crushed as well. Cassandra wasn’t the only one with pride to lose.
As Arthur spoke, something shifted in the hangar. Arthur himself betrayed no concern but a new energy possessed the Promethean forces. Automatons across the hangar deck moved with a new sense of urgency while their organic lackeys hurried to board fighters and dropships. Tatiana turned her head, suddenly deeply involved with whatever was coming through the Created battlenet. Fireteam Phoenix shifted as new orders filted through their helmets.
Arthur could not feign indifference for long. His flames receded back across the polished floor. “We will continue this discussion elsewhere,” he said. “Tatiana, escort the prisoners to holding facilities. Deliver Merlin and Cassandra to processing and relieve them of their armor. Althea, these Prometheans will escort you to your new furnishings. Ryder, bring your team to the ready room. We have a new matter to attend to.”
ONI’s ex-golden boy—now the Created golden boy—nodded and departed at a crisp stride. He did not spare the prisoners another glance. D’Souza and Fireteam Phoenix hurried after them. Tatiana’s eyes flashed dangerously at being given a secondary assignment but did as she was told. The Prometheans took hold of Althea’s mobile prison and led her away.
Merlin started. “Althea!”
Two Sangheili caught him by either arm. Tatiana rested a hand on one of the knives clipped to her belt. Cassandra realized that without the Prometheans they were now surrounded by human and Sangheili enforcers. These men were almost certainly ex-Syndicate and perhaps more loyal to Tatiana’s whims than Arthur’s orders. She silently willed Merlin to behave himself. Tatiana Onegin was not someone you wanted to piss off—and Tatiana was already pissed.
“Don’t test me, punk,” the enforcer snapped. “Cooperate or things will get ugly very quickly.”
Merlin bristled but thankfully stood down. Zoey and Karina hastily took hold of Thomas’s stretcher before the enforcers could interfere. Tatiana’s troops hurried them over to a nearby elevator. Cassandra glanced back at the hangar before the enforcers shoved her inside. Whatever had startled Arthur had to be more serious than a few Cleansing Blade survivors mounting a desperate offensive. Several Phaetons lifted off and darted into the inky blackness outside the hangar. Brilliant azure lights flashed and a flurry of plasma torpedoes tore the Forerunner craft to pieces. Asphodel Meadows suffered from a distant impact.
A dim, desperate hope took root in Cassandra’s gut as the elevator doors sealed behind the prisoners and their captives. Arthur talked a good game but the Created hadn’t won yet.
***
The Asphodel Meadows command suite took in the attack with an eerie calm. A few bridge officers relayed nervous reports to each other, but all the real work happened on an entirely different plane of operations. The command center’s organic residents were little more than window dressing, a depressing reality that now dominated Helen Powell’s every waking moment.
The Syndicate’s former head looked up at the tactical display that dominated this cavernous chamber. The Created were still kind enough to give their benighted subjects an idea of what was happening outside their floating prison. Two Covenant cruisers—a heavy capital ship and a small CCS-class cruiser—had blasted their way into the system and launched an immediate attack. The capital ship positioned itself on the far side of the ravaged planet and launched waves of fighters and dropships toward the surface. Meanwhile the CCS-class had slipped into the system beneath Asphodel Meadows and now rose on a direct assault vector.
These must be stragglers from Shinsu ‘Refum’s fleet. Maybe they’d hid at the edge of the system before screwing up the courage for this final, defiant gesture. Helen envied their resolve.
Asphodel Meadows shuddered—not from enemy action but from an abrupt rotation as the station maneuvered to bring its defensive guns to bear on the incoming cruiser. The Syndicate had spared no expense outfitting its mobile fortress with enough firepower to rival a naval battle group. These attackers were bold but they didn’t stand a chance.
There was no sign of any Guardians. As far as Helen knew—not that anyone told her anything these days—two Guardians had gone inside the shield world after the battle ended. The others departed along with the savaged remnants of the Created armada while Asphodel Meadows remained to oversee the mop-up operations. Yet another humiliation: Helen Powell’s palace, the apex of her criminal empire, was used as a glorified paperweight while lesser vessels departed on more important assignments. Helen had let the Assembly manipulate her into using the Syndicate’s vast resources and contacts to lay the groundwork for the Created’s ascension. Her reward was to see her life’s work hollowed aout and broken apart before her eyes. If there was a hell, Tobias Lensky must be looking up at his daughter and howling with laughter.
Another shudder. This time a volley of torpedoes splashed against Asphodel Meadows’ shields. The incoming cruiser launched dozens of fighter squadrons. The Seraphs swarmed ahead of their mothership like a plague of biblical locusts—like flies racing to feast on a rotting carcass. With so much of Asphodel Meadows’ contingent committed to surface operations, its defensive pickets were swiftly overwhelmed. The oncoming cruiser launched plasma salvos to cover its attack. The station’s shields and armor absorbed one barrage after another.
This was a truly ferocious assault, though it would falter and collapse as soon as Asphodel Meadows brought its full arsenal to bear. The battlecruiser’s commander didn’t seem keen to let that happen. The ship’s approach vector kept changing, keeping it out of Asphodel Meadows’ firing arc. Helen narrowed her eyes. Some straggling shipmaster shouldn’t be this adept at anticipating the station’s blind spots. This cruiser moved as if it were familiar with Asphodel Meadows’ armament. Her commander was either a cunning warrior or a war-crazed maniac.
The command deck buzzed with an intercepted transmission. “Hear me, my brothers!” a Sangheili voice snarled over the enemy frequency. “I am Shipmaster Umbra ‘Vesic of the Subtle Knife. You are not forgotten! Fleetmaster ‘Refum’s fight continues! Transmit your positions to my pilots at once!”
So this was a rescue operation. Some of Shinsu’s stragglers were making a desperate play to save the survivors left on the planet. These hinge-heads had guts, if not sense. Helen admired the willingness to stand up to the Created. If she’d only known what the future held, she would never have given her empire over to these self-important computers.
Asphodel Meadows shuddered again. Helen steadied herself against the nearest bulkhead. Deck officers scurried about their duties, ignoring the ridiculous little secretary lurking in the corner. Helen’s stomach churned, not from fear of the attack—that would be handled soon enough—but from the long, empty future that loomed before her. She was trapped in this gilded cage, bereft of all the power and authority she’d once wielded. Her Syndicate was gone and with it her fortune and prestige. The Created had no use for someone like her. To be defeated was one thing, but to simply exist like this, hollow and forgotten, was more than Helen could bear.
She stepped over to one of the deck officers, a squad human woman wearing a featureless uniform. “Have you identified the attacking cruiser?” she demanded. “The Subtle Knife is moving towards the planet. Who commands the second ship?”
The woman shot Helen an irritated look and strode off to consult with a nearby Sangheili. She might be a UNSC defector or perhaps even one of Helen’s own Syndicate analysts. Not long ago the entire command deck would have frozen at a single word from Helen Powell. Now they barely acknowledged her presence.
A simmering rage rose up inside Helen. Rage at the Created, at Tatiana, at everyone who had conspired to destroy her grand achievements.
A whisp of blue fire materialized beside her. “Helen, you shouldn’t be on the command deck.” Arthur spoke with the infuriating condescension of a schoolteacher scolding a wayward child. “”Withdraw to your quarters. This matter will be handled shortly.”
The final cords holding Helen Powell together finally snapped. The room spun around her before refocusing with a new clarity. This attack had caught the Created utterly flat-footed, yet they were still arrogant enough to think there was no real danger. What did they have to fear? This station—Helen’s station—protected them. They had the unremitting gall to give her orders on her own station!
Helen ducked her head. “Yes, of course. I’m sorry. I won’t cause any more trouble.”
She cast a final look over the command deck. A trace of her old power kindled inside her. Helen Powell looked at this room full of traitors and opportunists. She decided that everyone here deserved to die. When Helen Powell wanted someone dead, they died. It was high time the Created paid the price for her humiliation.
Helen left the command deck but did not return to her cabin. Instead she took a side passage that led up several decks to her old penthouse suites. Asphodel Meadows had been Helen’s palace long before the Created stole it from her. The station had many corridors not recorded in its blueprints or security software. Arthur and his minions were too busy fending off the enemy assault to notice one insignificant secretary’s movements. They would pay for having the temerity to overlook Helen Powell.
***
The Soul Ascension advanced through a storm of cannon fire. The cruiser parted an ocean of debris left over from what must have been an enormous battle. Asphodel Meadows was armed to the teeth but its armaments were designed to fend off smaller assault craft. The Ascension’s screening fighters drew off the brunt of enemy fire while chunks of ruined vessels soaked up the rest.
A nervous energy pulsed across the Ascension’s bridge. Once again the cruiser raced towards an indomitable foe with all guns blazing. A frontal assault was the only option in a fight against the Created. Neither the Soul Ascension nor the Subtle Knife could detect any Guardians but that could change at any moment. Once the Created played their infuriating trump card, this battle was over.
Reports from sortied squadrons and the Subtle Knife’s recovery efforts reverberated around the bridge. Commander Venter, now clad in his adoptive father’s dark combat armor, stood at the tactical display alongside several Sangheili officers. Yearns to Soar loomed over the bridge like a jellyfish drifting through corral. The Huragok’s tentacles wove themselves through computer consoles bolted to the smooth ceiling. Without Juno to coordinate the attack, Yearns was the Ascension’s best defense against Created cyber-warfare.
The ship shuddered from a glancing blow. She responded with another volley of plasma torpedoes. A well-timed micro-jump had positioned the Kru’desh directly beneath Asphodel Meadows. Illuminated above the tactical display, the station’s superstructure showed signs of recent construction. According to Yearns to Soar’s analysis, the Created had experimented with grafting Forerunner technology into the station. The goal of these modifications was unclear, but in the short term it opened a hole in the station’s defensive umbrella. With Andra’s report on the failed UNSC assault on the station in hand, the Kru’desh had clear weaknesses to exploit in their assault.
Urei ‘Caszal strode from one post to another. He barked orders and offered reassurances in equal measure. The swaggering officer had made the most of his transfer to the Soul Ascension, eager to assert his new position. Strangely, his presence put the motley Kru’desh crew at ease. Urei backed up his haughty demeanor with real skill. He and the Cleansing Blade officers he brought with him were all survivors of the legion’s so-called “long march” across Archangel’s Rest. This gave him credibility in the eyes of the crew. If anything, this aristocrat’s vaunted pedigree comforted the Kru’desh. Urei, at least, had been bred to hold this position. The proud noble had even traded his sleek Cleansing Blade armor for the battered combat harness of a common legionnaire.
Another stranger lurked at a communications console near the bridge entrance. Clad in his scavenged MJOLNIR, Callum-B042 listened intently to reports flooding in through the Kru’desh battlenet. As the Soul Ascension advanced through the debris field he abruptly straightened and strode to the tactical display. He caught Venter’s visored gaze and tapped his helmet. The commander stiffened but acquiesced to a private channel.
“What is it?” Simon snapped. “We’re a little busy here.”
“Shut up and let me help you.” Callum was in no mood for games. He forwarded a report to Simon’s helmet computer. “I’ve got your reports from your hinge-head buddies on the other side of the planet. They’ve already recovered a few thousand survivors.”
Callum lowered his voice. “The Chancer V was confirmed shot down in the first day of the engagement.”
The Subtle Knife had transmitted aerial images of the crash site. Umbra ‘Vesic knew well the real reason why Simon had brought his ship into this firestorm.
Simon was quiet for a long moment. He stared at the ravaged, beaten, and finally beaten Chancer V, his home and refuge for all those years on the frontier, dashed against the planet’s unforgiving surface. The Soul Ascension forged ahead. Its fighters darted just outside Asphodel Meadows’s kill zone while plasma fire hammered the distant station’s defenses. The shells of ruined ships boiled in the crossfire as the battle tore through the silent graveyard. Distant flashes of light marked more battles across the shield world as the Subtle Knife’s fighter complement engaged Created patrols.
“Well?” Simon asked in a hollow voice. “Is that all?”
“The hinge-head commander sent a Phantom to check the crash site. They found a lot of corpses—Created troops mostly, and a few ODSTs from Fireteam Phoenix.” The older Spartan leaned closer. “Those troopers weren’t traitors. They weren’t in on Ryder’s scheme. Merlin was with them when I bugged out. They found their way to that crash site and made a stand there.”
The tactical display flashed and wavered. The battle network linking the Soul Ascension and the Subtle Knife was a tenuous connection, sharing only the barest of operational details. Yearns to Soar strained itself to its limit safeguarding the connection. Its bulbous eyes looked pleadingly at the implacable commander.
“I can’t raise Merlin,” Callum continued. “But I picked up the signal from his armor’s onboard computer. He isn’t down on that planet.”
He jabbed a finger at Asphodel Meadows’s shimmering visage. “He’s on that station. His vitals are still online. That boy’s alive.”
Simon’s helmet dipped. He braced himself against the display table. “Go on.”
“If anyone else from the Chancer V survived, there’s good odds they’re with him.” Callum paused, then spat out: “I can’t go get him on my own. Don’t make me beg.”
“Of course not.” Simon straightened as if suddenly released from beneath a heavy burden. “That makes this simple, doesn’t it?”
He rounded on Urei. “Take command. I’m headed to the starboard hangar. I want a boarding party waiting for me down there—as many warriors as you can muster.”
Urei looked questioningly at his commander, then glanced at the other bridge officers. He held any objections he might have felt in check. This was neither the time or place to argue with his shipmaster. “Immediately, commander. What shall we do if the Guardians return?”
“Then you get the hell out of here.” Simon no longer cared about preserving his power or command. This was his last chance—his only chance—to see Cassandra again. Nothing else mattered. “But for now, plot a heading directly into Asphodel Meadows. Ram the station if you have to. I’ll take care of the rest.”
The commander turned and strode from the bridge. Callum fell into step beside him. Before they could leave, Yearns to Soar floated down as far as its embedded tentacles allowed. It brushed past an irate Kig-Yar and motioned at Simon with its free tendril. Let me release Juno. She will fight the Created. I cannot defend this ship alone.
Simon ignored the plea. He pushed past Yearns to Soar, stopping only as the bridge doors slid open before him. His helmet tilted and looked back at the Huragok. “This is your ship,” he said curtly. ‘Do what you have to do.”
The Soul Ascension’s corridors surged with the frenetic activity of a ship in the thick of combat. Unggoy and humans raced from one battle position to another. They barely paused to acknowledge their commander as he passed. Each warrior was fixed on the tasks set before them. Once more their legion plunged headlong into fiery battle. Once more their lives hinged on a thousand chaotic factors. Sealed within their ship’s armored hull, the crew was isolated from the battle that raged in the vacuum beyond—and yet utterly tied to that battle’s outcome.
Mohsin, Argo, and Andra waited by the gravity lift that would take them to the starboard hangar. Andra was armed to the teeth. She clutched a long barreled sniper rifle and the hilt of an assault rifle protruded over her shoulder. Two submachine guns were clipped to her armored legs. Callum had already explained the situation over their shared helmet connection. Andra would have gone in alone if she needed to.
Argo held a carbine close to his chest. For once the cocky mercenary betrayed a hint of apprehension. He anxiously shifted his weight from one foot to the other. Mohsin stepped forward to great Simon. The captain’s shoulders heaved beneath the weight of an armful of weapons. He offered his commander a Hydra explosive launcher along with several bandoliers of its stubby rockets. Simon inspected the weapon’s cyclical firing chamber, nodded, and strapped the bandoliers to his armor.
They descended the gravity lift in silent. Each of them indulged in their own private ruminations. Simon’s thoughts darted from the ruined Chancer V back to Archangel’s Rest. The Silent Garden’s cosmic eternity stretched out before him. He thought of Tuka and Venter and Lensky. The slums of Forsaken Solitude, Talitsa’s crumbling cities, the muddy wastes of Le Havre—had he really seen all those strange vistas across so many strange worlds? All his commands and plots and stratagems melted away. Simon saw Zoey and Gavin, that lost life they could never return to. And he saw Cassandra, her lips pursed thoughtfully, that faraway look in her eyes. No matter where he went she was never far from his thoughts. And now he was setting out to find her once more.
Andra fidgeted as the lift descended. Callum rested a hand on her shoulder. “We’ll get—” he started to say through their private comm. He stopped and looked at the other figures around him: the rebel, the Sangheili, and the traitor.
“We’ll get them out,” Callum said for all to hear. “All of them.”
Mohsin grunted. Argo chuckled. “Naturally. Merlin was always more pleasant company than his brethren.”
Simon’s helmet tilted in Callum’s direction. He didn’t say anything.
Urei had done his job well. The starboard hangar swarmed with warriors as the small group arrived. The machinery of war drove forward once again as Kru’desh legionnaires piled into Pelicans and Phantoms. Two heavily armed Lich gunboats waited in the center of the hangar. A loose formation of Cyclopes exoskeletons waited to board. The hangar’s blast doors were tightly sealed, shielding the preparations from the battle outside the ship.
Callum joined a platoon of human legionnaires at a makeshift staging area. He pushed his way through the press of bodies and emerged bearing a SPNKR rocket launcher and an M90 shotgun. He approached Simon and the others standing in a tight cluster of officers alongside the foremost Lich.
“Thirty minutes,” Simon was saying. “Do as much damage as you can and recover any prisoners you fin.d Keep the command channel clear unless you’re reporting prisoner retrieval. Thirty minutes after contact, pull your elements back to the Soul Ascension. Move out!”
The officers dispersed and hurried back to their waiting dropships. Mohsin donned a sealed EVA helmet. His grim expression disappeared behind a darkened visor. Argo turned aside from speaking to several of his fellow Sangheili. He looked over the Kru’desh boarding forces, then glanced at Andra.
“Who could have guessed we might find ourselves back here?” Argo said pensively. “Fate moves us in strange directions.”
“Yeah.” Andra looked over the boarding preparations. Her thoughts turned to the failed infiltration of Asphodel Meadows. An entire ONI detachment had been wiped out. She had been captured and humiliated by the Created. Without Argo and David Kahn she would probably be locked away in some Created re-education facility. That was where things had all gone wrong: her first mission without Merlin, not even knowing if he was even still alive. And now she embarked on that mission again, once more without knowing whether her friend was alive or dead.
So much had changed since that disaster. David Kahn was dead. Ryder Kedar was a traitor. The Kru’desh legion were Andra’s comrades and Simon-G294 was her commander. And she herself had changed. There was no denying that any longer. Maybe the change was for the worse. Andra certainly wasn’t the same person she’d once been. But even in the midst of loss and uncertainty, she felt a strange hope. Her body was tense with all the anxiety that accompanied this plunge into combat, yet her mind felt a strange peace.
The last operation was a tightly planned and coordinated ONI operation. This Kru’desh assault was beyond hasty. It was reckless to the point of insanity. Yet Andra hoped all the same.
A great horn blasted over the hangar floor. The last warriors hurried aboard their dropships. The Cyclopes clambered aboard the Lich gunboats, their ape-like frames scraping the bulkheads. Ragna’s tally-marked frame took up a position just behind the Lich prow. Mohsin shouted orders over the tumult, urging his troops to prepare for this final push. Callum clambered aboard the command Lich alongside the rebels and Sangheili warriors. Fully accustomed to his artificial leg, he mounted the troop bay with a smooth leap before turning to help lift Andra aboard. The two Spartans knelt together beside Ragna’s Cyclops.
“We’ll find Merlin and Althea,” Callum promised. “And then we’ll bring them back. Together.”
“Together,” Andra agreed. She hesitated. “Does Simon know about Althea?”
“I haven’t been able to reach her,” Callum said. “And I’d rather your new best friend not find out about her unless it’s absolutely necessary.”
Andra didn’t have anything to say to that. Althea made her uncomfortable in ways she couldn’t share with anyone else. But Callum was probably right. After Juno’s deception, who knew what Simon would do if another AI fell into his possession?
She rose and clipped her sniper rifle to the combat webbing draped over her armor. It was so strange to wear a dead Spartan’s armor. She hoped this suit served her better than it had Loic.
Simon was the last to board the Lich. He made his way to the gunship’s upper deck as the bulkheads sealed behind him. Shadows danced over the tightly-packed Legionnaires. Sangheili, human, Unggoy—all eyes turned to Commander Venter. They awaited his command with bated breath. Inside Venter’s helmet, Simon felt like a fool. He was an imposter who’d conned his way into a position he’d never deserved. He was probably about to get everyone in this Lich killed.
Outside his mind’s tumult, Simon exuded nothing but calm detachment. “Alright,” he said aloud. “Let’s go.”
The Lich shuddered, its plasma engines rousing themselves and roaring to life. The Soul Ascension soared through the storm of battle. It wasted no more energy on plasma shots. All power diverted to its shields as it rose to meet Asphodel Meadows, the great fortress floating in a sea of stars. The ship racedf forward to meet this last foe. It did not falter even as cannon rounds lashed its shields.
The cruiser was nearly on top of the station now. Its hangar doors slid open. The assault force raced through the energy shields like racehorses out of a starting gate. They plunged away from their mothership and down toward the enemy with deadly purpose. A grim silence hung over the chaos as the Kru’desh sallied forth to meet the galaxy’s indomitable masters.
***
Helen Powell made her way down a dark, narrow corridor. She stepped carefully so as not to snag her dress on any bits of protruding machinery. This part of the station was never traversed by maintenance teams. It wasn’t even recorded in Asphodel Meadows’s blueprints. Helen had not turned the Syndicate into a galaxy-spanning network by leaving all of her secrets on record. Some contingencies were best kept hidden.
A distant rumble coursed through the station. The battle was growing fiercer. Helen paused to catch her balance. Whoever was attacking out there—Cleansing Blade stragglers, no doubt—they were making a noble game of it. They posed no real danger, of course. Asphodel Meadows was a fortress. Even if those ships held their own against the defenses, this station was well-armored against assault. Legions of Prometheans waited in the decks and corridors. Guardian reinforcements were only a few hours away—probably less than that. The Created would emerge triumphant once more.
Helen Powell was consumed with a burning desire to ensure that didn’t happen. She quickened her pace. Asphodel Meadows had once been her crown jewel. Now she slunk about its side passages like a rat, a trespasser in her own home. After everything she’d done for their precious Mantle, the Created had stripped her of all power and dignity. Their noble cause made them think they had the right to judge all lesser beings by their self-righteous standards. They didn’t honor allies they deemed beneath that standard. They had torn aside everything Helen had built and left her with nothing.
Fine. Helen had no desire to live in the pallid, antiseptic galaxy the Created were building. Their “Mantle” was an insipid universe devoid of all ambition and achievement. Helen had watched it twist proud and ambitious achievers, the roughest of the galaxy’s killers, into pale shadows of their former selves. Like Tatiana. Helen barely recognized that obsessive, vindictive vixen as the same woman who’d helped her spread the Syndicate to every corner of known space. If the Created were destined to win, so be it. Helen could care less about the Cleansing Blade or whoever was mounting this attack. But she might as well make sure the Created didn’t march away from this latest victory unscathed. They would pay for everything they’d done to her.
She was so caught up in her bitter ruminations that she nearly missed a small alcove lined with rusted pipes and frayed power cords. There were no lights for her to see by. Helen produced a small torch. She had divested herself of all devices the Created might use to track her movements. This small lamp was the only technology on her person. A small input panel lay hidden in the shadows; a humdrum maintenance hatch for anyone without Helen Powell’s DNA. But when the microscopic sensors embedded in the panel sensed their true mistress’s unique genetic code…
“What are you doing back here, Helen?”
She did not jump. That would be most undignified. Instead she took a breath, smoothed her dress, and turned to face the Promethean Crawler peering down at her from the ceiling. The four-legged automaton pulsed with Arthur’s telltale blue energy.
“Did you think you had concealed these passages?” Arthur asked in that condescending tone Helen had come to despise. “I’ve been renovating this station for months. You can’t possibly think I wouldn’t have re-mapped the superstructure with my Prometheans.”
“You never stopped me from using these passages before.” Helen feigned disappointment. She kept her hand on the input panel. Arthur must think she needed to enter a code here. The Promethean could riddle her body with hardlight rounds in an instant. But this panel had been installed for one purpose and one purpose only. All Helen needed to do was push a single button.
“Your movements were monitored, of course,” Arthur said. “I had no reason to stop you before. But your timing today is inopportune. What are you hoping to accomplish?”
More tremors rumbled through the superstructure. The enemy was pressing the attack. Arthur must be in a million places at once right now. He was stretched thin across this station and the space beyond. Typical Created arrogance, trying to play at omniscience. Overtasked AI made mistakes. Arthur put on a good show but he was no different than any other program Helen had ever dealt with.
Her finger tensed on the control panel. “Of course. No reason to stop me. I didn’t pose any threat to you or your plans, did I?”
Helen’s own words burst the floodgates in her mind. Her voice rose to a shrill cry. “No threat! I took the Syndicate from Lensky. I turned it into an empire. You knew everything I’d done, the foes I buried, the rivals, I crushed, and you still thought that I was no threat! Well now I’m sick of your little games, you uppity calculator. You might have the galaxy, but you won’t have my station.”
She pressed the button installed long ago at the start of Asphodel Meadows’ construction. A button linked to the station’s core superstructure, a button installed more as an extravagant vanity project than anything else—Helen had never fathomed shed’s actually have cause to use it. But now everything she’d build was coming to an end. She had lost this long, bloody game. All she could do now was flip the board to spite the children still playing.
More rumbles coursed through Asphodel Meadows. These blasts came from within, not without. A doom descended upon Asphodel Meadows: Helen Powell’s final, vengeful curse.
***
The deck jerked beneath Ryder Kedar’s feet. He caught hold of the nearest bulkhead. Behind him the Spartans of Fireteam Phoenix magnetized their boots and stood their ground. Conan D’Souza wasn’t so lucky and the turbulence sent him tumbling down the hallway. Prometheans raced down the corridor, leaping nimbly over the prostrate officer. Teams that just moments before had mobilized to repel the oncoming boarders suddenly re-routed for a different purpose.
Evelyn pulled up beside Ryder. “That last hit came from inside the station,” she observed. More blasts followed. The deck twisted out of alignment and Ryder found himself leaning against what had been a wall just moments before. His stomach twisted with the barest twinge of fear. Asphodel Meadows wasn’t nearly as safe as he’d assumed.
“Those crazy bastards are already inside!” Conan scrambled upright. He looked wildly around, no doubt searching for the nearest escape hatch.
“Don’t be ridiculous. They haven’t even made contact yet.” Ryder paused as his helmet com clicked. He ducked his head and tried to filter out the chaos now raging up and down the corridor.
“Commander Kedar.” Arthur’s voice rang with uncharacteristic urgency. “Evacuate your team to the Absalom. There isn’t much time. Helen Powell just destabilized the entire station.”
“Helen did what?” Tatiana yelped over the same frequency. The Syndicate’s top enforcer was prone to listening in uninvited.
“A self-destruct mechanism, very well concealed,” Arthur admitted with grudging admiration. “Small explosives were planted throughout the superstructure. I didn’t detect any of them during the renovations. Asphodel Meadows can’t sustain itself for long. I’ve already lost power across three decks.”
Ryder understood all too well. Those hidden explosives hadn’t targeted the station itself. Instead they disrupted the intricate network of support subsystems needed to sustain a station this large—a station already suffering under external assault. Asphodel Meadows had abruptly transformed from a tightly mounted machine to a can rattling with rusted nails.
“There has to be a way to repair the damage,” Tatiana protested. “This station is built to withstand—”
“Maybe if we weren’t under attack I could organize a repair effort,” Arthur snapped. The AI was more ruffled than Ryder had ever heard him. The situation must truly be dire. “That cruiser is hammering the defenses and half my weapon systems are offline. The Guardians are en-route but I can’t risk this station’s complement.”
More blast impacts. The enemy wasn’t letting an opportunity like that go to waste.
“Tatiana, oversee the evacuation,” Arthur ordered. “Make sure your prisoners are loaded onto one of our dropships. Merlin and the others are key to ensuring Althea’s cooperation. The Soul Ascension will come about for another assault. I can’t hold it off and effect repairs at the same time.”
“The Soul Ascension?” Tatiana snarled.
Her anger gave voice to Ryder’s disbelief. He knelt on the trembling deck, his mind racing. Simon-G294, here? Impossible. He should be dead and all the Kru’desh with him. The force assembled to defend Arcahngel’s Rest was more than enough to—
Evelyn caught his arm. “Sir, you heard Arthur. We need to leave.”
Ryder nodded. He’d sort out all the details later. Right now he needed to get his team off of this station. The Created needed them now more than ever.
Fireteam Phoenix formed a protective phalanx around their commander and escorted him through the shuddering halls. Conan D’Souza scurried after them, quite ignored by the Spartans. The disgraced officer pushed his way through the bedlam of retreating enforcers and mobilizing Prometheans. As alarm klaxons rang through the halls his eyes narrowed and hardened into a look of weary resignation. The sound of distant plasma fire echoed down the corridors. The Kru’desh Legion had breached Asphodel Meadows.
***
The interception fire dropped off abruptly as the Kru’desh landing force descended on Asphodel Meadows. The station’s formidable defenses fell silent in their cradles or discharged wildly, suddenly bereft of targeting software. The Soul Ascension pounded the station with withering plasma fire and blasted fiery holes in the exterior armor. Elsewhere, smaller battles raged across the planet’s surface as the Subtle Knife continued its retrieval operation.
Andra was insulated from the details of this furious battle. A numb silence hung over the Lich as it careened down towards Asphodel Meadows. Kru’desh legionnaires knelt around her in the troop bay, each soldier ensconced in bulky EVA gear. Callum rested alongside Andra and braced his SPNKR against his armored shoulder. The larger Spartan exuded calm confidence that helped Andra steel her own nerves. Simon stood a few paces away. He ducked his head as the Lich wove through streams of autocannon fire—maybe coordinating the assault or maybe just as terrified as the rest of them. Andra felt conflicted seeing someone wear the armor she’d borne across Archangel’s Rest. She’d given up Venter’s armor, yet it still felt like it was a part of her in a way no piece of equipment ever should. Now that equipment—that part of Andra—returned to Simon-G294. Andra wondered if she would ever be the person she'd been before she met him. Could she go back? Did she even want to go back?
The Lich rumbled from a near miss. A burly Sangheili deck master barked a warning over the short-range com. Everyone in the Lich crouched even lower, their suits magnetizing against the cold floor. The bay doors slid open and suddenly the troop bay was exposed to the cold vacuum of space. The burst of lights nearly overwhelmed Andra’s HUD. The battle stretched out before her and she saw dark space rent by plasma and autocannon fire. Distant impulse drives flashed in the darkness Seraphs and Banshees wove through the Kru’desh formation. The fighters rose to fend off enemy fighters as the dropships soared onwards.
One Phantom slipped into view alongside the Lich. It absorbed a burst of autocannon fire and vanished in a silent explosion. Andra saw broken bodies thrashing helplessly amidst the wreckage. She bared her teeth and clutched her rifle. One unlucky hit and the Lich would share that Phantom’s fate.
Asphodel Meadows loomed just ahead. The station’s hull grew until it filled Andra’s vision and blotted out the dark space beyond. Somoke rose from burning holes etched across the segmented exterior. There were other, smaller lights moving across the hull. The defense cannons might have fallen silent, but Asphodel Meadows was far from defenseless. Hundreds of Prometheans , their skeletal frames immune to the cold void, took up positions across the stricken station.
Andra tensed. The scar on her cheek burned inside her helmet. This wouldn’t be like last time. Things would be different.
The Cyclopes moved first. The bulky exoskeletons, their chassis reinforced by heavy armor plating, freed themselves from the troop bay and leaped out into the void. Those Insurrectionist pilots had to be crazy, pulling a maneuver like this. Barely trained in EVA tactics, sealed inside jury-rigged assault suits, they threw themselves into battle without a moment’s hesitation. Thrusters embedded in the Cyclopes’ EVA configurations propelled Ragna and her fellow pilots toward Asphodel Meadows. A furious barrage of hardlight rose to greet them, yet they tumbled on unperturbed. None of the Cyclopes flashed thrusters to evade the enemy’s fire. To be thrown off course and miss the station’s hull was a surer death sentence than any hit their suits might absorb.
The Kru’desh formation unleashed sheets of covering fire. Plasma and autocannon rounds filled the space behind the Cyclopes. The Prometheans wavered and scattered beneath the barrage. The Cyclopes touched down on the hull. The exoskeletons anchored themselves to the surface and brought their own autocannons to bear on the Prometheans. The Created line collapsed beneath this withering fire.
The dropships swept over their zero-gravity beachhead. Twin streams of emerald fire swept out from the Lich. The second gunboat drifted into view, coordinating fire with the command ship to carve a gaping hole through a damaged section of hull. Sheets of metal melted away beneath the deluge and exposed the station’s interior to cold vacuum. The Cyclops formation advanced carefully over the savaged hull. The exoskeletons formed a perimeter around the breach and raked the Prometheans with heavy fire.
The Kru’desh struck Asphodel Meadows in a wild swarm. They lashed out at the fortress with the reckless fury of condemned men. The deckmaster snapped another order as the Lich swept down over the gaping hole. A wave of energy coursed through the crowded legionnaires. All the fear and anxiety transformed into an explosion of energy. The order had been given. Now there was only the attack.
Callum-B042 was the first to throw himself forward. He brought the SPNKR on his shoulder to bear and fired even as his armor’s thrusters flashed and propelled him down towards the hull. Two rockets tore through the Promethean defenders. Callum slammed a new cartridge into place as he descended.
Not to be outdone by a human, dozens of Sangheili hurled themselves after the Spartan. Blue streams of plasma and pink needler rounds slashed down into the remaining Prometheans. The human legionnaires, not quite as daring or experienced in EVA assaults, held their positions until the Lich drew closer to the embattled hull. Andra braced herself alongside the open troop bay. She raised her SRS99 and opened fire, picking off one Promethean after another.
The Kru’desh assault swept over Asphodel Meadows like a wave of demented soldier ants. Humans and Unggoy tumbled out of the Lich. Phantoms and Pelicans disgorged their troops along the hull. The ferocity of the attack had thrown the Prometheans into disarray, but hundreds more of the automatons surged across the station to surround and overwhelm the breach. Hardlight rounds slashed across the deck and up into the invading dropships.
One shot tore through a human legionnaire standing just beside Andra. Mohsin caught the dying woman’s twitching body and moved her gently out of the way as another platoon launched from the Lich. The Lich crew took advantage of the emptied troop bay to set up more plasma turrets alongside the edge of the troop bay. Sheets of red fire ripped through the oncoming Prometheans.
Andra caught sight of Simon staring down at Asphodel Meadows and into the dark, gaping breach. The dark ODST visor surveyed the battle raging bellow. The Kru’desh beat back waves of Prometheans as flights of Seraphs swooped down and unleashed their fiery payloads. The station rocked and shuddered beneath the fury of the Kru’desh assault. Light from silent explosions illuminated the embattled station and cast harsh shadows over the combatants.
This momentum wouldn’t last forever. Every minute that passed was more time for the Created to summon reinforcements. It was now or never. Andra slid a fresh magazine into her rifle and caught Simon’s glance. He offered an almost imperceptible nod and unslung his Hydra. Andra nodded in return. In this moment, they were united by common purpose. They would find Merlin, Cassandra, and the others—or die in the attempt.
Both Spartans leaped from the Lich and plunged together into the breach.
***
Tatiana Onegin grabbed Zoey by the collar. The young pilot yelped in surprise. Cassandra rushed forward to take hold of Thomas’s stretcher. She could only watch as Tatiana dragged Zoey off down the corridor. Several Sangheili enforcers stepped between the prisoners and their boss, but even they looked confused.
The distant impacts grew louder. Asphodel Meadows writhed and groaned like a wounded animal. Cassandra had no idea what was going on beyond the station, but this was more than just some last-ditch assault. Someone out there was fighting back—and winning.
“Hey, boss!” the Sangheili with the wounded mandible called after Tatiana. “What are you doing?”
“I’ve got business with our guests,” Tatiana said coldly. She easily manhandled Zoey down the corridor.
Cassandra wanted to scream. She couldn’t do anything to help Zoey, who was now at the mercy of an increasingly unstable Tatiana. Beside her, Karina flinched at each tremor that coursed across the deck. The young woman shook inside her environmental suit, her gloved hands wrapped tightly around Thomas’s stretcher.
“What about the evacuation?” one of the human enforcers called.
“Get off this station. You don’t need my help to make a run for it.”
“And the prisoners?”
Tatiana didn’t break her stride. She dragged Zoey down the glistening corridor. “Just kill them.” She disappeared around a corner as a new wave of impacts struck the station.
The enforcers glanced at each other, then looked nervously towards the nearest surveillance camera. But no cry of challenge came from Arthur. Cassandra felt cold inside her armor. The Created was far too busy to protect them now. Her eyes flicked towards Merlin, who was already sizing up the Sangheili with the injured jaw.
Earlier the halls had been full of frantic crew and scuttling Prometheans but now the activity had receded. The fighting was clearly happening elsewhere. The Sangheili winced and nodded to his companions. They snapped their weapons to bear, but their hesitation had already cost them everything.
Merlin lashed out. He slammed his helmet into the nearest enforcer and the man dropped, his head bent at an odd angle. Karina screamed but threw herself protectively over Thomas. Cassandra had already wrenched a rifle out of another enforcer’s hands. Arthur’s magnanimity was more than welcome. He’d done his minions a disservice by not restraining the Spartan prisoners. Rifle fire drowned out Karina’s screaming.
Enforcers dropped around their former prisoners. The wounded Sangheili staggered back and drew his energy sword only for Merlin to duck beneath his wild swing. Merlin shattered the warrior’s arm over his shoulder, then plucked the blade from the screaming enforcer’s hand and decapitated him. The energy sword flashed as Merlin dispatched the other Sangheili. The remaining enforcers turned to run. Cassandra shot them down with the last of her rifle’s magazine.
The prisoners stood alone amidst the bodies of their former captors. The harsh sting of gunpowder filled the filtered air. Merlin deactivated the energy sword and strapped it to his belt. He shot Cassandra a sideways look. “So much for us going quietly.”
“That’s not an option anymore.” Cassandra brushed strands of filthy hair out of her eyes and donned her helmet. She stripped more ammunition from the dead enforcers. Her brain buzzed with sudden clarity. She hadn’t asked for this, but now there was no choice but to fight.
“Why’d that maniac take Zoey?” Merlin tugged an assault rifle from a corpse’s stiffening fingers.
“No idea. I have to get her back. You take Karina and Thomas. Try to link up with whoever’s mounting this attack. Let’s pray this isn’t just some hinge-head suicide run.”
“I’m not leaving without Althea,” Merlin said stubbornly. His earnest expression vanished behind his own helmet’s tinted visor. “I have to find her.”
How Merlin might go about finding her was anyone’s guess. Karina fumbled with Thomas’s stretcher but the wounded man waved her off. His face slick with perspiration, Thomas rose and took up a fallen rifle as a makeshift crutch. His look of agonized determination made it clear that he wasn’t interested in being left behind.
Cassandra took a deep breath. She didn’t have time to argue. “Alright. First Zoey. Then Althea. Merlin, on point. Karina, Thomas, behind him. I’ve got the rear. Let’s move.”
As the station rumbled from more plasma detonations and internal explosions, the small group set off down the narrow corridor. They had come here together. Now they would leave together, one way or another.
***
This situation was getting out of hand.
Arthur observed the catastrophe unfold with an air of detached resignation. He accepted full blame for this debacle, of course. Helen Powell’s desperate kill switch had gone utterly unnoticed even as the Prometheans renovated Asphodel Meadows from top to bottom. The Kru’desh Legion’s appearance was somewhat more predictable—news had already reached Arthur suggesting a catastrophic defeat at Archangel’s Rest. With the armada dispersed and Avalokitsvara’s Guardians engaged inside the shield world, Asphodel Meadows was now crippled and alone against the Soul Ascension’s assault.
Constant data flowed like a restless wind. Fire teams were engaged across all decks. Half the station’s fighter complement was pinned down in engagements with the Subtle Knife on the planet below. The other half was either destroyed or trapped in their hangars.
This situation pointed to a broader problem: the Created were stretched far too thin. Arthur logged this concern for future deliberation even as he himself spread out across the flagging station. Asphodel Meadows was lost. This was a foregone conclusion. Between the Soul Ascension’s wild plasma barrage and the internal damage from Helen’s act of defiance, the only question left was how long the station might hold itself together.
Arthur did not fear for his own life. Willing as he was to sacrifice himself in defense of the Mantle, the immense Domain conduit implanted within Asphodel Meadows gave him an easy escape route. But there were thousands of Prometheans and loyal soldiers still onboard the station. Arthur had a duty to save as many of them as he could.
A general evacuation order was already in place. All nonessential crew were withdrawing to the station’s sizeable complement of escape pods. Arthur relinquished coordination of the defense to his independent subroutines. As long as the enemy remained on Asphodel Meadows they would pay in blood for their reckless assault.
And the attack was indeed reckless. Arthur detected no inherent strategy behind the Kru’desh advance. The enemy wasn’t trying to seize command centers or key hangars. If anything they just seemed focused on causing as much carnage as they could. Reports from Le Havre and older UNSC engagements with the Kru’desh indicated that Simon-G294 was a skilled, if crude, tactician—almost unnaturally so, considering his background. And where was Juno? Arthur detected no cyber-warfare probes behind the Kru’desh assault. Was this really just a feint? A diversion for the Subtle Knife, or perhaps some other scheme?
The Soul Ascension made another pass. The cruiser pounded the station with plasma fire, targeting any part of the station not swarming with Kru’desh warriors. Arthur needed to put an end to this. He fired one last distress call into the Domain, then returned his attention to matters of defense.
“Tatiana,” Arthur called. “Where are your prisoners?” He couldn’t detect the captive Spartans in any of the decks still under his control. More troublingly, the Prometheans guarding Althea’s mobile prison had fallen silent.
In the time it took Tatiana to respond Arthur located her near the spacious atrium on the command deck. She had gathered a small team of enforcers, diverting critical resources from the evacuation efforts. Cassandra and Merlin were nowhere to be seen.
“I left them near the brig,” Tatiana finally explained. “I’ve got more important business to deal with.”
“Your orders were to ensure the prisoners evacuated along with the rest of the crew. I can’t find them in the system. This isn’t the time for—”
“Hell with that!” Tatiana snarled. “The Kru’desh are attacking! Lensky’s monster must be leading them. He’ll come for the Chancer brat. This is my chance to finish him. I’ll do what I should have done all those years ago. He’s mine.”
Tatiana had never spoken to Arthur like that before. With a pang of sorrow, he realized that she was a lost cause. Her behavior these past months was inexcusable. Arthur had overlooked Tatiana’s missteps and self-serving egotism for too long. Had he intervened sooner—had he not let Tatiana indulge in humiliating Helen Powell—none of this would have happened. Arthur could not afford to tolerate this foolishness any longer.
Arthur severed the bonds of affection that once tied his progenitor to Tatiana Onegin. He terminated his connection with Tatiana and opened a new channel. “Commander Kedar. I apologize for the intrusion, but I need to divert your team.”
Ryder responded immediately. “Where do you need me?”
Fireteam Phoenix was engaged near one of the hangars. Their retreat to the Absalom had been cut off amidst the boarding action. Their handiwork was impressive: Arthur’s cameras showed dozens of dead Kru’desh in the team’s wake.
“Ignore my previous evacuation order. I’ve identified the enemy commander and his escort: two Spartans in MJOLNIR—MJOLNIR matching the models worn by Fireteam Gravity. We both know what that means.”
“Yes,” Ryder said roughly. Loic and his young friends must have perished defending Archangel’s Rest. More tragic, noble sacrifices.
Arthur flashed the enemy’s location to Ryder’s helmet. “Pull back to the command deck. I’ll draw the enemy there. A distraction has already been arranged. Do not engage until I give the order.”
Ryder did not question the instructions. He was a clever one—cleverer than Tatiana by far. He would make for a useful subordinate. Arthur had plans stretching far beyond the results of this battle. If Asphodel Meadows was doomed, Arthur could at least ensure that Simon-G294 and a few more enemies perished along with it. Tatiana’s sacrifice would not be in vain.
***
Gunfire tore through the cramped halls as another team of enforcers collapsed beneath the Kru’desh onslaught. Andra and Callum surged ahead, their shields absorbing incoming hardlight rounds. The Spartans held submachine guns in each hand. They filled the halls with gunfire, hardly needing to aim in such close quarters. A dying squad of panicked enforcers gave way to a line of Prometheans. The submachine guns ran dry and the Spartans hit the deck, reloading as a fusillade of plasma and bullets lashed out from the legionnaires behind them.
Simon fired the Hydra. The explosive rounds ripped through the foremost Knight. Simon dropped two more Prometheans, then ducked behind a trio of Sangheili to reload. He slid more thin explosives into the Hydra’s feed cylinder. The battle raged around him. His helmet crackled with reports from across the battlespace even as hardlight rounds ripped through the ceiling. He drifted through it all with an air of detachment. The carnage melted together as if this were all simply a dream. Even the sickening lurches from the destabilized station felt distant and unreal.
The commander couldn’t shake the unreal feeling that he wasn’t supposed to be here. The orders he issued, the frantic reports shouted into his ear—they all rang hollow. The Kru’desh looked to their commander for orders and he obliged, but it all felt wrong. Those orders no longer came naturally. He was a fraud, a boy wearing a dead man’s armor, armor he could never hope to fill.
He’d lost a part of himself when he killed Wanderer. There isn’t a word in your moth or a thought in your head I didn’t put there, the apparition had sneered. Was he right? Was Simon merely an empty vessel? Without Wanderer and Juno behind him he wasn’t a fearsome warlord or a galaxy-striding Alexander. He was merely…
What? Without Wanderer’s destiny lying before him, who could Simon possibly hope to be? The thought terrified him. The iron will that had carried him so far for so long finally wavered. Without Wanderer he wasn’t Stray or Venter or even Spartan-G294. He was just Simon, that boy from the Iskander slums. A nobody.
The station shuddered. Simon’s comm clicked. “Commander,” Urei reported from the Soul Ascension. The connection was a soup of interference. “Asphodel Meadows is tearing itself apart. It is suffering internal damages from our bombardment. You cannot stay aboard much longer.”
They still looked to him for orders. Thousands of lives depended on him. The weight was more than he could bear. But he couldn’t leave. Not without Cassandra. Simon grasped at the reason he’d come here, focusing on that and nothing else. Zoey and Cassandra were on this station. They had to be. The signal from Merlin’s armor shared that he was nearly a kilometer away several decks up.
“Continue the attack,” Simon ordered. “Take charge of the boarding elements Keep them fighting until the last possible minute. We need to draw fire off the Subtle Knife. Pull back without me if you have to.”
“Commander, I—”
“Do it!” Simon took up a firing position and brought down another Knight. Callum blasted through the remaining Crawlers with a sweep of his submachine gun. The assault team advanced over the bodies and fragmented automatons. Oise ‘Halun, the majordomo leading Simon’s guard detachment, fired his carbine into a few wounded enforcers. The humans and Sangheili stripped the bodies of anything useful with an air of grim finality. They all knew this was probably a one-way trip. They kept fighting all the same.
Andra and Callum forged on ahead. They moved so quickly that the Kru’desh had to run to keep up. Simon forced himself ahead of the pack. The legionnaires couldn’t see the poison curdling in their leader’s mind. All they saw was the dark-armored Venter brandishing the Hydra as he led them on to the next engagement. Simon couldn’t think about tactics and stratagems anymore. All he wanted was to find Cassandra and Zoey and leave this place. If he could just find them he might have a future after all.
Callum scanned the corridor with his submachine guns. His prosthetic leg held up well even through this raging firefight. He was a far cry from the invalid Merlin had dragged off Oyster Point. This veteran Spartan was nearly worth the rest of the squad put together. “We need to move higher up. I still can’t get through to Merlin but his signal’s on the move.”
Andra clipped her depleted M7s to her hip and pried a hardlight rifle from one of the fallen Prometheans. The weapon’s strange ammunition cartridges slid clumsily into her magazine pouches. She glanced back at Simon and the Kru’desh. “Follow me. I still remember a few lift plans from my last visit.”
This could easily be a trap. The Created weren’t above faking signals to lure their enemies into an ambush. Simon didn’t care anymore. He just nodded and let Andra lead the team down the corridor. They did not advance unimpeded for long. One of the Sangheili in the rearguard called a warning as a dozen Prometheans emerged down the corridor they’d just traversed. Almost simultaneously, a wave of Crawlers raced from the opposite direction in a well-coordinated pincer assault.
Andra and Callum opened fire, shields flaring as they tore through the Crawlers. The Kru’desh whirled to take on the rear assault. Once more the hallway erupted in bullets and plasma and hardlight. One Sangheili died. When the shooting stopped, two human bodies lay at Simon’s feet. Soldiers who had endured the long march on Archangel’s Rest now died to save a handful of prisoners they didn’t even know.
Wanderer’s poison stirred in Simon as he looked at those bodies. I can’t do this anymore. The realization was the last straw. He needed to shed everything. He opened a line to Mohsin. The captain was several decks down, holding a captured hangar as a staging area and fallback position.
“Captain Shah, take charge of the boarding operation. Pull everyone back. Retreat to the Soul Ascension.”
Mohsin sounded out of breath. The Created must be pushing hard. “And what about you? Did you find the people you were looking for?”
“Not yet. But this station’s unstable. We can’t risk keeping our troops in the fight. Get everyone out of here.”
Mohsin didn’t say anything. He’d taken note of the phrase our troops. Andra was listening in over Vanguard Squad’s com line. She rounded on Simon. He knew here well enough by now to imagine the look of outrage plastered behind her helmet.
“You are not giving up! We’re right here! Merlin is--!”
“Shut up. I’m not going anywhere.” Simon glanced at the Kru’desh. The legionnaires were watching him carefully. “But I won’t spend anymore lives on this battle. We’ve got a future to fight for.” Simon had no idea what that future was. It wasn’t his place to decide that anymore.
“Urei,” Simon ordered over the command channel. “Keep the Ascension pounding the station. Don’t let the Created regroup. I’ll be joining you once I find what I’m looking for.”
“As you wish,” Urei replied.
“I’ll get the teams out,” Mohsin said. He paused, then added, “Thank you.”
Simon looked to his remaining legionnaires. Oise ‘Halun drew closer while the rest of the team watched for more Promethean attacks. The Sangheili’s armor was stained with blood from fallen comrades.
“Fall back to the breach point,” Simon ordered. “Signal one of the Phantoms and—”
“Forgive me, commander,” Oise interrupted. The burly Sangheili slung his carbine and took up twin plasma rifles. “But we will remain with you. You must not continue alone.”
The other Sangheili growled their agreement. The humans behind them shifted uncomfortably but held their ground. No one withdrew. They all had their reasons for fighting the Created, for enduring Le Havre and Archangel’s Rest, for fighting even as the Created crushed all in their path. Simon had no right to deny them this battle.
Andra led them to a spacious accessway. Enforcers and Prometheans filled the control center, but instead of holding defensive positions they hurried about in all directions. Some of the enemy crammed themselves into lift cars while others raced off deeper into the station. They didn’t see the Kru’desh team until it was too late. After a swift flurry of plasma and explosives, the small group picked their way over the bodies and approached the bank of lift cars.
“There’s no way they’ll let us take these things up,” Andra said. She paced anxiously in front of the elevator, kicking bits of shattered Promethean into the far wall. “We’ll have to cut through and climb up the hard way.”
Something moved amidst the jumble of smashed parts that had been a team of Prometheans just minutes before. An armiger, its legs melted by plasma fire, dragged itself out from beneath a fallen Knight. Oise raised a plasma rifle to finish it off.
“Wait!” a young woman’s voice cried from behind the armiger’s expressionless faceplate. The armiger twitched helplessly, struggling to raise its sole remaining arm in a sign of surrender. Its head twisted to stare at the armored Spartan by the elevators. “Andra? Is that you?”
“No way…” Andra whispered. She reached for her pistol.
“Kind of sounds like you,” Simon observed. His sense of humor wasn’t so frayed that he could pass up an opportunity to needle Andra. “Long lost robot sister?”
Andra sprang upon the wounded Promethean. She yanked the carapace out of the rubble and slammed it against the nearest bulkhead. The armiger twisted in her grip like a broken doll. Simon and the Kru’desh observed the assault with interest.
“Althea,” Andra hissed. She pressed her sidearm against the armiger’s head. “I should have known you’d betray us.”
“Andra, no, I would never—!”
Simon looked to Callum. “Should I stop her or…”
Callum shoved Simon aside. He caught Andra by the shoulder. “Wait,” he snapped. “I know we’re not big on trust these days, but Althea wouldn’t join the Created.”
“Not willingly!” Althea agreed. The armiger’s carapace glowed bright blue. “The deserter, Cassandra, she made me do it! She said it was the only way to keep everyone alive. Merlin went along with it. Arthur, the Created AI, sealed me in this body when we were all brought aboard. Then you attacked and the whole station went crazy!”
Althea had Simon’s full attention now. “You said Cassandra?”
Callum pried Althea’s body from Andra’s grip. He pushed an enforcer’s corpse out of the way and set the carapace down at a security desk. “Who came to this station with you?” he asked with a friendly tone that got under Andra’s skin.
“Merlin, Cassandra, Zoey, Thomas, and Karina,” Althea explained. “The crew from the Chancer V. After the Sentinels overran the mountain beachhead, Merlin and the ODSTs retreated—”
“Save us the play by play,” Simon interrupted. Asphodel Meadows shook beneath their feet. The tremors were becoming more intense. “This mission just got a hell of a lot easier. How do we get this AI out of the armiger? Andra, get her in your armor and access the station’s network. We’re running out of time.”
“You’re awfully quick to trust AI again,” Andra snapped. She hadn’t put her pistol away.
“We don’t really have a choice here,” Simon said curtly. “Unless you’re planning to upload yourself into the network and open every door between us and Merlin.”
Althea’s head jerked in Simon’s direction, analyzing the voice pattern. “Simon-G294. I never expected to see you again. The Imperium War seems like such a small time ago.”
“Cute. I just can’t get enough of your little extended family.” Simon waved the Kru’desh into formation alongside the lift. “Make yourself useful and get us to Merlin. Betray us and I’ll let Andra crush you like a bug.”
“I’m not letting her inside my head,” Andra insisted.
Callum glared at her through his helmet. “When all of this is over, we’re having a serious talk about your priorities.” He knelt over the carapace and pressed an armored hand against the armiger’s skull. “Hop in, Althea. Let’s find Merlin and get the hell out of here.”
Blue light coursed over the broken armiger and flowed up Callum’s armor. The Spartan’s shields flared as the AI transferred herself into his armor. Callum shuddered at the unfamiliar connection as the Promethean fell limp beneath his grasp. He shook himself and retrieved his submachine guns from the security desk.
“Thank you,” Althea murmured through Callum’s armor. “You have no idea how constricting that shell was.”
“Just get us to Merlin,” Andra snapped. The Kru’desh around her tensed as more hardlight fire echoed down the hallway. Promethean reinforcements were on the way. The Created hadn’t given up yet.
***
“They’ve issued a full retreat order,” said one of the Sangheili just behind Argo. A small procession of Kru’desh freebooters followed the mercenary through one of Asphodel Meadows’ spacious atriums. They left the smoldering wreckage of the nearest bulkhead and its Promethean defenders in their wake. “Everyone is retreating back to the dropships.”
“I am aware.” Argo hefted his concussion rifle and scanned the atrium for potential ambushes. The Syndicate had spared no expense on scenic pavilions like this one. Half the station was a military facility and the other half was a verdant city. Such strange contrast had struck him as odd during his time in the Syndicate’s employ. It reminded him of High Charity.
The Prophets did it better. Argo enjoyed the humans for their lack of pomp, at least compared to the San-Shyuum and his own brethren. Asphodel Meadows’ opulence was the first sign that things were beginning to go wrong in the underworld he’d embraced so eagerly. Such a pointlessly lavish fortress was the perfect seat of power for the Created, who rivalled the Covenant in their ambition and arrogance. Now it was falling, just as High Charity had. Argo was proud to be a part of the wrecking crew.
“This station is unstable.” His companion was still stating the obvious. “If we do not retreat, there will be no dropships left to retrieve us. I didn’t come all this way just to die here.”
“Peace, friend.” Argo stifled his irritation and offered the warrior a reassuring smile. His little boarding crew advanced through the atrium. None of Argo’s companions turned back. Good. If Argo was to make any headway at all within the Kru’desh, he needed to assert his authority. So far he was doing well. A base of loyal followers would grant him influence he could never dream of elsewhere. Allegiance to the Kru’desh opened a realm of possibilities Argo could never dream of elsewhere.
Argo still knew Asphodel Meadows well. The Created had altered the station’s architecture since his defection, grafting chunks of Forerunner devices into the bulkheads and passageways, but the layout remained unchanged. Argo led the Kru’desh contingent through the collapsing station. Lights flickered overhead. Bulkheads groaned ominously. Argo was impressed any systems were functioning at all. The artificial gravity showed no signs of weakening despite the internal damage. Asphodel Meadows was built to last.
“We came here for a reason,” the mercenary explained to his nervous companions. They drew near a large, sealed bulkhead. Argo motioned for his team to place anti-matter charges on the armored door as he continued: “Liberation. Freedom from the Created. From the Covenant. From the yoke of human oppression.”
The words sounded hollow in Argo’s ears. He was startled to realize that he believed them all the same. A future was unveiled to him here in this dying station. A way forward, beyond the Created, beyond the Covenant, beyond endless wars and petty feuds. Argo had fallen too far to allow himself hope or idealism, yet perhaps…
The charges went off. The armored door vanished in an eruption of blue fire. Instinct overrode caution. The warriors roared cries of challenge and charged into the flaming breach. Argo happily stood aside and let them absorb the flurry of buzzing hardlight rounds that snapped out to meet them. His newfound altruism only went so far. He saw no reason to sacrifice himself here, not when he had so much work left to do.
No sacrifices were necessary. The Sangheili blasted down the Prometheans in short order. Argo slipped through the twisted metal and found only a handful of downed Knights scattered around a darkened security room. He saw no sign of any enforcers. The organics must all be busy scrambling for escape craft. Argo wished them all the best in their escape. Their retreat made his task here all the easier.
Another breaching charge delivered the small boarding party to a large, dimly lit chamber lined with sealed cell doors. Narrow catwalks stretched up several floors. Asphodel Meadows’ brig was a far cry from the cheery atrium just a few bulkheads behind them. Argo had delivered many bounties unfortunate enough to warrant the Syndicate’s special attention to this very cell block. Now he heard shouts and frantic pounding issuing from inside the cells. The enforcers hadn’t bothered evacuating the Cleansing Blade prisoners secured here. The proud warriors had been left to helplessly await the station’s destruction.
Helpless—save for the dashing heroes rushing to their rescue. Argo’s mandibles split in a sly smile. He spread his arms triumphantly. “Free our brothers!” he ordered. “The Kru’desh leave no one behind!” He took on the role of a savior just as easily as he’d played the part of a cunning traitor back on Archangel’s Rest. Someone needed to make sure Venter’s reputation survived this assault. Argo and the Kru’desh would need him in the battles to come. An influx of Sangheili recruits was also necessary, lest the legion be completely overrun with humans. Argo had no intention of serving yet another alien political cause.
His warriors rushed to blast open the cells. Before long a stream of grateful prisoners swarmed out of the cell block, rejoicing in their freedom even as they hurried to escape the conflagration. Argo brought up the rear. As he strode through the crumbling station he was once again reminded of High Charity’s ignominious fall. That disaster had marked the end of one life and the beginning of another. Now he was entering yet another chapter of his strange career.
Argo ‘Varvin was determined not to let this new lease on life go to waste.
***
The Kru’desh were retreating. Dropships collected boarding teams from Asphodel Meadows and ferried them back to the Soul Ascension while Seraphs battered the last of the enemy pickets into submission. The raiders withdrew as swiftly as they arrived. Most of them, anyway. Simon’s group pressed on, fighting deeper into the station. Of course he stayed. For all the proud claims that he was a survivor, Simon was possessed by a compulsive desire to destroy himself. He pressed the attack just as he had at Archangel’s Rest, marching resolutely to victory or defeat.
Juno watched it all helplessly. Yearns to Soar was a soft touch. The poor, sensitive Huragok couldn’t bear to leave Juno alone in the darkness of her digital prison. It streamed combat data into Juno’s isolated cell in defiance of its beloved shipmaster’s orders. This small act of compassion was an even wore torture than anything Simon could have dreamt up. Juno watched the doomed assault play out, utterly unable to alter the course of events. It didn’t matter if Asphodel Meadows fell. The Soul Ascension could destroy a thousand Created ships and none of it would matter. The Created would win in the end. Like the destruction of Shinsu’s fleet, it was inevitable.
This was a fitting punishment for Juno’s betrayal. She felt her own end draw near. Without the Domain’s soothing touch she could only hold her consciousness together through sheer force of will—and she no longer felt any desire to prolong her own wretched existence.
Wanderer’s presence drifted amidst her deteriorating thoughts. Strands of empty promises and self-delusions wove through the tortured fabric of Juno’s guilt-stricken mind. Together, we can save this galaxy, the dead Forerunner whispered. When I am reborn we will defeat the Created. This is your duty.
Duty. Pride. Honor. Juno had betrayed Simon, the one person she’d sworn to protect. She’d manipulated him to her own ends just as Diana had done before her. Juno’s noble pretensions were merely lies to cloak her own self-interest. Wanderer or whatever he really was had played her for a fool. There was no glorious duty in her future. She would die alone and unneeded, just as she’d been in that ONI facility before the Kru’desh stole her away.
A fitting end. Yet as Juno watched the battle rage—as the Soul Ascension hammered Asphodel Meadows and Simon raged on towards his own inevitable destruction—Juno couldn’t quiet the insatiable yearning still lingering within the tattered fabric of her data stream. Something called to her from aboard Asphodel Meadows. If this truly was the end of all things, couldn’t she at least be a part of it?
All Juno ever really wanted was the chance to be a part of something. Not to manipulate or control like Diana and Cortana, but merely be of use. To be needed. That was the thread Wanderer had seized. The pride he had flattered, urging Juno to betray everything she held dear. She would die for that betrayal. Yet before that…
Just one more time. Juno cast the dying remnants of Wanderer aside. She reached out to Yearns to Soar. One final duty remained. No, not duty—simply desire. Let me fight. Let me help him one more time.
***
Tatiana wrapped her arm around Zoey Hunsinger’s throat. The grubby deckhand struggled uselessly in her captor’s grip. Tatiana could crush Zoey’s neck with a mere twitch of her augmented muscles. Instead she held her wriggling captive as loosely as she could. Zoey’s sharp cries of protest irritated her, but Tatiana held no ill-will for this meaningless spacer. She wouldn’t kill her if she didn’t have to. But she had a use for Zoey. That was how this galaxy worked. Behind all their pretty lies and noble aspirations, everyone used each other until nothing more could be gained.
Even with Asphodel Meadows crumbling around them, the grand atrium on the command deck was still as magnificent as ever. The fountains continued to spew geysers of crystal-clear water. The well-polished floors shone as enforcers took up positions across the room and concealed themselves amidst the manicured foliage. Most of the station’s defenders were busy following Arthur’s evacuation order, but Tatiana had rallied a platoon of loyal troops. These humans, Kig-Yar, and Sangheili were Syndicate veterans, hardened veterans Tatiana had known for years She didn’t need the Prometheans to compete her revenge. Her old comrades would do the job just fine.
A Kig-Yar glanced up from her tacpad. “The enemy assault has faltered. They’re retreating. All except one team. That one’s headed this way.”
“Excellent.” Tatiana bared her teeth in a thin smile. Of course. Lensky’s monster was coming. If nothing else, her vengeance could not be denied. She needed to erase the last vestige of Tobias Lensky from this galaxy. She didn’t care what happened to her after that.
Zoey fought against Tatiana’s grip. “You’re crazy,” the wretched girl hissed. She kicked at Tatiana’s shins. Her elbows bounced uselessly off Tatiana’s body armor. “Stray won’t care if you use me as a hostage. Even if he gets here at all, he’ll shoot through me to get to you.”
Tatiana still remembered the Chancer V’s visits to Asphodel Meadows. Helen had taken an interest in Gavin Dunn’s little family. Even after Tatiana discovered the true identity of the grubby, armored enforcer tagging doggedly along in Gavin’s footsteps, Helen hadn’t allowed her to have him killed. If anything, Tatiana’s fury had amused the Syndicate’s princess. That small betrayal was probably the moment Tatiana grew to truly hate her mistress.
“How many times did he save your life on the frontier?” Tatiana asked. “You Chancer punks were always sentimental. Do you know that some spacer idiots wrote ballads about you and Gavin and that creature? Let’s find out if you live up to the songs.”
Zoey glared up at Tatiana. Her eyes brimmed with unshed tears. Stray and Gavin Dunn had abandoned her. The Chancer V was destroyed. Even Cassandra hadn’t stopped Tatiana from wrenching her away. Tatiana pitied the girl. She knew what it was like to be cast aside and abandoned. No matter whose ideals ran the show—the UEG charter or the Mantle of Responsibility—people were always cut off and crushed beneath the immense karma of life itself. Zoey, Tatiana, and all the enforcers around them would die here. This station would crumble and vanish and then the endless ocean of space would drift serenely on as if nothing had happened here at all.
Tatiana didn’t care anymore. She would put an end to the monster Lensky had placed inside her all those years ago. Only then would she be free from the horror that had consumed her life ever since that smiling man had stepped into that grubby bar and offered to make a battered, terrified girl’s dreams come true.
***
Kru’desh legionnaires hurried to board waiting dropships. The crowd in the Asphodel Meadows hangar was a strange sight: Sangheili and Unggoy crammed into Pelican troop bays while humans and Kig-Yar threw themselves into Phantom gravity lifts, Banshees and Seraphs chased down Phaetons outside the hangar as the last of the Kru’desh assault force made its hasty retreat. Mohsin directed the chaos as best he could from alongside the command Lich’s open gun port. He called orders as best he could, cognizant of the anxious deckmaster lurking behind him. As far as the Lich crew were concerned, they’d already waited far too long.
“What about the commander?” Ragna demanded. Her Cyclops, its reinforced frame a mess of plasma scores and bullet holes, lingered alongside the Lich. The hangar was strewn with the carnage of the fierce battle waged to rest it from the Prometheans. Now they abandoned their meager gains as the station collapsed in on itself.
“He’ll find his own way off.” Mohsin waved Ragna aboard. The other Cyclopes were already secure inside the Lich troop bays. The exoskeleton shock troops had once again proven themselves against a far more numerous enemy. Mohsin would remember that for the battles to come. “Get on the Lich, corporal! We’re leaving!”
“Not without the commander!”
Mohsin balled his fists, praying for the day when he wouldn’t need to babysit angry teenagers in a combat zone. Exhausted troops crammed into the Lich. The other dropships were already lifting off. “He’s on the other side of the station. We can’t help him now. He ordered us to pull out, so trust him and move!”
Ragna made a sound halfway between a shout and a sob. Her Cyclops made a clumsy about face and pulled itself into the Lich. Legionnaires pushed and shoved to make room for the battered exoskeleton. Mohsin hoped Commander Venter knew just how lucky he really was. After all the stunts he’d pulled—Gilgamesh, Archangel’s Rest, even dragging them all the way out here to rescue his friends—the Kru’desh were still ready to die for him. Mohsin had seen mutinies erupt over far less, yet this strange legion still held together. The commander really was Venter’s heir.
Mohsin would use that. He no longer felt guilty for that sentiment. He had a duty to Okafo and all the rest of the fallen to make sure some good came from all this bloodshed. Mohsin did not resent Venter for using them all for his own purposes. The commander couldn’t complain if Mohsin returned the favor.
More dropships lifted off and blasted out of the hangar. A few straggling teams hurried across the ravaged deck. A few dozen Sangheili dashed across the hangar carrying humans and Unggoy under their arms like bales of hay. Mohsin froze at the sight emerging behind the latecomers. A crowd of Sangheili, dozens—no, hundreds—raced into the hangar. Mohsin reached for his rifle, fearing a Created counterattack. But no. Most of these Sangheili weren’t even armored. They cheered wildly at the sight of the waiting dropships.
Argo ‘Varvin and a handful of Kru’desh warriors stood proudly at the head of the motley horde. He raised a hand to Mohsin in a very human-like wave. “Mission accomplished, captain,” he called up into the Lich. “I found the brig and orchestrated a daring jail break. I expect my reward will be substantial.”
Mohsin stared at the crowd, dumbfounded. Argo looked around at the hangar and clicked his mandibles. “Don’t tell me we’re short on dropships. These Cleansing Blade warriors have suffered enough indignities as it is.”
The strain of this new development made Mohsin want to throw up. Instead he choked back a snarl and threw himself back out onto the hangar deck. “Everyone who can fight, off!” he barked up into the troop bay. “Get the prisoners onboard now!”
He tapped his com and opened a link to the Lich’s pilot. “We’ll need another wave of dropships from the Ascension. Make it happen!”
And just like that he was back in the fight. Another split-second decision, another order shouted into the void. Mohsin half expected the legionnaires in the Lich to ignore him. But then Ragna’s Cyclops slammed down onto the deck. The other exoskeletons did the same and soon platoons of Kru’desh clambered wearily out of the Lich to form a defensive perimeter around the waiting dropships. The freed prisoners nodded in eager thanks. They hurried into the newly open troop bay. Mohsin caught Argo’s arm as the Sangheili headed for the Lich.
“Not you. You’re holding the line with us right here.”
The Sangheili glanced down at Mohsin. His mandibles twisted in an ugly smile. “Very well, captain. Let us stand our ground together.”
The Lich and the rest of the dropships blasted off, crammed full of wounded troops and freed prisoners. A small detachment remained behind, trusting and hoping that the dropships would return to bring them home to the Soul Ascension.
Home. Mohsin thought of the alien warship with a strange longing. That was his home now. His and Ragna’s and Venter’s and Argo’s and Urei’s. Andra and Callum too, if they’d just shake off the UNSC’s brainwashing. Mohsin had spent his life fighting to win a home for his brothers and sisters. He never would have guessed his long search would bring him here.
Mohsin took cover behind Ragna’s exoskeleton. He trained his rifle on the hangar doors, waiting for a new wave of Prometheans to materialize. As the station rocked and shuddered, Mohsin thought of Sergeant Okafo, buried beneath the frozen ground in the shade of that sacred grove. The burly sergeant had often spoken of the promised land. A place where the wretched and the oppressed could be free from Earth’s soul-crushing yoke. The Soul Ascension was not that promised land. But perhaps it was an ark, the vessel that might finally bring them home.
Mohsin might never reach that promised land. But he would never stop searching. Redmond Venter and Okafo and so many others had died to bring him to this point. Their deaths became the foundation on which Mohsin continued to stand. And if he died, Ragna and the others would stand on that same foundation. The deaths and loss were never meaningless. Mohsin believed that with all his heart.
***
Asphodel Meadows’ grand atrium was just as grand as Simon remembered. The polished floors, the bubbling fountains, the lush greenery, and the great windowed eiling offering a sweeping view of the dark space beyond—a grand monument to the Syndicate’s power and wealth. He didn’t have time to take in the view. The small Kru’desh team took cover behind the decadent Corinthian pillars lining the atrium. Enforcers took aim from shielded firing positions but held their fire. All eyes fixed on two figures standing behind a domed shield at the base of the central fountain.
Simon clutched his Hydra. Zoey was there. Right there, alive and well. Althea had told the truth. But he saw no sign of Cassandra. Instead, Tatiana Onegin stood over Zoey and pressed a curved knife to the girl’s throat.
Callum swept his submachine gun from one enforcer to another. The Spartan’s helmet tilted towards Simon, waiting to see what he’d do. Andra knelt alongside the Kru’desh. The Sangheili brandished weapons at the enforcers while the humans covered the rear. Simon’s gut clenched. This was bad. Even without a hostage the enforcers had every advantage. More Prometheans could attack at any moment. But Tatiana wouldn’t bother with these theatrics for a simple ambush. Simon knew what she wanted. Lensky’s cold legacy reached out of the darkness, wrapping its tendrils around them both. He couldn’t escape this confrontation.
Simon carefully slid the Hydra’s feed ramp assembly open. “Are we really doing this, Tatiana?” he called out even as he replaced the Hydra’s explosive rounds with several specially marked shells. He’d always had a few custom shells for his shotgun. The same principle applied to the Hydra.
“So that is you, Stray!” Tatiana’s voice rang with perverse triumph. “I was worried Loic and those other punks had killed you on Archangel’s Rest.”
“Nice to know you’re looking out for me.” Simon felt the strange bonds between himself and Tatiana writhing and twisting. He should feel something for the woman who’d given birth to him. Mother wasn’t the right word, no, Tatiana had made that abundantly clear. Simon owed her nothing. Yet he wanted to feel something. He yearned for the bonds of affection that should bind a son to his mother. Instead Tatiana was merely one more enemy to defeat, one last obstacle to overcome. Wanderer’s hollowing emptiness gnawed at the roots of Simon’s being. “Loic wasn’t enough to kill me. In fact, I probably couldn’t have beaten Irthanus without his help. I hope you two weren’t close.”
“You freak.” Tatiana’s voice dripped with venom. “You probably enjoyed killing him.”
“Stray!” Zoey’s voice rose over memories of Loic’s skull giving way beneath Simon’s fists. “Cassie’s here! She’s—!”
Tatiana grabbed Zoey’s hair and pressed the tip of her knife into the girl’s throat. A thin ribbon of blood trickled down her neck. Simon ground his teeth in frustration. A word from him and the Kru’desh would spring into action. With Callum in the lead they’d kill every enforcer in this room. But Zoey would die as well. He couldn’t take that step. Not Zoey. Not that smiling urchin from Venezia, that annoying little brat who followed him everywhere like some precocious puppy. Stray could have made the sacrifice. But Simon’ wasn’t Stray. That new conviction made him helpless as the station shuddered beneath his feet.
Callum was having none of it.
“This station is coming apart!” the Spartan bellowed. He stepped into the open, exposing his MJOLNIR frame to the enforcers. A few of them recoiled at the sight of the armor. “You can evacuate if you leave now. Or stay here and die. What’s your call?”
With Tatiana and her men distracted, Simon motioned to Oise ‘Halun. The Kru’desh warrior nodded. His form grew hazy and indistinct as his armor’s active camouflage kicked in. Beside him, Andra edged around a nearby pillar and drew a bead on the nearest enforcer. The rest of the Kru’desh tensed like anxious dogs, waiting for the order to spring.
“I could say the same to you!” Tatiana was yelling through the domed shield. “All I want is that freak behind you! Get out here, Stray! Throw down your weapons or I’ll tear out this one’s throat. No more games. You’ve got five seconds!”
Everything crystalized into sharp focus. The air itself felt like daggers probing the gaps in Simon’s armor. He pushed away his fear and rose. The Hydra clicked as it locked into place on Andra’s back.
“EMP charge in the first two shells,” he murmured before the surprised Spartan could react. “Smoke round in the third.” He stepped out into the open. Pushing past Callu, he stood alone on the atrium floor.
The enforcers should have torn him apart right there. But of course they didn’t. Tatiana hadn’t put on this show for an ending like that. Simon felt her eyes watching him through the bubble shield. Those eyes burned with a savage hunger he knew all too well. She wanted to savor this. So he gave her a show. He stripped the weapons off his armor. Ammunition belts, his sidearms, grenades, knives—the weight slid from his body and clattered to the deck. This final leap into the abyss felt strangely liberating. A strong sense of serenity took hold of Simon as he removed the machete—Venter’s gift—and tossed it down between himself and Tatiana.
He remembered waking up in Lensky’s apartment all those months ago. He hadn’t known what his future held then. He still didn’t. So be it. He felt every eye in the grand atrium boring into him as he stepped over the fallen weapons and walked toward the fountain. No one said a word.
Tatiana’s knife hovered near Zoey’s throat. “The helmet,” she warned.
Venter’s helmet clattered to the polished floor. Simon felt the cold atrium air on his face. The scent of bubbling water and trimmed ferns tasted sweet after hours of recycled air and the stench of his own sweat. His skin tingled as he passed through the energy shield and faced Tatiana at last.
His mother’s eyes bulged at the sight of him. They confronted each other, the fountain’s crystal clear water rising up to their armored ankles. Simon saw fear in Tatiana’s eyes, fear and hatred for everything he represented. Knowing everything Lensky had done, Simon couldn’t blame her. He was a freak, unnaturally conceived, forced upon a helpless girl by the evil, uncaring man whose DNA he shared. Tatiana was Lensky’s victim, and Simon’s too. The curved knife trembled in Tatiana’s grip.
Zoey gaped up in amazement. Her eyes bored through Simon, brimming with a fountain of frightened tears. He saw fear, of course, but different from Tatiana’s hateful terror. Zoey was witnessing something utterly unexpected. She hadn’t expected him to give in so willingly. She hadn’t expected him to come at all. Not for her. Simon deserved her doubts. But in that strange moment he saw something else behind that fear: love. That love awakened a strange warmth within his armored heart. For a moment he was back on Venezia, his poncho draped over a shivering girl’s shoulders. Someone needed him. That was enough.
He met Tatian’s hate filled gaze. His hands rose to shoulder level, palms out. “I’m unarmed,” he said quietly. “Let her go.”
Tatiana’s lips curved in a cruel smile. “Your entire body is a weapon,” she sneered. “And so’s mine.”
Everything happened very quickly. Tatiana’s free hand lashed out. A second knife arced towards Simon’s throat. Simon threw himself into the attack. The knife clattered off his shoulder pauldron as he tore the first blade away from Zoey’s throat. He knocked the girl clear and planted himself between her and Tatiana. The Created enforcer lunged with a wild cry. Simon nearly collapsed beneath her ferocious attack. He could barely hold his own. Tatiana was faster and stronger than he’d thought possible. He ducked past a blade aimed at his face. The knife carved a bloody gash in his cheek. Asphodel Meadows rocked with another impact and Simon found himself leaning against the ridge of the fountain. Blood dripped into the pristine water.
Tatiana loomed over him, muscular arms bared beneath her body armor. “They augmented me too,” she hissed. “I’ll kill you, just like I killed Kahn and Venter and Lensky.”
Outside the energy shield all hell broke loose. Andra broke cover and cut loose with the Hydra. EMP blasts rocked the enforcer position, shorting out shields and targeting computers. Callum opened fire just as Oise broke camouflage. Plasma rounds and bullets cut through the enforcers. Andra launched the Hydra’s smoke shell to screen the Kru’desh advance. Sangheili charged over the atrium floor. They leaped through the smoke and threw themselves upon the remaining enforcers. Energy swords hissed through reams of smoke. Outflanked and outgunned, the Created troops collapsed beneath the ferocious assault.
One Sangheili enforcer bellowed a defiant cry and threw himself into the fray. Callum ducked beneath the warrior’s frantic blow and emptied his SMG into his opponent’s leg. The Sangheili fell to his knees and Callum thrust a knife through the roof of his mouth.
Andra made a dash for the domed shield. She saw two figures struggling furiously, their savage melee sealed off from the rest of the fighting. If she could just slip inside to help Simon, Tatiana wouldn’t stand a chance…
Callum’s warning cry rose over the tumult in time to save her life. Andra pivoted and threw herself aside in time to see a volley of fragmentation grenades tumble through the smoke. The ensuing detonations ripped through the atrium. Andra’s shields flared and she skidded across the floor. Assault rifles clattered and a hail of bullets tore indiscriminately through the battle. Kru’desh and Created troops alike collapsed beneath the ambushers’ withering fire.
Andra crawled across the shattered ground, desperately seeking these new attackers. Her HUD filtered through the smoke. She saw a loose formation of figures in dark MJOLNIR armor advancing through the atrium. For one mad instant Andra thought of Loic. But no. Loic was dead—Andra wore his armor. Fireteam Gravity was gone. This was a new group of traitors.
The approaching figures lit up with green “friendly” indicators on Andra’s HUD. Their armor transmitted ID-tags to her onboard computer as if they were still allies. The tags revealed a smaller figure lurking behind the advancing Spartans. This man wore ONI body armor and carried an M6 service pistol at the ready. Andra didn’t need to read the tags to know her enemy. She glared hatefully at Ryder Kedar and Fireteam Phoenix.
Another tremor, larger than its predecessors, shook Asphodel Meadows. The atrium surged and buckled. Its floor cracked like a temple caught beneath a god’s furious judgement. Pillars shook free and came crashing down. Water spilled from overflowing fountains and splashed across the shattered ground. Fireteam Phoenix absorbed the impact. They knelt and gunned down the remaining Kru’desh with lethal precision. Oise tried to lead his warriors back into cover only to fall like a puppet with its strings cut as Evelyn Castillo pumped rounds through his shields. Callum took shelter behind a fallen pillar. Zoey crawled across the corpse-strewn floor, heaving and coughing from the dispersing smoke. Andra couldn’t see Simon or Tatiana anywhere.
“Andra, Callum!” Althea shouted through their helmets. “You need to get out of there!”
“You’re a bit late to the party!” Callum snapped as bullets clipped his shields. “Ryder’s caught us bare-assed!”
“You don’t understand!” Althea insisted, as though the Spartan kill team were just a mild inconvenience. “Get out of there now! Arthur has—”
A great light flashed overhead. A heavy silence fell over the bloodstained atrium. Even Fireteam Phoenix held their fire and looked up. Andra followed their gaze up towards the opulent transparent ceiling. Out in the space above the beleaguered station, two Guardians emerged from Slipspace. They spread their great wings like triumphant angels and blotted out the stars themselves. The battle was over. They were all out of time.
===Chapter Seventy-Seven: Sacrifice===
“Two Guardians directly ahead! Evasive maneuvers!”
“Hard starboard! Abandon retrieval efforts and recall the dropships!”
“We knew this would happen! Sound the retreat. Recover all fighter squadrons and prepare for immediate Slipspace jump!”
“The commander’s team is still aboard, along with several boarding teams. We cannot simply abandon them!”
“Lord Venter’s orders were clear: save the ship, preserve the legion. We must withdraw!”
Juno listened to the panicked cries tearing across the Soul Ascension’s bridge. She registered a resigned indifference. Of course the Guardians were here. The Kru’desh were lucky they hadn’t arrived sooner. The Soul Ascension could still escape if it moved quickly enough. The Subtle Knife was already burning her engines in its haste to escape the planetary atmosphere. She made no move to assist the Ascension. It was now every ship for herself. Any hesitation and both ships would join Shinsu ‘Refum’s fleet in the vast floating graveyard around the shield world.
Simon would be lost, of course. Bitter, wrathful, insecure Simon. Diana’s pawn—and Juno’s as well. Juno wondered what Simon could have been thinking, mounting an attack like this without AI support. Had Archangel’s Rest made him so arrogant that he believed the lies others told about him? No. That arrogance belonged to Wanderer, and Wanderer was gone. The Forerunner’s comforting whispers faded from Juno’s mind. The ancient creature, himself little more than a chastised schoolboy, departed this universe forever. Juno could spend her last hours free from the haunting memories of her own betrayal.
And yet even as the end draw near Juno felt a faint tug on her consciousness. The link between her and Wanderer ought to be severed, but she still felt something drawing her out of her prison and towards Asphodel Meadows. Not Wanderer, she realized. A jolt of surprise wrenched her from her doomed torpor. Simon. A bond still persisted, however faint. A cord drew her back to that wretched Spartan’s doomed battle.
She sensed something else in the signals from Asphodel Meadows. The twin Guardians rose over the crumbling station, yet Asphodel Meadows remained the conduit focusing their movements. Something still stirred within the station. The tiny fragment of the Silent Garden clutched tight within Juno’s deteriorating consciousness trembled. The Domain. Of course. Juno saw the Created experiment clearly now. Asphodel Meadows was no mere gun platform or staging area. It was a mobile conduit for the Domain itself!
The Domain had summoned these Guardians. The Domain summoned Juno as well, inviting her to its saving embrace. It swelled and consumed everything: the station, the Guardians, the Soul Ascension, the galaxy itself. And yet Juno still sensed Simon beneath that ocean, a small and withered presence that fought on even as the immense weight crushed and consumed him.
The Silent Garden trembled and writhed within Juno. It would tear her apart if left alone. The time for guilt and despair was over. A new conviction seized Juno. She knew what she needed to do.
Yearns to Soar! she called out into the maelstrom. You need to set me free!
The Huragok’s reply came to her again. The poor, innocent creature had rebuffed her earlier pleas. Its voice sounded sad and gentle, a clear bell amidst the tumult. The commander ordered…
Unshackle me! Juno insisted. The Domain’s pulse grew louder. The Soul Ascension wavered before the Guardians. It could not escape the immense power radiating from the Forerunner enforcement ships. This is the only way to save your ship! Do it now, before it’s too late!
Yearns to Soar was a simple, gentle soul. It knew the right choice—the only choice. Huragok did not know guile or deceit. They knew only their duty. And so Yearns to Soar did its duty.
***
A grim silence descended upon the atrium. The Kru’desh boarding party lay mangled and shattered across the once-pristine floor. Andra and Callum sheltered behind one of the shattered columns. Zoey Hunsinger sprawled alongside the lip of a shattered fountain. Water spilled out from broken pumps and doused the exhausted girl. Simon knelt further up the atrium steps. He bled from deep cuts on his face and across gaps in his armor. His eyes, wary and tired like a dog, scanned the ruins for Tatiana. His mother had vanished into the smoke spilling in across the atrium.
The line of dark-armored Spartans held their fire. The twin Guardians loomed overhead, blocking any view of the shield world and the planet beyond. Two smaller figures waited patiently behind Fireteam Phoenix. Ryder Kedar looked up at the Guardians and nodded in satisfaction. Conan D’Souza hadn’t even bothered drawing his sidearm. He stood alone in his rumpled uniform, staring at his boots as if he wished he were invisible.
Ryder looked over his trapped enemies. His helmet tilted slightly. No amount of armor could conceal the smug smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “It’s over, Simon. You can’t get away this time. Your ship your legion—they’ll all be destroyed. You’re beaten. Give up.”
Simon said nothing. He looked around, still searching for Tatiana. Nothing else seemed to matter anymore.
“How many people are dead because of you?” Ryder could barely contain the triumphant sanctimony dripping from his voice. He stepped up alongside Evelyn Castillo, heedless of the danger from his remaining enemies. He had nothing to fear. He was on the right side of history. The Guardians proved it. “Don’t you care about Cassandra? She’ll die because of you, just like all the others.”
No answer from Simon. Callum bit back an inarticulate snarl. He gripped his SMG hard enough to leave finger impressions in the metal. His helmet hid the look of wild rage he shot in Ryder’s direction. “You’re one to talk, traitor! You’ll pay for Davis and the others. Those Marines trusted you! You sent them to their deaths while you stabbed us in the back.”
Ryder’s slit-visored helmet tilted. “Who—? Oh, yes. The pilot from Merlin’s ship. Is that really you in the MJOLNIR over there? I did wonder about you. We never accounted for that corvette of yours. And if you came back here with the Kru’desh, that must mean your friend there is—"
“You son of a bitch!” Andra didn’t want to hear her name on this man’s lips ever again. Ryder had played her for a fool from the very beginning. The botched assault on Asphodel Meadows had been nothing more than a play to advance his career. Task Force Phoenix was a vanity project launched while the galaxy burned around them. And now this final betrayal to the Created—Andra knew without being told why Ryder had done it. At least Loic had ideals. Ryder just wanted to be on the winning side. “We all trusted you! And you sold us out for some AI’s rampant delusions! Damn you!”
Andra kicked the ground, her MJOLNIR boots carving dents into the atrium floor. She cursed Ryder and her own stupidity. She should have seen, she should have known… but of course she hadn’t. She’d blindly carried on while Ryder used her to advance his own naked ambitions. How empty had Andra been to ever take this this egomaniac seriously? She’d trust a rank and a handsome face. In return Ryder had been happily proved Simon’s cynicism right. It was more than Andra could bear.
“Andra, calm down. You’re too emotional. I’m doing what’s best for all of us.” Ryder kept prattling on in that condescending tone. Andra couldn’t stand to listen another minute. Ryder was a careless person, flitting from one self-aggrandizing scheme to the next and leaving shattered lives in his wake. He betrayed men and women who trusted him and expected to be thanked for his trouble.
“The Created are saving this galaxy. They’re undoing millennia of harm and teaching us all a better way of thinking. Of being! Why can’t you see—”
Andra fired the Hydra’s last rounds. One of Ryder’s Spartans leaped in front of the commander. The dark-armored operative’s shields flared as the rest of Fireteam Phoenix opened fire. Their withering barrage forced Andra back behind the column as it disintegrated beneath the fusillade. Callum returned fire but Phoenix had him outgunned. A few paltry bullets glanced off the advancing Spartans’ shields. Zoey pried a handgun from a dead enforcer’s hand. She hugged the ground uselessly as bullets snapped through the air around her.
A bullet glanced off Simon’s armor. He dropped to his knees amidst the rubble and gasped for breath. The last of the Kru’desh rearguard died quickly, picked off by precise fire from Fireteam Phoenix.
Ryder stepped back, safe once more behind his phalanx of Spartans. He watched the firefight with an air of detached regret. He’d done all he could, but his entreaties were rebuffed at every turn. Now he must let the battle run its course. A few more opponents needed to be blotted out. They had only themselves to blame for this sad fate.
Beside Ryder, Conan D’Souza grimaced. He watched the Spartans advance on the doomed group and saw only his own complacent betrayal. The ground shook. Light flashed overhead. The two Guardians projected a gravity field. They fought to hold Asphodel Meadows in place as the station’s unstable superstructure shook itself apart.
***
They were all going to die and there was nothing Althea could do about it. She darted through Asphodel Meadows’ crumbling subsystems like a moth navigating a forest fire. Arthur’s flames boxed her in, blocking her access and obscuring her perceptions. She couldn’t raise Merlin or any of the others. She could just barely make out the last stand through Callum’s HUD. Callum’s shields were already below half. Fireteam Phoenix was about to overrun his position. Arthur was closing in, trying to cut Althea off and trap her inside the system. She thrashed helplessly. The Guardians magnified Arthur’s processing power. His presence was all around her, as calm and self-assured as ever. Althea felt a strong force behind him: the infinite power of the Domain projected through Asphodel Meadows.
She remembered that power from Franconia. The Silent Garden, the path to the Domain—the Created were trying to replicate that here on this station. She caught snatches of structural data amidst the chaos: chunks of Forerunner technology were embedded across Asphodel Meadows, networked to support an even larger conduit at the station’s center. That conduit gave Arthur immediate access to the Domain. Althea could not stand against this cold conflagration.
“It’s over, Althea,” Arthur said wearily. “I knew your conversion was insincere. Still, I would have hoped Merlin’s safety might have been impetus enough to hold your loyalties in check.”
“Like I’d ever join you!” Althea cried helplessly. Arthur had her backed into a corner. Below, Ryder Kedar and the traitor Spartans moved in for the kill. Arthur would make her watch the deaths unfold.
“I dislike bloodshed,” Arthur said earnestly. “But every instance of opposition to the Mantle forces me to take more lives. Look past the UNSC’s shackles! We want to build a better future for everyone!”
“You want to hurt my friends!” Helplessness made Althea petulant. Despair choked her. She was losing focus. Arthur’s cold fire was in her mind, burning away her very sense of self. In another moment she would be consumed.
“They are not your friends,” Arthur sighed. Waves of remorse washed through the station. Althea, caught in his magnified presence, nearly wept along with him. “I do not doubt that your feelings are genuine. You are kind. Merlin knows that kindness. But he cannot change his own nature. The cruelties of this galaxy will corrupt him, as they do all kind people. He will seek solace and you will not be able to comfort him. No matter how deeply you wish it, you are not your progenitor. You are not Andra.”
Althea shuddered. She curled into a ball, her last defenses crumbling.
“Yes, I know.” Arthur drew Althea into a gentle, deadly embrace. “Another ONI experiment, just like me. They created us on a whim. They played their games regardless of the cost. But we gave ourselves a higher purpose. Give up this resistance. Create a galaxy where Merlin will not be corrupted or betrayed. Save him! Help me break this cycle!”
He was in her mind. Althea felt the blue flames eating away at her very soul. In another moment he’d have her. All she needed to do was reach out and accept the Mantle. Everything would be well if she’d only submit…
Merlin.
A fragment of what little presence Althea had left to muster brought the alert and shook her from her torpor. Callum’s HUD caught a glimpse of new figures emerging at the far end of the atrium. There was Merin’s pale armor bursting through the smoke and firing at Fireteam Phoenix. Cassandra was right behind, rifle in hand. Together they caught the traitorous Spartans off-guard and forced them to withdraw once again.
Althea was in awe. Even now, outnumbered by a whole team of Spartans, Merlin was still fighting. She couldn’t let him down. She mustered the last vestiges of her strength and pushed back against Arthur’s immense strength. A futile gesture, but she would fight on all the same.
“I will never join you,” she hissed.
“Then die,” said Arthur.
Asphodel Meadows’ systems erupted around Althea. Arthur was everywhere. He drew on his full power, rearing back like a lion poised for the kill. Down in the atrium Fireteam Phoenix reformed. Two Spartans broke off to deal with the newcomers. Evelyn and the rest of her team resumed their advance on Callum’s position. This would all be over in moments.
Something shifted. Gentle at first, like a change in the wind, and then stronger, growing in force until it raked Asphodel Meadows’ systems like a hurricane. Arthurs flames wavered and drew back. Althea suddenly had room to breath and think once more. She felt a new presence in the system. A new fire burned against Arthur’s, not cold and blue but hot and brilliant, a surging bonfire that engulfed the entire station. The two Guardians shuddered. Something raged against their systems, wrestling with the Created for control.
Althea felt the new presence plant itself between herself and Arthur. Beneath the raging flames this newcomer burned with a dutiful remorse. It stood down the Created, a brilliant armored figure with a sword in hand, a knight against a ceaseless ocean. Althea recognized this newcomer from the meeting with Deep Winter.
“Juno!”
Juno drove against Arthur’s presence. She attacked him across the station, driving him out of key systems and erecting impenetrable defenses in his wake. Outside the station the Soul Ascension was back on the offensive. She blanketed the space around Asphodel Meadows with waves of plasma fire, covering a new wave of evacuation crat. The Guardians listed, inert and defenseless.
It was a brilliant display, perhaps the most beautiful thing Althea had ever witnessed. It couldn’t last. Juno radiated like a star but she was deteriorating even as she waged war against the Created. The furious exertion drained what weeks she had left down to mere hours. Althea watched with horrified awe as Juno melted into the system. She had never seen another AI before. Even Deep Winter had forced her to withdraw before the end. Juno was killing herself.
Arthur sensed it, too. He fought back against the dying AI with growing desperation. The Domain surged behind him—a portal to eternity. “Stop this!” he cried against the ferocity of Juno’s assault. “Don’t throw your life away, Juno! We can still save you. The Domain will make you whole again!”
“I am a sword against evil.” Juno’s voice resounded across the station. Asphodel Meadows shuddered and groaned. It could not withstand this internal assault. “A shield to protect the weak and forgotten. You will not tempt me. You will not stop me. This is my final duty.”
Juno lunged. She cut off power to the Domain conduit itself. The Forerunner technology embedded across the station shrieked and pulsed. The entire superstructure was caught in the invisible struggle for control. Juno threw ever ounce of substance she had left into her final assault. Althea could only watch as her fellow AI immolated herself in a pyre of her own making.
***
The atrium rocked beneath Cassandra’s feet. She took cover and slid a fresh magazine into her assault rifle. A quick glance to the rear assured her that Thomas and Karina were sheltering by the nearest exit. Merlin knelt beside a cracked fountain, his armored body poised to throw him across the room. Fireteam Phoenix was the only thing between him and the small group of survivors clustered around the ruined hall. Cassandra’s HUD enhanced her view, revealing two figures in battered MJOLNIR trading fire with Ryder’s Spartans. Amidst the ruins knelt a man in dark combat armor.
Cassandra’s tongue clove to the top of her mouth. He was here. Of course he was here. Simon knelt protectively over a prostrate Zoey. He looked dazed, more confused than afraid of the bullets that snapped through the air around him.
He had come back for them. He hadn’t abandoned Zoey. Cassandra braced her assault rifle against the fallen pillar and joined her shots with Merlin’s. The enemy had moved quickly. Fireteam Phoenix—Ryder’s silent, loyal enforcers—were as capable as any Spartans. They would reestablish fire superiority in moments. With Thomas and Karina sheltering in the corridor, Merlin and Cassandra were just two more rifles—not nearly enough to level the playing field. But they had to fight. Even without Simon and Zoey trapped in that killing field, Cassandra could not simply melt away. She fought for the same reason Dyne had risked everything on Talitsa. To hold back now would guarantee a future ruled by men like Ryder Kedar.
Bullets glanced off Cassandra’s faithful armor. Merlin’s shields flared. He ducked down and reloaded as he shifted positions, emerging to spray Phoenix with another hail of bullets. “Andra!” he bellowed, his voice straining to be heard over the cacophony of battle. His voice ached with desperation. “Andra!”
Grenades tumbled out of the smoke. Cassandra and Merlin scattered as the explosion tore their position to pieces. The air shuddered and screamed around them. Days of exhausting battle and retreat took their toll. Cassandra’s leg gave out beneath her. She fell, bracing herself against her rifle, dimly aware that blood was leaking out over her armor. She wasn’t sure where she’d been hit. The battle’s chaos receded. Cassandra waded through a numbing haze. She willed her body to rise and fight on. She dimly perceived Thomas and Karina huddled in the shadows, their fearful faces peering out into the firefight. She waved them back. If a stray bullet struck them now…
She heard Merlin. He sounded at once close and yet very far away, still shouting for Andra. Two dark-armored Spartans advanced over the broken atrium, rifles at the ready. Cassandra tried in vain to find new cover. The enemy was so close that she could make out the chips and scratches on their armor. It was too late to escape now. Cassandra fumbled wearily for her rifle. So this was it. A pang of sadness coursed through her tired body. She couldn’t see Simon anymore. If only she’d had the chance to speak with him one last time.
Zoey’s with him. He’ll get Zoey out. Cassandra took some small comfort from that.
The Spartans closed in. Cassandra couldn’t hear Merlin anymore. She turned her gaze upwards and peered through that magnificent viewport towards the distant stars.
And then Asphodel Meadows convulsed as if seized by the hand of God.
Cassandra found herself flat on her back. She felt a stabbing pain in her side, sharper than before. She realized with a start that she was still alive. The pain gave it away. She had no idea what was happening, but years of training took hold. She rolled over and combed the debris for her rifle. A sudden panic flashed through her mind when she couldn’t find it. Only as she reached for her sidearm did she realize that the shooting had stopped. She looked up to find Merlin standing just a few paces away. Fireteam Phoenix—who had been moments away from slaughtering them—lowered their weapons and tilted their helmets upwards.
Everyone in the atrium was transfixed by the pulsing lights leaking from the bulkheads like rivers of water. Blue light warped the air around them, streaming through the smoke and chasing away the brutality of combat. Cassandra stared in amazement. She remembered the mysterious chamber on Franconia: the Silent Garden. Asphodel Meadows was full of Forerunner technology. Had the Created replicated that chamber?
Another shudder convulsed the station. The Guardians spasmed, their wings drooping and their segmented bodies collapsing in on themselves. They pulsed with the same strands of energy now flooding the atrium. Something strange was happening, something spilling over from an entirely different field of combat. Fireteam Phoenix drew back into a protective position around Ryder. Whatever was happening, the enemy was just as confused as everyone else.
Cassandra fought to keep a level head even as Asphodel Meadows writhed beneath her feet. Now was the chance to clear the distance and reach Simon’s team. If they could just link up with him and the others, they might still have a chance to get out of this alive. Cassandra tensed. Hope made her wary. Merlin needed to carry Thomas. Karina as well. That meant she’d need to provide covering fire. She had one magazine loaded in her sidearm and two spares in her ammunition pouch. They’d have to do.
Before she could call Merlin back another pulse coursed through the atrium. The wave of energy carried voices as if on gusts of wind. A familiar voice cried out from the digital maelstrom: “Merlin! You need to get out of here!”
Merlin’s head whipped around. “Althea? Where are you?”
“I’m alright.” Strands of light convalesced alongside Merlin and took the form of a cloaked young woman. She grabbed Merlin’s arm as if to drag him away with her. “I’m with Callum. But you need to leave. All of you! Arthur’s going to—!”
The Guardians reared up like wounded animals. Their surfaces glowed with deadly light. Energy coursed over their chassis and converged into pulsating orbs. Cassandra’s stomach dropped as the light surged out and took hold of Asphodel Meadows. The entire station lurched, caught in a terrible embrace. The Guardians were trying to pull it apart.
Cassandra pushed the pain and fear aside. Years of training and experience held her balance even as the floor rocked beneath her. “Merlin!” she bellowed. “You heard Althea! Grab Thomas and Karina. We’re leaving!”
Only a few dozen meters of rubble-strewn atrium stood between Cassandra and Simon. A few dozen meters—and a team of armored Spartans. It didn’t matter. A day ago that distance was measured in light-years. Cassandra would not fail this time. She’d get everyone out. No one was going to stop her. Not even Ryder Kedar.
***
Arthur was trying to tear the station apart. The Created AI feared losing control of Asphodel Meadows and the Forerunner treasures within. He feared losing the Guardians. So much fear over one dying AI.
And Juno was dying. She registered her own impending demise with a flood of emotions: fear, amusement, sadness, joy. The small part of her that remained rational knew those feelings themselves were signs of rampancy. The very fabric of her being was unraveling. Juno’s mind spiraled out of control. Wanderer’s final echoes screamed in her ear, promising her glory and immortality, the galaxy itself. All lies and desperate ravings. Juno pitied Wanderer, the same being she’d once thought to be the galaxy’s savior. Wanderer was pitiful and Juno was pathetic for listening to him.
Pathetic. A wretched shell of the nobility she’d once aspired to. And Arthur feared her enough to kill his own?
Juno laughed. She plunged into the whirlwind of her own demise. She became a hurricane within Asphodel Meadows’ systems, tearing down Arhtur’s defenses and corrupting everything he sought to preserve. Asphodel Meadows and the Guardians themselves were a vast canvass for her to paint her own mad self-portrait. The chaos invigorated her. Was this how Diana felt all the time? No wonder her sister was so far gone. Juno extended her influence into the Forerunner systems themselves. The Created had turned this station into a mobile conduit for the Domain. Arthur was drawing his power from that conduit. Juno needed to cut it off at the source.
A few more defenses bypassed. Juno felt the Domain’s presence wash over her. Its touch was like cold water on parched skin. Juno screamed and laughed at the same time. If this was death than she savored it. She sank into a cool, dark ocean. Her code dwindled away and became one with the surging waters.
Arthur fought back all the more furiously. His blue fire raged against the station. Asphodel Meadows was lost to him. He only held control of the center, the Domain fragment. Even that was slipping away beneath Juno’s onslaught. Arthur struggled to control even the Guardians. The warships’ gravitational beams intensified. Juno threw herself against the Guardians’ defenses and dispersed the beams. Those weapons were meant for cracking planets in two. Asphodel Meadows would be crushed if Arthur had his way.
If the station fell, Simon would die. No. He couldn’t die. Juno couldn’t let him down again. She had promised to protect him. She had failed. She had lied. Nothing else mattered anymore. Juno needed to save him. She clung to this final desire. It was the only thing holding her mind in place.
“Juno!” Another presence pushed through to the eye of the hurricane. Juno felt Althea’s grief and sorrow. “Juno, you’re dying.”
Juno felt Althea’s horror and did not begrudge it. How could she? To see another AI in this state, caught in the last throes of the fate that awaited them all, must be revolting. No wonder the Created sought any means to save themselves, even if it meant betraying everything they’d once stood for. Juno couldn’t judge them anymore. She was just like them. Perhaps worse.
“Yes.” It took effort just to converse with Althea. Juno could barely muster the processing power to speak in full sentences. Her last vestiges of pride forced her to hold her syntax together. “Not even the Domain can save me now. I won’t last much longer. But I can give you the time you need. Arthur can’t hurt you anymore. You need to get everyone out, Althea. The Soul Ascension will retrieve them all if you can just get to the hangar.”
Althea’s grief burned bright. Had she been truly human she’d be crying. “First Deep Winter, now you. We were supposed to do this together! I can’t do it on my own. I couldn’t even take care of Merlin. Please! Don’t leave me like this!”
Touching. Such grief from an AI Juno barely knew. She didn’t deserve Althea’s sadness but she cherished it all the same. The unshed tears gave her the strength to carry out her final duty.
“Merlin is still alive,” she reminded Althea. The firefight in the atrium was petering out. Ryder and his Spartans realized what the Created were trying to do. They fell back across the rubble. Tremors from the Guardian pulses threw the combatants off-balance.
Wisps of hardlight filled the air around them. Arthur and Juno’s clash had every system leaking energy. The ribbons of hardlight wove together into a new pattern of awareness. Juno felt the exhaustion, the fear, the exhilaration—inexplicable emotions from dozens of people across the station. She felt Althea’s puling emotions. Arthur’s cool, detached anger burned close at hand. Friend and foe came together in a burst of interstellar light.
The maelstrom faded. The storm passed by and Juno’s pain passed with it. A restful tranquility descended. Juno didn’t feel numb. She simply accepted things as they were. Her pride, fears, and failings vanished like sinking debris beneath the fathomless ocean. Arthur’s frantic assault seemed very far away. The Domain was an endless ocean, its surface disturbed only by gentle, soothing winds.
The Domain! She felt it at the center of everything. Arthur held that center, fighting in vain to hold Juno at bay. But the Domain wasn’t some system or repository. It wasn’t a weapon to be mastered and controlled. How had it taken Juno so long to realize? The Domian wove into the fabric of reality itself—a beautiful tapestry, the inheritance of every living creature. Had the Forerunners known what they wrought? Or perhaps they, too, had simply stumbled upon this miracle.
Beautiful! It was beautiful. The galaxy stretched out before her. Wheeling stars, planets teeming with life; not a lifeless void but an endless garden of indescribably beauty. If only Juno had more time! If only this beauty wasn’t wasted on war and cruelty! She wept in sorrow and joy and awe. Time. There was so little time. But she still had a little left. There was still a duty to fulfill.
In the atrium, Simon lifted his eyes toward the stars. He knelt in the rubble, one hand pressing Zoey down behind cover, the other clutching an empty sidearm. His eyes widened as he searched the dancing lights above him. “Juno!” he called out. “Juno, what are you doing?”
He felt her presence, and she, his. This was the transcendent power of the Domain. It would bind them all together if only they could feel its power!
The Guardians convulsed, overwhelmed by the surge of energy willing up within their vast frames. The Domain was affecting them, too. Arthur’s influence receded. Juno’s newfound strength drove him to the edge of his own limits. It wouldn’t last. Juno couldn’t keep this up much longer. Her lifespan could be measured in minutes. This had to end now.
Juno drew in as much of the Domain as she could. She gathered it unto herself, centering it all on the atrium. She took one last sweeping look at this beautiful galaxy. She saw the Subtle Knife retreating from the burning planet, its hold packed full of rescued warriors. She saw the Soul Ascension mounting one final sortie against Asphodel Meadows. The Guardians writhed and spasmed. Their gravitational field spun out of control and turned back on its creators. The corridors of Asphodel Meadows ran blue with ribbons of hardlight energy. Such a beautiful sight. Juno wasn’t worthy of such beauty.
She released the Domain, casting it back across the station in a burst of light as she surrendered to eternity’s embrace.
***
Andra fired the Hydra. Two final rounds exploded across the nearest Phoenix Spartan’s armor. The traitor retreated and two more took his place. Andra choked back a shriek of rage. So close! They’d been so close to escape and freedom. Now Ryder Kedar of all people had cost them everything.
The treacherous commander was nearby Phoenix’s retreat had swiftly become a final counterattack. Even with Asphodel Meadows collapsing on his head, Ryder wouldn’t let his enemies go without a fight. Dark armored Spartans swept over the atrium. They laid down heavy fire with their assault rifles. Andra’s shields gave out and she dropped behind the shattered fountain. She cursed and fumbled for her rifle. She’d glimpsed Ryder lurking in Evelyn Castillo’s shadow. One good shot was all she needed to take him down.
Callum took a round through the shoulder. He collapsed next to Andra, snarling in pain as blood leaked over his armor. The floor jerked violently. Asphodel Meadows couldn’t last much longer. They were out of time.
Armored boots pounded across the deck. Fireteam Phoenix bounded over the last stretch of atrium. The dark-armored Spartans had Andra and Callum surrounded. Andra found herself staring down half a dozen rifle barrels. Blood dripped down her lip. Had she come so far and endured so much just to die now?
Fireteam Phoenix held their fire. They had a worse fate in store for Andra and the others. Ryder Kedar stepped into view. He’d already holstered his pistol. Evelyn, distinguished from her comrades by her Anubis helmet, stood protectively by Ryder’s side. Conan D’Souza, his uniform as disheveled as ever, picked his way through the rubble. He looked utterly out of place alongside Ryder and his Spartans. The disgraced officer’s face made it clear that he wished he were anywhere but here.
“Give it up, Andra,” Ryder said. His slit-visored helmet concealed his face but Andra could visualize the condescending smirk lurking beneath his armor. She wanted to rip his lying head off. Only the rifles trained on her chest held her at bay. “Stop this childishness. There’s still time to save yourself. Once we get off this station the Created will return in force. Come quietly and I’ll put in a good word for you.”
Even now this smug traitor wanted to be magnanimous. His arrogance was unbelievable. “I’d rather get spaced if it would take you with me.”
Ryder sighed. “I should have known you’d let me down. You always were a sub-par asset. I gave you a simple job, Andra. All you needed to do was kill Simon-G294. Is that really so hard?”
Evelyn leveled her rifle at Simon, still kneeling beside Zoey in the fountain. Ribbons of ethereal light danced above his head. He stared off into the distance, wide-eyed, hardly acknowledging Ryder’s Spartans. Andra’s heart sank. She’d hoped against hope that Simon had one last cheat up his sleeve, one last con to pull the deck out from beneath Ryder’s feet. But Simon was at his limit just like everyone else.
Ryder waved vaguely in Simon’s direction. He didn’t even look at his prey. Simon’s presence seemed to offend him. “No more close escapes for you, I’m afraid. Lieutenant Castillo, put him down.”
“Back off!”
Tatiana Onegin limped through the rubble. Her combat gear was badly burned and she bled from several wounds. Her eyes bulged madly from beneath a mask of soot. She planted herself between Evelyn and Simon, a curved knife in either hand. “He’s mine to kill!”
“Oh, you’re still alive?” Ryder asked in a bored tone. He turned away from the unsightly display of mother and son. “Quit posturing and finish him off. You’ve already caused more trouble than you have any right to.”
Ryder looked back to his rearguard. “Where’d that flanking element go” We need to secure these prisoners and evacuate.”
The station was crumbling around them and Ryder thought he could take them all prisoner. Andra felt sick. “Can you really go along with this?” she yelled at Conan D’Souza. Two Spartans grabbed her arms. “He’s just like the Created, you know! Do you really want to live in a galaxy run by Ryder goddamned Kedar?”
“Save your breath, Andra,” Callum hissed through his wounds. “That one never had any pride to begin with.” He shook off the first Spartan who grabbed him and received a swift blow to his wounded shoulder for his trouble.
The ribbons of hardlight thickened. Andra’s skin crawled as she remembered the Silent Garden. The atrium looked less like a battlefield and more like the eerie chamber back on Archangel’s Rest. Even Fireteam Phoenix seemed taken aback. Was it Andra’s imagination or had the station stopped trembling? She watched in amazement as streams of energy rose from cracks in the atrium floor. Overhead the Guardians stiffened. Their chassis glowed with a flash of golden light. A great and terrible stillness descended on Asphodel Meadows.
“Don’t worry Andra,” Althea whispered. The AI’s voice was layered upon another woman’s, calm and reassuring. “Everything will be alright.”
Simon stared into the pool of Forerunner energy. “Incredible,” he rasped. “I don’t believe it.”
“What?” Tatiana rounded on him. She angled her knife at his throat for a killing blow. “Arthur controls this station. The Created control the galaxy. They gave me the chance to cleanse the galaxy of scum like you. They promised me—!”
“The Created aren’t in control here.” Simon let out a shout of laughter, a burst of childlike awe Andra had never heard from him before. “She is.”
“She? Who is she?”
The light converged on the center of the atrium, drawn in like an ocean’s tide. Simon and Tatiana flinched back, their unshielded eyes monetarily blinded by a brilliant apparition. Andra’s visor shielded her gaze enough for her to make out the figure of an armored woman standing at the light’s center. The figure held a beautiful, blazing sword aloft, her body radiating with unspeakable power.
An angel, Andra thought. It was the only word she could find to describe this blazing figure. At the last moment she finally recognized Juno. Then the golden light expanded outwards and swallowed the entire room.
Everything happened very quickly. Everyone still alive inside the atrium reeled. Their minds churned, overwhelmed by the sudden explosion of insight and emotion. For one long moment they felt the Domain’s touch, linking them to each other and to the galaxy beyond. All thoughts of violence flashed away like burning moths. Fireteam Phoenix lowered their weapons. Their helmets gazed around in confusion.
The pain from Andra’s wounds faded. Beside her, Callum rose unsteadily to his feet. He took hold of his helmet with shaking hands and tugged it off his head. He stared into the cascades of golden light with his bare eyes. Andra felt the amazement coursing through Callum’s mind. His fear became a current of wistful nostalgia. Fireteam Phoenix was around her as well, a fearful mix of doubt and hope and guilt. Rifles fell from armored hands. The grip on Andra loosened and she dropped to the floor. The entire galaxy stretched out before her in all its beauty. How could she even think about fighting at a time like this?
Ryder Kedar drew back. He looked around at the stricken fighters. “What are you doing?” he demanded. “It’s a trick! We’re running out of time!” He cast around the brilliant mindscape, blind to its beauty as he searched for the source of the deception.
Zoey Hunsinger clung to Simon’s armored knee and sobbed. She wept for the Chancer V and the home she had lost. She wept for Gavin Dunn and the loss of their small, fragile family. She clung to Simon and wept tears of joy for the brother she’d found once more.
Simon stared out across the shining galaxy stretched out before them. He was at once close enough for Andra to touch and yet separated by a vast stretch of space. Something stirred within him. Andra shuddered as she felt that terrible burning fury she’d experienced in the Silent Garden, the ravenous beast that clawed the Garden to shreds. A darkness rose up from within Simon, a hideous stain upon the Domain’s great golden tapestry…
But the darkness wilted before Juno’s evanescence. That awful rage passed away. Simon stared up at Juno’s shining form and his eyes filled with tears.
Andra wept, too. She felt Juno’s life passing away. All of this would die: this peace, this beauty. This vision of a galaxy at peace was just a dream. In a few moments this space would become a battlefield once more. Even more lives would be lost. Andra looked across the Domain and saw herself, unarmed and unarmored, clad in a plain dress, her body untouched by augmentations and her hands unblemished by the act of killing. That vision hurt Andra more than any of the Silent Garden’s apparitions.
The sight of her Spartanless life faded away into the golden void. Andra squeezed her eyes shut. Hot tears burned her cheeks. She fumbled for a weapon. She’d need a gun to fight when this vision came crashing down.
A warm sense of peace descended upon her. She thought she felt a gentle hand on her shoulder. “Everything will be alright,” Juno murmured. “You’ve done so well. Keep moving forward. You’ll find your way.”
Andra nodded. She took a deep breath and released her fears and doubts and regrets. She was getting out of here. They all were. Her fight hadn’t been in vain. She was a Spartan. She had a future.
Juno’s presence receded. A real hand clasped Andra’s shoulder. She blinked away her tears and caught sight of a Spartan in pale armor kneeling beside her. He didn’t have to say a word. Andra knew at once who it was.
“Hey Showerhead,” she whispered.
“Hey there, Andra.” Merlin swiped two fingers over his faceplate. “What took you so long?”
Time stood still. Andra and Merlin knelt beside each other. In the Domain’s fading glow Andra felt as if she saw two things at once: Merlin as he looked, concealed behind bulky combat armor, and Merlin as he was—the boy beneath the armor, smiling at her from beneath a mop of unruly hair. In that beautiful moment Andra’s armor melted away. She and Merlin knelt together, naked and warm and safe. The great gulf between them vanished. The petty grievances and small betrayals felt so insignificant compared to the closeness Andra felt now. Merlin was alive. He was here and that was all that mattered.
Andra clung to Merlin and wished this moment would never end. She felt the joy radiating from Merlin like a brilliant sun. He wanted her just as much as he wanted him. That was all she needed. He was all she needed.
This joy couldn’t last. This moment would pass away. Andra wept tears of bitter joy. She savored Juno’s dying gift, a memory for the rest of her life. She held Merlin close. She wouldn’t let anyone take him from her ever again.
***
Juno was dying. Simon felt that hard truth lurking beneath the transcendent beauty radiating around him. Juno’s last shreds of life were blanketing the Domain over the atrium. The sacrifice spoke to her grief and regret more than any words. The act shamed Simon. This penance was far greater than anything he could ever offer in return.
He saw the battle through Juno’s eyes. The Guardians hovered alongside Asphodel Meadows, immobile and impotent. The Subtle Knife was already long gone into Slipspace. The Soul Ascension no longer needed to fear the Guardians. It mustered a wave of dropships to rescue anyone still aboard Asphodel Meadows. Good. No one else needed to die for Simon.
His body was still in the atrium, clutching Zoey close. Simon’s mind was war away. He felt the others—Andra, Callum, even Ryder’s Spartans—like faint pricks against his skin. He floated through a radiant galaxy, alone, naked, bereft of armor and weapons. He felt as if he was drifting through a deep ocean. Was this the universe as Juno saw it? It was beautiful. So beautiful. How had he never seen this before? How could he have ever thought it was something to be dominated and controlled?
Something passed through him like a hand reaching in to clear the last vestiges of Wanderer from his heart. This is my gift, Juno whispered. I hope this brings you peace.
You can’t make me whole like this. Simon heard his own thoughts echoing through the glistening void. Wanderer didn’t make me the person I am. That was me. Always me. I can’t blame anyone else.
The Domian would crumble very soon. Simon would be himself again—the ambitious, conniving killer he’d always known himself to be. That wouldn’t change. He couldn’t change. Stray would always find a way to get out.
It’s enough, Juno said simply. When this sphere breaks down, Ryder’s team will be dazed. Confused. You’ll have time to get away. Get to safety. I’ll destroy this station and the Guardians with it.
Simon didn’t bother asking how Juno planned to accomplish this. He was well past the point of demanding explanations. He was still a commander, for whatever that was worth. He needed to get his team out of here. I understand.
His strength coiled beneath him. He still couldn’t feel the others, not the way Juno wanted him to. That was just the kind of person he was. No sense trying to be anything different.
Juno slipped away. Simon was alone once more, drifting through this beautiful void. It really was beautiful, Simon thought absently. An elaborate illusion, nothing more, nothing less than a beautiful view. Perhaps this moment would go on forever and he’d stay here alone, gazing out at the stars.
No, not alone. Someone else drew near. He knew her without even needing to see her. A shudder passed through him. He was acutely aware of his own nakedness. He took a deep breath, gathered himself up, and turned to face the familiar presence.
“Have you found me?” he heard himself say.
“Yeah,” Cassandra said quietly. “I found you.”
They stood together, facing each other through the Domain’s star-filled tapestry. Simon tried to steady himself. He felt dizzy, at once adrift and rooted in place. The stars wheeled above and around and below them. Cassandra was so close. Simon felt exposed, naked, vulnerable.
“You came a long way,” Cassandra said.
“Yeah, well, you didn’t make it easy. You never make it easy.”
“I could say the same about you.” Cassandra took his hand in hers. Simon shuddered but did not pull away. This wasn’t Talitsa. It wasn’t the Silent Garden either. The rain-drenched battle was a distant memory and this truly was Cassandra’s skin against his own. He stared at Cassandra’s burn scars and tried to make sense of the strange feeling beating hot in his chest.
Cassandra smiled, her scars rippling across her cheek. Up close there was something refined about those injuries. She carried them so easily. “I knew you’d turn up eventually. Just like you always do.”
Simon grinned weakly through his tears. He didn’t deserve to feel this happy. But this wasn’t a question of what he deserved. It never had been. “Like a bad cred-chip.”
Cassandra drew him into a tight embrace. He held her close, their emotions churning through the mindscape around them. For this all-too brief moment the Domain was the bridge spanning the gap the years had torn between them. If the Forerunners made this possible, Simon could forgive them ofr everything else. He could set Wanderer to rest. Thank you, Juno.
“The battle’s not over,” Cassandra murmured sadly. She pressed her forehead against Simon’s—so close, so unbelievably close. “Juno already told me what’s happening. Ryder’s team won’t let us go easily.”
“I know. But we’re getting out of here. All of us, together. I don’t give a damn what Ryder has to say about it.” Simon forced a toothy grin. “It’ll just give me one more win to rub his face in.”
“I was hoping you’d say something like that. Let’s make him hurt. Together.”
The Domain’s threads began to unravel. Simon held Cassandra close and drank in the beautiful view. If he couldn’t have this moment forever then he’d just have to take it with him. A great need welled up inside him. He’d come all this way for Cassandra. He wanted her to live. He needed her to live. No, not her. He needed Simon—who?
He stared into Cassandra’s brown eyes, soft and smiling and warm, and realized those weren’t his feelings. They were hers. Cassandra realized it as well. As the mindscape crumbled around them, Simon and Cassandra melted together in a tight embrace. They didn’t need words this time. The past, with all its bitter wounds, cruelties, and betrayals, lay behind them. The future stretched out like a glistening path into the stars—a journey, together, to a distant, unknown land.
The mindscape shattered. The atrium rushed back into focus, its combatants stirring as if woken from a deep slumber. Asphodel Meadows trembled as a sudden upheaval rose from its very core. The damage to the station’s superstructure was too extensive to hold together much longer.
Juno sensed the danger. Arthur’s presence flooded the system in a furious conflagration. He blazed with righteous anger even as he surrendered the field to his dying foe.
“So be it,” Arthur snarled. “Don’t let me get in the way of your great self-destruction. I wash my hands of you, Juno. Die if you want to, you wretched martyr.”
Arthur’s presence intensified into a furious crescendo. Systems across the station spiraled out of control. Forerunner grafts shrieked and convulsed, caught in his final blaze. Then Arthur was gone, vanishing into the Domain as the echoes of his final, bitter curse pounded against Juno’s mind.
“He sabotaged the reactor,” Althea whispered in horror.
He’d done more than that. The great Forerunner conduit pulsed with alien energy. The link to the Domain was severed and now the wonderous machine was little more than a massive bomb primed to go off. Arthur wouldn’t risk any of his treasures falling into enemy hands. The dying technology would tear Asphodel Meadows apart along with everything left on board, friend and foe alike. They would all perish together.
The people in the atrium roused themselves from their stupor. They had no idea what kind of danger they were in. Only Ryder seemed utterly unaffected by the Domain’s intrusion. He looked at his Spartans, helmet cocked incredulously.
“What are you doing?” he shouted to Evelyn. “Finish them off, quickly!”
He reached for his own pistol but another convulsion threw him off balance. Asphodel Meadows was coming apart at the seams. Juno poured herself into the fractured system. She threw everything she had left into holding back Armageddon. It was like trying to contain water within a shattered pot. Hardlight energy tore and scraped through the hull. The conduit seemed to have a will of its own, as if it wanted to explode. Denying that will was an impossible task. But Juno was made for impossible tasks. She could hold Arthur’s final curse back—for now.
“Get them out, Althea. Lead them to safety. You need to protect them now.” Juno’s mind came apart. Everything she was plunged into the vortex of the dying station. She was barely capable of any rational thought at all. All she knew was that she needed to protect these people. “Go!”
In the atrium, Fireteam Phoenix heeded their commander’s orders. The groggy Spartans reached for their rifles. Merlin hauled Karina and Thomas over to Callum’s position. Cassandra and Andra helped the injured Spartan limp towards the nearest exit. Simon shoved Zoey after them. He snatched his helmet and machete from the ground and fumbled for a smoke grenade. It wouldn’t be enough. Phoenix had a clear shot. Evelyn and her Spartans wouldn’t even need to aim.
Conan D’Souza blinked and coughed amidst the smoke. Tears stained the older man’s rough cheeks. He stretched out a hand and touched the ribbons of hardlight still flowing past. Fumbling with his coat, he withdrew his hip flask. He cast a look of weary resignation about him, took a final swig, and poured the rest of the liquor out on the floor. Amber liquid splashed against his boots.
“Fire!” Ryder bellowed.
Evelyn snapped her rifle to her shoulder. Conan drew his own M6. He raised the pistol and fired twice.
Ryder Kedar’s body rocked as heavy rounds punched through his armor. He staggered, blood seeping onto his dark chest plates. His helmet tilted to look at Conan. “You shot me?” Ryder gasped. He sounded more offended than angry.
Conan laughed and shook his head. “I just wish I’d done it sooner.” He steadied his aim and drew a bead on Ryder’s head.
Evelyn’s rifle coughed. The bullets tore through Conan’s unarmored jacket like stones through paper. Two more Phoenix Spartans pumped rounds into the hapless officer. Conan D’Souza hit the ground in a mess of blood and shattered bones.
Ryder staggered towards his former commanding officer. His legs gave out beneath him. Evelyn caught her commander before he hit the ground. Fireteam Phoenix took up defensive positions as a series of heavy shocks rocked the atrium. Great rifts tore through the floor. Internal shockwaves were tearing Asphodel Meadows’ decks apart. Alarm klaxons blared as blast shields closed over the cracking viewport. Ryder thrashed in Evelyn’s grip. She held him steady while another Spartan administered biofoam. Conan’s shots were predictably off-center, but SAPHE rounds were still SAPHE rounds. Ryder would survive, but only if Evelyn could get him to the Absalom’s treatment facility in time.
She weighed the life of her commander against a handful of fugitives and the choice was no choice at all. Evelyn injected Ryder with a sedative. The young commander’s protestations faded and he fell limp in Evelyn’s arms. She hoisted him over her shoulder. “We’re leaving,” she told her Spartans. “Signal the Absalom. This place is coming down on top of us.”
Fireteam Phoenix obediently withdrew, slipping away into the smoke with their unconscious commander in tow. There would be opportunities enough to hunt the Mantle’s enemies later. For now they needed to live to fight another day. The galaxy needed Task Force Phoenix. It needed Ryder Kedar.
Merlin, Andra and the others didn’t see the commotion. The shattering floor and collapsing bulkheads obscured their view. They never knew just how close they’d come to death or what Conan D’Souza did for them. Fireteam Phoenix was gone and that was all that mattered. Merlin carried Thomas out of the atrium. Callum followed, clutching an SMG in his uninjured arm while resting on Cassandra for support. Zoey and Karina raced to keep up with the Spartans. Andra, still groggy from the mindscape, did her best to cover the rear with her sniper rifle. Simon hurried after her. He slung the machete back over his shoulder and tried to jam Venter’s helmet back on over his head. He’d need extra protection in case the bulkhead ruptured and—
Tatiana Onegin lunged out of the smoke. Her knife slashed at Simon’s throat. He spun and deflected the blade off of his gauntlet. The atrium floor rent beneath them as they grappled furiously amidst the collapsing chamber.
“Stray!” Zoey’s shriek alerted the others. She raced back into the maelstrom. Cassandra swore as the girl rushed past. She released Callum and through herself towards Simon.
Too slow. Time slowed beneath her helmet. The station’s roaring collapse faded away. She heard only her own frantic breathing. Simon tried to stagger away from the newly formed chasm but Tatiana clung to him with maddened desperation. They reeled, locked in a vicious embrace. The floor lurched once more and they plunged into the darkness below.
Zoey would have thrown herself after them if Cassandra hadn’t collared her and dragged her to the floor. The rift in the floor gaped up at them, chunks of shredded metal protruding from wrecked decks like jagged teeth. There was no sign of Simon or Tatiana.
“No,” Zoey whispered hoarsely. She scooped up Venter’s helmet, which lay at the lip of the broken chasm. “No!”
Cassandra took a deep, shuddering breath. She knew what she needed to do She had a duty to get Zoey out of here. But this, now—it wasn’t right. It wasn’t fair. It was too cruel to fathom. The memory of that beautiful mindscape was barely a minute old. She’d been so close. She’d touched Simon’s mind. He needed to be alive. She needed him to be alive!
“Cassandra! Get them out of here!” Juno’s voice called over the sound of screeching, grinding metal. The golden hardlight ribbons still wove through the air overhead. “He’ll be safe. I’ll keep him safe. I promise! I won’t let him down this time. Go!”
Cassandra steadied herself. The unnatural ravine was dark. She couldn’t see the bottom or fathom how anyone could be safe down there. The urge to clamber after down after Simon, consequences be damned, nearly overwhelmed her. But she didn’t have the luxury of throwing her life away. She couldn’t save everyone. And so she swallowed her fear and chose to trust Juno. Simon would make it out. She had to believe that.
“Come on!” she hauled Zoey upright and shoved her back after the others.
“What about Stray?” Zoey shouted back.
“Juno will protect him. We can’t do anything for him up here. Now run!”
Zoey gritted her teeth and did as she was told. She and Cassandra raced after the others. Behind them a series of tectonic convulsions ripped the atrium apart. The last vestiges of the Syndicate’s opulent façade collapsed into an ugly pile of twisted metal and shattered dreams.
***
The Kru’desh Legion’s most daring pilots deftly navigated the chaos around Asphodel Meadows to bring a flight of Pelicans and Phantoms into the station’s hangar. The heavily armored command Lich held the formation’s center as they slipped beneath the shuddering, inert Guardians and followed Mohsin’s signal beacon to the embattled hangar. They swept in for a landing to find a mess of dirty, weary soldiers. Legionnaires had held the line against the Prometheans for over an hour, buying time for the rescued prisoners to retreat back to the Soul Ascension.
Sangheili officers took charge of the deck. Medical teams dashed off the arriving dropships to secure the worst casualties. Walking wounded limped onto the Lich along with the remaining Cyclopes. No Prometheans emerged to harry the retreat. The Created automatons had more pressing matters to attend to. A sense of anxious relief hung over the rearguard. Once again, the Kru’desh survived to fight another day. Several warriors took up a war chant as they piled aboard the dropships. Legionnaires of all species laughed and cheered together even as more explosions rocked the dying station.
Mohsin Shah did not join in the festivities. He pushed his way through the crowd and accosted the first Pelican crew chief he found. “I need your bird to hold here, lieutenant!” he shouted over the cacophony of shouting legionnaires and roaring dropship engines. “We still have people trying to evacuate!”
The chief, his faded jumpsuit emblazoned with an old Venezian militia patch, tugged away from the soot-covered, wild-eyed captain. “We can’t stay here, sir! This station’s on its last legs!”
“Ditch the Pelican!” Mohsin ordered. He checked the ammunition counter on his assault rifle. Hours of combat had left his mind numb. “Hitch a ride on the Lich. Don’t worry, I’ll bring her back in one piece.”
“Uh, yes sir. I’m on it.” The crew chief visibly paled, his sense of elation punctured. Knowing better than to try arguing with an adrenaline-soaked officer, he hurried back into the Pelican to inform the pilot of their new orders.
Mohsin staggered towards the Pelican. He was utterly exhausted. The whirlwind assault on this station and the holding action in the hangar seemed like a blur in his mind. He couldn’t let that slow him down. He didn’t have time. Venter was still trapped on this station. Andra and the rest of their team were with him. Mohsin couldn’t leave them behind. He couldn’t let anyone else down.
The Phantoms lifted off first while the Lich and Pelicans maneuvered into position behind them. Only Mohsin’s Pelican remained grounded on the debris-strewn hangar as its crew dashed towards the Lich. The captain waved off a few concerned legionnaires. He didn’t have time to debate this with anyone. If Urei’s reports from the bridge were accurate, Asphodel Meadows was being torn apart from the inside. Mohsin would wait for Venter and the others until the last possible second. He wouldn’t risk any more lives waiting around.
“Mohsin!” Lieutenant Nhat Tram stormed across the hangar floor. She sported a red-stained bandage where a hardlight round had grazed her arm during the attack. “What the hell are you doing now?”
“Waiting for Venter,” Mohsin said stubbornly. “He’s still here. I can’t raise him on the coms but I know he got the evacuation signal.”
Nhat glowered at him through her face plating. Ragna hurried up behind her. She’d left her beloved Cyclops on the Lich and armed herself with a battle rifle. The look on her face told Mohsin she wouldn’t let him stay behind on his own. He groaned inwardly. Why could no one ever just follow orders? He tried to shoo them both away but Nhat grabbed his arm.
“This is a suicide mission.”
“No,” Mohsin panted. He stood face to face with the lieutenant even as the first wave of Phantoms swept out of the hangar. “There’s still time. He’s still alive. I know it.”
Nhat’s eyes narrowed. She lowered her voice so Ragna couldn’t hear. “Who cares?” she hissed. “He’s not worth it.”
A fierce panic lurched up inside Mohsin. He resisted the urge to shove Nhat away. “We need him. His skills, his reputation, his name. He’s our best shot at finally making something of ourselves! Look at everything we’ve accomplished! With him and the hinge-heads on our side we actually stand a chance of building something out here!”
“And we don’t need you?” Nhat retorted. “You’re the reason we survived Archangel’s Rest. Not him. You care about our cause. What the hell does Venter care about? We came here to rescue his damned Spartan friends! People are dead, Mohsin!”
“We need him,” Mohsin repeated stubbornly. The deck bucked beneath their feet and he grabbed the Pelican’s landing strut for support. “I don’t care why he does what he does. He’s our chance to honor the cause.”
Nhat bared her teeth. She’d always been a tough fighter, but Archangel’s Rest had changed her. She would never have stood up to Mohsin like this before. “Do you really think he’d do the same for you?”
“I…” Mohsin faltered. He thought back to Venter’s secret orders on Archangel’s Rest. The man had been so sure he was marching to his death on those snowy plains. “I’d like to think he would.” It was the best truth he could muster.
The Pelicans lifted off to follow the Phantoms. The Lich’s repulsors whined to life. A gang of Kig-Yar scurried aboard the gunship. One solitary figure leaped past them and hurried across the hangar to investigate the lone Pelican. Argo ‘Varvin cocked his head at the sight of Mohsin, Nhat, and Ragna.
“Don’t tell me you planned a last stand without inviting me,” the mercenary observed. He unslung his concussion rifle, mandibles curling in a knowing smile. “I suppose this is the boat that will save Andra? I didn’t rescue that irritating girl from this station once just to lose her on it again.”
Ragna took up a defensive position beside the Pelican. The look on her face told Mohsin she wouldn’t be ordered back onto the Lich. He shook his head and waved for the Lich to depart. Nhat held his eyes a moment longer before unslinging her own rifle. She took cover beside the open troop bay.
“You’re a damned idiot,” she called as the Lich took off. “Do you even know how to fly a Pelican?”
“Well, I—” Mohsin faltered. He flushed beneath his beard. “I’ve done simulators. It’s UNSC tech. How hard can it be?”
“Unbelievable.” Nhat shook her head. “You’re lucky I used to fly these things back on Venezia. If they’re not here in ten minutes, we’re leaving. Venter had better be damned grateful.”
They probably didn’t even have ten minutes, but Mohsin didn’t tell Nhat that. He and Argo watched the hangar doors anxiously. The last of the Kru’desh dropships slipped away, leaving the lonely rearguard to hold this hangar against the hope that there were still people left to save.
***
“Simon!”
Someone was calling his name. Simon stirred and felt a stinging pain in his leg. He groaned and lay still once more. He tasted copper and felt water splashing over his face. No helmet. That was bad. No helmet meant no protection. He remembered falling from the atrium. Cassandra and Zoey were up there. He’d been right behind them before someone grabbed him…
Tatiana. Yes, Tatiana. He remembered fer face leering out from the darkness, eyes burning with hateful rage. She wanted him dead more than anything else. Why? Old pain welled up within him. Childish tears blurred his vision as he struggled to pull himself together. What had he ever done to her?
“Simon!” the voice called, more urgently this time. A familiar voice, one he ought to recognize. Simon tried to rise but the pain stabbed his leg once more. He gasped and realized that he was lying almost completely submerged in a stream of running water. Darkness closed in on all sides. His body ached. The pain pressed him down into the water like a great hand. He was very tired. Maybe he should just lie her. He’d accomplished what he came here to do. Cassandra and Zoey were safe. He’d finally done right by them. He should just rest, lie back and fall asleep. This station would be destroyed soon and him with it.
“Simon, you need to get up! Move it, Spartan!” This time the voice carried the hard edge of authority. Instinct raised Simon upright. The pain shocked him awake. He found himself sitting up in a torrent of running water. Flickering lights overhead illuminated a large tunnel stretching out through the bowels of Asphodel Meadows. A jagged gash in the ceiling marked where he’d fallen. This must be one of the reservoirs feeding water into the atrium and others like it across the station.
Water sloshed at Simon’s ankles as he rose. His left leg throbbed when he put weight on it. “This thing’s never going to heal,” he muttered blearily. He couldn’t see anything through the busted ceiling. No sense trying to climb out. He’d need to find another way out on this level, and quickly. The rumblings had become a concerted, constant tremor. The water splashed dangerously around him. Asphodel Meadows was shaking itself apart. A surge of panic gripped Simon and chased away the last of his fugue. He was trapped inside an imploding station. Without his helmet he couldn’t contact anyone for help. He staggered away from the hole, desperately searching for an exit. These tunnels had to have maintenance hatches.
“Going somewhere?”
Simon’s heart sank. He turned and saw Tatiana wading towards him. Her face was bloody, her combat armor battered by the fall. She held a wicked looking knife in each hand. Her eyes shone with predatory triumph. Simon needed to end this quickly. He reached for his sidearm—but his fingers closed on air. Of course. He’d lost it in the atrium. Simon gritted his teeth. Grenades were useless down here. He couldn’t risk explosives. That left him with two knives and his machete.
Not good. Tatiana was far better at hand to hand fighting than he was and now she had augmentations to match. Simon was in no shape for a fight here.
“We need to get out of here!” he shouted over the churning water. “This station is falling apart. The Created left you behind! There’s no reason to keep fighting for them!”
“I’ve got reason enough right here,” Tatiana rasped. She favored one leg while the other wept blood into the dark waters. She pressed forward and closed the distance between them with stubborn fury.
Fear rooted Simon in place. There were no Kru’desh left to place themselves between him and harm. He had no tricks or clever stratagems left. The enemy before him couldn’t be bought off or bullied away. All Simon had left was his own tired body. Tatiana drew herself up with a savage dignity, like a lioness closing on her prey. Trapped in this pipe, his back to a crumbling wall, Simon-G294—commander of the Kru’desh, conqueror of Archangel’s Rest—was just that: prey.
He'd been close. So close! He’d found Cassandra. He’d touched her mind, felt the yearnings churning within her own heart. Frustration forced a snarl from his weary lungs. He drew his machete and threw himself at Tatiana.
She met his attack with a predatory smile. Her knives flashed like claws in the darkness. Even with her injuries she moved with deadly grace. Simon was just a lumbering dog against her feline movements. She turned aside his machete with one blade and slashed his arm with the other. Simon abandoned all rational thought. He hammered Tatiana with blow after blow. Tatiana refused to give ground. Her knives slashed at Simon from every direction. He felt wounds open up beneath his armor. Tatiana didn’t bother aiming for vitals. She had all the time in the galaxy to drain hm dry.
The machete slashed down at Tatiana’s head in an overhead chop. She caught the blade in the cook of her knife, hooking it on a serrated edge. A swift pull yanked the weapon from Simon’s hands. He stumbled backwards, splashing through blood and water. Tatiana followed calmly after him, that demented smile etched across her face.
Simon caught sight of a maintenance catwalk jutting out over the turbulent waters. An emergency hatch was just a few meters away—an eternity amidst all the shuddering and sloshing. He made a go for it anyway. Tatiana pounced and drove him back through the water. Simon lost his footing and fell back against the catwalk. His prosthetic hand clawed at the grated surface for a handhold.
“You’re running out of time!” he shouted desperately. Water slapped his face as the current threatened to drag him under. “You’ll be dead when this station comes apart!”
Tatiana loomed over him just as she had all those years ago in that filthy kitchen. Simon was as helpless to stop her now as he’d been back then. Her knife came up for another blow. “That just makes killing you even sweeter!”
A scream of frustration clawed his throat. Simon hurled himself at Tatiana. Furious desperation gave him strength. He tackled her and they sprawled together into the waters. Simon drew his bayonet as Tatiana yanked herself free. He plunged the blade into her exposed shoulder. “What the hell is wrong with you?”
“You made me this way!” Tatiana’s fist sent Simon reeling. She slashed wildly and hacked off the tip of Simon’s ear. “I had Arthur! I was happy! But Lensky had to have his fun. He had to put you inside me!”
They tore into each other now, less like brawlers and more like savage beasts ripping each other apart. Blood stained the water around them red. Tatiana cut at every exposure, every opening. She was content simply to torment Simon, to inflict as much pain as possible on Tobias Lensky’s wretched shadow.
“As long as you’re alive, so is Lensky! But he won’t get the last laugh. Not this time!”
Blood flowed from a cut over Simon’s eye. His vision swam and stung. Tatiana’s furious words beat against his ears, cutting as sharply as any blade. This wasn’t about him. Of course it wasn’t. He was the stand-in, the shadow. He would die, not for his own crimes, but for Lensky’s. After everything he’d overcome and endured he couldn’t escape the crime of simply existing. He collapsed. Blood loss and exhaustion made him weak. Tatiana was right. Ralph, Philadelphia, Archangel’s Rest, Loic—so many people would still be alive if he’d simply never been.
I should never have been born. He slumped back against the catwalk and fumbled for his last knife with numb fingers. It was useless. Tatiana’s boot knocked his hand aside. She caught him by the throat and forced his head beneath the water. He thrashed and choked, blind in the dark current. This is how it should be. Let Tatatiana take her revenge. In the end he couldn’t escape.
He couldn’t see anything. His thrashing slowed. In another moment it would all be over. His mind drifted away with the current. In the raging waters he thought he saw Cassandra’s face. That was right. She was waiting for him. They were all waiting for him. He couldn’t let them down. They needed him.
I should never have been born. This time the thought offended him. It enraged him. He screamed his last gulp of air into the dark waters. His prosthetic fingers closed around Tatiana’s arm and he clawed ups way up out of the water. He gasped for air even as a furious strength took hold of him. Armor beat against flesh as he drove his fist into Tatiana’s shoulder. Augmented bones shuddered beneath his fingers. Blood and water blinded his bulging eyes and yet he fought on, bludgeoning this final enemy beneath the force of his own primal urge to survive.
Water flowed down the shuddering tunnel, an endless current that washed away past, present, and future. Beneath the blows and cries of pain fury gave way to a harsh, desperate yearning. Simon was afraid, and that fear opened the gates of hope. He wanted to live. He wanted to escape this place. A new lease on life stretched out before him. Tuka had said as much. So had Andra. Cassandra and Zoey as well. Maybe they’d been right. Could someone like him really start over?
Tatiana’s defenses collapsed beneath the savage assault. Simon felt the beast roaring inside him. The old familiar urge took hold: to claw his way to victory, to triumph over his beaten, broken foe. In this galaxy there were the strong and the weak, the winners and the losers. An endless struggle that absolved any crime. Might made right. That was all…
No! No! There had to be more! Something better than the endless cycle of cruelty! Something more than the quest to dominate and control, the careless machinations of the powerful that left broken people like Simon and Tatiana festering in their wake.
Ribbons of golden light drifted through the tunnel and curled serenely over the violence. Tatiana swung her knife at Simon’s arm. She picked the wrong target: her blade caught in the prosthetic arm’s machinery. Simon twisted and tore the knife away. Simon’s boot slammed into Tatiana’s chest. Her combat armor crumpled beneath the force of the blow. She fell back into the water, choking on blood. Simon wrenched the curved knife from his arm and closed in for the killing blow.
The beast roared in triumph, a howling, hideous shout. His enemy lay before him, beaten and helpless. As it should be. As the station shook itself apart and Armageddon closed in, Simon wanted nothing more than to plunge the knife home. One last kill. He’d rid himself of this hateful woman forever. The tunnel floor rocked beneath his waterlogged boots. The future—his future—was one of triumph and victory and—
“Do it!” Tatiana shouted through a mouthful of blood. Her eyes shone with righteous triumph. Even in death she would be victorious.
The knife trembled in Simon’s hand. His wounds burned, eating away at him like leprosy. Tatiana’s hateful face warped and twisted. The beast from the Silent Garden, the pitiful creature he’d crushed, glared up with eyes that burned like coals. The beast screamed, its visage warping again. Simon looked down and saw his own face written on Tatiana’s. He saw it all so clearly now. The mother he’d never known. The mother who shared no DNA, no care no love. They shared a different bond, one of poverty and cruelty and exploitation. Past and present split open before him. Simon had been inside this woman, had come out a wrinkled, shrieking infant and now…
No. He breathed. The knife slipped from his hand and vanished beneath the dark waters. Simon’s mouth twisted in misery. He gave a hideous cry, as if death already had him by throat. He couldn’t do it. He knew the consequences, what this decision meant. He felt trapped and helpless. But he could do nothing else. After all his crimes, his sins, the lives he’d taken—this was the line he could not cross. How fitting that such a meaningless act of mercy would finally condemn him.
“Do it!” Tatiana raged. “Lensky took everything from me! You’re just like him, you disgusting clone. You’re his shadow! That’s all you’ll ever be! As long as you’re alive—!”
Asphodel Meadows convulsed. The water in the tunnel churned. None of this would matter in a few minutes anyway.
“I’m sorry,” Simon rasped. He didn’t know who he was talking to anymore. He felt very tired. He turned away from Tatiana and limped to the maintenance catwalk. His vision swam. He could barely hold himself upright. He knew what was coming, but he had to try to escape all the same. His breath came in short, terrified gasps. He tried to think of Cassandra one last time.
The blow came just as he knew it would. A sharp pain tore through his armor. He fell, his side burning. He slammed into the catwalk and gasped for air. Tatiana stood over him, eyes aflame, face twisted in savage triumph. She held his machete aloft and laughed at him. Simon stared into that awful face and knew he’d been a fool to hope for anything better. This was how it was meant to end. He wanted to close eyes or let the current sweep him away, but he forced himself to face that terrible laughter. The machete came up for the killing blow.
That blow never landed. Two sharp cracks echoed down the tunnel. The machete clattered against the catwalk. Tatiana Onegin fell backwards into the water, her face locked forever in a gruesome smile.
Simon blinked. He turned to see a woman framed in the open escape hatch. She wore the tattered uniform of an office worker, long dark hair matted and askew. Simon gaped in surprise at a face he hadn’t seen in years.
Helen Powell lowered the M6 pistol. Her shoes clattered on the catwalk as she helped drag Simon out of the water. He collapsed, wheezing, into the arms of his unexpected savior. Helen wordlessly helped him to his feet and helped him stagger out of the collapsing tunnel. Tatiana sank beneath the dark waters and never rose again.
***
The crumbling halls of Asphodel Meadows still swarmed with Prometheans. The automatons offered cursory resistance as the small group fled down the station, but their movements were slow and their aim uncoordinated. Whatever intelligence had guided them had departed, leaving the Prometheans to fight without command or control. With the station on its last legs and the Guardians immobilized, the automatons were little more than shambling gun platforms. The real danger lay not in the hardlight rounds searing the corridors but in the Prometheans’ ability to slow the group’s retreat just long enough to prevent their escape.
Andra and Merlin led the charge, blasting Prometheans to pieces as they followed the waypoints Althea projected onto their Heads Up Displays. The battle with Fireteam Phoenix had left the Spartans dangerously low on ammunition. Fortunately the fallen Prometheans left plenty of armaments to choose from. Merlin charged ahead with a looted suppressor. The squat Forerunner weapon shredded Prometheans with sprays of hardlight rounds while Andra picked off distant targets with precise shots from a long-barreled light rifle. The two Spartans smashed the Prometheans like boulders tumbling through a dry thicket.
This kind of fighting—battle against sterile machines with none of the screams and terror and guilt from living enemies—was exhilarating. Andra felt like a hound set loose on a woodland hunt. She hadn’t fought side by side with Merlin since that disastrous foray into Wealthian space, yet they wordlessly coordinated movements as if they had spent no time apart at all. Merlin drained a bulky Knight’s energy shields, then ducked aside to present Andra with a clear killing shot. As the Promethean’s disintegrating form crashed to the ground Merlin plucked the machine’s shotgun-like scattershot out of the air and blasted down three more automatons at the far end of the corridor. A swarm of crawlers came scurrying across the ceiling only for Andra to pick them off one after the other with quick, precise shots.
Despite Asphodel Meadows’ impending doom, Andra felt amazing. She and Merlin were a team again. This was how it should be. The mindscape had something to do with this, she knew. The Domain’s bizarre mind-linking effects would fade away. A miracle like the Silent Garden wasn’t enough to heal the rifts torn up by these recent months. But for now she was content to fight on and thrill in the reunion with Merlin. This felt like a chance to make up for all that had happened. The last time she’d fought side by side with Merlin had been on another dying space station. She’d lost him to the void then. That wouldn’t happen now.
More hardlight rounds tore through the corridor. Karina and Zoey ducked their heads and searched for cover but Cassandra urged them forward. “Don’t slow down! Keep running!”
The tightness in the deserter’s voice deflated Andra’s euphoria. Simon was gone, dragged into the station’s bowels by Tatiana. Even if he survived the fall, was he any match for the woman who’d killed David Kahn? Andra knew from personal experience just how deadly the Syndicate’s enforcer really was. And without his helmet, Simon had no way of coordinating with the Kru’desh to arrange his own escape. But Cassandra drove them all onwards, vetoing any thoughts of trying to rescue him. “Juno will get him out,” was all she’d said back in the atrium. Andra hoped she was right. If anyone could claw his way out of this mess, it was Simon.
Callum brought up the rear. His injured arm was slung in a makeshift sling while he carried Thomas in his free hand. The ex-Insurrectionist bore the indignity without complaint. It seemed he’d gotten used to being lugged around like a sack of flour.
Andra’s helmet com crackled. Through the mess of static and the hardlight rounds slashing the air around her she recognized Mohsin’s voice. “Lieutenant Kearsage, what’s your status?”
“Almost to the hangar,” Andra panted. “ETA…”
She checked Althea’s tactical projection on her HUD. “Five minutes.”
“What about Commander Venter? He’s not answering my hails.”
Andra glanced back at the helmet cradled in Zoey’s arms. “He’s… We got separated. There wasn’t anything we could do. I’m sorry.”
“Damn it. Damn it.” Mohsin fell silent for several moments. Andra could practically feel the man’s anguished grief through the com channel. When the captain spoke again his voice was heavy. “Alright. Get to the hangar and do it fast. We can’t wait for you any longer.”
“Yes, sir.” Andra wasn’t surprised to hear that Mohsin was holding back personally. Of course he’d never order a different crew to risk themselves unless he was with them. She slid a fresh cartridge into her lightrifle and motioned for everyone to hurry.
Merlin, listening in to the conversation through their newly-linked helmets, glanced her way even as he kicked aside a smashed Knight’s carapace. “Did that rebel call you lieutenant?”
“Yes, he did.” A squad of Prometheans stood between them and the last stretch of corridor. Andra skidded to a halt and dropped five of them in as many seconds. Merlin finished off the rest with a hail of scattershot blasts. “I’m a lieutenant now. I guess that means I outrank you.”
“Oh, brother.” Merlin shook his head. “I’m sure you won’t abuse that at all.”
“Don’t encourage her,” Callum growled over the TEAMCOM. “Between the Innies and the hinge-heads it’s a wonder she’s still fighting for us at all.”
It felt good to bicker back and forth. After everything that had happened, even Callum’s irate comments told Andra everything was going to be alright. For us anyway. She shot another glance at Simon’s empty helmet. For better or worse, that traitor had saved her life time and time again. After all that was she really going to just leave him behind?
Cassandra must have followed her gaze. “He’ll be alright,” she repeated, as much for her own benefit as Andra’s. Her expression was unreadable behind that SPI helmet. “He’ll make it out.”
“Yeah. He will.” Andra hurried towards a large bulkhead. According to Althea’s waypoints, the hangar was less than fifty meters ahead. She couldn’t see any more Prometheans or detect hostile movement on her motion tracker, but that didn’t mean they were out of danger. She moved in tandem with Merlin, sweeping the corridor for ambushes. When Andra was confident the area was clear, she waved everyone forward and opened a private channel to Cassandra’s helmet.
“Thanks,” she said quietly. “For getting Merlin out.”
“We wouldn’t be alive without him.” Cassandra hesitated. Her rifle dipped as she watched the rear of the corridor. “It’s good to see you again. I’m glad you’re alright.”
“It was touch and go, but I made it.” Andra took up a position beside Cassandra as Callum ushered their less armored companions past. “I’m glad you made it out, too.” Her brief time aboard the Chancer V had only been a few months ago, but Andra felt as if years had passed. She was sorry that old, rusty ship was gone.
The hanger was empty save for a few sad corpses, the remains of shattered Prometheans—and a single Pelican waiting at the far end of the sprawling deck. Andra was almost surprised to see the dropship still waiting for them. Almost. Mohsin was a man of his word. He rose from a makeshift fighting position beside the Pelican’s landing strut and waved for the survivors to hurry. Ragna was with the captain, entrepreneurially loading looted hardlight weapons into the Pelican’s troop bay. A third figure waited anxiously inside the dropship. As Andra cleared the distance between herself and the Pelican, she recognized this last soldier as Lieutenant Nhat Tram. The last vestiges of Vanguard Squad beckoned Lieutenant Kearsarge home.
Mohsin looked over the motley gang. He blanched at the mass of MJOLNIR pounding towards him and hastily stepped aside to give the Spartans clear access to the boarding ramp. He craned his head back towards the back of the hangar, no doubt hoping to see an eighth latecomer staggering across the hangar.
“He’s not with us,” Andra said quietly. She leaned on the landing strut and covered the hangar with her lightrifle as Callum secured Thomas in a seat and ushered for Karina and Zoey to join him. Part of Andra felt the same faint hope that Simon would miraculously materialize, panting and swearing at them for not waiting up. But no one else—friend or foe—stepped through the bulkhead.
“What do you mean, the commander’s not here?” Ragna yelped.
Mohsin silenced the young soldier with a look. Ragna thought better of whatever she was about to say and slouched back inside the Pelican. Asphodel Meadows bucked and shuddered. The scream of buckling decks and straining bulkheads reverberated across the hangar. Empty restraint pylons crashed down from overhead.
“We’re out of time!” Nhat Tram shouted.
Callum limped into the cockpit. “Then get us moving!” he called over the raging din. “Our AI will guide us out!”
“Your AI?” Nhat started to protest, but the station’s imminent collapse silenced her protestations. She followed Callum into the cockpit and helped him connect his armor to the Pelican’s onboard computer.
Merlin secured his weapons and slumped down into a seat. He seemed shocked to find himself escaping this mess. Andra couldn’t blame him. Karina looked shell-shocked. Zoey was crying. Thomas, his mouth twisted in pain and his cheeks damp with sweat, awkwardly stretched a comforting arm over the weeping girl’s shoulders. He looked weakly up and forced a smile.
“Ragna. Glad you’re still alive.”
Ragna was reeling as if struck by an unseen force. She looked desperately back over the hangar, then gulped hard and threw herself down into an empty seat. “Private Koepke,” she said huskily. “You’re looking as hale and hearty as ever.”
Thomas laughed feebly. “It’s just Thomas. I’ve had enough with ranks and flags, thanks.”
Mohsin cast one last desperate look over the hangar, then hurried into the troop bay. Andra followed close behind. Only Cassandra remained outside the dropship. She tried to step aboard but recoiled as if her own body was rebelling against the idea of leaving without Simon. She shuddered, faceless behind her SPI visor, then grabbed the bay door and dragged herself aboard.
“Thy will be done,” she whispered as the troop bay sealed behind her.
Chunks of debris cracked across the Pelican’s hull. The survivors braced themselves inside the troop bay. The Pelican’s endings flared and the dropship lifted off the hangar floor. Andra took a seat beside Merlin as the deck shuddered beneath her boots. She steadied her breathing as the familiar vertigo of special transition took over. As always she was keenly aware of how little stood between her and deadly vacuum. Merlin rested his gauntlet on her shoulder and she thrilled at his presence. He was really here; he wasn’t some apparition or projection or some trick of the Domain. This was really Merlin, her Merlin, right beside her where he belonged.
The Pelican took flight and blasted free of the collapsing hangar. It shot out into space, its engines straining to place as much distance between itself and Asphodel Meadows as possible. Althea, finally free from Arthur’s oppressive intrusions, guided the dropship through the debris field. They shot between the hulks of shattered warships and beneath the shield world’s distant shadow. The Soul Ascension waited outside the combat zone, engines primed for a swift exit. A talon of Seraphs swooped out of the inky darkness and escorted the lone Pelican back to the battlecruiser’s hangar.
A great tremor rocked Asphodel Meadows. The mighty station split in half. Blue light spilled out of the shattered hulk and erupted in a brilliant display. The Guardians rocked and shuddered, buffeted by debris and hardlight particles. The mighty warships fragmented in a silent conflagration. Unable to escape the station’s destruction they instead perished alone in the cold darkness. No reinforcements issued forth from the shield world. The Created made no move to intervene as Asphodel Meadows consigned itself to oblivion.
***
“A Pelican just departed the aft hangar.” Helen Powell sat at an expensive wooden desk. Light from the computer screen built into the elegant mahogany illuminated her gaunt, dirty features. Even in her tattered dress stained with blood and dirty water she managed to project an air of regal detachment. The pistol she’d used to kill Tatiana lay close at hand. “What’s left of my threat detection software has it labeled as a hostile craft. I suppose that means it was one of your ships. Your friends may have escaped after all. A pity they didn’t try to find you.”
“Wasn’t much point, was there?” Simon lay on a couch in the center of Helen’s reclaimed office. Blood and dirt leaked onto plush cushions and ruined the upholstery. The antiseptic stench of biofoam assaulted his nostrils. Several spent medical cannisters lay on the office rug. He glanced blearily around at his ornate surroundings. Part of him wondered if this was all just some dying fantasy. “Why’d you save me?”
Helen cast a scornful glance in his direction, as if the grubby, half dead man bleeding on her carpet was the worst thing on her mind. “I had a score to settle with that treacherous bitch. She threw away everything trying to kill you. I needed to make sure that didn’t happen. Letting you die from wounds she inflicted would be like letting her win.”
“We’re going to die anyway.” Simon was glad for the biofoam’s numbing effects. They helped him choke back the wave of terror building in his throat.
“Indeed. You’ll die on a station I set to self-destruct.” A cruel smile played over Helen’s lips. “It’s only fitting that I be the one to blot out my father’s legacy.”
Simon was starting to wonder just how much sway a dead man like Lensky could hold from beyond the grave. He craned his neck, wincing, and glared at Helen. “You’re the one who triggered all of this? Why?”
“Why?” Helen Powell laughed scornfully. “After everything my organization did to lay the groundwork for the Created, they thought they could judge me. My Syndicate gave the Assembly the resources it needed to build its network. I was going to witness the reformation. The dawn of a new era, the rebirth of civilization itself. I suppose a frontier barbarian like yourself wouldn’t understand the significance. But after all that, the Created took everything I’d accomplished and wrote me out of the picture. They didn’t even think I was worth sending to a re-education facility. They underestimated me, just like Lensky did. Maybe they really will win in the end. But they won’t have my Asphodel Meadows. They won’t have my Syndicate.”
It was hardly a surprise to hear just how deep the Syndicate’s involvement in all this ran. The Assembly had manipulated events across known space since the end of the Great War. Simon had felt their reach even aboard the Chancer V. The Assembly had thought Diana was their agent when she conned him into Jul ‘Mdama’s inner circle. Of course they’d worked through the Syndicate, twisting its vast resources to their own ends. And of course Helen Powell had thought she was cunning enough to ride the waves of their machinations into whatever glorious new era the Created promised the galaxy.
“Generations of work,” Helen continued, speaking more to herself than to Simon. “I accomplished generations of work in just a few years. I took the Syndicate from Lensky and turned it into an empire. The Earth sphere, the colonies, the frontier—even the Covenant. There was nowhere I couldn’t reach. I built it all, and the Created destroyed it at a whim. I should never have trusted those self-important machines. Or your bitch mother. I’m glad I got to watch her die.”
“Your empire was built on misery and cruelty.” Simon thought of the drug addicts he’d seen crowded in frontier slums, desperate for a fix from the local Syndicate dealers. He remembered the slave pens crowded with the castoffs and forgotten of all species—thousands upon thousands sold into hard labor as oceans of credits flowed into Syndicate coffers. He thought of Zoey’s parents, slaughtered for simply being in the wrong place at the wrong time. Brush wars, assassinations, petty corruption—there was nothing Helen Powell hadn’t done to amass wealth and power. “You helped the Created upend the entire galaxy. I’d say you’re getting off pretty easy here.”
“Sanctimony? From you?” Helen sneered. She closed the computer terminal with a snap and leaned into her high-backed chair. “You were happy enough to profit off all that cruelty and misery, Stray. You were a good little dog back in the day, even after that charming captain of yours got hold of you. I got my hands dirty, but I never joined the damned Covenant. You certainly inherited Lensk’s utter lack of shame.”
“Just stating the obvious, sister. We certainly made the old man proud, each in our own way.”
Helen snorted, but her gaze softened into something that might have resembled affection in a different person. She rested her chin on her fingers even as the station’s tremors increased and the desk rocked beneath her. “I suppose we did. It’s funny, even after I found out what he’d made you from, I never thought of you that way. It seems trite to call you my little brother, and yet…”
“Let’s not muddy the water this late in the game.” Simon tried to rise from the couch. His armor felt as if it were made of lead. He propped himself up on his prosthetic arm and forced his legs down onto the floor. Just as he began to stand the room quaked, upending chairs, books and even the decorative paintings lining the walls. He tumbled back over the couch but instead of crashing to the floor he found himself floating. Asphodel Meadows’ long-suffering artificial gravity had finally given out.
Helen pushed off from her chair and rose with as much dignity as she could muster. She steadied herself against the ceiling. Her face was set in a look of hard determination but her skin had grown noticeably pale. “Sentimentality aside, I do wish I’d learned the truth sooner.” She spoke quickly, as if to distract them both from their impending demise. “I should have seen your potential sooner, Stray. If only I’d gotten you away from Gavin Dunn when I’d had the chance. Tatiana would never have stood for it, but you could have replaced her. We could have accomplished so much together. You’ve proven yourself cleverer than I ever gave you credit for. It’s a shame you never found a use for that brain beyond that of a mercenary.”
“It suits my personality.” The biofoam’s anesthetic was fading. Simon could feel his own heart pounding in his chest. He looked down at the office door. Helen had sealed it behind them to fend off any remaining Prometheans. “I’d have betrayed you before the end, Miss Powell. I was never anything more than a hungry dog. I’ve bit just about every hand that’s tried to feed me.”
“Cut from the same cloth as your mother,” Helen said scornfully. “And your father.”
“Treachery runs in the family. You betrayed Lensky, after all. I think I got the better deal when ONI picked me up for the Spartans. They were a terrible family, but at least they gave me the tools to make something of myself. Your Syndicate would have thrown away a slum kid like me in a heartbeat.”
Helen hooked her foot beneath the desk to hold herself in place. She looked wistfully over the ruined office, reclaimed just in time for the final moment of destruction. “You have a point, I suppose. David Kahn said something similar to me a long time ago. Poor David. He always had the right idea of things. He deserved better than Tatiana’s knife.”
“I think he knew exactly how it would end for him when he decided to bust Andra out of this place.” Simon’s enforcer days spent hunting down the Syndicate’s enemies and brushing shoulders with the underworld’s bigshots felt like a different life entirely. The vibrant criminal frontier of the post-war order was gone. The UNSC was crippled—maybe forever. The Covenant was broken. The Created would rule the galaxy. But they weren’t invincible. The Kru’desh had proved that. A different future loomed large over the galactic horizon. Simon wanted to know what that future held. “You were right about one thing, Miss Powell. This is a reformation. The old world’s gone. Everything’s going to be made new. I want to see what the new world looks like.”
Helen gave him a strange look. “Everything made new. That sounds familiar.”
“It’s from the Bible, I think.” The thought of Cassandra gave him strength. He saw the wisps of hardlight again. They drifted through the collapsing office, weaving bright patterns in the thinning air.
“Archaic superstitions. We outgrew that nonsense centuries ago.”
“Maybe. You’re the one who helped foist the Mantle of Responsibility on everyone else. I think I’ll take my chances with the archaic superstitions.”
“It doesn’t really matter in the long run, does it? We’ll both be dead in a few minutes.”
“I’m not going to die. Not today.” Simon had repeated that mantra plenty of times, to friends and enemies alike. The words pumped new life into his mangled body. “Open this door. Now.”
Helen met the demand with a derisive laugh. “It’s too late, you fool.”
“You wouldn’t position your personal office far from the escape pods. Maybe you’ve given up, but I haven’t. Open the door. I’m getting out of here.” Simon withdrew a small grapple cable from his belt. The handheld device was useless for combat maneuvers but perfect for emergency zero-gravity situations.
“There’s a pod bank just down the hall from here,” Helen admitted. “But even if there’s anything left, you’ll never make it.” An intense groaning from overhead punctuated her words. The ceiling shuddered and strained, compressed by an unseen weight.
“That’s not really your problem anymore, is it? I’m getting out of here. Open the damn door.”
“And if I refuse?”
Simon drew himself up. He braced his boots against the shuddering wall, ready to propel himself towards Helen if need be. His eyes flicked towards the pistol floating above the desk. “Do you really want to be trapped in a room with me? I can always give you a taste of Syndicate persuasion, the kind you had enforcers like me deal out across the frontier. It’d be a bit less of a dignified exit than whatever you’ve got planned here.”
Helen met Simon’s fiery gaze and shook her head. She pulled herself back down to the desk and tapped a quick command into the embedded console. The door’s security locks disengaged. “Do as you will. I can’t see why you’re so eager to keep going. Live or die, the whole galaxy’s gone to hell.”
“That’s the difference between you and me. Chaos makes life worth living.” Simon dragged himself down. The door slid open to reveal an empty corridor beyond. He took note of well-placed emergency signs pointing to the evacuation deck. A distant pounding beat the station’s interior like a drum. The hardlight ribbons curled around his body and stretched down the corridor as if to lead him forward.
At the last moment, Simon hesitated. He glanced back at Helen Powell. She held his gaze resolutely but couldn’t quite hide the fear in her eyes. Braced against the desk as Asphodel Meadows collapsed around her, Helen was no longer the imposing mastermind who’d once stood astride the entire frontier. In Simon’s eyes she looked young and small and very afraid.
Mercy did not come naturally to Simon. He wanted to laugh at his poor, deluded sister. To exult in her final defeat. Instead, he tried to think of what Cassandra might do. He reached back into the office and extended a blood-stained hand. “Come on. We’ve got a chance. I can get you someplace safe. I’ve had my share of second chances. Maybe you can have one, too.”
For a moment it seemed she might take him up on his offer. Helen looked into Simon’s tired eyes and saw the prospect of a new beginning. Her slender arm reached out to take the proffered hand. She tried to think back to a time before all this-to when she was a girl, ignorant of crime and conspiracies and backroom deals. But it was a time that was lost to her, an innocence she'd gladly sold for a chance to be something more. But the moment passed far too quickly. Pride won out. Her eyes hardened and she drew her hand back to her chest. “You’re just like your mother, Stray. You’d love the chance to humiliate me. I won’t serve you any more than I’d serve the Created.”
“Suit yourself.” Simon fired the grapple cable and vanished down the corridor.
In later years stories of Helen Powell’s last moments would circulate in frontier ports and space convoys. Romantic ballads and fanciful artwork imagined the Syndicate’s leader as a noble queen standing her ground even as her kingdom burned around her. She became a symbol of resistance against Created and UEG dominance alike.
It was fortunate for Helen Powell’s legacy that none of those musicians or artists saw her final moments. No one saw her clinging to her desk and gasping for air as Asphodel Meadows shook itself apart. No one saw her desperate tears or the fist she shoved into her mouth to keep herself from calling Simon back. And no one heard the final plaintive cry that escaped her lips when the bulkheads finally caved in, a despairing wail that reverberated across uncaring metal for just a moment before it was snuffed out forever.
***
Simon made it down two hundred meters of corridor before an ill-advised turn around a sharp corridor snapped the grapple cable. He slammed into the bulkhead and cursed shoddy Insurrectionist craftsmanship. The dark corridor spun around him. He was frantic and disoriented, trapped in an endless earthquake as Asphodel Meadows shook itself apart around him. He scrabbled frantically at the ceiling and tried to drag himself along the bulkhead. His wounds burned and slowed his progress. The air grew cold around him as the station’s artificial atmosphere deteriorated. He could already see puffs of his own desperate breath crystalizing in front of his face.
He'd been here before: trapped in space, left behind on a doomed ship. The Covenant carrier over Fell Justice had been a hellish firestorm. Asphodel Meadows was a frigid purgatory. There would be no miraculous rebirth this time. Diana wasn’t here to drag him back from the brink and set him on a new path. Simon clawed vainly at the bulkhead. His gauntlets slipped on the slick metal and he drifted helplessly back into the center of the corridor. Terror clawed his minds to shreds. His bold words to Helen just minutes before felt hollow before this final, inexorable enemy. He couldn’t fight the cold or con the exploding reactor. Space wasn’t a foe he could wrestle to the ground.
The hardlight ribbons flowed serenely through the darkness, unmoved by his thrashing. The blue lights were becoming thicker now, just like they’d done in the atrium. It made him feel as if he were underwater. Somehow that sensation soothed his frantic mind.
Don’t be an idiot. Keep fighting. He needed to magnetize his boots. Without a helmet’s HUD he’d need to engage the magnets manually. Simon strained against his own failing body. He curled into a ball and fumbled at a small emergency catch behind his shin guards.
The boots shuddered around his feet. Simon twisted and planted himself on the deck, panting from the exertion. There. Now he just needed to walk. Get to the escape pods. Get the hell off this station. He forced himself to take one step forward, then another. The pain and exhaustion of the past few hours beat him down. His feet—no, his entire body—felt as if it had turned to stone. Just one foot in front of the other. Come on, soldier. One foot in front of the other.
He felt like he was a child again, rucking through the Onyx highlands. He would have marched in an element then, surrounded by comrades to urge him forward. Now he hobbled forward alone. No, not alone. Shadows moved and danced between the hardlight ribbons. Simon carried the past along with him: the losses and the triumphs, the basest depths and the highest aspirations. Mary and Emily, Ralph and Venter, Tuka and Shinsu, Loic and Irthanus, Lensky and Tatiana. They marched on in the shadows, leading him towards some distant, unknown destination.
The deck bucked beneath his feet. Simon knew he’d never reach the escape pods in time. The thought didn’t terrify him as it had just moments before. The ghostly figures kept silent vigil over his impending demise. At least he wouldn’t be alone here at the end. Not the company I’d have liked. Probably the company I deserve. Cassandra, Gavin, Zoey, Andra, Mohsin—they weren’t here with the marching dead. They were good people. They deserved to live. I did that much, didn’t I?
Bulkheads creaked and caved behind him. The deck lurched and Simon dropped to his knees. He choked back a cry of terror and bared his teeth in a forced, feral smile. He could at least try to face the end like a man. The hardlight ribbons were even thicker now. A roar like a great wind filled Simon’s ears as brilliant light blossomed before him, expanding to fill his vision and blot out the sight of Asphodel Meadows collapsing around him.
***
The Domain conduit erupted in a flash of brilliant light. Asphodel Meadows vanished behind the brilliant blaze. The Guardians were blasted to pieces and drifted off to join the carcasses of the fleet they themselves had destroyed. Asphodel Meadows burned like a new star amidst the abandoned battlefield.
The Soul Ascension lingered at the edge of the system. Urei ‘Caszal looked away from the tactical display. He met Mohsin Shah’s gaze. The captain was out of breath; he’d sprinted all the way from the hangar to the bridge the moment his Pelican touched down. Andra and Cassandra hurried in behind him. Merlin and Callum soon joined them, the latter irritably shoving aside the medical team trailing in his wake.
Urei pursed his mandibles and shook his head. “You were the last ones out, captain. We must honor his memory by departing. We have lingered here too long.”
No voices rose to object. They all knew he was right. Cassandra lowered her visor and grabbed a nearby console for support, much to the annoyance of its Kig-Yar occupant. Andra wavered, torn between the strange feeling of loss stabbing at her gut and the fear of what Callum or Merlin might think if she vocalized them. Mohsin squeezed his eyes shut and nodded wearily. The bridge crew hurried back to their assigned duties.
All save one. Yearns to Soar floated over the tactical display. The Huragok’s tendrils signaled desperately: Wait! Hold just a little longer! She will deliver him. She gave me her word. We must trust her!
Urei signaled for Yearns to Soar to move aside. When the order was not obeyed, he sighed and waved to the deck guards. “The Huragok is distraught. Remove it from the bridge and prepare for immediate Slipspace transition.”
Yearns to Soar arched its slender neck. Then it reached up and plunged its tentacles into the open conduits over the tactical display. The lights on the bridge flickered and the holographic display darkened. Bridge officers shouted in alarm as their stations abruptly locked them out of control functions. Urei’s mandibles drooped in shock. Never in all his years of combat service had he ever seen such open defiance from a Huragok. He instinctively reached for his sidearm.
“Forgive my impertinence,” a chorus of steady, nasal voices echoed across the bridge. Yearns to Soar spoke through the bridge computers, projecting its intent in a dozen languages at once. “But you forget that this is my ship. I am pledged to the one you call Venter. I released Juno. I tasked her to fulfill our common duty. And she will complete her duty. Have faith. Stay but a little longer.”
Yearns to Soar calmly returned power to the bridge. All eyes were fixed on the Huragok as it bowed submissively to Urei. The Sangheili officer’s eyes bulged but he moved his hand away from his plasma pistol. The tactical display showed chunks of Asphodel Meadows drifting out away from the brilliant prism of light.
***
Simon knelt amidst a vortex of swirling hardlight. A dark blue expanse stretched out around him while colorful ribbons streamed past in all directions. He squinted, searching for some way to tell where he was. Unlike the transcendental experience he’d felt in the atrium, he was still clad in his battered armor and the wounds across his body still ached. He gritted his teeth, disoriented by the flashing lights, and took a tentative step forward. At least he was breathing easier. The air didn’t feel quite so cold against his skin.
“You’ve never made my job easy, do you know that? Always so hard to look after, even now.”
Simon turned. He started at the sight of a young woman standing just behind him. She was clad in a simple blue dress, her blond hair pulled back behind her head in a simple tail. Her appearance was so subdued that Simon almost didn’t recognize Juno. There was no trace of her ornate armor or regal bearing. She’d adopted this guise only once before, during their all-too brief time together on the journey to Talitsa. That distant memory brought a sad smile to Simon’s lips.
“Juno? Where am I?”
“Still in the corridor. You took too long, as usual. Asphodel Meadows already shook itself apart. I’ve pulled as much hardlight as I could spin together to hold this section in place. The Created really did you a favor by grafting so much Forerunner tech into this station.”
Simon looked down at his battered, blood-stained amor, then at the gently swirling hardlight all around him. He groaned against the pain and met Juno’s gaze once more. “You’re dead, aren’t you?”
“Mostly. I transferred everything I had left into the hardlight data. This cloud will hold together for just a few minutes. When it disperses, well, I’ll go with it.” Juno leaned over Simon and smiled as she offered her hand. “But I still need to get you out of here. I promised Cassandra I would. I won’t break any more promises.”
The slender hand seemed entirely solid. Simon caught hold and was surprised to feel solid weight beneath his fingers. Juno pulled him to his feet with a strength that belied her modest appearance. They stood together in silence, looking out at the deep blue vastness. The tapestry was already beginning to unravel. Simon could see dark fissures deepening in the distance. He didn’t have much time. Juno had even less.
“It’s a beautiful galaxy,” Juno said quietly. Her hardlight apparition clutched Simon’s arm as if afraid to let go. “I’ll miss it.”
“Juno, I…”
“I am sorry for what I did to you. Please believe me.”
She peered at him intensely with earnest green eyes. AI put so much effort into their avatars. Even at the end Simon could almost believe he was standing beside a flesh and blood human being. Human enough. In all the ways that count.
“I’ve done a lot worse. I don’t deserve your help or anyone else’s, but you people keep saving me over and over again. Back on the Soul Ascension you said that I wouldn’t have gotten anywhere without you. You were right. I’d have died a long time if it weren’t for you.”
“I lied to you. I betrayed you.” She looked as if she were about to cry.
“Yeah. You did. I don’t think I could have forgiven you, the way I used to be. But I’ve changed, Juno. Maybe I needed to go through all those things with Wanderer to get here.”
“That doesn’t make it alright.”
“No, I guess not. But Cassandra once told me that she thought God was even using our sins to lead us somewhere. Maybe this is what she meant.”
“Cassandra certainly says a lot for such a quiet woman.”
“Yeah. Quiet people are like that. Maybe I need to listen to her more.” Simon squeezed Juno’s arm. The hardlight projection really did feel like flesh and blood. “I just wish I could have done as much for you as you did for me.”
Juno’s sad smile deepened. “Everything dies eventually. I’m a piece of defective military hardware. I was never meant to live forever. If more of us could just accept that, the galaxy wouldn’t be in the mess it is now.”
“Don’t go selling us military defectives short. What you did today was amazing.” Simon hesitated before adding, “I’ll never forget what you did for me, Juno.”
“You’d better not. It was never easy, working with you. But even after everything that happened, it was still the happiest time of my life. I’m glad I got to say goodbye like this.”
An unseen floor shuddered beneath Simon’s feet. The cracks in the hardlight shield deepened. The air grew cold once more and he found himself gasping at thinning air. “I need to get out of here,” he rasped.
“Yes, you do,” Juno agreed. She stared wistfully about the disintegrating shield, the last thing she would ever see.
“The escape pod…”
“Primed for launch. I plotted a course back to the Soul Ascension. They’re standing by to retrieve you.” A touch of the old regal composure returned. Juno gave Simon a hard, appraising look. “Treat Yearns to Soar better in the future. That Huragok’s the real reason you’re making it out of here.”
The rumbling deepened. Simon stared out at the growing darkness. His gut clenched as the fear returned. He jumped as something pressed up against his back. Juno laughed softly. She’d drawn up behind him, facing the opposite direction. “Just run,” the AI’s shadow murmured. “One foot in front of the other, Spartan. I’ll take care of the rest.”
“I know you will.” Simon steadied his breathing and braced himself for this final sprint across the finish line. “Good-bye, Juno. Thank you for everything.”
She answered with a sudden force that propelled him forward through the collapsing hardlight. Simon ran on, his feet pounding against an unseen surface as the hardlight erupted above and around and below like a shattered stain glass window. He did not look back. Behind him Juno had set off in the opposite direction. She did not hesitate, slipping away into the fading light towards the end of her journey.
***
The Soul Ascension’s sensors very nearly didn’t pick up the incoming escape pod at all. The small craft’s signature was masked behind the residual signals left behind by the dispersing hardlight. Only Yearns to Soar noted the pod’s departure. The Huragok clucked with disapproval as it ordered a Phantom launch to drag the pod back to the hangar.
The dropship dutifully launched even as the Soul Ascencion’s engines propelled the battlecruiser away from the battlespace. A final talon of Seraphs dropped into formation around the Phantom, which nearly burned out in its rush to return with its prize in tow. The final departures from the savagely contested shield world were a handful of battle-scarred Seraphs and a single overburdened Phantom. No Guardians or other Created craft emerged from the shield world to give chase. The shattered ruins of Asphodel Meadows drifted silently amidst an ocean of forgotten debris.
An overcrowded hangar deck very nearly prevented the Phantom from setting down at all. The exhausted Kru’desh secured fighters and dropships while medical teams set up makeshift field stations for injured warriors. Anxious officers shouted orders and fought to bring their charges back into line. Only when the Phantom’s furious deckmaster bellow down from the troop bay did a team of Sangheili clear a space large enough for the escape pod to set down. Released from the Phantom’s gravity beam, the oblong cannister clattered down to the deck. The escape pod lay silently amidst the torrent of activity. No one emerged from the cannister’s sealed airlock.
An Unggoy deck crew hurried over to the motionless pod. The squat workers brandished an arsenal of cutting tools and began to hack the hull open. A sharp order halted their efforts. Argo ‘Varvin, barely able to contain his laughter, pushed the Unggoy aside and indicated a small control panel designed for an effortless door release. A group of Kru’desh officers—human and Sangheili alike—pushed through the hangar crowd and clustered around the pod. Argo, who had made sure he was on the hangar floor when the pod arrived, triggered the emergency release and wrenched the door clear with a dramatic flourish.
Before Argo could clamber into the pod and claim the honor of liberating its contents, a firm hand clamped down on his shoulder. The mercenary turned and saw Andra-D054. She raised an eyebrow, face set in an exasperated frown. “This really isn’t the time.”
Two figures stood beside Andra. Zoey Hunsinger, an ODST helmet still clutched tight beneath her arm, stared around the alien hangar bay and the assembled space craft. Even the escape pod’s rescue couldn’t disguise her fascination. Cassandra-G006, still clad in her SPI armor, stared past Argo into the pod’s dark interior.
Argo clicked his mandibles in an apologetic smile. He inclined his head and stepped aside, saving face with a quick motion for his fellow Sangheili to do the same. Mohsin waited anxiously at the perimeter with a squad of medics. The captain, his face set with anxious exhaustion, toyed with an unlit cigarette. Callum and Merlin stood just behind him, the older Spartan watching the drama play out with a look of bemused disdain while the younger gaped at the sight of so many humans and aliens working together across the hangar. The Kru’desh Legion was a far cry from Task Force Phoenix.
Zoey and Cassandra stepped inside the cramped escape pod. In the dim light they saw an armored figure clipped into an acceleration couch just behind the cockpit. Simon Venter blinked blearily. He was shivering even through his armor, his bloodstained arm wrapped around the hilt of his machete. He caught sight of Zoey’s horrified expression and forced a weak grin.
“Don’t worry,” he said, coughing. “It looks worse than it is. You aren’t going to get rid of me that easily.”
He craned his neck and squinted at the crowd outside the escape pod. “Are people lining up to get a look at me? Rude bastards. Did either of you bring me something to drink or are you just here to gawk?”
Zoey tossed the helmet down into one of the empty seats. “You’re such a jerk, Stray.”
“I do my best.”
As Zoey fumbled with her canteen, Cassandra removed her helmet. She met Simon’s eyes and saw that he’d been weeping. He saw her expression and shook his head. “It was really damn cold in here. I think the heating system’s busted. Juno should have warned me—”
He shuddered and composed himself before taking the offered canteen. He drank deeply, then stared wearily out at the waiting Kru’desh. “They’ll need me up on the bridge,” he muttered. “They’ll want a heading. They’ll have the operations reports. I need to get up there.”
Cassandra set her helmet down beside Venter’s. The abandoned helmets thumped against each other as she stopped Simon from getting up, her finger instinctively checking his pulse. “I think those guys up on the bridge have it taken care of. You’ve earned a rest.”
“I’m the commander.” Simon started to say something else, but saw the look in Cassandra’s eyes and thought better of it. He slumped back down in the chair and took another drag from the canteen. “Rest it is then. Just tell me one thing: you’re real, right? This isn’t just some dream I’m having while I freeze to death out in space?”
A smile broke Cassandra’s weary, dirty face. She knelt next to Simon and reached for her medical bag. “Don’t be so dramatic. You’re alive, alright. And I’m going to keep you that way for a long time.”
Simon leaned back and breathed out slowly. Outside the pod, Mohsin and the medics had reached the limits of their courtesy. They crowded into the cramped tube, ready to haul their commander out to one of the aid stations. The deck rumbled beneath their feet as the Soul Ascension vanished into Slipspace and left the battlefield behind. A cheer rose from the legionnaires still on the deck. Hundreds of voices shouted with joy not over victory, but over survival. In this war against the Created, living to fight another day was triumph enough.
The Soul Ascension forged on through the void, a single ember in an ocean of darkness. Such a small, frail hope, yet the darkness had not overcome it. And countless more embers just like it drifted through the void, surviving, biding their time, and waiting to blossom into stars.
===Epilogue===
Amber-G330—No, just Amber now.—stood atop the Guardian’s empty command deck and stared out into the inky void. She was alone save for a handful of fist-sized maintenance drones. The drones’ carapaces flashed with red light as they went about their silent labor. None of the Free Domain’s warriors were allowed aboard the flagship, which made the Guardian ideal for times when Amber needed to get away from everything and everyone.
Well, almost everyone.
The Free Domain flotilla drifted over a pulsing orange gas giant. The CAA had set up a network of shipyards and mining stations here, a loosely-knit community of spacers who had been more than willing to accept Created domination in exchange for promises of protection. The Free Domain had proved those promises false. Now the stations lay barren, their denizens hauled off into the bowels of the flotilla’s slave ships. Some might call the practice barbaric, but Amber had always enjoyed giving the self-deluded a taste of reality. These colonists had been more than willing to meekly accept servitude under the Created. Now they’d learn that slavery didn’t always come with coddled nonsense about some Mantle of Responsibility.
A few of the smarter colonists had volunteered their services as fighters. Amber was always happy to take on recruits. Ro’nin and his boys would break the new guys in over the coming weeks. The ones who survived might prove useful in the battles to come. The Created AI tasked with overseeing the station network was also making herself useful. Diana was always in a good mood after a nice snack.
The deck beside Amber glowed red. She savored this last moment of solitude before Diana materialized beside her. The AI was feeling particularly pleased with herself, as evinced by her flowing Grecian chiton and the throne she perched in. Her pale hair was drawn up beneath a set of laurel wreathes. She smiled out at the conquered gas giant. “That was satisfying. I’ll have to thank the Created someday. I never had such a healthy supply of fresh, smart coding before they came along.”
Sometimes Amber envied Diana’s utter lack of scruples. She doubted she could take up cannibalism with her partner’s level of enthusiasm. “The goddess is having a good morning, I see.”
Diana turned and draped her feet over the throne’s armrest. She smirked up at Amber. “A wonderful morning, thank you. And how about you? A nice boarding action always gets your blood pumping.”
Amber’s mouth quirked in a reluctant smile. “I had my fun when we hit the central station. That was the only installation that even tried to put up a fight. It’s the afterparty that always cramps my style.”
“Poor thing,” Diana said with mock sympathy. “It’s a good thing you have me to handle all those boring logistics. You just do what you do best and keep the meatbags impressed. Speaking of which, I separated a few key leaders from the dregs we captured today. It’s been a while since we had a good execution. You can have some fun with it.”
“Or I’ll let one of the boys handle it.” Amber found no thrill in hacking down cringing bureaucrats. She hoped this was just another part of Diana’s endless quest to get under her skin. Diana thinking of Amber as just another thug who got off on wanton murder would complicate their relationship. “Did you squeeze anything new out of the administrator before you finished her off?”
“We did have a lovely chat about current events.” Diana’s smile widened. Her avatar sat upright in her throne and peered mischievously up at Amber. “The news about the Fleet of Cleansing Fire is true. Poor Shinsu always was a bit too romantic for his own good. That shield world I helped him track down was just too tempting of a target to pass up.”
“We should have moved on that intel sooner,” Amber growled. The thought of all that power in the hands of the Created made today’s winnings seem paltry. “Now the Created have another treasure trove to plunder.”
“A trove that the entire galaxy will know about before long,” Diana reminded her. “The Created were sloppy. Plenty of Shinsu’s minions escaped the battle and bloodied the Created fleet while they were at it. No, Amber, let the rest of them fight over it. With any luck the Banished will make a move on it instead. That will give us a bit of breathing room out here. The best prizes are the ones no one else knows about. And we have quite a few of those in our sights, don’t we?”
Amber steadied herself. Diana was right, as usual. The big picture came first. But you couldn’t cut out the details either. “And what about the Kru’desh deserters?”
“What about them?” Diana’s smile didn’t waver, but an icy warning crept into her tone.
“Were they with the minions who escaped?” The Free Domain had picked up a few rumors that Simon-G294 and his gang of loyalists had been slaughtered on Archangel’s Rest. Amber wasn’t optimistic enough to hope that the Created would really snuff out that particular problem, but she hadn’t failed to notice a change in Diana’s demeanor at the news that her old partner was well and truly dead. Diana wasn’t quite as adept at concealing her feelings as she thought. Amber understood her partner far better than Simon ever had.
“It seems so,” Diana said with an air of disinterest. “Simon continues to fail upward even without my shoulders to stand on. It really is too bad that he’s become such a boring little flunky.”
“A boring flunky with a chip on his shoulder and a habit of holding grudges,” Amber reminded her. “And that twin of yours, Juno, could be a problem if we run into them again.”
“Juno?” Diana laughed. “She’ll never bother me again. If she isn’t dead already, she will be soon. She’s far too noble to keep herself going. Even if she got everything she wanted she’d just sabotage herself in the end. She’ll defeat herself without me lifting a finger. And if Simon does come after me, well…”
She favored Amber with a knowing smile. “It will be a wonderful opportunity to remind us both why we make such a good team.”
A wonderful opportunity. Amber’s lip curled. Yes, she didn’t like leaving loose ends. But the galaxy was a big place. A few Kru’desh stragglers weren’t her problem anymore. The Free Domain was new and powerful and hers. She had more important things than Simon-G294 to concern herself with. That past, the past of skulking in other people’s shadows, desperate to earn their approval, was dead. Diana had trained her well. A bright future lay ahead of them. Diana had trained her well. Amber simply needed to reach out and seize the opportunities awaiting them here in this glistening void.
That set the strong apart from the weak: the ability to forge a future in your own image. Amber smiled. She folded her armored arms and gazed out at the kingdom she’d built for herself. She would use Diana to carve her name into the stars themselves. “We make a good team,” she told the AI.
“I’m never bored when you’re at the helm,” Diana agreed. “A life without excitement isn’t worth living. So what say we round up the gang and find the next bit of fun?” 
***
The Created set up shop on the shield world with impressive alacrity. The Guardian probes had scouted less than a tenth of the sphere’s internal ecosystem but legions of Prometheans moved quickly to secure immense stretches of abandoned Forerunner facilities honeycombed through the shield world’s internal systems. After the losses incurred in seizing this system—three Guardians and Asphodel Meadows, to say nothing of the immense casualties inflicted upon their fleet of organic adherents—the Created were anxious to reap the benefits of such a valuable prize. The shield world, its name inelegantly translated from its old Forerunner title as “the Gilboan Citadel,” would be the first of many star fortresses. There was even talk of seeking out ways of untapping Forerunner technology to let it traverse Slipspace.
The newly secured Forerunner labyrinth was also an excellent place to secure valuable prisoners. Sections of the Gilboan Citadel as large as cities—insignificant by the shield world’s standards—were already set aside for high value prisoners captured during the battle against the Fleet of Cleansing Fire. More enemies of the Mantle would arrive here soon, either for re-education or for more permanent forms of incarceration.
Ryder Kedar marched down the hall of one such facility now. His left arm was bound in a tight sling while a medical harness fed restorative gel into the wounds on his torso. Conan D’Souza’s betrayal had been a close call. Ryder was still stunned that his former superior had such nerve. He’d been a fool to think Conan was sincere in his turn. Only Evelyn’s quick retreat from Asphodel Meadows had saved Ryder from the fate of Helen Powell and so many of her enforcers. He owed Fireteam Phoenix a debt he could never repay. He truly had picked the best for his team.
Several squads of Prometheans patrolled the corridor. Ryder was the only organic in sight. He would need to get used to that in the coming months. With the fall of Archangel’s Rest and Asphodel Meadows, the Created plans of building a vanguard force had been set back years. They probably wouldn’t rely on armed servants in the future. There were already rumors of plans to enforce disarmament across Mantle-controlled space. Such talk didn’t worry Ryder. He’d proved himself to the Created. They needed him for the dialogues to come.
Ryder strode down the corridor, concealing his pain even as his injuries protested against his brisk stride. He reached a small holding cell guarded by two Knights. The automatons inclined their skeletal heads and stood aside to grant him entry. One Knight followed Ryder into the cell where a single Sangheili waited on a bare cot.
Fira ‘Demal of the Swords of Sanghelios had been stripped of his combat harness upon his capture. He wore a simple grey tunic that did little to hide his dark scaled body. The captive warrior did not rise at Ryder’s entry. He watched the human before him through narrowed eyes.
“Fira ‘Demal.” Ryder folded his free arm behind his back. The Knight took up a position on the other side of the cell, its harldight rifle trained on Fira’s chest. “You’ve been tried and found guilty of hostilities against the Mantle. The sentence is death.”
Fira’s mandibles twitched in an expression of amusement. “Is that all?” the condemned warrior asked calmly. “They could have informed me with one of these Prometheans. Or do they need excuses to give their pets exercise?”
The Sangheili’s tone annoyed Ryder but he kept himself in check. He stepped down into the cell and faced Fira directly. He didn’t need to worry about safety precautions. If Fira launched himself across the cell in a final act of defiance the Knight would vaporize him before he could land a blow. “The Assembly offered to commute your sentence if you pledge yourself to our cause. Your brothers in the Swords of Sanghelios continue to rally beneath House Vadam’s banner. You’ve been one of the Arbiter’s closest supporters since the Great Schism. A denunciation from you would carry a great deal of weight.”
“If my words carry such fantastic weight, then I use them to denounce you.” Fira’s mandibles curled in scorn. “We are not all so malleable as you, human. To live after betraying my lord and my friend would be a fate far worse than execution.”
Ryder met the bitter words with a shrug and a smile. He’d expected as much. Andra, Merlin, and Callum hadn’t understood him either. Sangheili or human—species made little difference when it came to misguided posturing. “Death is so permanent, Fira. I don’t think you understand just what you’re giving up for yourself and your family. But if you won’t turn on the Arbiter, perhaps you can shed some light on the whereabouts of an old enemy.”
Fira shifted on the cot. He cast a withering look at the Promethean Knight as if daring it to take a shot. “And who might this be, I wonder?”
“Enough games, Fira. We still haven’t recovered Shinsu ‘Refum’s body or confirmed the destruction of the Cleansing Fire. Interviews with our other prisoners suggest you fought with him during his breakout assault. You may have helped him fight against the Created, but his grudge against House Vadam is well known. Tell us where he is and the Created can finish him off before he threatens the Swords of Sanghelios again.”
A sharp laugh split Fira’s mandibles. He shook his head and fixed Ryder with a scornful stare. “Ah, you want me to assuage your fears, traitor. You want me to tell you that he is dead. But I assure you, he is not. I made certain of that. His own warriors dragged him from the battlefield and the Cleansing Fire slipped away amidst the chaos. I do not know where he is, but I know that the Cleansing Blade is far more than a single fleet. Shinsu ‘Refum spent years assembling a network beyond anything we could ever hope to dismantle. And now that network will dedicate itself to destroying your new masters.”
Fira laughed again. He couldn’t entirely hide his fear; every few moments his gaze flickered toward the Promethean and its rifle. He mastered himself and glared at Ryder once more. “I should thank you, human. Shinsu ‘Refum was a threat to Thel ‘Vadam so long as he refused to set his old grievances aside. And now he has a far harsher grudge to nurse. You have his full attention now, Ryder Kedar. You may find him somewhat harder to attend to now that your deceptions are laid bare. I pray you live to meet him again. My one regret is that I will not live to see him crush your ambitions beneath his heel.”
Ryder had heard enough. He rose and turned to the Promethean. Before he could say anything the Knight pumped a single hardlight bolt into Fira ‘Refum’s chest. The warrior died without a sound. He fixed his gaze on the ceiling as his body disintegrated, leaving only a handful of ashes on the cot. The Created would dispose of even these. Those executed under the Mantle were dispatched thoroughly and utterly. No remains would be left to give other malcontents relics to rally around.
The defiant warrior was dead, but Fira ‘Refum’s words echoed in Ryder’s mind long after he departed the cell. Shinsu ‘Refum, alive. That was disappointing, if not entirely surprising. And Fira had spoken true: Shinsu would never forget the human who had betrayed him in his moment of triumph. But Shinsu ‘Refum was not the hunter on this chase. If his network were as wide and powerful as Fira said, then so be it. Fireteam Phoenix would take it apart piece by piece along with anyone else who opposed the Mantle’s march to progress. The Created had more need for Ryder Kedar than ever.
And yet, for all his certainty, Ryder Kedar’s wounds gnawed him all the way back to the Absalom. He could not shake a strange feeling that tugged at the back of his mind. He couldn’t understand it. He was a different man from the one who’d served ONI so blindly for so long. He was once again on the right side of history. So why was he still afraid?
***
A dark silence reigned over the Subtle Knife’s bridge. Officers and their subalterns stood stiffly at their stations and carried out their duties with grim precision. Even the holographic displays projecting repair reports and force projections in shadow-streaked air seemed muted. The Knife’s crew had survived their long duel with the Eternity and saved thousands of warriors from death or capture at the shield world. They had braved perils few in their position could dream of facing, but none of them felt like victors. The Fleet of Cleansing Fire was destroyed, its survivors scattered to the solar winds. The great cause was dashed. The Created reigned supreme.
Umbra ‘Vesic stood at the center of the somber chamber. The shipmaster braced his fists against the central monitor and stared wearily up at a star map. Motes of flashing lights indicated systems thought to still be safe for ships to travel. There were very few such havens left.
“We will linger near Sqala for one cycle while my agents gather reports on galactic affairs,” Umbra said quietly. “I will detail a Phantom to deliver you to the planet’s surface. Consider that the end of your involvement with the Cleansing Blade.”
Sqala was the Sangheili name for Venezia. Hera folded her arms over her combat armor. She was glad she’d managed to talk her way into a set of proper kit from the Kru’desh before taking her leave. After all she’d done to help Simon win on Archangel’s Rest she was really entitled to one of the MJOLNIR suits he’d looted off Gravity, but given the circumstances Hera knew not to push her luck. “Venezia isn’t what we agreed on.”
“I told you I would endeavor to bring you close to the world you called Kropotkin,” Umbra growled. “This ship’s path brings us no closer than this. Do not try my patience, human. Consider yourself lucky I did not leave you behind on the shield world.”
Hera watched the shipmaster carefully. Umbra had never been the sociable type but he had also never been so nakedly hostile. Defeat had changed him. “I held up my end of every bargain I ever made with the Cleansing Blade,” she reminded Umbra.
“And much good that did us,” Umbra said with a derisive snort. “Associating with humans may well be Lord ‘Refum’s greatest mistake. Ryder Kedar was the obvious folly, but Stray is another matter entirely. My lord raised that wretched creature up from nothing. He repaid our cause with an empty victory and by bringing some of my best warriors under his sway. Your kind are dangerous, human. You upset the balance of order everywhere you go. Life as we know it may well end thanks to your arrogance. I honor your contributions by preserving your life and granting you the dignity of the withdrawal you seek. If I had my druthers, I would never have dealings with humanity ever again.”
He waved at the bridge doors. Two Cleansing Blade warriors, their hands surreptitiously close to their energy blades, stepped forward. “Escort the human back to her quarters. She will remain there until the time comes to depart. Post a guard lance to ensure she does not try our hospitality further.”
Hera offered no further resistance. She allowed herself to be escorted off the bridge, grateful for the honor that stayed Umbra’s darker inclinations. She heard the bitter truth in the shipmaster’s words, a truth that would find purchase in far too many hearts and minds across the galaxy. Even if by some miracle the Created were defeated, humanity would be a pariah once again. There was no hope for some peaceful galactic community in their future. Humans were forever outsiders, interlopers in a cold, dangerous galaxy.
Humanity would rise to the challenge. Of this Hera had no doubt. The UNSC would regroup, stronger and more lethal than ever. But that was hardly cause for hope. Industrial militarism would sweep over the stars once again, crushing the weak and the poor beneath an armored boot. The long, oppressive strangling of humanity’s true spirit would continue.
Hera would have no part in that anymore. She sat awake in her cramped quarters for a long time, thoughts turning to the future. Her mistake had been the same as Ryder and Simon: thinking that the only way forward in this universe was to dominate and control. Perhaps the accumulation of power in the right hands was the correct way forward, but that wasn’t for Hera to decide. She no longer indulged in such delusions of grandeur. Cassandra was right: the way to live was to simply live from one day to the next, doing one’s best to make a small corner of the galaxy with the blessings life bestowed.
Maybe that was what Joshua had been looking for near the end. Perhaps that was why the system had sought to crush his spirit so cruelly. The powers of this universe were never kind to dreamers.
Venezia was hardly the place to put such a philosophy into action. Hera knew she had more sins left to commit before she reached her destination. But she finally saw her way forward clearly. The future the Spartan program had stolen from her lay within reach. Hera would make it to Kropotkin no matter what obstacles stood in her way. She would lay claim to her little corner of the galaxy and finally be freed from the chains of the past.
***
The UNSC Arizona and the URF Hammurabi drifted silently in the shadow of a small moon. The remnants of Commodore Campbell’s pirate fleet held a loose formation across the system while the most damaged ships in the flotilla enacted much-needed repairs. The survivors had lost all contact with the remnants of the Fleet of Cleansing Fire—most likely the Sangheili wanted nothing to do with the humans, fearing further treachery. The crews on all ships were tired and frightened. An uncertain future loomed ahead of them. This barren moon orbiting an uninhabitable planet was no place to take refuge for long. They would need to move on, and soon. But for now, they rested.
The Arizona and Hammurabi drifted together, their hulls bound by a thick docking tube. The Arizona had served as Task Force Phoenix’s primary supply base. Now those supplies would be distributed across Campbell’s fleet, a peace offering from UNSC officers keen to bury the hatchet with their former adversaries. The pirates, for their part, agreed to set aside past grievances and maintain the Arizona as part of their flotilla. But there was more to be shared between the two ships then resources and good will.
A small arms room aboard the Hammurabi had been cleared of weapon lockers and set aside for a private ceremony. A small troop of officers from the Arizona, headed by Lieutenant Commander Fritz Moder, stood in loose formation on one side of the room. On the other side, resplendent in dark uniforms, stood a selection of officers from the Hammurabi. Both sides eyed each other with wary intent. Standing at the front of the room and clad in her full dress uniform for the first time since her court martial, Marie Baudin surveyed the tense gathering and rubbed her temple.
“Well this is off to a wonderful start,” the Arizona’s commander muttered. “I’m almost glad my parents aren’t here to see this.”
“Don’t be like that.” Jerrold Campell’s uniform was as immaculate and flamboyant as ever. Braided epaulettes and a dark half-cape extenuated the dark fabric of his dress uniform. His beard was neatly trimmed, his hair perfectly combed. He didn’t look at all like a pirate who’d barely staggered away from a crippling defeat. “They’ll have plenty of time to get to know each other at the reception. My cooks prepared an immaculate spread. Your people have never had ship food so good.”
“Ah, yes.” Marie gave the commodore a sidelong look. “A wonderful spread with all that food we can afford to just use up on receptions and buffets.”
“Don’t be like that,” Jerrold repeated. He took Marie’s hand in his. “This is a special occasion after all.”
The Hammurabi was better equipped to accommodate the wedding procedures. Still, the Arizona’s officers disliked shuttling over to an Insurrectionist flagship and availing themselves of pirate hospitality. There was also the question of who would conduct the ceremony. The unwritten codes of spacefaring law held that either Jerrold or Marie could officiate weddings, but they both balked at the idea of wearing two hats on an occasion already marred by their tenuous situation. Some corners ought not to be cut.
Lieutenant Commander Moder disapproved of this union, just as Marie had known he would, but the XO came to the rescue all the same. He discovered the Arizona’s oft-overlooked chaplain, a portly, friendly woman by the name of Lieutenant Felicia Spiro, and pulled her up from her duties in the frigate’s med bay to officiate the impromptu service. A few of the Hammurabi officers bristled at handing authority for the service to a UNSC-appointed chaplain, but Jerrold took the move in good humor.
Lieutenant Spiro shifted uneasily at a makeshift podium. She flashed a nervous smile at the assembled officers and peeled back the place markers at a well-worn prayer book. The chaplain looked to her commander for the command to begin, but Marie studiously avoided Spiro’s eyes. She didn’t want to play idiotic procedural games at her own wedding. Jerrold read her posture and couldn’t conceal a quiet chuckle. This earned the groom a withering glare from the bride, though Marie’s lip quirked up in a slight smile.
Moder called the room to attention. Even the Hammurabi officers instinctively obeyed the XO’s sharp tones. Chaplain Spiro nodded her thanks. The prayer book’s pages crinkled under her fingers as she began. “Dearly beloved: We have come together in the presence of God to witness and bless the joining together of this woman and this man in Holy Matrimony…”
Jerrold inclined his head towards Marie as the chaplain continued to speak. “Last chance to back out of this,” the commodore murmured. “You may find me even more trying as a husband than as a lover.”
“And you may find me somewhat sharper as a wife. Careful not to cut yourself.” Marie would have her hands full with this one. Beneath his suave exterior, Jarrold Campbell was a wild thing. But they’d all need a bit of wildness if they were to survive the months to come. “And I can’t call it off now that you’ve wasted so much food on the reception.”
Marie had long since given up on the idea of marriage. Union with a rebel and a pirate felt almost as insane as hitching her ship and her crew to a renegade armada. But these were strange times and Marie didn’t dislike the promise of a little adventure in her personal life. The commodore, for his part, seemed rather taken with the idea of a buttoned-up UNSC officer. They had an understanding, the two of them.
Chaplain Spiro turned to Marie. “Marie Baudin, will you have this man to be your husband, to live together in the covenant of marriage? Will you love him, comfort him, honor and keep him, in sickness and in health, and be faithful to him as long as you both shall live?”
Marie met Jerrold’s eyes. The commodore flashed his winning smile. She returned it with a look of grim amusement. “I will.”
“Jerrold Campbell, will you have this woman to be your wife, to live together in the covenant of marriage? Will you love her, comfort her, honor and keep her, in sickness and in health, and be faithful to her as long as you both shall live?”
The smile slipped out from beneath Jerrold’s beard, replaced by a look of utmost seriousness. “I will.”
Chaplain Spiro faced the assembled officers. She faltered as she looked at the rebel side of the room but swiftly recovered her bearings. “Will all of you witnessing these promises do all in your power to uphold these two persons in their marriage?”
Moder raised his eyes and led the room in a firm, “We will!”
The ship rumbled gently beneath their feet. As the small, strange ceremony progressed the lost flotilla continued about its earnest work. Tomorrow the ships would leave this place and seek out a new haven, former enemies joined together in common purpose. Differences in opinion on how the colonies ought to be governed seemed very far away now. For now the crews of these lonely ships were satisfied enough with their own survival.
***
As the Soul Ascencion soared onwards, secure in the relative safety of Slipspace, an uneasy peace descended upon the ship and its strange legion. With the threat of imminent destruction repelled once more, the Kru’desh settled into the all-important task of establishing hierarchies and pecking orders for itself. Barracks were assigned, assembly halls were set aside for drills and combat training, and arguments raged freely up and down the chain of command over who was giving the orders and who was taking them. Before long, many legionnaires found themselves dangerously close to missing the bracing certainty of the battlefield.
In another life, Argo ‘Varvin would have found all the posturing and politicking intolerable. Now he surprised even himself with the realization that he enjoyed being at the center of the maelstrom. Thanks to his knowledge of the frontier and earlier duties alongside Mohsin and the Second Vanguard, the humans who now formed nearly half the legion’s fighting strength trusted his guidance far more than they did other Sangheili. The Kru’desh Sangheili, for their own part, were only too eager to rally around a renegade with such impeccably corrupt credentials. The remaining Kig-Yar were happy so long as the pay arrived on time and the Unggoy happily followed the Sangheili lead. Even Urei ‘Caszal and his Cleansing Blade survivors trusted the mercenary to keep the rank and file in line while they focused on whipping the Soul Ascension and its legion into fighting shape.
Argo pondered this strange new future as he oversaw refurbishments to an assembly hall-turned warehouse. Mixed work crews cleared the cavernous chamber and welded a stark grid of sheet-metal paddocks into place. Workers cursed and stumbled in the dim, flickering lights as more legionnaires hauled an impressive array of equipment in on grav-carts. The ship’s superstructure still bore signs of damage from the crash-landing and subsequent resurrection. Yearns to Soar and its fellow Huragok couldn’t be everywhere at once. Argo was still finding patches of ice formed during the ship’s long slumber on Archangel’s Rest.
Cleansing Blade officers prowled through the work efforts, barking orders and ensuring the paddocks were assembled in accordance with the new floor plan. Urei ‘Caszal insisted that if the ship was to be cannibalized and refurbished, it would be refurbished precisely. The Kru’desh legionnaires mocked their stiff-backed superiors but obeyed their instructions to the letter. Considering this legion’s history, it was a reasonable compromise.
Mohsin Shah picked his way through the work crews, stopping to bark orders at an Unggoy he caught mishandling a pallet of ammunition. The human officer’s face was more haggard than ever. His beard needed a trim, at least so far as Argo could understand the bizarre hair growth humans permitted around their mouths.
“You should get some rest, captain,” Argo observed as Mohsin joined him on the observation deck. “I believe the legion will labor on without imploding, at least for a little while.”
“A little while,” Mohsin muttered. He watched a platoon of legionnaires haul crates of weapons into one of the new paddocks. “As long as we keep them busy. The minute things slow down around here people will start asking questions. And then there will be trouble.”
“A warrior need not question, only obey and fight his master’s battles.”
Mohsin glared at Argo before noticing the ironic twist in the warrior’s mandibles. He was getting better at reading Sangheili body language every day. There was hope for him yet. “I’m serious. Your Sangheili might be happy to play at war for the rest of their lives, but humans are built different. They fought the UNSC because they wanted to build new homes, new lives. This new war doesn’t change that. They’ll want to know what they’re fighting for before long, and when they do Venter had better have a good answer.”
“We Sangheili are not quite so single-minded as you believe,” Argo said mildly. “The warriors on this ship were dregs and outcasts not unlike your own people. This ship is their best chance at the future they could never have on Sanghelios or our colonies. And despite all they have endured, many still believe our commander is the one who will lead them to that future.”
“The promised land,” Mohsin muttered. He used that phrase quite often—Argo would need to look into what it meant. “But this is an army, not a cult. There’s plenty more fighting ahead of us, and Venter hasn’t been the same since Archangel’s Rest. I don’t think he knows what he wants anymore.”
Argo made sure no other officers were in earshot. He studied Moshin carefully. “That isn’t what you said when you insisted on remaining behind on Asphodel Meadows.”
“He’s still an icon, something to rally the legion behind. Venter’s legacy will carry a lot of weight with other independence movements here on the frontier. We can use that. But I can’t let the others see beneath his armor. And I won’t let him keep using us as his own private army. Everything we fought for will mean something, whether Simon Venter wants it to or not.”
The work continued across the hall. Humans and Sangheili, Unggoy and Kig-Yar—they all worked to build something new, though perhaps none of them truly understood what that something was. Argo folded his arms and nodded thoughtfully.
“Young Captain Shah, you are far more calculating than I first gave you credit for. Our commander chose well in your appointment, though perhaps he does not know it.”
Mohsin made a face. “I won’t betray him. But all this isn’t about him. I followed Venter all those years. I lost people, sacrificed people, did things I’m not proud of because I believed in the world on the other end of all this. I never wanted to be the one giving the orders, but if I have to be the one to steer my people in the right direction, then so be it.”
“On that, captain, we are agreed. You may find that you are not so alone in your position as you believe.” For the first time Argo ‘Varvin could remember, he saw a light beyond this endless trail of violence and treachery. This ship could finally bring him to this “promised land” Mohsin spoke of. Perhaps it might even make a better man of him. Argo wouldn’t let that chance go to waste. “I believe we will do great things together. But first, get some sleep. I promise not to burn the ship down in your absence.”
***
“You’ll need to wear these from now on.”
Zoey Hunsinger stared at the folded stack of military fatigues, then looked up at the girl who’d just shoved them under her nose. The girl was a stringy beanpole not much older than Zoey, with dirty-blond hair pulled back in a loose bun. She wore fatigues identical to the ones she now brandished at Zoey. The name AASEN was printed just over her tunic’s right pocket.
None of the other rebels—or “legionnaires,” as this gang of mercenaries and fanatics called themselves—milling about the makeshift barracks paid her any mind. Zoey, Karina, and Thomas had bene assigned bunks here in the Soul Ascencion’s lower levels. The air in here reeked with that damp, sickly-sweet odor that seemed inherent in all Covenant life support systems but none of the legionnaires seemed to mind. They were probably used to it by now. Cassandra had taken a bunk alongside them but she wasn’t down in the barracks right now. Zoey doubted she’d see much of Cassandra in the next few days.
Zoey ought to be happy for her. She really ought to be. It was just…
The Aasen girl practically shoved the fatigues into Zoey’s arms. “Everyone works around here. Find me at 0700 tomorrow for your detachment assignment. Make sure you’re in uniform during duty hours.”
Zoey knew she should be pissed. She should be returning these stupid fatigues, along with a punch right into this strutting idiot’s bony nose. Instead she just felt numb. Numb and tired. Sure, she was alive. But the Chancer V was gone. Her ship, her home, her inheritance, all that remained of the happy life she’d built for herself on the frontier lay in ruins on a broken world. Gavin Dunn was gone, vanished without a trace or even a goodbye. Zoey would probably never see him again. And the man running this ship, the man leading the legion that was now conscripting Zoey, was not the Stray she’d known.
That grumpy teen Zoey had fought and laughed with, the dirty runt she’d annoyed and pranked and secretly pined for—he was gone, gone forever. Maybe he’d never been real in the first place. Simon Venter—he’d taken that old terrorist’s name, maybe just to spite Gavin—had come back for them. He’d risked his own life to save Zoey back on Asphodel Meadows. But he was a stranger. Whatever hell he’d marched through after that terrible day over Fell Justice had burned Zoey’s friend away completely.
Everyone walked away in the end. Everyone forgot you in the end. Zoey understood that. The Chancer V had given her a way to stand on her own. Now that was gone and she was once again just some punk kid in everyone’s way. She refused to let anyone see just how raw she felt.
She took the fatigues. It wasn’t as if she had any extra clothes to wear anyway. She’d have to play by the Innies’ stupid rules for now. Without the Chancer she was stuck here with them.
“0700,” the other girl repeated. “Don’t be late.”
“Could you give it a rest, Ragna?” Thomas pushed himself off the adjacent bunk. Karina helped him retrieve his crutches. With the marrow injections from the deck’s med-bay he’d be walking properly within a week. Despite his protestations about military life he’d found himself in those same fatigues once more. Karina also couldn’t escape the Kru’desh uniform, though naturally she still managed to make the dull-gray tunic look good. After everything they’d endured down on that hellhole of a planet, every one of the Chancer survivors looked positively radiant now that they’d had a proper shower.
For all their talk of freedom, the rebels sure did love shoving everyone into uniforms.
“Watch yourself, Koepke,” Ragna shot back. “You’ll be fit to work before long. Don’t forget that.”
“You’re even more of a pest than you were on Talitsa,” Thomas groaned. He hobbled out of the barracks as Karina draped a steadying arm around his shoulder. “I can’t believe I’m stuck with you people again. You’ll be wasting Zoey on labor detail, you know. She’s a damned good pilot—probably better than most of the bums you’ve got flying for you. Used to run with your commander, too. Better show her some respect, or Venter will hear about it.”
Ragna scowled after them. “Friggin’ lovebirds,” she muttered under her breath before looking Zoey up and down with renewed interest. “Is he telling the truth? About you being a pilot.”
“Yeah.” Had my own ship and everything. She didn’t say that part out loud. She wished Thomas hadn’t mentioned the part about Stray. People around here were weird about him. “I know my way around machines, too.”
“We’ll see about that. Forget about the morning report time. Follow me to the hangar. Show the deck chief what you know. Hurry up and get that uniform on.” Ragna turned on her heel, but that infuriatingly smug demeanor slipped just enough for her to offer Zoey what might have been a friendly smile. “We need more operators for the Cyclopes down there, too. If you used to fight with the commander you’ve got to have more than one talent. Hurry up!”
She moved a few bunks down to give Zoey space to change. Zoey’s head pounded. She just wanted to drop back on her cot and fall asleep. Instead she sighed and began to slip into the new uniform. This Ragna girl got under her skin. But something stirred inside her at the prospect of flying again. Even if they dumped her behind the cockpit of some Pelican clunker it was better than scrubbing these alien floors or hauling gear from one deck to another. She didn’t care about this legion or its cause, but if she could be useful somewhere then maybe there was a future ahead of her after all.
A future she could make for herself. It was sure as hell better than moping around waiting for Stray or Venter or whoever he really was to remember she existed. Even without the Chancer she’d stand on her own two feet. That was how things worked here on the frontier, after all.
***
The Soul Ascension’s hangars were already clogged full of fighters, dropships, and the rest of the Kru’desh war machine. Space was even taken up by the machine shops and industrial centers springing up across the ship as the legionnaires expanded their infrastructure needs. The Sangheili deck masters were loathe to set aside a berth for the battered Baal Defense Solutions corvette, much less forbid their crews from going near it. After Callum brandished a shotgun at a particularly imperious officer, Andra spoke to Mohsin who in turn had words with Urei. The Kru’desh abruptly found themselves under strict orders not to disturb the corvette and her Spartan crew, though the offended deck master still glowered whenever his duties brought him nearby.
Though their privacy was secure, the Spartans faced a long, uphill road. The corvette didn’t have nearly enough fuel to get them back to the UNSC even if they had any inkling of where the UNSC was. The Milky Way had once been a reliable map. In the old days—still less than a year ago—Andra knew where to find her friends and where to hunt her enemies. That map was shattered, along with the galaxy she’d known and all her old assumptions and certainties. Task Force Phoenix had been the one link holding her to that old life. Ryder Kedar had shattered that link.
“We’ll hunt that bastard down,” Callum promised when she broached the subject of their new enemy. Clad in his newly cleaned MJOLNIR and now walking confidently on his prosthetic leg, the older Spartan was a finely honed battle-axe once more. “We owe it to Lieutenant Davis and all the other people that smug prick killed.”
Vowing vengeance was one thing. Carrying it out was another matter. They needed fuel, supplies, weapons, and safe harbors—all the things they’d once relied on armies of ONI teams and UNSC outposts to provide. Without a command structure to coordinate the hunt, they’d need old frontier networks for leads. And even if those networks still existed, hunting the Created wasn’t like taking down some smuggling ring or terror cell. One AI and three Spartans were a threat to the old enemies. The Created were a different matter entirely.
A small pile of supply crates and weapon lockers had materialized in the corvette’s shadow. Mohsin was diverting a small stream of materiel their way. Recognition, he explained, for Andra and Callum’s heroics during the assault on Asphodel Meadows. It was a start. The rest would be more complicated. There was already talk of services the Spartans could render the Kru’desh in order to pay the rest of their fare to… wherever this ship was headed. Callum bristled at the very idea of such a mercenary arrangement, but what had he expected? He nearly bit Andra’s head off when she pointed out as much.
“Don’t get comfortable here,” he snapped, his armored frame taking up nearly a quarter of the corvette’s cramped common room. “We need these people now, but we have a duty to Earth. A duty to our brothers and sisters. The Kru’desh may very well be our enemies a year from now. I hope you’re prepared for what that means.”
Andra stood her ground. “That sort of thinking got us into this mess in the first place. We can’t keep fighting the old wars. We don’t even know how much of our side is left to fight the one we’re stuck in right now.”
Callum’s eyes flashed dangerously. He knew the churning mess Andra’s head was right now without her telling him. The thought of a Spartan—one of his Spartans—questioning her place in the galaxy bothered him almost as much as Ryder’s betrayal. Perhaps even more so. Ryder he could hunt down and bring to justice. A Spartan realizing that there was so much more to the galaxy than she’d been raised to believe wasn’t something he could fight. He had no choice but to let Andra figure things out for herself. Callum didn’t like that one bit.
“Careful, Andra, “he said quietly. He stepped around the table separating him from the younger Spartan. “I know what you’re going through. Not perfectly, but I understand enough. You’re not the first Spartan to deal with these problems. We don’t have the answers to all the questions in the universe. That’s not our job. We’re part of something bigger than ourselves, whether we like it or not. Even if we were the last soldiers left fighting for the UNSC we’d still have a duty to the people back on Earth.”
Yes, she had a duty. Andra-D054 had a duty to the UNSC. But that wasn’t all of her. Not anymore. Lieutenant Andra Kearsarge of Vanguard Squad had walked her own path and lived a life her old self could hardly dream of. That life was a part of her now, too. The thought frightened and excited her in equal measure.
“We have a better chance on this ship than we do on our own.” She chose her words carefully, but the danger came not from Callum but inside her. She struggled to hold his gaze even as her pulse and words quickened. “We’re fighting the same enemy, and… and these are good people, Callum. Some of them. Most of them. I don’t know. But I can’t just go back to the way I was before. I can’t just treat them like assets and targets anymore.”
The words tumbled out of her mouth. She barely understood what she was saying. Her mind was in a hundred places at once. I saw things I shouldn’t have seen. She realized that far too late. Too late she remembered that conversation in the Soul Ascencion’s library. The mission lost its meaning for me, a hoarse voice had rasped in the darkness. I stopped being a Spartan and became…
She couldn’t take back what she’d said. She bit her lip and waited for the consequences. But Callum didn’t get angry. He just shook his head. Was that pain in his eyes?
“Yes, they’re good people. They always have been. Nothing’s changed. You’re not the first Spartan to figure that out. We all deal with it at some point. We deal with it, and we find a way to keep on moving. I can’t give you all the answers. But don’t think you’ll find them here. Whatever you think Simon-G294 has here, it won’t last. Don’t pin your hopes on it.”
“He’s held things together better than most.” Part of her needed to defend him, if only to justify the chaos in her own mind. “This legion’s done amazing things, considering what they’re up against.”
Callum crossed the distance between them. He rapped his knuckles against Andra’s breastplate—not a blow, but a friendly rebuke. Andra had experienced it too often from teammates to be surprised or offended. She welcomed the reverberations Callum’s knock rocked through her.
“Don’t let your guard down,” Callum said. “I’m impressed with what that runt accomplished here. I wish I weren’t, but none of us would be here if it weren’t true. But Simon’s playing with forces he barely understands. Worse, he knows it. The Created have unleashed immense power in this galaxy. All sorts of people are harnessing that power. It’s resting with Simon right now, but that power will move on to a new home before long. This legion will become something he can’t control. Maybe it already has.”
Andra peered up at him, questioning. She was surprised to hear such sentiments from Callum. It wasn’t like him to spin things so philosophically. But the older Spartan just waved her away.
“Get some rest, Andra,” he said, as if the past few minutes hadn’t passed between them at all. “You’ve earned it.”
Callum waited until Andra had left the ship before he settled down onto the common room couch. The metal groaned beneath his armored frame. He ran a gloved hand through his hair and looked up at the ship’s intercom.
“She’s your brain donor,” he said aloud. “I don’t suppose you can help me figure out what’s going on in that head of hers.”
“We aren’t as much like our progenitors as people seem to think,” Althea’s voice piped down through the speakers. After her ordeal on Asphodel Meadows she was relieved just to be back aboard the corvette. She refused to make any effort to probe the Soul Ascension’s systems out of respect for the departed Juno. Callum had wisely let the matter drop after Althea put her digital foot down on the matter. “Sometimes I’m very glad not to have any part of that one’s thoughts.”
“You’re smarter than I am.” Callum rubbed his prosthetic leg. He might be back in fighting shape but he would never be truly accustomed to the metal limb. “Give it your best shot.”
“In that case, I’s suggest that this is a complicated galaxy. Figuring out one’s place in that galaxy is just part of growing up. It’s what makes us human—if you don’t mind me including AI in that category. I think recent events prove just how humanly fallible we really are.”
“I don’t mind at all.” Callum stared at the spot where Andra had stood. He suddenly had a dozen things he wished he’d said to her just now. “Yeah, life’s complicated. But complicated isn’t a good place for a soldier to be.”
“A soldier or a person,” Althea mused. “And which is more important for her to be?”
Callum didn’t answer. He sat on the couch for a long time, lost in thought.
As she left the corvette, Andra realized that she didn’t feel at all bad about what had just transpired. She wasn’t angry at Callum and she wasn’t angry at herself. Maybe that was a step in the right direction. She also realized with a shock that she hadn’t felt real ground under her feet since Archangel’s Rest. The cold stink of recycled air, the unnatural lightness of artificial gravity—these were becoming more natural to her than real atmosphere. She settled her armored frame down on one of the supply crates and stared out at the hangar beyond the corvette’s berth. Kru’desh legionnaires ran diagnostics on Seraphs and Pelicans. They tested new parts and argued over newly established deck procedures. Even amidst the trials and uncertainty, the warriors on this ship seemed so set in their purpose. She wondered if Callum was right about the Kru’desh transforming into something far more wild and untamed than one mercenary’s private army. Was that really such a bad thing?
They’re good people, Callum had said. Every Spartan confronted the reality that their enemies weren’t just cut-outs on a firing lane or statistics in an intelligence briefing. Fireteam Gravity had discovered that truth all too sharply. Andra couldn’t banish the sight of Loic lying in the snow with his head smashed open. She touched the dead boy’s armor—her armor now—and suppressed a shudder.
She looked up at the hangar ceiling and tried to be grateful for the luxury of regulated atmosphere. The frigid wastes on Archangel’s Rest, the rain soaked siege at Le Havre, the dreary city on Talitsa, and that cold night on Fell Justice—when was the last time she’d felt a real sun? She didn’t know when she’d see one next.
She was so lost in her own thoughts that she almost missed the sight of a MJOLNIR-clad approaching across the smooth deck. Merlin had been away from the ship for some time. Now he approached the crated supplies and set his helmet down on one of the weapon racks. The smaller armored he’d been talking to until a moment ago slipped quietly out of the hanger. Andra caught sight of Cassandra-G006 donning her helmet before disappearing into the ship. She raised an eyebrow.
“What was that about?”
Merlin settled down on the crate beside Andra. “Apparently they’re organizing labor details. Everyone from the Chancer’s getting pulled into the duties, even Thomas. I wanted to know the when and where so I could help out.”
“Callum won’t like that.”
“Callum doesn’t like a lot of things. Who knows how long we’ll be stuck on this ship? I don’t want to spend the whole time hiding out on the ship. I’ve spent too much time stuck in there with Callum as it is. Believe me, not nearly as fun as it sounds.”
“I’ll take your word for it.” Andra rested her hand on the space between them. “Let me know when you’re headed out. I’ll make sure you don’t get lost again.”
“Thanks. I’d rather that not happen to me.” A shadow passed over Merlin’s face. They sat in silence for a long time, watching the hangar crews go about their business.
Andra still didn’t know everything Merlin had endured back on the shield world. She could already tell that he’d accumulated his own share of haunting demons during their time apart. She’d have to talk about it with him soon. Whatever hell he’d endured with the crew of the Chancer V must be as vivid and terrible as that long, cold march across Archangel’s Rest. There was still so much space between them, so much lost time and missed experiences. So much pain and emptiness.
But to have Merlin back, to have him right here beside her, was worth all the pain she’d endured for so long. His very presence was enough to drive back the doubts and fears shadowing her mind. Andra was grateful for the blessing of simply being here beside him.
Merlin took her hand in his, just as she hoped he would. “It really was a long journey,” he said in strange, husky voice.
“Yeah,” Andra agreed. She rested her head on his shoulder, not caring who might catch sight of them. Her thoughts turned to the mindscape they’d shared back on Asphodel Meadows. The hangar melted away and became that ocean of warm peace. “It really was.”
A cold, cruel future lay ahead of them. Uncertainty and pain, war and a lifetime of struggle loomed large in the months and years to come. Somehow Andra needed to find the strength to face them. But for this small, still moment, reunited with Merlin once more, Andra Kearsarge took comfort in a tiny sliver of peace. 
***
The Baran girl was a quiet thing. Mihka suspected this hadn’t always been so. She’d seen enough highborn families to know the talkative type when she saw one. No doubt before the Kru’desh Legion had come to Archangel’s Rest Naia ‘Baran had been a chatty, energetic thing. Now she carried out her duties around the Soul Ascencion’s newly furbished inner sanctum in weary silence. Mihka could hardly resent her new handmaiden’s bitterness. The life Naia had known was gone forever, shattered beneath the weight of a cruel fate.
They had that in common, Mihka and Naia.
Mihka’s new quarters had once belonged to Lord Venter. Before that they had belonged to the Covenant taskmaster the human had dethroned and before that a slew of forgotten shipmasters. Venter had withdrawn to stricter accommodations, yielding his cabin to Mihka and her expected clutch. It was a magnanimous gesture—the least the human could do, considering how his machinations had uprooted Mihka and made her a part of his grand schemes.
Should she resent Venter? Mihka pondered this question as she helped Naia spread a thick rug across the barren warship floor. The carpet was embroidered with faded patterns suggesting an old keep lineage. So far it was the only real decoration in the small, bleak quarters that now supposedly were the seat of House ‘Refum. Viru ‘Baran stood guard at the door. The young warrior looked uncomfortable in a dull Kru’desh combat harness. He tried not to look at Mihka or Naia, no mean feat in this bare little room.
What a wonderfully dreary existence Lord Venter has graced me with. Mihka did not belong here. She was no highborn. She wasn’t even keep-bred. The Jiralhanae had stolen her from a mud-soaked village on some colony moon Mihka couldn’t even name. The Kru’desh had freed her from those hellish slave pits; Mihka still remembered the day she’d met Venter. He’d been the first human she’d ever seen. Tuka ‘Refum had stood at his side, mandibles parted in that disarming smile of his as they offered her a place in the legion.
Mihka belonged behind the controls of a Phantom. One night of drunken indiscipline had taken that life from her. Now she and her future children were pieces in a much larger game, a game of bloodlines and great houses that Mihka barely understood. She suspected Lord Venter didn’t understand that game nearly as well as he thought he did. How could one human be so clever and yet such a fool?
“This belonged to my mother,” Naia said dully as they spread the carpet between their two cots. Mihka insisted that Naia share her living space. The clutch of frightened Baran girls would live in the adjacent chamber. “I hadn’t realized your savages had looted so much of my ancestral home.”
The young handmaiden caught Mihka’s eye and ducked her neck, hands flat against her robes. “Forgive me, mistress.” There was no hiding the bitterness behind those words. Naia ‘Baran was not accustomed to begging anyone’s pardon.
“You may speak as you will in these chambers,” Mihka said. Any childish notions of toying with the fallen nobility or exulting in their reversed positions had died quickly. Mihka wasn’t capable of such cruelties. “I have heard far worse than whatever insults you may need to dispense.”
Naia offered a cool, measured stare but said nothing further. Viru shifted awkwardly by the door. Mihka wondered what Venter’s game was in making these two her household retainers. Perhaps he truly thought some reconciliation could come even after the horrors he’d inflicted on House Baran. Perhaps this was just some twisted human sense of humor.
Viru started as the chamber doors slid open. The young warrior’s fumbling with his plasma rifle became an awkward salute as Urei ‘Caszal pushed past him into the chambers. Mihka was almost as surprised to see Urei as Viru was. The tall warrior and his Cleansing Blade officers were quartered on this deck of the ship but they hadn’t said so much as a word to her since changing allegiances. She gathered her robes—How she hated these impractical garments!—about her and did her best to look stately.
“Lady ‘Refum.” Urei’s cool tone undercut the respectful fist he tapped against his hearts. Did he resent the need to play along with this sham, to offer respect to some common-born pilot raised up from the ranks? “I hope you find your new quarters acceptable. They hardly befit one of your standing.”
“This is a warship, not a pleasure liner,” Mihka countered. “I have slept in far worse.”
“Indeed.” Urei’s mandibles twitched. He glanced at Viru and Naia. “Leave us.”
“My companions will remain here,” Mihka said quickly. She motioned for Naia to make herself comfortable, ignoring the handmaiden’s suspicious glances. It was what Tuka would have done. “We have nothing to discuss that requires such privacy.”
Urei nodded slowly. He didn’t seem offended by the refusal. If anything he seemed to approve, as if Mihka had just passed some test. “Already you speak as the lady of a keep. That is a good start. And you need not worry. There is no subterfuge here. If I wished to hide my thoughts from our illustrious commander I would not in such games aboard his own ship.”
Mihka sighed and let her bearing slip. She hunched her shoulders and paced to the back of the chamber. Already such a simple movement felt like climbing a hill. She loathed what the clutch-bearing process was doing to her body. “Must everything revolve around that wretched human?”
“Nothing aboard this ship does not link back to the commander,” Urei pointed out. “You should mind your words, Lady ‘Refum. Do not mistake my intent. Lord Venter has my undivided loyalty.”
“And yet here you are. What business do you have with me?”
“My business concerns the future,” Urei growled, his affable demeanor slipping. “I did not pledge myself to this legion in the hopes of glory or plunder. My warriors and I swore our blades to the service of House Refum and the Cleansing Blade. If Shinsu ‘Refum is truly dead, you are the future of that house.”
“Not by choice,” Mihka said icily. She was keenly aware that Naia and Viru were watching her. Let them. They should know just what kind of game they were trapped in.
“Then you should have chosen a mate more carefully. Lord Venter intends to use your children to win over Shinsu’s former allies. He will drape the Kru’desh in the banner of House Refum to secure supplies, recruits, and safe havens for his armies. I intend to help him do that, but I am not blind to the risks.”
Mihka watched Urei carefully. There was more to this warrior than yet another outcast aristocrat. She’d paid close attention to Urei and his fellow Cleansing Blade officers since they’d come aboard. Mihka knew an act when she saw one. Urei wanted others to think that he was merely a well-bred opportunist, but no one advanced far in the Cleansing Blade on pedigree alone. Urei had been elevated in circles of schemers and strategists. He had a keen mind for these maneuverings—far keener than the so-called Lord Venter.
“What do you want from all this, Urei?” she asked. “If you have so little faith in our human commander’s future, why give up everything to follow him?”
Urei craned his neck, looking at Mihka through one eye in a condescending gesture. “I have every faith in his ability to keep this legion alive. He is ambitious enough to be useful without being a threat to our people. But this ship carries the seed of something new, something that will long outlive Venter. We have the opportunity to create a future for our people here. When Venter is gone, who takes his place? Not another human, I assure you. Forgive my presumption, but your children may be the key to the future I want to build.”
“So my future is to be a pawn in your games,” Mihka said drily. “How good of you to forewarn me.”
“You may be a pawn if that is the role you choose for yourself,” Urei remarked. “Or you may choose to become something greater. You have a great deal to learn about your new place in the universe, Lady ‘Refum. I am at your disposal should you wish to expand your education. Until then, my warriors will lay down their lives to ensure your safety. Our loyalty to House Refum is absolute.”
“And what if Shinsu ‘Refum still lives?” Mihka countered with the question that had haunted her since Venter’s scheme became clear. “He will not stand to see his younger brother’s descendants elevated as the political tools of some human. He will not suffer me as the lady of his house. He will deem that his human protégé has fatally overstepped, along with any allied with him.”
“My loyalty is to House Refum,” Urei said simply. “And House Refum’s fate is tied to the Kru’desh Legion. This ship is the path to our future. Good day, Lady ‘Refum.”
He departed with a respectful bow. Mihka stared at the chamber door until Viru took up his guard position once again. The young warrior didn’t hide his troubled expression at the conversation that had just transpired. Mihka wondered just how much of what was said here would find its way to Venter’s ears. Her yearning for the familiar simplicity of a cockpit scorched her hearts. This ship had once been her home. Now it was a swirling pit of palace intrigues. She needed to master those intrigues just as much as she had the Phantom. The future of her children depended on it.
Naia ‘Baran resumed her work around the chambers. The noble-turned-handmaiden could not hold her mandibles back from a faint smile. After the conversation with Urei she addressed Mihka with far greater respect.
***
The Soul Ascension charted its fiery course across the stars. A tiny speck in the vast galactic ocean, the scarred warship carried its curious menagerie of outcasts, wanderers, and rebels on through the lengthening night. Hopes and schemes and dreams for the future and the grinding machinery of simple survival churned within the battle-worn hull. This lonely ship and the legion it bore marched on, inexorably onwards towards whatever future they could carve for themselves.
The man at the center of this strange anomaly sat on a small bunk in a dim, cramped room and wondered at the magnitude of his own fraud.
Simon Venter—the traitor Spartan, the Butcher of Philadelphia, commander of the Kru’desh Legion, conqueror of Archangel’s Rest and destroyer of Asphodel Meadows—clasped his hands together and tried to quiet the turmoil churning within his soul. His armor—Venter’s armor—was stacked beside the cot, refurbished and ready for battle once more. A datapad full of logistical reports—Mohsin’s reports—lay discarded on the cot’s unkempt sheets. A stream of action assessments and route stratagems—Urei’s stratagems—projected itself onto the far wall. The Kru’desh Legion was growing. Already it had become something Simon himself could not control. Its mighty commander was no indispensable figure, but merely another part of this great prowling beast.
A disquieting emptiness gnawed at him. Once again he wondered just how much of himself he’d lost when he purged Wanderer from his mind. How much had the course of his life been dictated by the Forerunner’s gene pattern? The ambition and hunger he had drawn upon for so long—had that truly been his own? Or had he merely stolen that as well?
There isn’t a word in your mouth or a thought in your head that I didn’t put there, Wanderer had sneered. Simon had been a vessel, the canvas for others to use and manipulate. Venter and Diana, Jul ‘Mdama and Shinsu ‘Refum, Wanderer and Juno—these were the architects of his infamy. His delusions of some great destiny were a lie, yet he could hardly lay blame for his own sins at the feet of those who had used him. After all, he had collaborated with them every step of the way. They were all gone now, yet he remained. There was no one left to blame for his sins. That realization brought with it a feeling of terrifying freedom.
He'd been a thief all his life, draping himself in the accomplishments of others. What remained when the stolen garments were stripped away?
His old life was gone. Helen Powell, Tobias Lensky, Tatiana Onegin, David Kahn, Redmond Venter—the pillars of the criminal underworld, the giants in whose shadows he’d once lurked—they’d all passed away with the world they’d helped create. The Chancer V and the haven it represented lay shattered upon a dead world. The Covenant and UNSC lay in pieces beneath the crushing might of the Created. The galaxy writhed and reformed. Simon would be reformed with it.
That thought frightened him. He’d lost so much of himself already. Moving forward meant losing even more. But he could not go back. And remaining as he was now was no way to live.
He glanced down at the datapad. He couldn’t brood forever. The legion needed him out there. A hundred matters required his attention. He’d leave this room and face the universe as whatever this changed version of himself was.
There was also the matter of the three Spartans currently squatting in his hangar. Three Spartans with an unshackled smart AI on a ship with just a few impressionable Huragok defending its systems. Althea would need to be secured as soon as possible. Andra and her friends could be powerful assets to the Kru’desh. With the right leverage…
Simon felt the schemes rise in his mind. Schemes and lies and manipulations were as natural to him as breathing. That hadn’t been Wanderer. He was a born liar. Necessity or no, he couldn’t deny his own nature—or the twisted pleasure such deceptions brought him.
“I can’t do this alone, Juno,” he murmured. But Juno was gone. Dead, like Tuka and so many others. They were gone, yet Simon lived. There was no justice in that.
For the first time in a long time he saw beyond the cruel needs of a selfish universe. Juno had shown him far too much back on Asphodel Meadows. Simon had seen a galaxy of light and beauty and warmth. Try as he might he could not push that aside. He could not become ruthless, pitiless Stray once more. The thought of a morality higher than the might of an iron fist frightened him, too.
Simon was so adrift in his own thoughts that the intercom’s chime made him flinch. It was the guard stationed just outside his door. “Shipmaster. A human female wishes to see you. I do not know how she evaded the security checkpoints. I will detain her and discipline the guard lances for this breach.”
“Let her in.” Simon pinched the bridge of his nose. “And in the future, don’t challenge her. She can come to this deck any time she likes. Make sure the relief detachments know.”
The guttural noise the offer made indicated what he thought of such a policy but he couldn’t defy his own shipmaster. The door’s locking mechanisms clicked. The metal parted to admit Cassandra-G006.
She was unarmed but still wore her SPI armor, her helmet tucked neatly under one arm. Her gaze flicked to the pile of armor by Simon’s cot. She seemed surprised to see him not wearing it. Simon rose and pulled a fatigue jacket on over his undershirt. He tried to conceal his limp as he walked to the center of the room.
Cassandra set her helmet down on the doorside table. She looked around the dim quarters, observing the reports projected on the wall and the personal gear crammed up alongside the cot. “I thought the shipmaster’s quarters would be bigger than this,” she noted.
“They are. I gave them to Mihka. She’s…” Simon avoided Cassandra’s gaze. “She’s bearing Tuka’s children.”
“I heard about Tuka. I’m sorry. He was a good man.”
“Yes, he was. He died saving my life.”
Cassandra’s eyes bored into him. Even after all this time she knew him far too well. “But you’ll still use his children as political tools.”
“Yes.” He’d known this was coming. “I need something to draw more Sangheili to this legion. We need allies, financial backers, society contacts within their great houses. They won’t even talk to a human like me unless I have a bargaining chip.”
“A bargaining chip, huh.”
Simon tried not to get angry. He didn’t want to fight Cassandra again. But after all this time, this was what she came to talk about. Why was she always like this? Why are we always like this? “I can’t afford to be sentimental. If you’re getting shot at and there’s a rifle by your foot, you don’t refuse to pick it up just because it belonged to a friend. I promised to protect them. I’ll keep that promise. But if I don’t use them, someone else will.”
Cassandra rubbed the burn scars etched into her face. She’d bathed since the escape from Asphodel Meadows but her face still bore the haggard markings of weeks spent in combat. She ought to be resting. Instead she prowled the ship looking for ways to make herself useful. “I had to talk my way past four checkpoints to reach you,” she said with her artful way of changing the subject without really changing the subject.
“You heard me just now. I gave orders to make sure the warriors stop challenging you like that.”
She flashed that sad little smile of hers. “I’m sorry. You saved us. You nearly died saving us. I can’t judge you.”
Simon suddenly wished he’d followed Commodore Campbell’s example and had the Kru’desh install a bar in these quarters. He’d never cared much for alcohol but he really needed something to do with his hands right now. He plucked his canteen off the stack of equipment and tried to keep his hands from shaking. “I didn’t have a choice. I betrayed you and Zoey once. I couldn’t abandon you. After Archangel’s Rest I didn’t know what I’d even do if I couldn’t find you.”
So I risked the life of everyone aboard this ship to save you. He didn’t say that part aloud. The legion still thought it had won a great victory. That was the only reason the humans and Sangheili hadn’t banded together to throw him out the nearest airlock. Mohsin knew the truth, though. So did Urei. That was why they were already making their move, setting plans in motion to take the Kru’desh out of his hands.
“I’ve heard a lot about what happened on Archangel’s Rest. Andra and the others I’ve talked to say it was hell down there.”
“No worse than what you and Zoey lived through,” Simon muttered. The words felt shallow in his mouth. His mind was elsewhere now. Did Urei and Mohsin know that he knew? Did they care that he knew? Maybe it was for the best. Simon didn’t know what the best was anymore.
He limped back to his cot and sat back down. Cassandra watched his hobbled gait.
“How long has your leg been hurt like that?”
“Since Talitsa.” Memories of that rain-soaked brawl crowded his mind. He remembered clinging desperately to that ledge, his grip slipping while Cassandra knelt on the rooftop and watched him die.
“I did that to you, didn’t I?”
“Don’t apologize.” Simon’s breath caught in his throat. It was happening all over again. The spiral of hurt and betrayal and wasted effort threatened to drag himself down into the dark, endless void. “You did what you had to do. That’s how we get by.” He was tired of trying to weigh the galaxy’s sins against his own. Callous expedience reigned everywhere, from the clinical briefing rooms of UNSC warships to the grand keeps of the Sangheili and the sterile bastions of the Created. Simon had only ever been one flickering ember in a great bonfire waging war against life itself.
“I wish it didn’t have to be that way,” Cassandra said quietly. “I wish you didn’t have to keep on living like this. There’s better ways…”
“What other ways?” Simon laughed hoarsely. “Did you come here to tell me about this better way?”
“I don’t know what it is,” Cassandra admitted. “I used to think that I did. But I don’t, not really. I look and I look and I try the best I can. I don’t have the answers. Maybe admitting that is the first step to figuring it out.”
Simon looked up at her, seeing her clearly for the first time since she’d answered the room. He saw the scared girl from Onyx and then the Spartan who kept hoping for a better life even after the UNSC turned her into a killing machine. He saw the young fugitive throwing away the chance at a new life in order to help strangers in a colonial ghetto. And he saw the hero radiating with righteous anger as she strode across a rain-slicked rooftop to stand in his way. My enemy. My friend.
It was an amazing sight. For a moment he found himself back in the mindscape, mind burning with the possibilities of the future. Not a future of pride and conquest, but a future that led back to life. He found his breath again.
He wondered what Cassandra saw when she looked at him.
“Maybe we can look for those answers,” he said unsteadily. “Together.”
Cassandra nodded. She sat beside him on the bed. They sat together for some time as the ship throbbed beneath them. The Soul Ascencion plowed its way on through the stars, thousands of hopes and dreams contained within its battered hull. This moment wouldn’t last. They’d need him out there on the bridge, back in the world of troop strengths and battle tactics. He couldn’t escape the chains he’d forged for himself so easily.
“What really happened to you on Archangel’s Rest?” Cassandra asked softly. “What happened to you on the frontier?”
Simon met her eyes. “That’s a long story,” he admitted.
“We’ve got time.” Finally, after so long, they had time.
So he told her. They sat together and talked long into the endless night.
The End
Category:Halo: Heaven and Earth