by Peter David
“You know that other species were involved in those events. It wasn’t just us, or the Sangheili. We didn’t have a choice. We had to deal with the Flood!”
“Nevertheless, it has been decided, human. No, this is not vengeance. This is justice. The only reason I have entertained our conversation this long is because you are trying to save the lives of those who came with you. Which is, I suppose, laudable. But everything about your history, about all your histories, is only compounded by the atrocities committed on my masters’ creations. If you are allowed to live, what further cost will your kind accrue? I shudder to think.”
“And how many thousands of centuries did it take for the Forerunners to reach the lofty place you hold them? Are we to believe that they came into existence fully formed as perfect and peace-embracing creatures? Of course not! I’m sure they had to struggle through their own problems for millennia until they reached the status that you recall. What if they had had someone who was sitting in judgment on them, who decided that they were never going to amount to anything? What if there had been some great, all-powerful race that decided the Forerunners did not deserve to live? Then there would have been no humans, no Sangheili, no Ark, no you. Did you ever consider that possibility?”
The monitor didn’t immediately respond.
“I said, did you ever—?”
“I heard you.”
“Well, then?”
“You know not what you speak of, human” said the monitor heavily. “There was a judgment of my makers, and they were found wanting. The Flood was their judgment. Though they resisted for a time, in the end they recognized and submitted to punishment. The penalty: self-actuated immolation. Sacrificed in order to save you and those you protect.”
“And now you’re going to undo all that they had hoped for?” Vale pressed. “You would bring death to trillions for the sake of your peace.”
“There is no peace left.”
The hall opened wide in front of them. They entered an area that was huge and round, akin to a gigantic fishbowl. It wasn’t surrounded by glass, though. Instead it was solid metal, heavily reflective. Vale saw her image reflected in mirrors all around her.
She looked up and was surprised to see that there was no ceiling. The vast room appeared to be topless, although she knew that couldn’t be the case. She also spotted floating holograms of various star systems hovering high above her. It seemed to be the entire galaxy.
“Are you hungry?”
The question caught her off guard, and the fog had still not fully cleared from her mind. “Yes, I suppose so. Hungry and a little tired. It’s been a while since I’ve eaten or rested. But that doesn’t matter.”
“Yes, it does.”
There was a subtle whirring, and a small platform rose up from directly in front of her. There were pieces of fruit sitting on it, small spheres that looked similar to apples. She picked up the nearest one, which was green, and bit into it. She didn’t know why she had picked it up or why she ate it, but she had, and it tasted wonderful, possibly one of the best pieces of fruit she had ever had.
“You see what we are capable of growing here,” said Solitude.
“Yes, absolutely.” The juice of the fruit was running down the side of her face, and she wiped it away. She was trying to focus, but things were becoming hazy. Was it this room? Was it the heavenly bodies spread out in every direction above? Was it the fruit? “It’s very good. But we need to talk about Halo . . .”
“Actually, we do not.”
She heard an energized buzzing and saw to her surprise that there was now an energy field surrounding her, trapping her. The holographic personage of Solitude, a perfect replica of herself stood outside, its arms behind its back.
“For all your fury, there is little fight,” the monitor droned to her, as if it were still speaking inside her head. “There is nowhere for you to go. I suggest you sleep now.”
“Not until we . . .”
“Now. You will need your strength.”
Despite her determination, Vale felt her eyes starting to shut. She tried to force them open, not quite understanding what was happening, but she couldn’t do it. She felt her knees go weak, and then she sank to the floor. Darkness was filling her mind, and she strove to fight it off, but her exhaustion overwhelmed her, and the next thing she knew, she had tumbled to the side. The last thing she saw was her own face smiling down at her from above. And then she was unconscious.
CHAPTER 15
* * *
Luther was beginning to feel extremely confident that he would not make it off this installation alive.
“We could have died back there,” he said. “Now that Halo’s countdown’s been effectively stopped, I’d like to get the hell off this thing.”
“I am open to suggestions,” said Usze.
During the fracas with the armigers in the citadel’s main hall, Luther, Lamb, Usze, Kola, and Drifts had become separated from the others. The chute they had taken had apparently brought them several levels below the hall. They had been exploring what appeared to be the undercarriage of the citadel, where it connected to the foundry wall. Thus far, it had only been a collection of corridors, with the Forerunners’ typically elaborate cartouches and angular designs along the walls, girded by a selvage of precisely identical buttresses and support implements—though Luther knew that the walls didn’t actually need it. Forerunner architecture was generally eccentric, and this hall was no different.
They had found a small room at the end of one of the corridors. There were displays and interfaces all along its walls, but none of them seemed active. Despite the damage that the citadel’s main hall had endured, there was no rubble here, which was a welcome change; at least they didn’t have to pick their way through fallen detritus.
“Were these shut down?” asked Luther, pointing to the screens. “Or is there just no power going to them and so they’re nonfunctional?”
“If I had to guess,” said Lamb, “I would say the latter. Perhaps when the replacement Halo fired, the damage caused to the citadel destabilized something—maybe the power source was struck and shorted out. That makes far more sense than it just being shut down for no reason. Then again, with the AI out there, anything is possible.” Lamb was looking closer at one of the screens. He frowned and then said, “Can you read this writing? Right here?”
He was pointing at something that Luther hadn’t noticed before. It was indeed a string of script, and he stared at it, trying to make out exactly what it said. He preferred not to drag Drifts Randomly over just to translate simple Forerunner text. That was one of the main reasons why Luther was here in the first place.
“Okay, I think I’ve got it,” he said after a long moment. “I think this is the citadel’s primary control station. Whereas the hall above was dedicated to the Array, this controls the systems in the building itself. This particular interface is used for the map.”
“Great, but the map isn’t working,” Lamb pointed out. “So how . . . ?”
“That shouldn’t be an issue, thanks to our friend here,” said Luther, and he turned to the Huragok. “Can you get power running to this thing?”
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“Okay, then. Please do.”
The Huragok floated past him, and its tentacles opened up a panel next to the display.
Lamb was watching it work, intrigued. Every so often he would nod and mutter, “Yes, exactly,” or something like it, as the Huragok pursued its repairs. Luther wondered about all that Henry had observed and learned on this expedition. If they survived it and made it home, he could probably fill multiple volumes with just what he had picked up on Forerunner engineering over the past day.
Luther stood next to Lamb. “What’s it doing?” he whispered.
“Opening the junctions. Searching for energy flow and trying to determine the most efficient way to reroute it into the room.” He shook his head. “Quite remarkable.”
“I’d say so,” said Luther. It certainly ma
de sense. He knew there still had to be power available in the citadel somewhere. After all, the power systems were functional in the structure’s main hall. And even in this room, there was light shining from overhead. It was very pale and seemed to flicker, but there was definitely still something, and he reasoned that it was up to the Huragok to find a way to get this station back online.
In the back of his mind, however, he was still thinking about the Forerunner machines they’d encountered in the main hall. The armigers, as Drifts had called them. They seemed to simply phase in and out of the room, which was extremely unsettling. If they suddenly decided to phase into this much tighter room, what could stop them?
Then Luther noticed that Henry was no longer standing near them. Something had caught his attention off to the side. He had moved a few meters away, his eyes on something in the shadows near the far corner of the room. “What’s going on?” Luther asked.
“There’s something over here. I think I found a Sentinel of some sort. One of the smaller kinds, but . . . it looks inert and nonfunctioning.”
Luther wasn’t sure he liked the sound of that. He took a couple of steps toward Lamb so that he could see clearer.
Whatever it was, it was seemingly locked in place, within an odd-looking hub-like console, almost like a model spaceship sitting on a plinth. It was positioned in such a way that its “eye” was staring up at Lamb, its arm-like booms slightly splayed and its claw manipulators extended. Luther had never seen one this small. Most of those they had recovered from the Halo installations were called Aggressors, and they were effectively an automated defensive weapon for the monitor. Aggressors were roughly three meters from front to back, but this one was only about one-third the size. Luther wondered if Henry had any idea what it was, but the fact that he was slowly getting closer to it seriously bothered him.
“Don’t get too close, Henry. What the hell is it?” said Luther.
“I’ve no idea, but it’s pretty remarkable,” said Lamb. He reached down to touch its “head,” and that’s when it happened.
It leaped straight up into the air, letting out an earsplitting sound that Luther would remember to his dying day.
Its razor-sharp manipulators opened wide, and it snapped them down on Lamb’s throat. He let out a strangled scream and tried to pull the machine loose, stumbling and falling backward onto the floor.
“Oh my God! Henry!” shouted Luther, running toward his partner. The machine was burrowing its two booms into Lamb’s neck, and Luther grabbed at it from behind and pulled. At first he couldn’t pry it loose, but then the Sentinel let its grip on Lamb go, twisting furiously around in his hands, blood spraying everywhere, trying now to get at Luther’s throat.
Luther threw it a few meters away, where it landed in a mass of metal and blood in the corner. The thing spun around and launched back straight at Luther. Luther threw his hands up defensively as the little machine flew through the air for the kill.
Usze’s blade suddenly swept in front of Luther’s face, mere centimeters away from him, cutting the frantic machine in half. Emitting a final high-pitched tone of protest, it fell in two pieces and continued to skitter and shake about on the floor before it finally stopped moving a few moments later.
Luther ignored it and dropped down next to Lamb, staring at him in dismay. Blood was pouring out of the ragged, gaping wounds in his throat, so much and so fast that Luther didn’t know what to do. He yanked off his jacket and, wrapping it around his hands, shoved down on Lamb’s neck, trying to stop the flow. “Henry . . . Henry, just stay with me. We’ll get this under control.”
“I can’t feel anything,” he managed to say. There was gurgling in his throat as he spoke. “I can’t . . .”
“You’ll be fine,” Luther assured him. “I have it under control.”
Henry managed to focus on him, although his eyes were misting over. “I don’t want to die here,” he whispered. “Not like this . . . no . . .”
“You’re not going to die. Don’t be ridiculous.” His jacket sleeve was soaked with red. “You’re going to pull through this. The bleeding is slowing down.”
“ ’Cause . . . I’m running . . . out of blood.”
“Don’t say that.”
Kola stepped in and stared down at both of them. “He is lost, human. You might as well—”
“Shut up!” shouted Luther. “He’s going to be fine! You hear me, Lamb?! Ignore him. You’re going to pull through. I swear, you—”
“Luther,” Usze said, and he sounded regretful. “It’s too late.”
He looked down and saw that the Sangheili was correct. Lamb had ceased moving, his eyes staring at nothing.
He could have tried to apply some rudimentary first aid, attempt to force his heart back to life, despite the blood loss, but he knew that it would do no good. He growled in frustration and sat back, staring straight ahead. “Damn it. Goddammit. He was a good man.”
“He was a fool,” said Kola. “He should not have trifled with that machine.”
Luther was immediately on his feet, and he shouted into Kola’s face, speaking Sangheili, “He was a good man! And just because he lacked your instincts for survival does not give you the right to insult him in death! He died with honor trying to stop Halo from wiping out our galaxy! Do you understand what I’m saying?!”
“Yes,” Kola said coolly. “I do. I . . . apologize if I gave offense.”
“Of course you gave offense! You . . . !” Luther closed his eyes, steadied himself. There was no point in continuing to bellow at the Sangheili. He took a deep breath and then opened his eyes again, trying to regain focus.
He knelt down next to Lamb, pulling his jacket free from the man’s neck. Luther couldn’t bring himself to take it back; it was covered with blood. Instead he slowly drew it up so that it was covering Lamb’s face. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I should have been watching out for you better.” Then he rose and stepped back.
At that moment, Luther suddenly became aware of something glowing behind him. He turned and gaped in surprise.
The displays along the walls were lit up with a detailed map of the entire underground assembly of the citadel and the local sections of the foundry wall. The Huragok was floating nearby, and though the creature was incapable of appearing proud of itself, Luther couldn’t help but feel that its pride would have been warranted.
“Thank you, Henry,” he said, “you found us a way out.” Everything was clearly and cogently labeled on the display. Every detail of the entire citadel complex was spelled out, including the basin-like interior and the three energy pylons that guarded the entire site. It was quite impressive. His finger ran across it as he searched for something that would direct him to an exit. Some way out of this damn place.
It took a few minutes until he finally said, “Here. Right here. This is the Forerunner term associated with ‘exit,’ or ‘exodus.’ I think this is where we need to go to get out.”
Usze moved in behind him and studied the map. “Where are the others, I wonder? If they even survived.”
“It’s difficult to tell,” said Luther as he tapped the lower right of the panel. “If I were to guess, some kind of portal system took them well away from the citadel. There’s no record of them here at all.”
“And the exit is up here?” He pointed to the place that Luther had indicated seconds earlier.
“As near as I can tell, yes.”
“All right, then. We should proceed. If there is anything else you need to do for the human . . .”
“And what would you suggest I do? We can’t carry his body. So really . . . what do you think I should do for him?” Luther was unable to keep the mounting bitterness from his voice.
To his surprise, Usze put a comforting hand on his shoulder. “You should take a moment to mourn him. Resign yourself to both letting him go . . . and carrying his memory forever. Because he was a comrade and he was a warrior and he is owed that much.”
Luther nodded. The wor
ds rang true to him. He knelt down beside Henry and did something he never thought he would do.
He prayed.
“Treat him well,” Luther whispered. “He’ll have a lot of questions, and I think you owe it to him to answer them. And if you don’t . . . I swear, I’ll kick your ass when I get there, which hopefully won’t be too soon anyway.”
Luther then stood and cast one last glance at the body of his trusted associate. “I’m so sorry, Henry,” he said. Then he stood, turned, and walked away from Lamb’s body, following Usze and Kola, who were marching forward with certainty.
At some points, the citadel wall’s network of interior passageways was so cramped that Luther felt claustrophobic. The walls were tight around them. Then they would pass through an opening and be stunned by how large the new area was. Some parts of it actually seemed like hangars, capable of storing very large space vessels, but were nevertheless empty. He wondered if whatever had been contained in them had ever been built, or if they had been built but were then launched somehow. Where would they have been launched to? Luther wondered.
Might this be where the Retrievers remain when they are not active? The thought made him nervous.
They also found areas where rubble was still piled up, presumably from the damage caused by Halo years ago, and it was an effort to push their way past or climb over those obstructions. But they managed it briskly enough and kept going. At certain other points they passed by open parapets that looked out into the foundry, across a dense red haze where the moon that the Ark mined still hung—a silent, hollow visage that gave Luther goose bumps. From this close, it was a breathtaking sight, yet they still kept their pace.
At one point, though, as they were passing through another of the larger areas, Usze suddenly held his hand up and beckoned for silence.