by Peter David
And just how he’d become so conversant with it was a bit troubling. She began to wonder bleakly how the Sangheili had actually had the opportunity to work on one . . .
The thought made her vaguely ill, but she decided that there was no point in pursuing it. She didn’t want to ask the question, and she sure as hell didn’t want to hear the answer.
The Elite was watching as she slowly got to her feet. “Is there any pain?” he asked.
“No. None.”
“That is fortunate. Be careful where you step for the rest of the time that we are here.”
“I will.” She hesitated, and then mentally shrugged. “What is your name?”
“Sehar,” he replied.
“Sehar. And you are the doctor on this vessel?”
“No. I am the weapons officer.”
I’ll be damned. Right on the money. “Yes. I forgot. Are you the one who attended to Olympia Vale?”
“No, I was busy with duties on the bridge. Besides, we had the Huragok here, and it was far more capable of handling those matters than I was.”
“Do you have a doctor here?”
“No medical personnel are necessary. Any injuries that we sustain are usually capable of being tended to by the tools we have here. And if they cannot be, then we accept our fate.”
How wonderfully pragmatic.
“In truth,” he continued, “the Sangheili disdain the medical lab for their own use, but not for those of weaker species that once accompanied us. We would rather suffer injury or perish than to be pitied by an instrument or medicine.”
She didn’t exactly know what to make of that, but couldn’t help feeling there was something deeply noble about it, even if it felt in part like a veiled insult.
At that moment, her lieutenant, Radeen, sprinted into the room. “Captain, we have a problem. I suggest you come right now.”
As she nodded and started after him, Richards turned to Sehar and said, “Thank you for fixing me up.”
“You are welcome, human.”
She was relieved that, as she put full pressure on it, her leg didn’t bother her at all. Sehar had definitely gotten the job done, all right.
Richards followed Radeen quickly through the corridors of the ship, arriving moments later on the bridge. The large viewscreen was illuminated, and her eyes widened when she saw it. “Is this actually happening?” she said, barely able to find her breath.
“Yes, it is,” said one of the Sangheili.
In the far distance, Retrievers were emerging from the central core of the Ark, where, with any luck, her teams had finally arrived. Dozens, hundreds, no . . . thousands of Retrievers were now rising into the air.
“If they attack us, we are finished,” muttered one of the Elite. “We do not have the ship remotely repaired yet. And we have nothing to stop such a force.”
They watched in grim silence, but Richards soon noted the angle of their departure was skyward and toward the dark orb of the portal hanging high above the Ark’s surface. “They’re not going to attack us,” she said.
“Perhaps we are now insignificant to whatever is controlling this place,” an Elite remarked. “It now cares about something else entirely.”
That was when Richards knew. “Oh God. The portal. They’re going for Earth, the same as the others did. The others must have been just some kind of feint or test. This is the invasion force.”
“The others were destroyed. These could be as well.”
“The others didn’t exactly go down without a fight. It took enormous firepower to bring down one. Now whatever is sending them knows that we don’t genuinely pose any sort of threat,” she said with growing concern. “I’ll tell you right now what’s going to happen. Those things are going to make a beeline for my homeworld, and they’re going to pour through by the thousands. And then they’re going to strip-mine the Earth, for the sake of repairing this installation. And there isn’t a damn thing we can do to stop it.”
Kola watched as Usze paced back and forth in front of the huge doors. “Why are you doing that?” he asked.
“It is the walking-guard form. I am staying vigilant.”
“No, you are not. You are pacing. It is becoming somewhat irritating.”
“I cannot help it,” Usze said, keeping his voice modulated but still allowing his frustration to show. “I have no way of communicating with Luther Mann and the Huragok within, nor any way to determine if they are threatened. So I have assumed sentry duty in order to keep my mind occupied.”
“And pacing is a part of that?”
“Yes.”
“As you wish,” said Kola with a shrug. “I wonder what is taking the Huragok so long to open the door.”
It was at that point that Usze heard a distant scraping on the floor. It was soft and almost indiscernible. His head snapped around, and immediately his plasma sword was activated. Kola followed suit, revealing his own sword, which he had refrained from using until now.
One of the Forerunner machine bipeds—armigers, as Luther had called them—that had assailed their group in the citadel hall was standing a short distance off, at the junction of the corridor that they had just passed through. It had an energy stave in its hand and was looking at the Sangheili steadily, but showed no sign of movement. Usze ‘Taham had no intention of perishing this close to the end of their journey.
He swung his blade in a slow arc, right to left and back—the battle stance of Sumai. The armiger’s gaze fell upon him but it remained still.
“Come any closer,” said Usze quietly, “and you will share your friends’ fate.”
The armiger initially made no attempt to approach, and for what seemed like a long time, stood there with its gaze fixed on the Elites. When it did finally move, it was not to attack. Instead it leaned forward and let out a deafening noise, repeating it several times, its voice carrying through the area. It sounded like an eerie cross between the howl of a predatory animal and a booming warship klaxon.
More movement behind it could be heard.
Now dozens of the same machines were emerging from the junction and the recesses of nearby shadows. They came up and stood behind the first, as though precisely following its lead. Then, as a single group, they began to walk toward the Elites.
Usze backed up until his spine was pressed against the door, Kola right beside him. Their swords were at the ready as the armigers moved slowly toward them, some carrying staves, and others Forerunner rifles.
“This does not bode well,” Kola muttered.
“That is quite obvious,” said Usze. “However, if it is a fight they are looking for . . .”
The machines continued to edge slowly toward them, in no apparent hurry. They finally stopped about two meters away, making little noise save for the slight whir of what seemed to be pistons and servos in their armor and the sound of their metallic frames clinking against the hard floor.
And then suddenly, as one single unit, they all let out a loud, unnerving howl and charged.
Oblivious to what was happening on the other side of the thick doors, Luther Mann was thoroughly engrossed in the Huragok’s effort to take control of the Ark’s systems. If it could, they’d be able to stop the intelligence that had been causing them so much grief this trip.
The Huragok was buzzing around the area, taking care to work with specific panels and displays, and these began to come on one by one. Sometimes it took mere seconds, other times much longer, but after ten minutes the room was filled with lights and activity. “What are you doing?” he asked the Huragok for what seemed like the thousandth time.
<
But this time was different. Something metallic-sounding shifted behind him and, startled, he turned suddenly around.
But there was nothing. The opposite wall, the one not covered in monitors, seemed completely empty, but he knew he had heard something. After nearly a minute, he was about to turn back around, when the noise could b
e heard again and this time the source was revealed. The far wall was moving, sliding up like a hangar door or shutters. The wall was large, at least four meters high and ten meters long, and the entire thing started to open up.
Natural light began to pour in from what was now revealed to be an observation window. Below it was a vast hangar bay area, much like the space they had come through before. Inside this one, however, were dozens upon dozens of Retrievers. The massive Strato-Sentinels were uniformly parked in a vast structure that seemed to go on for at least a kilometer before ending in an incredibly large opening, one that looked out into the Ark’s core and at the moon beyond. The “sky,” however, was not empty. It was filled with Retrievers soaring upward; these had been dispatched presumably from the very similar bays that lined the foundry walls. Luther’s suspicions about the location they encountered before had been proven right, but what he now saw was disheartening. As he contemplated its meaning, even the Retrievers in the bay he was looking at began to rise from their mounts and launch out into the foundry, climbing up into the space above the Ark.
He had a bad feeling about this, but wasn’t in the least certain what it might mean.
<
Luther was surprised when the Huragok addressed him; this was the first time that the Huragok had done so and not vice versa. “Yes?” He glanced quickly toward the Engineer.
<>
Luther blinked several times, unable to quite understand what the Huragok had just told him. “Ex . . . excuse me?”
<>
“What?! How the hell did you manage that? Why didn’t you take control earlier, if you could do it now?”
<>
“Never mind—explain it later! Can you open the door?”
<
Luther ran toward the large double doors and shouted, even though he suspected that the Sangheili had no way of hearing him. “Usze! Kola! Can you hear me—?!”
The doors suddenly slid open, and Luther stopped in his tracks, gasping.
Usze fell backward, hitting the floor heavily. He was covered in blood. His eyes were open, but barely, and his arms and face were torn up. He was still gripping his plasma sword with fierce determination, although his breath was ragged. Kola was standing to the side, but looked just as exhausted and likewise severely wounded.
Luther looked beyond Usze in astonishment. The entire floor was covered with debris from armigers, the same kind they had encountered in the citadel’s main hall. Most of them had been cut to pieces, and a few still writhed mechanically about in their death throes. “Oh my God,” he whispered, and then shouted, “Usze!” He ran to the Elite and dropped to his knees beside him. “Are you all right?” He turned to Kola. “Are you—?”
Usze stared up at him with incredulity. “Ask yourself, human: Do I appear all right?” he demanded.
“He is fine,” Kola managed to say. “So are we both. There is no . . .” Abruptly Kola let out a loud sigh and slid heavily to the floor inside the room.
Usze started to stand up, but he seemed disoriented, unable to pull himself together.
“Stay seated,” said Luther, pushing down on Usze’s shoulders as Drifts shut the door behind him. The Sangheili actually paid attention to him, allowing himself to be placed in a sitting position. “There’s no need to stand up. We’re not going anywhere for the moment.”
Usze turned and stared at him through bleary eyes, but then turned his attention to the wall-size window where the Retrievers were still pouring out of the bay and into the Ark’s core and launching upward. He turned to Luther with an expression that suggested he couldn’t quite believe what he was seeing. “What is this? What is happening?”
“Drifts,” and Luther turned to the Huragok frantically. “What is going on out there? Where are they headed?”
<
Luther wasn’t sure he had understood the Engineer correctly. “What are you talking about? The Ark’s monitor, the one that was stopping you before . . . it initiated this?”
<
“How do you know?”
<
“But why would it do that?”
<
“Can we stop it, Huragok?” asked Usze.
Luther’s mind was already racing, putting together the pieces. “Activating Halo was just a means to an end,” he said slowly. “It needed us to open the portal. That’s what this has been about. That’s what it’s always been about. Earth is about to be invaded by one of the largest hostile forces in history right now, and we’re down here, helpless to stop it.”
The monitor laughed.
It was a very disagreeable sound to Olympia Vale. She hadn’t heard it before, but now she found it positively disconcerting. It wasn’t remotely human laughter. Instead it sounded . . .
Demented. The thought that something created by the Forerunners could go this far off the rails was, to put it mildly, upsetting.
“What’s so funny?” asked Vale.
“Just an unexpected development. The Ark’s system has been subverted.”
“What are you saying? That something’s subverted the—?”
“A Huragok—one that came here with you—managed to bypass my security emplacements, tapped into the Ark’s core, and then seized control. A rather brilliant tactic, if I may say so. I must also say, however, that I found it quite amusing. The irony of an entity created by the Forerunners being stymied by another Forerunner creation contains a certain symmetry, do you not think so? Would that I had taken this servant-tool for my own ends when afforded the opportunity in the communications array earlier.”
“What do you mean?”
“It matters little, human. Your world is about to be rendered lifeless. Do you accept that your fate is now with me?”
“Yes, I . . . suppose.” Her mind tried to find a way to buy time. If Halo had been deactivated and the Ark’s systems were being controlled by Drifts, perhaps she might survive this after all. She just needed more time. “You could stop the Retrievers right now, couldn’t you?”
“Of course.”
“But you won’t.”
“No. I was impressed by your argumentation, nevertheless. You are much more skilled at that then the other members of your species. Nevertheless, you must accept that your destiny is here with me. You will be the last of your kind. Did you think such a thing was possible?”
“No. No, I hadn’t, but let me ask you a question: If I do promise to remain here, would you stay your hand for a moment? Would you stop the Retrievers from their current task and talk with me further before sending them?” To Vale, it had been clear from the outset that this intelligence—Tragic Solitude—though clearly erratic, was not mainly this way because of what had happened to the Halo installations. It could repair and replace those using any world it chose. It was this way because it had been alone for a hundred millennia. It had been abandoned by its makers. And for a brief moment, Vale actually felt sorry for it. A hundred thousand years of complete and utter isolation, no matter the mental rigor or constitution, was a recipe for madness.
When the monitor didn’t respond, she asked another question: “How did you get your name? Tragic Solitude?”
“I chose it during the dark times following reintroduction.”
“When you were alone?”
The monitor did not respond. It merely stared at her, a nearly perfect reflection.
“If I remain with you. If I promise to stay here, can you send the Retriever
s instead to other worlds, as I asked earlier? Will you do this for me?”
“I am, frankly, disappointed, human. Do you think me a fool? You have nothing to barter with. You will remain here, as long as I am pleased to allow it. And when I am finished putting an end to your world and the others in that wretched, backwater system, I will use your very hand to reactivate Halo and silence this galaxy once more.”
No one on Earth is prepared for the first assault of the Retrievers. How could they be?
All of the scientists who had been exploring the Excession had been shunted aside, and Home Fleet was now in control. Without anyone monitoring the portal’s internal systems, they were blindsided by the enemy’s approach. And although there were dozens of UNSC vessels that now filled the Kenyan sky, poised and surrounding the portal at every angle, they were but a fraction of the number of Retrievers.
When word was first received by the UNSC that the Halo activation has ceased, there is out-and-out rejoicing by everyone who knew of it. It was first felt on Zeta Halo, then the others followed. It had not been expected in the least. After the Mayhem had departed unceremoniously days earlier, there was significant cause for alarm. What had caused the Elites to leave without permission? Were the humans aboard taken against their will? The very fabric of the human–Sangheili peace accord was now strained beyond belief, despite efforts on both sides to calm their own people.
Home Fleet’s various battlegroups had also been brought to the portal and their combat advisories raised to red alert. The portal had remained active and surging in dark skies for the time, yet ONI and the branch heads of the UNSC were wary about the proposition of sending more ships in immediately. Still in deliberation, they were now weighing the cost and searching desperately for another solution to the threat of Halo.
It appeared now, however, that the Ark team has succeeded.
It was an interesting and dramatic turnaround in local philosophies. UNSC and ONI officers had been furious when the Sangheili vessel Mayhem had vanished into the portal. Heated communications with the Arbiter had spoken darkly of how this would be perceived as an act of war . . . a response that the Arbiter had scoffed at, pointing out that if all sentient life in the galaxy was about to end, certainly spending the last weeks reopening old wounds and engaging in armed conflict was hardly the best use of anyone’s time. But, under the guidance of Admiral Hood, cool heads had prevailed.