Van Eekhout waved at the projector. A series of hand-drawn images appeared. Melody stepped forward. “This is a religious mural replicated by hand from the shipmaster. At the top are three San’Shyuum Prophets. You can see the headgear and physical appearance, even in the crude art. Here are the other species that had been part of the Covenant, and one Sharquoi. Here’s another hand drawing of a Sharquoi from a Sangheili zealot who claims to have seen one. The Prophets secreted these things from the high-ranking Elites in the military and government, guessing that they hoped to keep the mythos of these creatures intact.”
Jai looked at the sketch of the creature. Oversized limbs, a tiny head, what looked like an eye on the upper forehead, randomly jagged teeth that stuck down over its jaw. “Is that a single eye?”
“Unconfirmed. We’ve never seen one in person. Some evidence we’ve drawn suggest it’s about five meters in height—basically a giant. Lots of muscle. We think that some of the armor designs for the Mgalekgolo—the Hunters—within the Covenant may have imitated the older Sharquoi size and function. The Covenant used them as a template, so to speak. But if any of this evidence is true, the Sharquoi themselves are far, far more dangerous than Hunters.”
“We’ve fought Hunters,” Jai said. The Mgalekgolo were massive and strong, yet still fast in close spaces. Despite being colonies of bizarre Lekgolo worms inside nearly impenetrable armor, they fought as if they were one body. Not easy to kill. “But I’ve never heard of these things.”
“What makes the Sharquoi such a problem, other than their size?” asked Adriana.
“See the head?” van Eekhout pointed with a finger. “It’s not just a size and perspective thing, it’s really that proportionately small. According to our intel, the Sharquoi aren’t all that bright on their own. They get intelligence by being connected. We’re not sure how. Or about range. Certainly the Forerunners’ technology would be advanced enough to solve most of the things we see as problems.”
“So they pool their cognitive resources?” Jai asked.
“No. It’s not a collective group mind,” van Eekhout said, shaking his head. “Our understanding, based on some obscure inscriptions we recovered from artifacts on Onyx, is that the Sharquoi are controlled by a single individual when deployed. Like an ant queen and a colony. Every Sharquoi somehow becomes an extension of that individual’s will.”
“That kind of control sounds like fantasy, make-believe,” Mike chimed in.
“It would certainly make the perfect soldier,” Adriana said skeptically. “Compliant and ready to take orders. Oh, I can imagine ONI must be very interested in finding these things.”
“Agents died to find out more about this threat,” Melody said, catching that acid in Adriana’s voice. She turned to van Eekhout. “Show them the helmet footage from Operation POLECAT.”
He turned around. “Yeah, why not. We’re already in too far.” The holograms disappeared to show a flat screen projecting a camera feed from an ODST’s helmet. “We have seen them in person before. Once. There’s a lot of pertinent footage, but all you need to see is this.”
A blue stasis field faded away at the center of the ODST’s heads-up display. A glance left showed a column of ODSTs with weapons ready. Easily a hundred soldiers moving slowly forward toward the location where the stasis field had been. A Sharquoi standing on the dais in front of them shifted. It towered over them like a small building. Jai couldn’t help thinking of a cyclops, or troll, from ancient human mythology—a massive pillar of lethality.
“Operation POLECAT used Sangheili contacts and one trusted Sangheili crew on an ex-Covenant destroyer to hunt down a remote world where the Prophets had allegedly kept their Sharquoi hive,” Melody said. “A handful of Sharquoi were found there. One was accidentally released while ONI personnel were trying to access the site’s terminal data.”
The Sharquoi’s head twisted. The eyelike bump on its head thrummed, probing and searching the air around it. It seemed to notice the weapons aimed at it and bellowed. There may have been words in some strange alien tongue, but they were washed away by the immediate chattering of bullets as the ODSTs opened fire.
The creature roared and leapt into the air, shattering any assumptions that it was slow and lumbering. The ODST’s camera feed struggled to follow it as it landed in the middle of the column of shock troopers. Melody paused the footage just as the Sharquoi lifted up an ODST by his leg and smashed him between two fists, armor disintegrating under the impact.
“One Sharquoi alone killed fifty ODSTs during this operation. Later, the hive was nuked from orbit and then glassed by the Sangheili ship for good measure,” Melody said. “They’re not something anyone at ONI wanted to get out.”
“How come we’ve never heard of these things before?” Adriana asked.
“How much do you know about the Forerunners?”
“Only what we saw in briefings before SUNSPEAR,” Jai said. “About the Master Chief and the Halo installation out in deep space.”
“We believe that the Sharquoi were engineered by the Forerunners who built the Halo Array,” van Eekhout answered. “And after the Sharquoi were first discovered by the Covenant, they were immediately hidden. No one really knew about them. They were created for protection against the Flood—a parasite that threatened all thinking life in the galaxy—as the Forerunners retreated into the galaxy’s periphery. But evidently, only a few ever were discovered by the enemy, fewer still used. During the war, some Sangheili and San’Shyuum that knew about their existence begged their High Prophets in secret to release them against the humans, but they never did. That’s why we’ve never formally encountered them.”
“So why didn’t the Prophets release them in battle?” Jai asked.
Van Eekhout smiled. “The assumption is that they had the ability to release the Sharquoi, but they lacked the means to control them. The control device the Forerunners used was hidden away on one of their installations. The Covenant never had possession of it. If they had ever released them, it would have been only for raw power. A show of destruction and strength. The threat of Sharquoi was somewhat manageable before today . . . before the Jiralhanae chieftain Hekabe showed up.”
“Hekabe?” Mike asked. “Who’s this?”
Melody spoke up. “Hekabe is a rogue Jiralhanae who leads several packs, and we believe he’s the one who landed here on Carrow. Some embedded moles we’ve had among the ex-Covenant think that Hekabe may have acquired the control device in question during one of the final battles of the war—he’s apparently boasted of such. But it’s taken him six years to sort out where to go to unlock its power. He must have finally figured out about the hive here.”
“And this hive here—so no one knew about it?” Jai asked wearily.
Van Eekhout took that question. “There’s a Forerunner structure deep underground on the outskirts of Suraka. Judging by ONI seismic scans before the reoccupation of Suraka, it matches the design of the only other known hive but . . . we believe that this structure has the potential to store hundreds of thousands of Sharquoi. A scale unlike anything we’ve ever seen. We don’t think the San’Shyuum knew it even existed. They tended to . . . misinterpret a lot about Forerunner artifacts.”
“An understatement,” Melody muttered.
“Hekabe must have obtained new knowledge of the hive’s location, and that led him here,” van Eekhout said.
“And you just let people come back to Suraka? And Sangheili?” Adriana said. “Settle here? And all the time, knowing this was down there?”
“We couldn’t stop the planet’s refugees from resettling without a major political upheveal from those who felt like the UNSC had abandoned them during the war,” said van Eekhout. “It would have been a logistical and PR nightmare with some of the emerging separatist movements like the New Colonial Alliance. Think Insurrection-scale problems. We also couldn’t afford any of this leaking out. We figured the city would act as a buffer to discovery. But just in case, I’ve been here for
the past few years. Monitoring.” Van Eekhout looked slightly martyred. “There were . . . contingency plans.”
“So,” Melody said, looking right at Jai. “There’s a very angry Jiralhanae chieftain in Suraka who has just figured out how to break into a Forerunner facility buried below the planet. He plans to take control of the Sharquoi inside. There’s a strong chance this poses a threat not just to Carrow but to anywhere Hekabe can carry the Sharquoi in his vessels. You’re now fully up to speed, Spartan. I had been trying to get back to warn the UNSC or ONI, but without a long-range communications relay, I’m afraid we’re on our own. Are you willing to help us?”
Ellis woke up as her head slipped forward and struck her desk. Utterly exhausted, she swore, rubbed her forehead, and looked down at the datapane she’d been scanning. Lists of Surakan militia who waited on the rooftops with shoulder-launched guided missiles. Pelicans and several Sparrowhawks prepped to be rolled out of hardened bunkers, procured through backdoor channels years earlier—probably through the New Colonial Alliance, Ellis wasn’t certain. Maps of militia positions around the occupied area also needed rechecking one last time.
But they were all coiled and ready.
The pane suddenly blinked several times, signaling an incoming call. Ellis tapped it and General Grace appeared. “Our ships are about to enter orbit. The Jiralhanae frigates that remain are pulling back from them rather than moving to engage. We have the high ground.”
“Thank you, General. Keep me posted,” Ellis said, and cut the connection. Her vision blurred, doubles of everything she was looking at swimming around in front of her.
How long had she been up? Three days? The human body wasn’t meant for this. She pulled out another stimulant patch and ripped it open. She rubbed it against her forearm and waited until the blurring faded away. The pressure behind her right eye took a step back.
She got up to leave and Lamar quickly appeared in the hall to stop her at the door. “Ellis,” he said, “with the Jiralhanae frigates drawn back, this is our last chance.”
“Lamar . . .” Ellis rubbed her scratchy eyes. “I understand you want to do what you think is best. I won’t hold this against you afterward. Or ever, really. But I need you with me, by my side, to help us do this. I need your expertise. If you can’t give it to me, let me know now. We can’t afford to fight each other. Not with this threat on our doorstep.”
Her vice-governor took a step back. “I had to ask one last time. I have a conscience, Ellis.”
She gave his shoulder a squeeze. “I know. And I really appreciate where you’re coming from. Thank you, Lamar, for all your counsel.”
Of course, when this was all over, she was going to ask for his resignation. Ellis wouldn’t be vindictive; she was better than that. But it was the end for him. Never mind the smile of reassurance she gave him now—that was to make sure he followed through until the enemy had been pushed back.
The operations room’s walls dripped screens patched into surveillance all over the city. They now had a decent line of sight on the rim of the massive crater the Jiralhanae had glassed to get down into the Forerunner structure. Other screens showed feeds from orbit: Surakan ships transmitted a bevy of new data as they waited to head planetside.
Two generals sat in the room, a variety of other militia officers, and three aides. Everyone crammed in close, with those lesser in rank crouching in the corners out of the way while murmuring orders or requests into earpieces.
“We are go for Operation BUZZHAWK,” General Kapoor said.
“Good,” said Ellis. “Let’s send these Jiralhanae back to where they came from.”
On her orders, the Surakan ships began to descend from orbit and break for the surface.
CHAPTER 14
* * *
* * *
Rojka’s assault team still consisted of the sixteen trusted warriors he’d handpicked after fighting the traitorous Keza to the death while trapped in the wreckage of his own command bridge. Most of his crew was dead, either from the crash or by Thars’s wrath. Those who survived had only a handful of working vehicles—two Ghosts, a Spectre, and a single Phantom—salvaged from the debris of the Unwavering Discipline and operated by a few of his most skilled Sangheili. This other group had separated from the main pack and methodically picked their way to the outskirts of the Uldt desert in order to divert and delay their pursuers, while Rojka’s own force raced ahead. This lean, fast-moving fighting force had found the remains of the Spartan shuttle quickly. From there they continued to follow their enemies across the desert.
Yet it hadn’t been enough. Because now Thars had finally caught up to Rojka before the Spartans could be dealt with.
Rojka’s best were not enough to take on the one-hundred-strong enemy Sangheili arrayed on the dune tops around them, and any communication with the few vehicles they had would only give up their location. If they stood any chance for survival, he would have to wait on recalling them. Thars’s own Phantom gunship had thundered overhead in the early morning darkness as they approached the mesa where Rojka had tracked the Demon Three. Thars’s troops dropped to the ground and quickly formed a broad semicircle around Rojka’s smaller force, all shadows scattered around the dunes. Rojka held a dune top of his own, for what little good it did.
At least he wasn’t positioned down below and between the dunes, forced to look up at Thars and his conspirators.
“Can we escape?” Daga asked.
“No. We will not be cowards.” Rojka looked back in the direction Thars had not blocked off. There would be something out there, waiting. Ships with bigger guns. Thars would crow for eternity if he killed Rojka in the process of retreat, the shameful end his enemy dreamed of.
Thars trudged up to the top of the nearest dune across from them.
“Greetings, cousin!” Thars shouted from a safe distance. Several of his heavily armored commanders moved quickly to stand at his side. “I see you have paused. Do the Demon Three worry you?”
Rojka looked toward the wall of rock ahead of them. “We are studying the enemy’s keep,” he said. “It is a human-made base, hidden from sight, and it will have defenses. We need to know how many are inside. Or if we can lay a trap for them when they leave.” For many, it would have been difficult to discern the humans’ structure embedded in the mountainside, but Rojka had seen enough of Rakoi, and of this vast desert in particular, not to be fooled. He knew what was real and natural and what wasn’t.
Thars made a sound of amusement and disdain. “You no longer have any ships. You have few to command an attack. Rojka, right now, I see only the dead standing before me.”
“I have enough to take my revenge. Revenge for all,” Rojka said.
“Possibly,” Thars said. “But if Sangheili attack a human facility, it is a strike against the humans’ government. You are willing to die fighting for vengeance. We who live after your glorious deed will be the ones who suffer the consequences of this, however. What will the humans do to us on this world afterward?”
This, Rojka thought, was uncharacteristically forward thinking by Thars.
Then again, maybe not. Thars always made sure to take care of his own hide. “You don’t wish to see the Demon Three dragged to justice?” Rojka shouted, letting rage seep into his voice. “After the family we lost to them. Our nephews dead. Our traditions erased. The history of our peoples brought to nothing with the destruction of our home? Glyke was your world too, cousin!”
“Oh, I want this,” Thars said, his voice silky and thoughtful despite the distance. “But I puzzle over the more effective way to kill them without upsetting the humans who will arrive soon.”
“You have thoughts on this,” Rojka said.
“I offer you a bargain,” Thars said. “We will let you attack. But you will spare any humans inside other than the Demon Three. Once you have accomplished your task, we will rush in and rescue the remaining humans from you.”
So that was why Thars surrounded and stopped him instead of
striking directly. Rojka made a show of nodding thoughtfully. “And then you will kill me and my warriors.”
Thars spread his arms. “An unfortunate consequence of the fighting,” he said. “I will tell the humans that you were sympathizers with one of the Covenant sects that is causing them problems. These days, that would be easy to believe. But all Sangheili will know you died in glory, cousin. And my previous offer stands: I will allow your bloodline to live on.”
Given the circumstance, it was a generous offer, Rojka knew. And even though Thars was a traitorous wretch, with so many eyes on him for such a public proclamation, Rojka doubted Thars would slaughter his bloodline when back at the city of Rak. Thars would likely attempt to claim to have killed the Demon Three alongside Rojka and steal a share in the glory, of course.
So before him was a choice. Run out into the desert, away from Thars, and die at the hands of a hundred former brothers, or attack the human base and perish when Thars swooped in afterward.
Rojka looked at his sixteen trusted warriors. They were poised, preparing for the battle to erupt at any moment, but also waiting for him to make the first move. Daga caught his eye and nodded. Any which way, his eyes glittered.
Their lives were gripped in his hands, Rojka knew. But more importantly, their legacies all were being decided right in this moment. What would be sung about them for generations hung on whatever he chose to do next.
“Very well. I will attack and spare the other humans,” Rojka said with grudging respect. “It is a worthy plan.” It would certainly give anyone under him their honor. And it would allow him to finally exact revenge on the Demon Three. Perhaps he could also silence the envoy, who brought this all on him to begin with. And it might even protect whatever remained of their lineage left in Rak.
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