“Yes, ma’am,” said Richards.
“Casper, get Doctors Mann and Lamb relocated to Voi immediately.”
Casper nodded. “Will do.”
“Everyone’s got their orders. Let’s make this quick. We have zero time to waste.”
There were nods from around the table and everyone rose and filed out. Within moments, only Osman and Hood were left behind.
“Is this going to work?” she said to Hood. “I still think that involving the Elites will create more problems than it solves.”
“We don’t exactly have a laundry list of viable options, do we?”
She paused, and then said in a low voice, “Terrence . . . there’s a bit more to this than you know.”
“What do you mean?”
“We’ve already sent teams to the Ark. It may be a dead end.”
“Explain.”
“March ’53, before my time here. Parangosky approved the deployment of an automated remote-probe delivery system to the Ark using, at that time, extremely advanced slipspace methods. Obviously, after we lost contact with the Master Chief and Cortana, we needed to figure out what was left out there. To see if we could recover those assets and even secure a presence on the Ark. We know that it arrived in November of that year and dispersed its pods, but apart from a few initial transmissions confirming that the Ark had, in fact, survived, there was nothing else. They all suddenly went offline.”
Hood didn’t respond. He simply sat there and waited for her to continue, which she did.
“In December of ’53 we commissioned the Rubicon, a single ship that would be dispatched from Luna and make its way to the Ark, this time with people. It was state of the art, using the most sophisticated Forerunner drive tech ever leveraged by humans. And the Rubicon was loaded to the brim with highly skilled remote-contact teams and survey drones. It was going to be a scrub job for asset and artifact recovery, and maybe to figure out what happened to the original probes.”
“Continue,” Hood responded.
“According to our records, Rubicon dispatched its RCTs across the Ark’s surface and conducted a number of initial surveys before it too went offline unexpectedly. We have really no record of where it is or what its status is. From what we can tell, whatever caused the probes to trip up may have caused the Rubicon to go offline as well.”
“You lost an entire ship, Serin?”
“It’s not the first time we’ve lost one, is it, Admiral?” Osman knew the question stung, because Hood had seen his fair share of vessels fall out of sight under his command—most notably the UNSC Spirit of Fire in 2531, a story everyone in the UNSC damn well knew. “So whatever is out there, whatever took down the probes and Rubicon . . . could also be what triggered the Halo Array.”
“And we’re sending a team there now, into all that, and you would still have this kept a secret? From them?”
“It’s of no benefit to them to know about the previous expeditions. We need to get out there, assess the situation, and potentially neutralize any threat that’s present. It’s as simple as that. In this case, the less information all concerned know about the Ark, the easier it will be to get the portal up and running and a qualified team there to sort this out.”
“I can see that ONI still loves to play with people’s lives.”
“Count the cost, Terrence. It’s only the galaxy that’s at stake here,” Osman responded.
It seemed such an outrageous comment for her to make, but he simply nodded. “Yes, I suppose it is. And we’re putting our best people on it. I’m sure we’ll have it under control, Serin.”
“And if we don’t?”
He stuck out a hand. “Well, then I have to say, it was a pleasure working with you.”
She stared at the outstretched hand for a moment and then shook it firmly.
“Same to you,” she said.
CHAPTER 3
* * *
Thel ‘Vadam must die.”
Upon saying that out loud, Otar ‘Bemet was almost startled by the vehemence in his voice. He was also concerned by it. Otar had no desire to sound quite so strident or even angry. The impending death of Thel ‘Vadam should have nothing to do with any sort of dislike for the individual himself. It was simply the circumstances that dictated the necessity for this action.
“Thel ‘Vadam must die,” he said again, but this time he managed to keep the rage from his tone. Instead he said it in an almost resigned manner, as if he had given the matter a great deal of thought and had reluctantly come up with the only possible conclusion. Yes. Yes, Otar preferred that tonality. It made him seem a more reasonable Sangheili.
He strode back and forth across the room, repeating “Thel ‘Vadam must die” in order to make sure he had the tone reproducible upon demand. That was very important, because Otar wanted to hide the pure fury that he felt toward ‘Vadam for the great betrayal he had perpetrated upon the Sangheili.
The more he dwelt on it, the angrier he became. In a way, it was depressing that matters had reached this point. Thel ‘Vadam had great potential as a leader, but he had utterly squandered his opportunities by becoming one of the central figures in establishing peace with the humans.
Peace with the humans. Even the concept boiled within Otar, to say nothing of the fact that it had become a reality. When Otar thought of all the Sangheili lives that had been lost in years of war and their enemy’s verminous and cowardly behavior, the notion that there was now a truce with humanity was infuriating beyond his ability to express. Yet even now, the Arbiter—the mantle now worn by ‘Vadam as leader—seemed oblivious to the great harm that he had done to his people.
A day of reckoning was fast approaching, however.
For a moment, his thoughts fled to his mate, his beloved Ilta. It was two annual cycles since Ilta had perished, while she had been assembling an incendiary device that was to be used against the Arbiter. Such a foolish way to die, he thought. He would have loved to have her here now. Her support for all his actions had been one of the things that had helped keep him going, and he couldn’t help but mourn the fact that she wouldn’t be there to see the Arbiter’s eventual fall.
Otar ‘Bemet paced the length of the small building that had once served as a servant’s quarters of a far greater home here on Sanghelios. The main residence was long gone, destroyed during a vicious crossfire when a number of Otar’s allies had taken up positions there and Thel ‘Vadam had sent in his people to rid himself of them.
Otar was becoming extraordinarily impatient.
The others should have been here by now. He could not have been more specific in terms of providing the location: in this structure, in this place, in the deep warrens of the Qish’tani region, slung out across the northeast fringes of the continent of Tolvuus, a mere five kilometers from the manufacturing hub of many weapons—specifically plasma weapons, much like those used in the Covenant. Getting into the hub was the central part of the plan. They needed ordnance if they were going to launch a successful assault on Thel ‘Vadam, and the weapons factory was one of the best sources for it. There was no way around it. Fortunately, it wouldn’t prove to be too much of a chore: Otar had members of his team with security clearance, so getting in and out would not be that difficult to—
Otar paused in his thoughts, hearing something coming from the direction of the door. At last! His co-conspirators had finally arrived.
He crossed quickly to the door, threw it wide, and froze.
A towering Elite was standing there, but it was no one he recognized. Of even greater concern was that this stranger was holding a glowing double-edged energy sword, but one of a traditional pre-Covenant design, displaying intriguing ridges and apertures, its lower blade a full hand-span longer than the upper.
Otar quickly backed up, which provided the Sangheili room to enter without being impeded. He strode forward slowly, his powerful arms swinging casually.
“Who are you?” Otar said, continuing to retreat. He felt his back bump up against
something and realized it was the far wall. “What are you doing here? This is a private place.”
“Very private,” the newcomer told him. “You were waiting for friends of yours to join you here. I believe you will find that they will not be in attendance.”
Fear began to rise in Otar’s gut, and he very quickly did all he could to tamp it down. “I have no idea what you are talking about.”
“That is certainly unfortunate for you, but worry not. I know enough for both of us. I know that you are Otar ‘Bemet. I know that you planned to find a way to end the life of the Arbiter. You had half a dozen compatriots who were going to aid you in that endeavor. You now have none. Several of them are dead, and the rest were quite ready to name you specifically in an attempt to save their own miserable lives. The traitors were allowed to live by the very individual whom they were planning to dispose of. As for me—I believe that was a mistake on his part, but it is not my place to make such decisions.”
Otar’s mandibles moved up and down, but no words presented themselves at first. When he finally spoke, it was barely above a whisper. “Who are you?”
“I am Usze ‘Taham.”
Otar frowned for a moment, searching his memory, and then it came to him. “I know you,” he said in a soft voice. “You are the Arbiter’s soldier?”
“I am my own soldier.”
“Top graduate from the war college. As I recall, you were offered a place on the Prophets’ Honor Guard and you declined it.”
“I am impressed that you would remember a random soldier in such a way.”
“Oh, I work to keep myself apprised of potential allies.”
“A potential ally?” Usze sounded amused. “Is that how you see me?”
“Why, you underestimate yourself, Usze.” Otar was slowly circling the room. Usze countered his movements, stepping to the left as Otar moved right. “You have become something of a legend in certain circles, considering that you turned down a position within the Honor Guard not once, but twice. Such actions were considered by some to be grounds for charges of apostasy.”
“A charge that was never filed or pursued. And it means nothing now, given the dissolution of the Covenant.”
“Yes, I know. Apparently there were some in authority who felt protective toward you. So tell me: why did you turn the position down?”
“It matters little, considering the fact that there is no more Honor Guard, no more Covenant. Are you attempting to delay the work I came to do, Otar? Very well; I felt my skills could be best used elsewhere.”
“Such as aiding in tracking down those who believe that the Arbiter continues to destroy his people?”
“That is fine talk coming from someone who himself is trying to destroy the Arbiter!”
“He has earned my desire to rid our world of him!” Otar snarled at him. He stopped moving and Usze did likewise. “He has allied himself with the humans! A dishonorable species that we were committed to ridding the galaxy of! How can anyone accept such an action? How can you?”
“As opposed to what? Endless slaughter on both sides?”
“Or we utterly destroy them!”
“We attempted that,” said Usze. “We were not successful. So perhaps it was time for a different approach.”
“The only acceptable ‘approach’ to humanity is this.” Otar reached behind his back and removed something that was attached there. He swung it around to reveal an activated plasma blade of his own, a twin-bladed one resembling those used by the Covenant only a few years earlier. It hummed with power. “This is how to deal with humans. The Arbiter may have befriended them, but there are those of us who will never forgive them of their crimes.”
“Crimes? What crimes? For the most part, they died in the war. I hardly think we need to hold that against them.” Usze tilted his head toward the glowing sword. “If you are planning to try and use that against me, I would not advise it. It will not end well for you.”
“So you expect that I will instead go with you quietly.”
Usze nodded. “I imagine, though, that you have other ideas in mind.”
“You imagine correctly.”
Otar came right at Usze. Usze blocked the initial thrust. Otar feinted and attacked, then again, mentally cataloging everything that Usze did to counter him. Otar was deliberately moving in an extremely systematic sequence, designed to determine as quickly as possible Usze’s strengths and weaknesses. He had learned this method from the esteemed swordsman Xaebho ‘Anyame during his own time in the fortress of Deithvo, where he trained extensively in personal combat.
Every time the blades came together, energy ripped through the room. Otar parried and thrust, pleased to see very soon that Usze was clearly overmatched. His opponent was backing up; even when he tried to stab forward with his blade, Usze continued to retreat. Otar was extremely satisfied with this close-quarters battle. It would not take him long at all to dispose of this fool, and then—
And then what? According to Usze, all of Otar’s companions were dead or under guard. The plans against Thel ‘Vadam had been revealed, and Otar doubtlessly no longer had a bolthole down which he could flee.
It mattered not. Otar needed no bolthole, for he was cloaked in his own sense of righteousness. This was merely a setback. Somehow Otar would still find a way to advance his plans. The Arbiter’s future was already set; it was just a matter of finding a way to bring it around.
All this went through Otar’s mind in fleeting moments as the battle continued. Then he noticed a significant flaw in Usze’s technique. Usze was consistently dropping his left shoulder just before he thrust. That was enough to signal to Otar everything he needed to know. His subsequent actions would be simple. Otar would wait until the next time Usze dropped his shoulder, then Otar would stand stone still. Usze would attack, Otar would sidestep, and the motion would leave Usze overextended in his thrust. Otar would then stab forward with his blade, and that would be the end of this abortive encounter.
Otar and Usze stepped back from each other and circled, eyeing each other carefully, their weapons crackling.
Usze dropped his shoulder.
Perfect, thought Otar.
As anticipated, Usze thrust forward and Otar spun out of the way, prepared for the Sangheili to go hurtling past him.
And then, to Otar’s shock, Usze pivoted, changing course, spinning backwards, and coming around into Otar’s back before he had corrected his own positioning. Otar cried out in alarm as Usze’s blade, blazing with energy, slammed in through his back and out the front of his armor. Energy cascaded along his body and he screamed, the world seeming to explode behind his eyes.
Usze yanked his blade clear and Otar pitched forward. He hit the ground heavily and lay there, gasping. “You . . . were feigning incompetence,” he managed to whisper. “You dropped your shoulder . . . deliberately . . . to give me . . . a false signal. . . .”
“Yes,” Usze said calmly. “I knew that one of your skill would notice that.”
“You used my own experience . . . against me.” He actually managed a chuckle at that. “Very good. You’re . . . very good.”
“I have worked hard to become so. All who trained under the Rule of ‘Sumai are familiar enough with ‘Anyame technique.”
“You . . . you serve . . . the wrong leader . . . the Arbiter . . . will die. . . .”
“Perhaps,” said Usze. “But not today. And absolutely not by your hand.”
“Then by someone else . . . you cannot stop us all . . . you cannot . . .”
Then Otar discovered he could no longer speak. His mandibles moved slightly, but no words emerged.
Usze looked down at him. “Maybe. I can certainly try, though.”
Then blackness surrounded Otar’s field of vision. Oddly enough, Ilta was smiling at him. He had thought she was dead, but obviously he was mistaken, because here she was.
She was reaching toward Otar, and he stretched out his hand to her. Suddenly nothing else in the world mattered anymor
e.
Usze ‘Taham stared down at the prone, bloodied form of Otar ‘Bemet and remembered when he was younger and had studied the essays and dissertations written by the elder Sangheili. Usze too once had many deep and profound things to say, and now—thanks to his actions—this one would never say anything again. It was a grave responsibility ending anyone’s life, much less that of someone whom you once respected. No regret, though. Usze’s mission had been quite specific, and he had accomplished it.
He did not bother removing Otar’s corpse. Someone would be along to attend to it. He had other things to worry about.
Usze walked the full valley’s length to the Banshee that he had flown there, the great distance essential, as he hadn’t wanted to risk alerting Otar to his presence. Perhaps nothing might have happened as a result. Otar could just as easily have assumed it was one of his companions. But Usze was not one especially inclined to tempt fate.
He clambered into his vehicle and pressed the control function on the comm unit. “This is Usze ‘Taham, reporting.”
A low, familiar voice immediately responded. “Usze. Is it done?”
“Yes, Arbiter. I am . . .” Pleased was going to be the next word, but he promptly edited himself. Usze was indeed content that he had accomplished his mission, but he took no pleasure in being an instrument of death for Otar. Having no desire to give the wrong impression, however, he continued after a moment’s hesitation: “. . . reporting the death of Otar ‘Bemet. He died in honorable combat.”
Usze knew there were many things that the Arbiter could have said to that, all of them of a despotic nature. Instead he appeared to restrain himself. “That is good to hear. If one of my opponents is to die, I would far prefer that be the manner in which it happens.”
“I am simply relieved that it is done,” said Usze.
Usze could picture the Arbiter’s grim expression through the comm. “Sometimes it seems it will never be done. There are still those who despise me, and I am beginning to think they will never willingly abandon their mind-set.”