“Shit shit shit.” Phillips was rooted to the spot, armor smoking at the shoulder seals. “Oh shit.”
Vaz had a tight grip on his arm. “You’re okay. The suit’s sealed. Relax.”
Mal went aft to check them over. The view from the exterior hull cam showed oddly shaped flames jetting out into space as the oxygen escaped.
Naomi, calm as anything, let out a breath. “Hull breach. Something’s blown a hole in the repair.”
“Okay, everybody chill,” Mal said. “We’re all suited and sealed. The fire’s not going to kill us, and we’re almost home. You okay, Naomi?”
Mjolnir armor was built to take close detonations. More flame licked out from the ruptured compartment for a few seconds and the Spartan just stood there, letting it curl past her. “Hit the fire suppressant, Dev,” she said. “It hasn’t kicked in automatically.”
A mist of nitrite mix clouded the air. It was touch and go whether the fire control system killed the flames first or the oxygen ran out and stifled them. Osman’s voice came over the radio.
“How bad is it?” Osman asked. “I’ve got the cam feed. Everyone okay?”
“We’re dead in the water, ma’am,” Devereaux said. “The fire’s suppressed, but we’ve lost propulsion. We’re going to need a hand.”
Phillips pushed back the top filter on his visor. Mal could now see his eyes, and it was the first time the poor bugger had actually looked terrified. A shipboard fire was pretty scary stuff at the best of times, but everyone knew their armor would almost certainly withstand it for long enough to get the blaze under control, and all they had to do was not panic if the flames passed over them. It was a natural animal reflex to fire that took a lot of training to resist. Phillips hadn’t had it.
“It’s okay, mate,” Mal said. There was no shame in being terrified of a blaze in a ship. “You won’t cook and you won’t asphyxiate. Trust the suit. And underwear washes.”
“This,” Phillips whispered, eyes still wide, “has been the most amazing week of my entire life. Fantastic.”
Mal knew what he meant. There was nothing like pushing yourself to your absolute limits and maybe a bit beyond. You knew you were alive. But they were still fifty klicks from safety, and ODST armor was rated at fifteen minutes in vacuum. Mjolnir’s endurance was a lot longer.
“UNSC dropship, this is Infinity,” said a voice Mal didn’t recognize. “Stand by for assistance. We’re on our way.”
Nobody cheered. It was a measure of how tight the team had become that Infinity was almost an interloper. “Ma’am, are you okay with Infinity picking us up?” Mal asked.
“Can’t refuse,” said Osman. “Check her out while you’re there, and be nice to the Admiral.”
“Hood or Parangosky?”
“There is only one.”
“Okay.” Mal checked his air supply readout. “Dropship to Infinity, yes please, and make it snappy. We’re on suit air.”
“We can do snappy,” the voice said. “We’ve got frigates underslung.”
Devereaux let out a breath. Mal thought she was just pissed off that her repairs hadn’t held up after all, but then he caught movement on the external cam and saw what had grabbed her attention. A point of light went from a pinprick to a frigate in seconds.
“So that’s where our tax dollars went,” she said. “Do you think I can sweet-talk them into customizing Tart-Cart in their workshop?”
CHAPTER
TWELVE
ONE DAY WE’LL LOOK BACK AND REALIZE THAT THE TURNING POINT WASN’T A BIGGER, BETTER SHIP OR BIGGER, BETTER WEAPONS, BUT THE FACT THAT WE ACQUIRED HURAGOK AND OUR ENEMIES LOST THEM. IF WE LOSE A SHIP, WE CAN NOW REPLACE IT WITH AN EVEN BETTER ONE. IF THE SANGHEILI LOSE ONE, THEN THERE ARE NO HURAGOK LEFT TO MANAGE THEIR SHIPYARDS OR CARRY OUT COMPLEX REPAIRS, LET ALONE DEVELOP BETTER EQUIPMENT. EVERY SANGHEILI ASSET WE DESTROY DEGRADES THEIR CAPABILITY FAR INTO THE FUTURE. WARS TURN ON THE ACTIONS OF INDIVIDUALS: FIRST THE SPARTANS, NOW THE HURAGOK.
(ADMIRAL MARGARET PARANGOSKY, CINCONI: DRAFT OF PROPOSED EVIDENCE TO UEG SECURITY SELECT COMMITTEE)
OPPOSITION CAMP, VADAM
“Consider this,” Forze said. “It doesn’t matter if the rest of the states sit and dither. When the Arbiter’s deposed, they’ll all creep out of their holes and say they agreed with us all along.”
He took the Phantom through clouds of smoke so dense that it seemed more like dusk than morning. Raia remembered that she hadn’t called her keep to check that everything was under control, and felt ashamed. No matter: Umira was sensible and wouldn’t worry—yet. Raia had shifted her perspective from a ground-level one, the day-to-day life of the keep, to a world seen from an elevated position in every sense of the word. The experiences of the last few days had raised her eyes. She leaned forward a little to get a better view of the terrain as Forze descended over the Vadam coast.
I had no idea all this was possible.
Why are these decisions all made by males? Why don’t I have a say in this? Why did I never seek to have one?
She had power within the keep, the power over bloodlines and control of the estate, a responsibility that determined the fate of generations to come long after she was gone: but that wasn’t the same. This was where the next day, the next week, the next year was decided. This was where things happened that could render all the slower, subtler decisions irrelevant. The choices were made by warriors on battlefields, and she wasn’t consulted. Her fear for Jul’s safety was tinged with anger at being left behind to pick up the pieces.
Dead ahead, Mount Kolaar was a jagged spearhead shape stabbing the sky, its lower slopes curtained with smoke. She could still see sporadic plasma flashes. If Jul was a prisoner of the Arbiter and held in Vadam keep, then that was the worst place he could possibly be. Fire shot out from the keep at long intervals, and fire spat back. There seemed to be no end in sight.
“Why is it taking so long to dislodge the Arbiter?” she asked. “We used to be able to destroy entire worlds in the course of a day.”
“Because destroying someone else’s world is warfare, but destroying your own is suicide,” Forze muttered. “And … damn them, something has a lock on us—”
Raia saw a control panel indicator change color and begin pulsing as Forze swung the Phantom around an almost vertical climb. Her stomach plummeted. She grabbed for the closest solid object—the cockpit trim in front of her—as a hot white streak passed wide of the viewscreen and suddenly the sky was clear again. The layer of smoke spread below them like thin, grubby cloud.
“Anti-air defenses,” Forze said. “Enough of that nonsense.”
He looped to the left and headed back over the coast. The loop turned into a circle, and suddenly he was accelerating back inland again, making the drive scream and skimming lower across the tops of trees and buildings until he was about to crash into them, and then—
Raia wanted to shut her eyes but couldn’t. We’re going to crash. We’re going to crash. We’re going to die.
The Phantom shuddered as if it had been kicked. Raia’s field of view was bleached out by an instant ball of light, then resolved into a pillar of flame and black smoke just as the noise of an explosion hit her in the chest. She felt the shock wave all the way through to her spine.
“That’ll teach the traitor,” Forze said. He didn’t seem shaken at all, more annoyed than anything. “Got him.”
Raia let go of the curved cockpit section and sat up, trying to regain her composure. “Got what?”
“The mobile artillery position. My apologies for the close detonation, Raia.”
So that was a strafing run, a bombing run, something like that. She’d heard Jul use those words over the years and never really taken much notice, but he should have said that it was terrifying and deafening and so fast that he didn’t have time to think. Then she would have understood. But perhaps he didn’t find it frightening at all. Perhaps he switched into glacial calm. Perhaps he even enjoyed the exhilaration. Or maybe he was just irked b
y the audacity of someone trying to kill him, like Forze was.
“I’m … glad,” she said.
“I shouldn’t do this with you on board.” Forze shook his head slowly. “But then if I had any sense, I should have diverted to Mdama and taken you home instead of bringing you back to a battle. It might be easier than arguing with you, but this won’t help you find Jul.”
Yes, she realized that. She also knew that she couldn’t just sit at home and wait by the window like some docile, obedient wife from the old sagas. She knew now that she would never be able to do that again even if—no, when, it had to be when—Jul came back. She had no ambition to become a warrior, but she was never going to be excluded from these decisions again, either.
“There were once female swordmasters,” she reminded him.
“I have heard of one.”
“A principle is not about numbers. A convention either is, or is not. That one—is.”
“Please don’t tell me you want to be a warrior.”
“No. But I should have the choice.”
Forze snapped his jaws a few times, obviously lost for words. “I swear it, Jul will snap my neck when he finds out what I’ve let you become.”
The Phantom jinked again. Raia braced for the flash, shudder, and explosion, but none came. The dropship was now flying slowly over ‘Telcam’s lines, which looked much more organized than they’d been when she’d left for Acroli. Warriors were massed in orderly groups, Revenants and other transports were lined up on the flanks, and there were even defensive barriers being built, Sangheili and Unggoy digging trenches and piling up earthworks side by side. They seemed to be preparing for a long siege.
“Why are they waiting?” she asked. “The Arbiter can’t possibly have more than a thousand troops in there. He’s under attack yet nobody has come to his aid. ‘Telcam attracts more supporters by the hour. You have at least one ship that could destroy the entire keep. Just do it. End it.”
“This is politics.” Forze landed and shut down the drives. “And ‘Telcam is devout. I suspect he wants to hear the Arbiter recant his heresy before he kills him. You don’t understand these things.”
“Do you?”
“Not always. But I know what I believe in.”
“Not the gods.”
“Perhaps not, but I do believe in restoring a strong Sanghelios that doesn’t need to sign peace treaties.”
“But ‘Telcam doesn’t even want the Arbiter’s power. Who will rule, Forze? When we cut off the flawed head that we have, what do we put in its place? Anarchy? Confusion? Lesser leaders? Puppets?”
“A kaidon will step up. Someone always does.” Forze sounded convinced. “It’s better to cut out the source of an infection than to let it poison the whole body while we wait for a cure.”
Raia snorted to herself. Yes, it was typical. Warriors were brought up to refuse medical aid as a mark of shame, the fools. She still saw no honor in that, even if it instilled endurance. There was far more virtue in surviving to fight back. She was sure she knew which path the humans would choose.
Humans …
She had started the season with no real knowledge of the creatures beyond the occasional stories that Jul told her and the evidence of her own eyes—that they’d spread throughout the galaxy, settling on hundreds of worlds that had not been theirs in her forebears’ day. Now she’d seen them face to face, and they confused her. They landed on her world with no visible fear or reverence. They were even given assistance. Forze had been told to rescue one of them, and even help them with repairs. This wasn’t the future she wanted for her children.
What game was ‘Telcam playing? He was devout. Why didn’t he just kill every human he met? What was this favor he had to repay?
As soon as she climbed out of the Phantom and walked through the lines, something in the air stung her eyes and she could taste dust in her mouth. Bursts of fire and the occasional short-lived barrage from gun turrets were followed by long silences. It left her with the impression of a group of children throwing stones at a hermit’s shelter, wary of entering but trying to provoke him into coming out. But these were warriors. They’d fought a war for decades, a real war of destruction, and they hadn’t lost their courage now.
‘Telcam was standing some distance behind the front barrier, arms at his sides, staring at the keep as if he was calculating something. Buran, the shipmaster who seemed to be his lieutenant, paced up and down a few meters away. Now Raia could see what was creating the smoke. There wasn’t a single tree or bush left intact in the space between the rebels and the walls of the keep. It was a forest of smoldering charcoal. She couldn’t tell if the area had been cleared deliberately or if it was simply random destruction from the slow but steady assault on the keep. Astonishingly, most of the front walls were still standing. There were gaping holes in the stonework so big that if she stood in a certain position she could look straight through to the courtyard, but she couldn’t see how much damage had been done inside.
‘Telcam didn’t seem to notice her for a moment. Then he turned around.
“My lady, you shouldn’t be here.” He was polite but angry, lips drawn back just a little over his fangs. She was no longer someone he needed to placate. “Go back to Shipmaster Forze. Better still, go home. I promise you that I’ll keep looking for your husband.”
“Why do you tolerate the humans?”
“What?”
“What benefit are they to us? Why do you owe them favors?”
He clenched his jaws. That question had unsettled him for some reason. “Politics,” he said.
It seemed to be the universal answer to tell her to mind her own business. She didn’t plan to argue the point with him. She would stay here because turning back would feel like she’d given up her search far too easily and too soon. It made no sense, because Jul could have been anywhere and she had no more reason to believe he was in Vadam than on Qikost, but she simply knew she couldn’t go home and carry on as before.
“I still fail to understand the role of humans in this,” Raia said.
“It’s a complex situation because humans are devious creatures. They have a ship in orbit, and I have no idea what it plans to do, if anything.”
“Then destroy it. I know we have few working ships, but surely we can destroy one human vessel.”
‘Telcam snapped his jaws. “At sunset,” he said, “you’ll see that’s going to be a very difficult task. Now, please go somewhere safer. Take cover.”
Raia walked away but made a point of not heading back toward Forze. She didn’t want to be seen to obey ‘Telcam like some groveling Unggoy. She could hear rumbling noises—the sound of large ships, the sound she was beginning to recognize—but she couldn’t see where they were coming from, and turned around in a full circle to spot whatever was making it. Then it started: triumphant shouts picked up across the camp, first in ones and twos and then they merged into a wave of sound that swept past her toward the forest at their backs.
“‘Rduan’s coming!”
“It’s ‘Rduan!”
Raia blocked the path of the first warrior she saw when she turned around. She seized his arm. “Who’s ‘Rduan?”
“That’s ‘Rduan,” he said, pointing behind her. “Shipmaster ‘Rduan. Or perhaps I should say that’s Defender of Faith.”
Raia looked around and still couldn’t see anything, but the sound of drives was louder now, reaching deeper inside her body. The forest in the distance grew darker. Then she saw it: just a nose at first, a dull silver curve, and then a warship slid slowly over the tops of the trees. Its shadow advanced toward the keep to hang like an eclipse over the camp. The cheering died down and was replaced by a buzz of voices, then the field fell silent, even the plasma fire that had been snapping back and forth between the two positions. Everyone was now facing the shattered walls.
‘Telcam, about fifty meters away, leaped up onto the roof of a vehicle. He must have been using a communications device, because Raia could su
ddenly hear his voice from points all around her, from vessels and warriors alike.
“Thel ‘Vadam, you can hear me,” he boomed, arms spread. “I know you can. Surrender. Surrender now, and we’ll spare the rest of Vadam. Come out now and show your cowardly face to the faithful, you blasphemer.”
Raia accepted that she knew less about the Arbiter than those who’d served with him, but she was sure that a commander who’d survived so many battles—political and military—wasn’t simply cowering in his chamber and hoping his enemy would go away. Where were his ships? Where were his allies?
‘Telcam was still standing on the vehicle, pistol in one hand, defying the Arbiter’s forces to take a shot. If the Arbiter made any reply, then only ‘Telcam heard him.
Raia looked away from the keep for a moment, glancing up at the underside of Defender of Faith’s hull. What had happened to the fleet of hundreds of ships? Many had been destroyed in the Great Schism, some had simply broken down and awaited repairs, but most remained somewhere, seized by kaidons with their own agendas, idling in keeps ready to settle pettier scores.
“Is this it?” she asked, addressing nobody in particular. “One ship? A handful when we had so many?”
Nobody answered. An elderly warrior covered in scars and missing a couple of fangs stood with his pistol raised in his left hand, thumping his fist slowly against his chest plate in a steady rhythm as if he was singing inside his head and trying to keep time.
“This is a proper war.” He didn’t look at her. “The way we used to fight when we faced equal foes, warrior to warrior. Face to face. Not the kind of war we fought against humans.”
‘Telcam was still waiting for the Arbiter. A couple of artillery masters near the front seemed to be tired of waiting and fired a few rounds, taking out more of the front wall in a shower of stone fragments. There was no fire returned from the keep, though, and no sign of the Arbiter. Raia wondered if anyone would have been able to see him even if he’d walked out to present himself to them.