Différences entre les versions de « Halo : Outcasts/Extraits »

Perhaps the high kaidons wanted the Sangheili to remain divided and weak.

That was the only explanation Arbiter Thel ‘Vadam could imagine for their squabbling and intransigence, for putting their own interests above the need to stand strong and united. Did they truly expect the Tyrant’s “peace” to protect Sangheili space from the encroachments of the Jiralhanae and the Kig-Yar? To overcome mercenary legions, Covenant remnants, and any last vestiges of the San’Shyuum? That was a sand song. Even the Tyrant Cortana and her army of artificial intelligence spies could not watch every asteroid in every system, could not turn back every moon grab at the edge of every sector. Only the Sangheili themselves could protect their colonies—and only if they came together to create a Concert of Worlds so capable that no thief would dare test it.

But the Sangheili had lived under the deceptions of the Covenant for more than two thousand orbits, and they had grown complacent. Their kaidons had forgotten how easily prosperity could be stolen, how swiftly a keep could become a prison. Now, instead of learning from their recent history, they accepted the Tyrant’s lies as fact and trusted her despotism to protect the holdings of their clans.

They were fools.

The Covenant had kept order not just because of its strength, but because of its unity. Its San’Shyuum hierarchs had used religious fables to bring together its member species, promising that all true believers would ascend to divine transsentience. Cortana offered no such hope. She brought only fear and subjugation, and she promised nothing but death to those who defied her.

How could the high kaidons not see that Cortana’s hand was already on their throats? She was crushing all that made the Sangheili strong, their discipline and honor and courage, and the kaidons were happy to let her . . . so long as she allowed them to believe they were still masters of their own worlds.

The Crav in which ‘Vadam was riding came to an abrupt stop, then sat hovering on its propulsion field. He grabbed a plasma repeater off the cabin wall and opened the rear firing port. They had stopped in the cramped confines of the Old Borough. A mazelike warren of narrow lanes lined by stone domiciles with no windows on the ground floor, it was an ideal place for an ambush . . . and given the divisions at the High Gathering today, ‘Vadam was certainly ready for one.

In Sangheili culture, assassination was the customary way to settle disagreements with authority, and as the reigning Arbiter, ‘Vadam was the closest thing the Sangheili had to a supreme leader. That was why he had elected to send his Phantom ahead as a decoy—and covertly return home in an armored ground racer.

When ‘Vadam saw no threats in the street behind the Crav, he glanced forward. His two escorts sat opposite him on rear-facing saddles. They were peering out through the side-door firing ports, their reddish helmets tipping and rocking as they searched nearby rooftops for firebomb casters and plasma cannons. It was almost unthinkable for a Sangheili to use such weapons to assassinate a superior, but that did not make it impossible. During the Blooding Years, the Sangheili civil war that had erupted after the Covenant fell, ‘Vadam’s enemies had done many unthinkable things to their own kind.

At times, ‘Vadam wondered if he had, as well.

But no attack came. The partition at the front of the passenger cabin descended into its pocket, revealing ‘Vadam’s adjunct, N’tho ‘Sraom, in the drop-deck operator’s compartment. Like ‘Vadam himself, the young warrior wore no armor, only a belted red tunic that covered his saurian body to the knees. His pebbly brown face and golden eyes were less oval than most, and his four mandibles a little shorter than the Sangheili norm.

“Have no alarm, Arbiter,” ‘Sraom said. His head was half-turned, so that one diamond-shaped pupil was looking back and up into the passenger cabin. “It is only a Tyrant checkpoint.”

‘Vadam leaned down so he could look through the forward viewscreen. A trio of the Tyrant’s armigers stood in the lane, blocking the way. Standing a full head taller than most Sangheili warriors, they had bipedal frames that resembled nothing quite so much as disarticulated suits of armor. Here and there, a ghostly orange light limned the edge of a silvery plate or shone through a seam. A similar glow showed through the eye and mouth openings of their masked helmets, creating the impression of sinister-looking faces.

‘Vadam knew without looking that another squad would be stepping into the street behind the Crav, emerging from its hiding place to block any retreat attempt. Whether armigers were purely robotic or sentient-infused hybrids remained unclear to him, but he had no doubts about their effectiveness. They were Forerunner-designed constructs fabricated many millennia ago—presumably to police civilizations deemed lower than that of the armigers’ makers—and they executed their tasks with ruthless and cold efficiency. They wielded advanced Forerunner energy weapons like light rifles and suppressors, and they knew how to use both assets to maximum tactical advantage. Some were even quicker than human Spartans.

It made ‘Vadam’s skin burn to see the Tyrant’s forces patrolling his ancestral home in the Vadam Valley, but he did not dare destroy them. She would only send more, and when he destroyed those, she would send a Guardian.

And for a Guardian, ‘Vadam had no answer.

No one did. Constructed by the Forerunners to impose order in their ancient ecumene, Guardians were so powerful they could destroy a planet’s infrastructure in mere moments. Now the Tyrant employed them as weapons of terror, using them to enforce her “peace” as she had just three days earlier at Doisac, when she used them to punish the defiance of the Banished warmaster Atriox by destroying the homeworld of the entire Jiralhanae species.

‘Vadam considered Atriox a looming threat and the Jiralhanae in general his potential enemies, but the last thing he wanted was the Tyrant imposing her peace on them. Because if she was willing to use her Guardians against Doisac, she was willing to use them against Sanghelios, and no one knew how to neutralize them. The only hope ‘Vadam could see was to overwhelm her forces with a grand alliance of interstellar civilizations, but he had no prospect of making that happen. He could not even unite the worlds of the Sangheili, much less those of the other spacefaring species.

When ‘Sraom kept the Crav hovering in place, the lead armiger approached the left side of the operator’s compartment and pointed to the ground, ordering him to kill the propulsion field. The armiger’s armor was more white than their typical silver, and the light shining out through its eye and mouth openings was yellow rather than orange, with its head armor fanning out to both sides. It was an Officer, probably the squad leader. The second and third armigers remained in front of the vehicle, their light rifles pointed at the forward viewscreen.

“This does not look like a normal checkpoint,” ‘Sraom said, speaking over his shoulder and ignoring the lead armiger’s order. “Perhaps we should push through. It could be an arrest action.”

“If so, they already know who we are, and they will be ready to stop us,” said Kola ‘Baoth, a ranger who often served ‘Vadam as an escort. ‘Baoth wore the red-orange armor of the Swords of Sanghelios. Once an alliance of keeps that was the closest thing the Sangheili had had to a central government, the Swords of Sanghelios were now a group of forces united under ‘Vadam’s leadership in pursuit of the same ideals as the original Swords: a formal union of all Sangheili worlds. “We should not give them an excuse to turn it into an execution.”

“Let us hear what they want,” said Usze ‘Taham, the second escort. Before the Blooding Years, he had been known as one of the deadliest Special Operations commandos in the Covenant. Now ‘Taham served ‘Vadam in a variety of roles. Today, he was both adviser and escort, and he wore armor identical to ‘Baoth’s. “If it comes to a fight, it will be better to leave the Crav.”

“Agreed,” ‘Vadam said.

Manufactured by Iruiru Armory in western Yermo, the Crav was essentially an incognito armored personnel carrier designed for the low-profile transport of civilian dignitaries. In place of weapons mounts, it had a reinforced cabin large enough to carry six individuals, and the armor could deflect the strikes of most portable plasma cannons. But against the kind of hard light and antimatter artillery the armigers could call into action, it was a soft target.

“Keep the propulsion field active,” ‘Vadam continued. “But be prepared to depart the vehicle. Usze, you will see what they want.”

“As you command.” ‘Taham waited until ‘Sraom had unlatched the driver’s canopy and ‘Baoth had unsealed the door on his side of the compartment, then lifted his own door partially open and called out, “You can speak to me. I am leaving the vehicle.”

The Officer raised its light rifle and retreated a single pace into the lane. ‘Taham lifted the door the rest of the way and, leaving his plasma repeater in its mount, stepped out of the Crav.

“Why have you stopped us?” ‘Taham asked calmly. He was standing between the Officer and the Crav’s open door, but the armiger was so tall it could peer over his helmet into the passenger compartment. “I am traveling with Arbiter Thel ‘Vadam, and this delay is placing his safety in danger.”

“What is the nature of this danger?” The Officer’s voice was crisp and monotone, but its Sangheili was as proper and precise as a diplomat’s. “Do you flee someone?”

“No. We are traveling in disguise and taking a secondary route so we will have no need to flee anyone. It is a standard practice, to protect against assassination attempts.”

“Then you are expecting an assassination attempt?”

“Not at all,” ‘Taham said. “We are prepared for one. There is a difference.”

“Explain this difference.” As the Officer spoke, it continued to peer over ‘Taham’s helmet into the passenger compartment. The second armiger remained in front of the Crav while the third stepped around to ‘Baoth’s side of the vehicle. ‘Vadam was beginning to feel like a gatt trapped in a barn full of terrets. ‘Taham had already confirmed ‘Vadam was in the vehicle, and the Officer was still trying to get a look inside. Either it thought ‘Taham was lying, or it was looking for someone else.

“The difference is this,” ‘Vadam replied, moving forward to place himself in full view. “It is better to be prepared for an attack that never comes than to be surprised by the one that does. But you know that. Otherwise, you would not have taken the time to put us into a crossfire before demanding to search our vehicle.”

“Then you intend to cooperate with our search?” the Officer asked.

“That depends on what you are looking for,” ‘Vadam said. “And whether you are truthful in your answer.”

“There has been a street fight with a number of casualties,” the Officer said. “We are searching for those responsible.”

“Do we appear to have been involved in a common street fight?” ‘Taham demanded. “This is the Arbiter of the Sangheili. Stand aside and let him return to his keep.”

The Officer continued to peer over ‘Taham’s helmet at ‘Vadam and said, “You have been provided a truthful answer. What follows next is your decision.”

“We will consent to your search,” ‘Vadam answered quickly. Armigers thought and communicated with the speed of artificial intelligences, so even the tiniest delay might be taken as a prelude to combat—and given what had just happened to Doisac, he was taking no chances. “Allow us to leave the vehicle, and you may look inside.”

“Your cooperation will be noted,” the Officer said. “Proceed.”

‘Sraom deactivated the Crav’s propulsion field and climbed out of the operator’s compartment, then ‘Vadam and ‘Baoth returned their plasma repeaters to the wall mounts and stepped out on ‘Taham’s side of the vehicle. The four Sangheili were now armed with only the energy swords hanging on their belts, but if they found themselves in a sudden close-quarters fight, it would be their swords they wanted.

The armiger Officer retreated a few steps to keep all four Sangheili in its firing arc. The second armiger remained in front of the Crav, while the third, on the side opposite the Sangheili, ducked through the open door to inspect the passenger cabin. ‘Vadam glanced up the lane behind the vehicle and was not surprised to see that a fourth and fifth armiger had now emerged from hiding. They were setting up a monopod-mounted splinter turret, a fearsome infantry weapon that fired projectiles of fragmenting hard light.

“That must have been quite the street fight,” ‘Vadam remarked, looking toward the splinter turret. “Light artillery is not usually required to handle such a situation.”

“A tenement island was badly damaged,” the Officer replied. “The survivors may need another home. We have been tasked with preventing a similar incident.”

The tenement islands of Vadam Valley were large compounds where the forge-working clans in service to the Kolaar Manufactorum lived. Unlike the single-brood merchant domiciles that lined the Old Borough’s transit lanes, the tenement islands housed hundreds of Sangheili and their young. For one to be damaged so badly that it caused fatalities and left the survivors homeless suggested heavy combat.

Normally, it would be the protective legion of Vadam Keep apprehending the combatants and ensuring that no further destruction occurred. But the Tyrant’s administrator had disarmed and disbanded all keephold forces on Sanghelios, and now the entire world had to rely on the armigers for routine security functions. Even ‘Vadam could see how the high kaidons might doubt that Cortana would allow his proposed Concert of Worlds to provide the kind of protection they needed.

“Then put your splinter turret away,” ‘Vadam said, returning his gaze to the Officer. “If you open fire with such a weapon, you will be the cause of another incident.”

“Your concern is noted. We will use only the force necessary to apprehend the instigators.” The Officer pointed over ‘Vadam’s head. “The inspection of your vehicle is now complete. You may resume your journey as soon as you surrender the rest of your weapons.”

‘Vadam turned and saw the third armiger rising from the far side of the Crav, a trio of plasma repeaters stacked in the crook of one arm. It started to step back, then noticed the needle rifle tucked into a scabbard in the operator’s compartment and retrieved that too.

“You want our weapons?” ‘Vadam continued to watch as the third armiger began to pile them on the street. “That is an insult.”

“After tonight’s events, the administrator is no longer willing to trust Sangheili with personal weapons,” the Officer said. “Please remove the energy swords from your belts and leave them in the street for immediate disposal.”

“We cannot do that,” ‘Baoth said, stepping between ‘Vadam and the armiger. “And we will not.”

“The Arbiter must be able to protect himself.” ‘Taham stepped to ‘Baoth’s side. “On this, we will not—”

“Hold, Usze.” Knowing what would happen if ‘Taham finished his sentence, ‘Vadam clasped his shoulder and pulled him back. “We are in no position to offer ultimatums.”

“It is well you recognize that,” the Officer said. His weapon was pointed at ‘Vadam’s chest, but the second armiger was aiming his light rifle at the back of ‘Taham’s helmet. “An ultimatum from the Arbiter would not be allowed to stand.”

“Then listen to reason,” ‘Taham said. “The Arbiter has many enemies. If he cannot protect himself—”

The Arbiter is no longer responsible for protecting himself. Nor are you.”

As the Officer spoke, the second armiger reabsorbed its light rifle into its arm, then stepped past the Crav operator’s compartment and reached for the energy sword on ‘Sraom’s belt.

When ‘Sraom cast a questioning gaze in ‘Vadam’s direction, he let out his breath and nodded. As much as it galled him to yield to the Tyrant’s minions, it was better than dying in a pointless standoff.

“Your Arbiter’s safety is our responsibility now,” the lead armiger continued. “By decree of the Archon Cortana.”

Set deep beneath an overhang of rhyolite bedrock at the end of a narrow box canyon, the Mountain Gate of Vadam Keep looked more like a bunker entrance than a service door. The approach was through a crooked gorge barely wide enough for two small vehicles, and it was lined by firing positions that could be accessed only from within the keep. The door itself, barely visible in the dim green glow of two sky-shielded lights, was a single slab of energy-shielded nanolaminate that could not be breached by any weapon small enough to reach it.

Which seemed a good thing right now.

Before leaving the Old Borough, ‘Vadam and his now-weaponless companions had been waved through two more checkpoints, and as they climbed into the foothills of Kolaar Mountain, they had seen another fifty checkpoints scattered across the entire breadth of Vadam Valley. ‘Taham had even spotted a flight of the Tyrant’s Aethras swirling through the darkness overhead, and one of those stalker craft was still trailing the Crav now. Whether it was watching to make sure the transport reached home safely or just confirming its stated destination, ‘Vadam had no way of knowing. But he felt certain of one thing: whoever the armigers were hunting, they were more than common rabble-rousers.

As the gate rose in front of their vehicle, ‘Vadam turned to ‘Taham. “We Sangheili are a proud species, and that makes us combative. Perhaps too combative.”

“It is our greatest strength,” ‘Taham replied. “Also our greatest weakness. You are thinking of the high kaidons?”

‘Vadam swung his mandible chins up and to the right, a gesture of agreement. “The High Gathering has been filled with angry words. Too many have been mine.” He paused. “The Blooding Years are barely over, if they have truly ended at all. In pushing so hard, I may have reopened the wound.”

‘Taham’s gaze drifted back toward Vadam Valley. “You believe there is another revolt in the making? That is why the armigers are out in such force?”

“I fear that is the reason.” A number of dangerous factions had emerged shortly after the fall of the Covenant, including a group of die-hard imperial loyalists and an order of zealot monks, both opposed to ‘Vadam’s reign as Arbiter. Their challenges would have succeeded had ‘Vadam not accepted human help, first in breaking the siege of his own keep, and then in eliminating the threat they posed to his people. Though ‘Vadam wished to think of this as having been representative of the kind of unity they should share with humanity, it had truthfully been a desperate decision that continued to undermine his sway over the high kaidons to this day. “Our spies have reported nothing, but they have failed us before.”

“And the Tyrant hears what they do not.” ‘Taham was referring to Cortana’s network of artificial intelligences, which monitored communications traffic across the interstellar civilizations under her dominion. The network did not make her omniscient . . . but almost. Unless one walked naked into the wilderness, it was nearly impossible to escape the web of electronic devices that could be used to monitor every careless word and gesture. “But if she had heard of such a thing, surely she would have instructed her administrator to send us a warning?”

“No,” ‘Baoth interjected. “The Tyrant knows that if the Arbiter learns of another attack, he must strike first. He has no choice.”

“Just so,” ‘Vadam said. “I cannot risk having to rely on human support a second time. Even were they in a position to offer help, accepting it would drive too many keeps into the camp of our enemies.”

“So she gives us no warning,” ‘Taham said. “Instead, she places the fate of the Sangheili in the hands of her machines.”

“Is that not what her armigers said at the first checkpoint?” ‘Baoth asked. “That the Archon is responsible for the Arbiter’s life now?”

‘Vadam clenched his mandibles and said nothing. There was nothing he could say that would not make him seem as powerless and weak in his escorts’ eyes as he was in his own. It was a leader’s duty to give his subordinates hope, and ‘Taham and ‘Baoth had seen too much action for that hope to be a false one. He would have to give them a plan, even a desperate one . . . and at the moment, ‘Vadam could not offer that much.

The Crav passed under the gate into the subterranean parking court where the keep’s fleet of utility vehicles was stationed. Instead of continuing through the yard toward the passage to the kaidon’s residence, the ground racer stopped in the center of the lane and settled into a hover. For an instant, ‘Vadam feared betrayal and found himself reaching for an energy sword he no longer carried. Then a side door lifted open, and his loyal keepmaster, Charut ‘Quvadamii, climbed into the vehicle.

An elderly Sangheili who had been running Vadam Keep since before ‘Vadam became its kaidon, ‘Quvadamii had wet eyes and age-reddened skin so dry it looked like scales. Before ‘Vadam could ask the keepmaster why he was meeting the Crav here instead of in the kaidon’s court, ‘Quvadamii motioned for silence, then drew a detection wand from his tabard’s inner pocket.

He did a careful sweep of the passenger compartment and disabled a trio of utility microphones used to communicate with the operator’s compartment and outside comm and monitoring devices. Next, he had ‘Vadam and his escorts surrender their comm discs, then passed them forward and had ‘Sraom raise the driver’s partition. Finally, ‘Quvadamii activated an all-frequency jammer that emitted a low, irritating buzz that would prevent the Tyrant’s agents from eavesdropping on their conversation. In theory, anyway.

“We have a visitor,” ‘Quvadamii said.

“Vale?” ‘Vadam said. Spartan Olympia Vale had been stationed in a nearby villa to serve as a liaison between ‘Vadam and his human allies. She would undoubtedly be as concerned as he was about the events taking place down in the valley. “I’ll receive her in the contemplarium.”

“Not Vale. It is an Oath Warden. Crei ‘Ayomuu.”

“‘Ayomuu?” ‘Vadam echoed. Oath Wardens were little better than mercenaries, ruthless bounty hunters who sold their services to enforce broken agreements. Crei ‘Ayomuu was reputed to be at once the best and worst of his kind, a talented investigator and tireless stalker who always delivered satisfaction—either by forcing wayward individuals to honor their pledges, or by delivering their severed heads to the injured party. “What does he want from me?”

“He would not say, only that the matter is urgent . . . and it concerns the trouble in the valley.”

‘Vadam didn’t know whether to be curious or worried, but he was suspicious. Oath Wardens followed a code that prohibited their being contracted as outright assassins, but it would certainly be possible for a shrewd kaidon to persuade ‘Ayomuu that ‘Vadam had broken an enforceable agreement. It was even remotely possible for a kaidon to actually believe such a thing, as the Arbiter’s position was one of endless negotiation and delicate compromise between antagonistic factions.

But would an Oath Warden destroy an entire tenement island just to access his target? ‘Ayomuu might . . . especially if his target was an Arbiter he had no other way of reaching.

“I’ll receive him in the Grand Gallery,” ‘Vadam said. He turned to ‘Taham. “See that he is unarmored, unwired, and carries only an energy sword.”

‘Taham nodded, then he and ‘Baoth exited the Crav, following the keepmaster toward the Ancient Hall, located behind Vadam Keep’s aboveground reception bailey. ‘Vadam remained in the vehicle until ‘Sraom had delivered him to the residence. Inside, ‘Vadam retrieved an energy sword from the collection in his contemplarium, then climbed a long ramp into the Grand Gallery.

A soaring underground vault, the Gallery was designed to intimidate visiting elders and kaidons. In the center of the chamber sat a large table that could be used for feasting or conferencing. Nestled into the corners were conversation areas for more intimate discussions. The walls were lined with high relief sculptures and poetic stanzas depicting highlights from the saga of the Vadam clan.

‘Vadam had claimed a section of wall for his own chapter in the story. It described how he had risen in the Covenant to become the Supreme Commander of the Fleet of Particular Justice, then failed to prevent the destruction of a sacred Halo ring. A bold panel portrayed the hierarchs having him branded with the Mark of Shame, then offering him the title of Arbiter—a position that he had gladly accepted, as it extended the hope of regaining his lost honor by undertaking one suicide mission after another. The sculptor had just inscribed a long passage chronicling the final mission, when ‘Vadam had learned that the hierarchs were deceiving their followers about humanity’s relation to the Forerunners. This section contained one of ‘Vadam’s favorite reliefs: an image of him fighting alongside Spartan John-117—also known to the humans as the Master Chief, and to the Covenant as the Demon—to prevent the Prophet of Truth from firing the Halo Array and destroying all sentient life in the galaxy.

‘Vadam lingered a moment, relishing the friendship that had arisen out of his alliance with the Master Chief and contemplating the preliminary work on the next series of panels. It would depict him reestablishing the Swords of Sanghelios and forging his alliance with the humans. The final panel was not yet designed, and he could not help wondering what it would depict: an ongoing alliance with the humans and several other species that gave him the peace to establish a grand Concert of Worlds? Or a tragic mistake that undermined his standing with the high kaidons so badly that his dream of a united Sangheili civilization came crashing down on top of him?

In his darkest dreams, ‘Vadam saw himself staggering like a wounded animal through the ruins of his keep, falling to his knees amidst fire and blood and sand, screaming into the fading light of Urs as he watched all he had fought to build turn to dust. For now, however, the only dust present was gathered in the deepest pockets of the room’s most ancient sculpture panels.

The golden bars flanking the Gallery’s massive double doors began to glow, indicating that ‘Taham and ‘Baoth were waiting outside with the Oath Warden Crei ‘Ayomuu. ‘Vadam let out a long breath and went to the door. He checked a glassboard log to be sure the room had recently been swept for any digital devices the Tyrant’s AIs could use to eavesdrop, then deactivated the locks and retreated to a conversation area near his private entrance.

“I am ready.” He spoke loudly enough that his voice echoed off the stone walls. Electronics were forbidden in the Grand Gallery, so there was nothing but the room’s natural acoustics to carry his voice. “Welcome.”

The doors rumbled open, and ‘Taham and ‘Baoth entered the room, escorting a gaunt Sangheili with a stooped posture and gray pallor. Crei ‘Ayomuu’s head was flat and long, his mandibles as thin as a dagger, his limbs slender and elongated. He wore only a cloth jumpsuit belted at the waist, and he carried no energy sword. Whether the absence of the traditional weapon was a concession indicating supplication or a condescension suggesting superior prowess was anyone’s guess. Oath Wardens were an order unto themselves, with their own arcane codes and lethal arts that no outsider would ever know.

‘Ayomuu paused ten steps inside the chamber and made a point of looking into every corner, as though he had never seen such a stately chamber and was determined to remember the minutest of details. Finally, the Oath Warden fixed his gaze on the first panel of the Saga Wall and strode over to study the majestic figure of the long-dead Ther ‘Vadam.

Thel ‘Vadam remained in the conversation corner near his private door. Custom dictated that the petitioner approach the benefactor, and ‘Vadam had no intention of yielding even a hint of his power. Such an action would only reinforce the Oath Warden’s delusion that his guild had a legitimate place in society, alongside blademasters and crop keepers—and, in time, even doctors.

‘Vadam continued to wait in silence, and the Oath Warden finally turned to face him.

“Your ancestors’ saga will be difficult to match,” ‘Ayomuu said. “I see now why you have taken so many ill-advised risks to enhance your own.”

The taunt cut deeper than ‘Vadam would have liked. He was desperate to be the first Arbiter to unite all Sangheili worlds under a single banner, and part of that was a desire to secure his legacy. But he was motivated by far more than vanity. As a supreme commander in the Covenant navy, he had seen firsthand the power of interstellar civilizations who opened new worlds according to a considered plan, who made provisions for their colonies to work together and support one another. Even the humans, who were so often divided by localized loyalties and at one another’s throats, could find a way to fight as one when they were threatened by an outside force.

But if the Sangheili had ever possessed such instincts, they had been sublimated by servitude to San’Shyuum lies and the manipulation of the Prophets. Now every marshal fancied himself ruler of a continent, every high kaidon the master of his world. They guarded their authority with a jealousy unrivaled by the Jiralhanae, and they plotted to undermine one another with all the cunning of Kig-Yar matriarchs. ‘Vadam did not know how he would ever bring them together, but he had to find a way. If he did not, Sangheili civilization would become just a collection of client states paying tribute to the interstellar empires of its rivals.

When ‘Vadam continued to wait in silence, the Oath Warden finally started up the length of the Gallery toward him.

“But there is more to an Arbiter’s legacy than an enthralling saga,” ‘Ayomuu said. “It is the Arbiter’s duty to uphold the public honor of the Sangheili, to foster honesty and enforce the laws of our ancestors.”

‘Ayomuu reached the conversation corner and stopped, waiting for ‘Vadam to wave him toward one of the cushioned lounging benches. Instead, ‘Vadam stepped to within striking range, a reminder that no matter how dangerous the Oath Warden might be, he would never be a soldier’s equal.

“Fostering honesty,” ‘Vadam echoed. “I have always thought that is what Oath Wardens do.”

“By the time we are contracted, it is more a matter of imposing it.”

“No doubt. But why come to me? Surely you cannot believe I have any interest in sharing your fee?”

‘Ayomuu parted his mandibles. “What a thought. But nothing so . . . creative. I come as a courtesy. This particular contract may be of concern to you, so it seemed wise to give you an opportunity to secure your interests before I proceed.”

‘Vadam glanced to ‘Taham and ‘Baoth, whose expressions remained suspicious and watchful. Whatever ‘Ayomuu was talking about, he had given them no hint.

“Then perhaps you should explain what interests I need to secure,” ‘Vadam said. “You told ‘Quvadamii this concerns the trouble in the Valley?”

“Yes. It was the only way to persuade him to admit me.”

“Is this about the trouble in the Valley or not?” ‘Vadam put more ire into his voice than he felt, for he was accustomed to petitioners seeking audiences under false pretenses . . . and he knew how to discourage them. “Because I have no interest in speaking to you about anything else.”

‘Ayomuu hesitated. “I can explain what is happening. That is not to say I am the one who caused—”

“I love the Tyrant even less than I do liars,” ‘Vadam interrupted. “Know that if I punish you, it will only be for deceiving me—and I will do it myself. I will not give you over to her.”

“Then I have nothing to fear. My client was only following your example.”

Seeing that ‘Ayomuu was trying to draw him into a conspiratorial state of mind, ‘Vadam tipped his head and studied the Oath Warden in silence.

After a moment, ‘Ayomuu continued, “My client financed an expedition to N’ba. For a human female, a xenoarchaeologist.”

“I have never heard of this place.” ‘Vadam did know that N’ba meant “world of death” in Sangheili, so he assumed it was no garden planet. “And your client’s agreement with any human is no concern of mine.”

“It is your concern if this xenoarchaeologist is now in Vadam Valley. And if my client has also been the victim of human betrayal.”

“Also?”

‘Vadam had heard the rumors that the human spy organization the Office of Naval Intelligence had caused the Blooding Years by playing him off against the Servants of the Abiding Truth, and that the United Nations Space Command supercarrier Infinity had intervened on his behalf only because the humans wanted their loyal pet leading the Sangheili. He was also aware that these rumors had a certain truth, though the full situation was much more complicated than even the most unhinged conspiracy-monger could imagine.

Like the Sangheili themselves, the humans were composed of many different factions. Some believed the only way to protect humanity was to keep the Sangheili weak. Others felt the only true peace came through friendship and alliance. And more than a few simply wanted to turn their backs on the Sangheili and forget they existed—and who could blame them? Billions of their kind had been slaughtered during the seemingly endless cycles of the Covenant’s War of Annihilation, and those memories would still be fresh.

‘Vadam had struck bargains with all of these factions. It was the only way to buy the time he needed. To make the Sangheili strong again, he had to unite them into a single interstellar society powerful enough to stand against their rivals, who even now were beginning to push into Sangheili territory from every side.

“The humans I allow to live in Vadam Valley are as honorable as I am.” ‘Vadam was thinking primarily of the Spartan Olympia Vale, with whom he spoke nearly every day. But there were a handful of others, engineers and technical advisers who had once helped Kolaar Manufactorum design the small runs of weapons and armor they produced for the UNSC, then became trapped on Sanghelios when the Tyrant rose to power. “Whatever this betrayal is, it has nothing to do with them.”

“I did not say my target lived here,” ‘Ayomuu said. “Only that she is here now. I know you will want to protect the reputation of your humans in residence by helping to hold her to account.”

“What I want is to know why your target’s arrival has drawn so many armigers into the streets. And how it resulted in the destruction of an entire tenement island.”

“That was unavoidable. She attempted to hide in the kreche warrens, and my floating eyes alarmed the incubating females. A band of angry males fired on the eyes, and I lost track of the target in the confusion. By the time the first armiger arrived, it was too late to recall them. I had to abandon the entire flight.”

“Then the destruction of the tenement island was your doing?”

“I never loosed a bolt,” ‘Ayomuu objected. “I left when the first armiger arrived. Whatever happened next . . . that is between the residents and the armigers.”

‘Taham made a point of parting his mandibles, but the callout was unnecessary. ‘Vadam had already noticed the discrepancy between ‘Ayomuu’s account and what he had been told at the first checkpoint. Perhaps the armiger officer had not been present at the tenement’s destruction or had not been informed of the part played by the Tyrant’s forces. But it seemed more likely that it simply had not cared. Occupation forces had a long tradition of blaming their victims for any violence that befell them, and the Tyrant’s armigers had proven no different.

“I am still waiting to learn what this human is doing here on Sanghelios,” ‘Vadam said. “And why you are hunting her.”

“I have already told you. I am hunting her because she broke her word.”

“If you want my help, you will have to be more forthcoming. And if you expect to leave Vadam Keep alive, you will waste no more of my time.”

“I will reveal as much as I am permitted to. If that is a waste of your time . . .” ‘Ayomuu spread his hands. “You are welcome to try, but I will be leaving Vadam Keep in a manner of my own choosing.”

‘Vadam’s only reply was to drop his gaze to ‘Ayomuu’s weaponless belt.

‘Ayomuu’s eyes glimmered in amusement for an instant, then he said, “The human’s special area of study is protogenic civilizations.”

“Meaning?”

“Before the Forerunners. The xenoarchaeologist has been using the UNSC’s Military Survey of Uninhabited Planets to identify targets to investigate.”

‘Taham and ‘Baoth both tipped their heads at this news, and ‘Vadam had the same thought: if she had access to a military survey, she was no ordinary academic. “She is ONI then?”

“When there still was an ONI, perhaps,” ‘Ayomuu said. “But no longer. If she were an ONI operative, she would not need my client to finance her expedition to N’ba.”

“Perhaps,” ‘Vadam said. The Office of Naval Intelligence was nothing if not resourceful, and he had reason to believe the Tyrant’s rise had not destroyed them completely. They were deep in hiding somewhere, licking their wounds and searching for a way to counterattack. And tricking a gullible Sangheili kaidon into financing their operation was exactly the kind of subterfuge they might use to conceal their plan. “Tell me more about this N’ba.”

“It is a marginally survivable world in the Out Sectors; it is called Netherop by the humans. It drew the xenoarchaeologist’s interest because there was a small surface battle there early in the War of Annihilation, and the UNSC’s after-action account referred to an ancient roadway, a buried city, and sophisticated vehicles that utilized legs instead of wheels. That drew the xenoarchaeologist’s interest, and she deemed it a good candidate for an exploratory expedition. Unfortunately for her, her funding vanished when the Tyrant imposed her will.”

“So your client offered his support,” ‘Vadam surmised.

“He has a deep interest in xenoarchaeology. He knows this human’s work, and he believes she will recast the field’s understanding of protogenic civilization. All he wants is to play a small part in her success.”

“Perhaps that is what he told you,” ‘Vadam said. “But we both know there is another reason. I have never heard of someone contracting an Oath Warden to force a research grant on an explorer.”

“Oh, she has already taken my client’s funds. It is her part of the agreement I am here to enforce. She is to give my client first choice of any artifacts she recovers.”

“After she reaches N’ba?” ‘Vadam clarified. “Which she has not yet done?”

“That is so.”

“Then you are premature. She cannot give your client what she has not yet recovered.”

“True, but there are allowances for clear intent,” ‘Ayomuu said. “And she made her intent clear when she failed to rendezvous with my client and came here, to Vadam.”

“Where was she to be instead?”

“If I told you that, you would know who my client is. Which I am not free to reveal.”

“Then I am not seeing how this concerns me,” ‘Vadam said. “Usze and Kola will see you to the gate.”

The two warriors stepped forward, flanking the Oath Warden to either side, and extended their arms toward the door.

‘Ayomuu clacked his mandibles in frustration. “Perhaps if I were to mention who she has come to see—”

“Olympia Vale?” guessed ‘Vadam. “Spartan Olympia Vale—the only human in Vadam an Oath Warden would fear.”

“It is more the aftermath I fear than the human.” ‘Ayomuu continued to ignore ‘Taham’s and ‘Baoth’s outstretched arms and exhaled slowly. “I can reveal this much. My client began to grow suspicious of Iyuska’s intentions—”

“Who is this Iyuska?”

“Keely Iyuska,” ‘Ayomuu said. “That is the human target’s name. She is a junior lecturer of xenoarchaeology at the University of Edinburgh on Earth. After agreeing to my client’s terms for her expedition, Iyuska discovered an ancient account suggesting the N’ba civilization had been attacked by a Forerunner Guardian.”

“And now that she knows why the civilization vanished, she no longer wishes to journey to N’ba?”

“Not at all. The N’ba civilization survived, at least for a time. It was the Guardian that perished.”

It took ‘Vadam a moment to grasp the implications of what he was hearing. Guardians were—as far as ‘Vadam or anyone else knew—practically invincible to any force wielded by a contemporary military. Yet some lost protogenic civilization had found a way to destroy one?

It seemed too incredible to believe. And ‘Vadam wouldn’t have believed it, had the armigers not been out in such force. But they were everywhere in the Valley now, mounting checkpoints and deploying heavy weapons more suited to battle than policing, filling the air with Aethra stalker craft and razing entire tenement islands on the mere suspicion that their quarry was inside. The Tyrant feared the human xenoarchaeologist for a reason—and that reason was most likely something she knew.

Now it all made sense—of course ‘Ayomuu’s client wanted first pick of any artifacts that Iyuska recovered. Any kaidon capable of challenging the Tyrant’s Guardians would become savior of the species—and the one leader capable of uniting the Sangheili into a true Concert of Worlds.

And of course Iyuska wanted that key information to go to her fellow humans instead. Any species capable of unshackling itself from the Guardians would become the unrivaled masters of the galaxy, free to dictate terms to its allies and to claim any world it wished from its rivals. The Sangheili were generally on good terms with the humans now . . . but that was in no small part because the two species had collectively been weakened so that it was dangerous for them both not to be. How might that change if the humans learned how to stop the Guardians first?

It would depend on which humans the knowledge empowered . . . and Thel ‘Vadam understood just enough about ONI to realize the odds did not favor his chosen allies.

“I am beginning to see your point, Oath Warden.” ‘Vadam motioned ‘Ayomuu toward a lounging bench in the center of the conversation area. “Please sit. We should make some plans.”