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.”