Halo: Heaven and Earth/Book Three: Heaven and Earth

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Book Three: Heaven and Earth

Chapter Forty-Six: Legacy

A cool breeze slipped through the open window. The window had been open for some time—the apartment’s sole occupant could not remember when he’d opened it—and the assorted smells from the streets outside filled the room with an unpleasant odor. Still, the old man made no move to close the window. He didn’t mind the smell and the warmth of late afternoon’s dwindling sunbeams felt good on his face.

Tobias Lensky sat at his dining table and turned the pages of a large book over in his hands. His eyes scanned the words before him but his mind was elsewhere. A datapad across the table—a parting gift from Tom Spender—brought news of the surging events engulfing the galaxy. Shinsu ‘Refum was on the move, his fleet gathering strength with each passing day. The Created tightened their hold on the Inner Colonies and more Covenant worlds pledged fealty to the Mantle of Responsibility with each passing day. Grand decisions were being made and for once Tobias had no part in them. At one time he’d been a colossus, head of the Syndicate, wealthiest man in the galaxy, ONI’s favorite informant and party to secrets most people could only dream of. Now he was an old, shrunken man wasting away in this grubby apartment. Time had passed him by.

He sighed and looked to the empty room behind him. Simon Onegin had lain in that room. How long since Ryder’s last visit? How long since Tobias’s son had seized a new lease on life? Simon Venter he was calling himself now, according to Spender’s report. The thought brought a smile to Tobias’s wrinkled face. Always full of surprises, that one. Just like his father. He’d go far in this new galaxy, no question about that.

Yes, the galaxy had left Tobias behind but he’d dropped a parting gift into that endless stream. Everything he’d built had been torn down, but he’d left a living legacy all the same. He was content with that humble offering.

The datapad held news of a battle at Le Havre. The Kru’desh Legion had stormed the colony’s defenses and disarmed the garrison. Underworld rumor mills swirled with news of the Soul Ascension’s triumphant return. Simon Venter or Stray or whatever else he called himself had many more victories in his future.

A strained whine drifted in through the open window. It grew louder with each passing moment. Tobias recognized a descending Pelican’s telltale engine. It was searching for a place to land. Tobias had no question as to its true destination.

He’d been awaiting this moment for some time. Now it was finally here. The old man sighed and glanced over the last few lines of his book: “Well, let’s go! And we go like this now, hand in hand. And eternally so, all our lives, hand in hand! Hurrah for Karamazov!” He closed the book for the last time and set it aside, then assumed as comfortable a position in his chair as he could and waited.

“Hurrah for Karamazov!” the schoolboys in the book cried. Tobias had been a schoolboy himself, once upon a time, growing up in a dingy room not unlike this one. He’d raced up and down the dirty streets, gazing up at the sky and dreaming of all that could be his.

He’d made those dreams come true. Most of them anyway. No one else from that muddy rock had made it offworld. No one even remembered that planet’s name. He’d lived more fully than most men could even dream.

He did not have long to wait. Only a few minutes passed before heavy footsteps trampled the steps outside. Something snapped against the door and it slid open in a cloud of smoke, its locking mechanism fried. Two men in drab body armor stormed into the apartment, assault rifles trained on the old man at the table. Tobias offered them a smile and a sardonic wave.

A pair of sleek automatons strode in behind the men. Tobias recognized Forerunner armigers, hardlight weapons protruding from thin metal arms. Simon and his Chancer friends had helped Tobias recover one once. The armiger had sold for a pretty price on the black market. Its battered frame had exuded mystery and adventure, exactly the kind of discovery Tobias craved. Now the things were everywhere, enforcing peace and docility upon the galaxy. Such a shame to see the marvelous things become so disgustingly commonplace.

The armigers and enforcers stepped aside as a fifth figure strode into the room: a tall woman with harsh, pale features and graying hair, an overcoat draped over her own body armor. She thrust her hands in her coat pockets and fixed Tobias with a merciless glare.

Tobias barely recognized her. She’d grown so much from that adorable little waif on Iskander. Who could have guessed the timid little waitress from that back-alley dive would grow into such a killer? “Tatiana. It’s been far too long.”

“Not nearly long enough.” Tatiana gestured to the enforcers, who proceeded to ransack the cramped apartment. They wrenched open cabinets and emptied their meager contents on to the floor. Tobias shifted his legs just in time as a boot upended the table and sent the book and datapad clattering to the floor. One of the armigers snatched the pad up and scanned its contents before handing it to Tatiana. She read Spender’s message with an air of disgust. “Keeping up with your little monster, I see.”

“That’s not a very nice way to talk about your son.”

“Don’t you dare.” Tatiana’s eyes flashed dangerously. “I never wanted anything to do with that freak. But you know that all too well.”

“Pots and kettles and all that. I see the Created gave you a few modifications of your own.” Tatiana’s neck and forearms sported pale, raised scars—the telltale signs of recent augmentation procedures. Tobias winced as a cabinet full of plates smashed against the floor. “And is all this really necessary? I assure you I have nothing to hide.”

“There’s always something with you. Some little trick tucked away, some game you’re playing with other people’s lives.” Tatiana pushed past her enforcers and surveyed the spare room. She stood in the spot where Simon’s cot had rested and surveyed the dirty chamber. The armigers waited patiently by the entryway. They made no sign of joining the ransacking.

“Even if I did have a trove of assault rifles tucked under the floorboards, do I look like I could use them?” Tobias laughed. “Though I admit your rudeness makes me wish I’d thought to rig this place with explosives. You were such a polite girl when I met you. Where have your manners gone?”

“Manners?” Tatiana strode back into the kitchen. “Who do you think you are?”

“The old man whose humble domicile you and your thugs are ruining.”

“Apologies, but this planet now resides under the Mantle of Responsibility.” One of the armigers spoke for the first time. Its clipped, cordial tone sounded out of place coming from a combat automaton. “All property is now subject to confiscation and redistribution by this sector’s administrating intelligence. Tobias Lensky, as a person credibly accused of numerous crimes against the Mantle all of your personal holdings are forfeit."

“No, no, I’m the one who should apologize.” Yes, the galaxy would be a very tedious place indeed under Cortana’s maternal dictatorship. “I wish I had more property for you to confiscate.”

“Always so polite,” Tatiana sneered.

“Cordiality costs me nothing, my dear. In fact, I find manners contributed immensely to my success in life.”

“Success,” she spat. “That’s what you call the things you’ve done?”

Tobias raised an eyebrow. He ought to be afraid—very afraid—but the armigers’ presence meant Tatiana needed to keep her cool. The Created and their insufferable self-righteousness had some benefits, at least. “You’re one to talk, my dear. Do your new masters know everything you did for the Syndicate? I can’t say the organization was pleasant under my direction, but the places you and Helen took it…”

“I did what I had to do to survive. I’m not proud of what I did. But I used the Syndicate to do good. We advanced the Assembly’s goals for years. Now the Created are finally bringing justice to this rotten galaxy.”

She told the lie well. Maybe she even believed it herself. But Tobias knew a hungry dog when he saw one. She would serve anyone for the chance to stand triumphantly before him, the source of all her woes.

I’m the source of all her happiness, too. She’d never have amounted to anything without me. Some people just didn’t understand gratitude.

“Well, here you are then. My congratulations.” Tobias nodded respectfully. “You have to admit, I gave you a good run. The Syndicate never found me after Helen ran me out, though not for lack of trying. You can attest to that.”

He peered back at the ruined door. “And where is Helen? I would have thought she’d be here with you to give her old man a proper sendoff.”

“Helen’s busy.” A cruel smile broke through Tatiana’s angry façade. “The Created have her manning a desk back at Asphodel Meadows. Secretary duties. Your little princess will work for an honest living, the same as everyone else.”

Ah, so that’s the way things were. Tobias’s daughter had a head for business, perhaps an even better one than him, but she hadn’t recognized her lieutenant’s true nature until it was too late. A hungry dog indeed. Helen had been a boring little girl right from the start, but Tobias spared her a moment’s pity before returning to his current predicament. “Life on the margins isn’t such a terrible thing. She’ll adapt. I certainly did.”

They regarded each other in silence. Looking at Tatiana made Tobias feel his age. It really had not been so long since those days on Iskander, running the Syndicate from the governor’s mansion while indulging in a bit of experimentation on the side. Just two decades, a drop in the bucket for a man who’d been alive since the twenty-fifth century. So much had changed since then—he’d watched the galaxy writhe and change a hundred times over the course of his long life. Yes, now was as good a time as any to take his exit. A pity it wasn’t for a larger audience.

“Well, do pass along my regards the next time you stop in to gloat over her.” Tobias curled his tongue to the back of his mouth and fiddled with a loose molar. “I never found her particularly interesting even after she ran me out.”

“You can give them to her yourself.” Tatiana’s smile widened. “I’m not going to kill you, old man.”

“A touch of affection left for little old me?” Tobias laughed. “I didn’t think you had it in you. Finally, some gratitude after all these years. Your Created masters have been good influences, I see.”

“Gratitude?” The smile vanished. “After what you did to me?”

“Took you in off the street, gave you a future and a home, not to mention two lovely sons—”

“One son,” Tatiana hissed. “You gave me one son, you twisted pervert. Arthur was mine. I loved him and you took him away--!”

She froze, realizing the two enforcers were still standing awkwardly in the kitchen. She jerked a thumb at the door. “Wait outside. He’s no threat. I’ll handle the rest of this.”

The men gratefully took their leave. The armigers remained where they were. Tatiana’s autonomy had limits. The Created would always be the ones in control. Tobias wondered if that little detail mattered to her or any of their other servants.

“You took Arthur,” Tatiana repeated quietly. “All you had to do was leave us alone. But that wasn’t enough for you.”

“I gave that boy a future, just like I did with his mother. He had promise and I made sure the officer’s academy made use of it. A shame about how things turned out with him, but he was always just a prototype. The flaws came from your side of the DNA, I imagine. Fortunately I corrected that with his brother. Simon’s career has proven far more interesting. A rousing success, if I do say so myself.”

“That’s really all it is to you, isn’t it?” Tatiana spat. “You took my son away, planted your monster inside me, forced all of that on me—it was all just an experiment. Just something to amuse yourself when you got bored running the Syndicate.”

“My dear, passing whims are often the most fruitful ones.” Tobias smiled. He wondered how the Created would react if he provoked Tatiana into killing him right here in the apartment. “Face the facts: for all intents and purposes, you were my property. Arthur was my property. Simon was my property. You had no future and those boys wouldn’t exist without me. I did my best to dispose of our happy little family as I saw fit. I was writing my legacy. I couldn’t let myself get distracted by your minor inconveniences.”

“Inconveniences?” Tatiana drew a curved knife from her pocket. “I begged you not to take Arthur. I begged you not to put your little monster inside me. You used me, just like you use everyone. And then you threw me aside and forgot about me.”

“Still singing that tired old song after all these years? You really need to learn how to move on.”

Tatiana’s blow knocked Tobias out of the chair. He sprawled, wheezing, on the dirty floor. A copper taste filled his mouth. She’d probably broken some of his ribs. With her augmentations he was lucky to be alive at all.

“Steady,” he heard the armiger say in the distance. “He is trying to provoke you. Do not let him win.”

“Oh, I’m through letting this sick bastard win at anything.” Tatiana hauled the old man off the floor. “The joke’s on you this time, Tobias. Arthur—my son—is more than you can ever imagine now. Your legacy is disintegrating. The Syndicate’s gone. Your ONI friends—gone. All those frontier boys’ clubs you’ve been wasting away in are fading away. You want to talk about your legacy, old man? You’ll have time to think about that in a re-education facility. You’ll get to watch while we erase every trace of your legacy.”

“A re-education facility? The Created really can’t do better than repackaging old ideas, can they?” Tobias spat out a mouthful of blood. He was having trouble breathing now. Tatiana’s blow had done serious damage—perhaps worse than she’d intended. “Such a dull galaxy you’re helping them create.”

“No. We’re creating a just galaxy. A galaxy where vile men like you can’t just do whatever they please.”

“Whatever helps you sleep at night, my dear.”

Her hand wrapped around his throat. “Call me ‘dear’ one more time.”

“And you’ll what, wring my neck? Your masters in the corner there would never allow it.” Tobias smiled through the pain. “And you’ll have a harder time demolishing my true legacy. He’s already rebounded. Took a whole colony from you over at Le Havre, in case you hadn’t heard. You should be proud of your son.”

“That monster isn’t my son. He’s on the losing side, just like you. I just hope the Created make sure I’m the one who puts him down.”

“Such venom from a mother.” It was Tobias’s turn to sneer. In the end, behind all the violence and bluster, this woman was still that frightened girl he’d picked out of that bar all those years ago. “What did the poor boy ever do to you?”

“He exists,” Tatiana hissed. “Even if it weren’t for all his other crimes, that would be enough. I’ll do the galaxy a favor and put him out of his misery, just like I did Kahn and Venter.”

So she’d been the one to deal the killing blow. The Created had themselves a loyal attack dog in this one. Poor Kahn. Poor Venter. They’d deserved better. “Or perhaps he’ll put you out of yours. He’s come so very far and he has so very far still to go. I think my legacy is quite secure—I’d say my humble little whim of an experiment was a complete success. I’ve spent my life shaping this galaxy and I’ll keep shaping it long after I’m dead. Small minds like yours will never tear that legacy apart.”

“We’ll see about that.” Tatiana hauled him back toward the armigers. “I’m going to enjoy seeing how the Created deal with you.”

“Well, what say I deny you one last pleasure? For old time’s sake?” Tobias found the false tooth. Tatiana’s blow had done him the favor of knocking it loose. He forced it between his remaining molars and bit down hard.

Tatiana saw the motion. In an instant she had him pinned against the wall, fingers probing his mouth for the deadly package. She was too late. The capsule’s contents were already spreading through the old man’s system.

“Medic!” Tatiana bellowed. “Antivenom, now!”

It was no use and they both knew it. Tatiana’s eyes met Tobias’s, widening in rage as she realized his final little joke: she’d just spent his last moments trying desperately to save his life.

Tobias Lensky died laughing.

Chapter Forty-Seven: Rock and Ice

“You are going to get me into trouble again,” Viru complained. He glanced nervously up and down the corridor as if a furious guard might come storming around the corner any moment. “Why must you single me out every time boredom strikes you?”

“I’m hurt.” Naia ‘Baran made a show of adjusting her robes. “Don’t you know that you’re my favorite cousin?”

She twisted her neck and smiled at the gaggle of Sangheili children clustered behind her. “That’s what I want him to think, anyway,” she told them in a stage whisper. “Your brother would get jealous if he knew about all of you.”

The group—five of Rol ‘Baran’s youngest daughters—held back their laughter. Watching Naia bait their brother was one of their favorite pastimes. Babysitting the kaidon’s children was ostensibly Naia’s punishment for her latest moment of insubordination. She’d made the mistake of praising the Jiralhanae war forges within her father’s hearing. Teyr was still smarting over his brother’s refusal to punish Naia over her last trip outside. Fortunately with all the distractions plaguing the steward these days his idea of chastisement was to assign her demeaning chores.

As usual, he mistook Naia for her brothers or even one of her warrior sisters. He couldn’t fathom that some members of his family might appreciate the household duties he so despised. Naia never understood her sisters’ rush to join their brothers in all those tedious training sessions. Someone needed to keep the household running while the warriors strutted and preened.

They had all better get used to the domestic side of things. Thanks to the Created there wouldn’t be much use at all for warriors very soon.

“Take my sisters elsewhere,” Viru insisted. “This is no place for children.”

“Why not? They let you stand here all day, don’t they?” More laughs from the children. Naia appreciated such an accommodating audience.

Viru curled his mandibles, embarrassed. They stood in a sealed tube that connected the ancient halls of Baran keep to the military facilities grafted on during the Covenant years. Guard duty here was hardly a prestigious assignment. Yutur, the keep’s head of security and a close friend of Teyr, never missed a chance to stick Viru there for long shifts. As the kaidon’s youngest son, Viru was the easiest for anyone to bully. Even his sisters laughed at Naia’s tease longer than was appropriate.

Naia felt a rare stab of regret. Viru didn’t deserve everything she put him through—most of the time, anyway.

“He’s right, you know,” she said, turning to the younger girls. “This passage is a dangerous position. We can’t risk an accident befalling the kaidon’s daughters. Go back to the kitchens and make yourselves useful.”

“And what about you?” Vobine, the oldest of the group, demanded. “Aren’t you supposed to be watching us?”

“Do you really need me standing over you all day?” Naia countered. “I’ll be along shortly. Your brother and I have a few matters to discuss.”

This won more giggles from the children. They scampered off down the hallway, shooting amused glances back over their shoulders.

Viru’s mandibles twitched as his sisters disappeared. “What matters do you need to discuss?”

Naia tilted her head. “It got rid of them, didn’t it?”

“And yet you didn’t go with them.”

“You wound me,” Naia mocked. “Sometimes I think you don’t care for me at all.”

“You have yet to give me reason to enjoy your company,” Viru grunted.

“What was that?” Naia laughed. “An attempt at humor? See, you do enjoy my company.”

“Your company tends to get me in trouble,” her cousin groused. “Just like it will when my sisters cause trouble across the keep. Someone will find a way to blame me for your negligence.”

“And being such a brave, noble warrior, you will of course have no qualms with shielding me from chastisement.”

“You read too many books. Keep your imagination in those old tomes, where it can’t hurt me."

Naia pursed her mandibles, wishing her cousin weren’t so stiff on duty. He’d been so much more fun before his brothers strapped him in armor and inducted hi into their warrior ranks. Once upon a time Viru would have relished the chance to sneak her out of the keep and explore the frozen tundra. Now even a simple conversation put him on edge.

Perhaps it was her own fault. What she saw as harmless teasing was a grave threat to his warrior honor. Males always took these matters far too seriously. Naia couldn’t bear it if Viru refused to speak with her anymore—or if his dire warnings came true and she really did get him into serious trouble.

In truth, without her cousin Naia would have no one to talk to save the children and a handful of servants. The keep was on edge of late. Her father shut himself away in his chambers, as bitter and brooding as always. Naia’s mother and siblings rallied around Teyr as they always did, turning Naia aside with harsh words whenever she tried to bring some levity into their cold days. They’d never forgiven her for not hating Rol and his family. Now that Rol’s position as kaidon was cemented through his allegiance to the Created, Teyr’s resentment festered even deeper than before. Even Rol’s warriors went about their duties with tense diligence. Something was happening in the galaxy beyond this frigid planet, something that threatened the sunny promises of a golden age beneath the Mantle.

The war wasn’t over yet. Much as Naia mocked the warriors’ obsession with violence, she wished someone would tell her what was going on. If her home was under threat, she had a right to know.

Viru noticed her troubled silence. “I did not mean to offend you,” he said quickly.

Naia gave him a sidelong glance, pouring as much hurt and recrimination into her eyes as she possibly could.

“Your literary pursuits are a great credit to your mind. A true mark of a noble soul.” Viru pressed on, nearly tripping over his own words. “I only wish… you’re mocking me again, aren’t you?”

“I have a noble soul, do I?” Naia couldn’t hold back her smile. “I never realized you held my soul and my mind in such high esteem. You have wisdom beyond your years, young ‘Baran.”

“More japes,” Viru groaned. “Someday I will learn never to take you at your word.”

“If you haven’t learned by now you never will.” Naia clasped her hands behind her back. “Not to worry. That’s what I like about you. You aren’t nearly as dull as the other warriors, much as you try to be. Someday you’ll thank me for livening up these gloomy days. Or would you prefer that I leave you to stand in this corridor by yourself all day?”

“I… enjoy your company,” Viru admitted sheepishly. “I only wish you would pick better times for—” The young warrior stiffened, eyes widening beneath his slitted helmet. He snapped to attention and pressed himself back against the corridor wall.

Naia’s mandibles parted to mock her cousin’s jumpy reaction, but the joke died in her throat. Rol ‘Baran strode down the access tube, his ornate kaidon’s armor brushing against the ceiling. Behind him trailed two honor guards and just behind them loomed an even bigger figure, one that wasn’t Sangheili at all.

Irthanus, Chieftain of the Jirlhanae, filled the tube with his massive frame and ornate armor. The gravity hammer slung over his shoulder scraped against both ceiling and floor. A full contingent of his warriors marched dutifully at the rear, bladed instruments of war adorning their dark plated armor.

Even in the presence of the kaidon, Irthanus dominated Naia’s attention. She couldn’t take her eyes off the enormous chieftain. Her spine flattened against the wall in a desperate attempt to make space for the oncoming warriors.

Rol’s pace slowed at the sight of Naia and Viru. He halted before his son and looked him up and down, expression hidden behind his broad helmet.

Viru pressed his hand against his chest. “Good day to you, Lord Kaidon.”

“A good day for me, perhaps,” Rol rumbled. “Perhaps less so for you.”

Naia was impressed that Viru didn’t melt beneath his father’s gaze. He held his salute and said nothing.

“What are you doing here?” Rol demanded in that same low tone. He stood a good head taller than his son, his ornate armor rising in sharp contrast to Viru’s simple combat harness.

“Guard duty, Lord Kaidon,” Viru said stiffly. “This is my assigned post for the day.”

“Your assigned post,” Rol repeated. “Not exactly a station befitting the scion of the Baran bloodline. One would think your family’s honor might have moved you to protest such a position.”

“The captain of the household guard assigned the duty roster. This is my assigned position.”

“And you did not protest such a lowly position?” Rol asked sharply.

Viru stiffened. Naia pitied her cousin. She had things far better--whenever her father was displeased with her, he did as he always did with things that irritated him and ignored her.

“It was not my place to question my assignment, Lord Kaidon,” Viru said with as much resolve as he could muster.

A throaty chuckle echoed down the hall. Chieftain Irthanus stepped forward, pushing Rol’s guards aside with an easy wave. He towered over Kaidon and son alike, small eyes peering down from beneath a mane of braided fur.

“What this loyal warrior means to say is that he would never use his position as your offspring to declare himself too good for any duty,” Irthanus rumbled. “Come, Rol, stop torturing the boy.”

The kaidon glanced up at the chieftain. At first Naia thought he was angry—a Jiralhanae, questioning his authority within his own keep! But Rol surprised her with a bark of laughter.

“You never let me have any fun, Irthanus. Must you interrupt my jokes?” He turned back to Viru and clapped his son cheerfully on the shoulder. “You do well, of course. When I was your age I used my station to shirk many such shifts. I am glad to see my children have grown to be nobler than I.”

Viru ducked his head, embarrassed. “Thank you fath—Lord Kaidon.”

“As for you…” Rol turned to Naia. “We ran across some of my daughters just down the corridor. Poor Irthanus nearly tripped himself trying not to crush them underfoot. Are you the one responsible for such a blatant threat to their safety?”

Naia took a chance. The kaidon wouldn’t be in such a good mood had his children really been in danger. “Vobine must learn how to guide her sisters. I tested her to see if she could guide them to the kitchens without my supervision.”

The gamble paid off. Rol chortled with good humor. “Smooth-tongued as a San ‘Shyuum, niece. I hope you use it to keep Viru out of trouble as much as you do yourself.”

He nodded to them both before striding on toward the hangar bay. Irthanus led the others after the kaidon. Perhaps it was only her imagination, but Naia felt the floor tremble as the chieftain passed. One of the other Jiralhanae paused and nodded in her direction, a strange smile on its gentle face.

“Kraigus!” Irthanus barked over his shoulder. The smiling warrior hurried after his fellows.

Naia waited for the imposing party to stride from earshot before looking back to Viru. Her cousin leaned against the wall, exhaling rapidly as if his hearts hadn’t beaten at all in his father’s presence.

“You see?” she said. “Nothing at all to worry about. Even the kaidon knows I keep you out of trouble.”

Rol ‘Baran really was unlike any kaidon the Sangheili knew. He was certainly a better fit for the role than Naia’s father, no matter how much Teyr raged and complained about his younger brother.

---

Three Phantoms lifted off from the keep’s hangar bay and soared out across the icy plains. Rol ‘Baran stood in the lead dropship’s open troop bay and gazed out over the endless stretch of snow. The frigid air cut through his armor and chilled him to the bone. Archangel’s Rest was inhospitable at the best of times and downright uninhabitable at the worst. Even a flight like this was a luxury. This region’s frequent blizzards were strong enough to ground even the most advanced fliers. Rol remembered a childhood full of long treks through driving snowstorms as his training masters strove to prepare him and his schoolfellows for a life of cold hardship. Many youths had perished on those treks. Rol had not. He had refused to give up and instead won mastery over the hardship, just as he eventually won mastery over the planet itself.

It was a simple enough matter to petition the Created for a new planet to call home. Many old Forerunner colonies—hidden even from the Covenant’s prying gaze—were now uncovered thanks to the resumption of the Mantle. But Rol would never abandon Archangel’s Rest, not for an empire of garden worlds. This was his home.

The vast frozen landscape, the mighty trees of the great forest, the keep’s looming battlements—they were all his treasured home.

Irthanus stood beside Rol, shaggy arms folded over his armored chest. The chieftain stared back at the ‘Baran keep as the mighty fortress dwindled away behind the Phantoms. “Those young Sangheili are quite the pair,” Irthanus called over the engine’s whine. “I remember them from the war forges.”

“My son is loyal but stiff. I hope Naia will help him see that there is more to life than obedience and advancing through the ranks.”

“An easy thing to say when one has already achieved high rank of his own. A young warrior will always be hungry for achievement. That is what makes them so potent.” Irthanus nodded at his own words. “You are blessed with worthy children, Rol.”

“And at least one worthy niece.”

The chieftain snorted. “Rather impudent for a female, isn’t she?”

“At least she calls me kaidon. The rest of Teyr’s children despise me as much as he does.” A heavy grief passed over Rol as he thought of the children who once raced to greet him whenever he returned from the wars. Their father had poisoned their minds with his impotent rage, turning them into lesser reflections of himself. Naia was a gem out of that brood. Rol would have adopted her, if only Teyr wouldn’t use the gesture as a pretext for more slighted honor. “I would have more spirits like hers rise up from my people. We have obsessed over order and warfare too long. Perhaps the Mantle will shelter a gentler generation.”

“One only hopes,” Irthanus agreed. “Come, let’s get out of this cold.”

They retreated inside the Phantom. The doors sealed them inside the dim troop bay and mercifully cut out the driving winds. Irthanus crouched as low to the deck as he could. Phantoms—with no seating or other accommodations—were uncomfortable means of conveyance to begin with. Rol’s guards and Irthanus’s warriors rode in the escort craft. The honor guard disliked the idea of their kaidon riding alone with a Jiralahanae chieftain, but Rol insisted. He trusted Irthanus with his life.

“Another wave of settlers landed on the far side of the planet yesterday,” Irthanus informed him. “My people are eternally in your debt.”

“Hold back thanks until they withstand the winter,” Rol joked. “The true snows have not yet begun to fall.”

“We are better suited for the cold than you are, my friend. A bit of frost never slowed a Jiralhanae.” Irthanus’s laugh filled the troop bay. “If you think this planet is harsh, you should see the worlds these packs hail from.”

That mighty laugh was the first thing Rol ever knew from the chieftain. He remembered that day well: his warriors pinned down by a squadron of human Scorpion tanks while their infantry pressed in on all sides. A howl of mirth pierced the cannon fire and then an entire pack of Jiralhanae descended upon the humans and drove them from the field. Irthanus had crushed no less than three Scorpions beneath his hammer. A friendship was born that day amidst the ruined tanks and slaughtered humans, a friendship that endured the Great Schism and all the wars since then.

Irthanus was Rol’s true brother, far more than Teyr had ever been.

“Take all the land you need,” Rol assured him. “This planet sat unused for far too long. My ancestors were content to sit within the keep and ponder the mysteries of the holy temple. They cared nothing for this world, only for the prestige our seat of power gave us. I will not repeat their folly.”

“And my ancestors wasted countless lives in pursuit of fruitless conquest,” Irthanus agreed. “In my youth, I was no different. Did I ever tell you that I once tore apart a team of Unggoy because they served me overcooked Thorn Beast?”

“You may have mentioned it.”

“I was a wild one.” Irthanus chuckled with self-recrimination. “Lives were mine to use and I spent them gladly. War with the humans was the perfect excuse to indulge my basest instincts.”

“That war blinded us all. And even after the Prophets’ deception was revealed we clung to the lies of the past. We feared change. We feared the truth, that there might be meaning to life beyond senseless violence.” Rol shook his head. “And to think it was the humans’ constructs who pierced through the veil and set us on the path to the future.”

“A true Great Journey,” Irthanus mused. “Yes, who could have guessed we might find salvation from within that strange race?”

A true Covenant. A true Great Journey. Beneath the Mantle of Responsibility they loosed the shackles of their past and found a cause worth fighting for. The thought lifted Rol’s spirits more than any empty Covenant ritual ever had.

They rode in silence for some time. Rol’s mind drifted back to the keep—to his wife and children, to his friends and vassals. He had so little time for them lately. They deserved better than his absence. Allegiance to the Created was meant to free him from the duty of constant warfare, not keep him wrapped up in campaign after campaign. But the enemy still raged out beyond Archangel’s Rest. Soon, Rol promised the unseen family. Soon.

Irthanus looked up as if sensing his thoughts. “So you relinquished command of the fleet,” he said, a note of disapproval in his voice. He saw Rol’s mandibles open in protest and raised a meaty hand. “No, do not deny it. That fiery construct, the one called Arthur, told me you took your leave. He offered to make me fleetmaster in your stead.”

That was a surprise—and not an entirely welcome one. Rol didn’t like the idea of the Created going behind his back or playing Irthanus against him. But he’d known certain elements of pride needed to be relinquished beneath the Mantle. The Created played whatever games they chose. He’d made the decision to step down. Now the matter of his replacement was beyond his control. “A generous offer. My shipmasters would be honored to serve under your command.”

“Let’s not have lies between us, Rol. I would make a terrible naval commander and your shipmasters would hate me for replacing you. Why did you resign?”

“I did not resign. I simply stepped aside to allow room for one more worthy. At Talitsa, Shinsu ‘Refum outmaneuvered me when I had his fleet outnumbered three to one. Thousands died in what should have been a complete victory. My pride blinded me to my shortcomings as a fleet commander. Our people have suffered enough under incompetent leaders. Besides, this planet needs me.”

Irthanus nodded slowly. “You speak of the latest report from the frontier.”

“Yes. Archangel’s Rest may be his next target.” The Created warned that ‘Refum’s fleet had accessed a pocket of the Domain. They insisted the incident was a minor achievement at most, but now they mobilized ships and warriors from all corners of their new empire to oppose the Fleet of Cleansing Fire. Whatever ‘Refum and his lackeys had achieved, it had the Created more concerned than the dozens of planets he’d already lain waste to. Rol would die before he let that up-jumped warlord set foot on Archangel’s Rest. “If an attack comes, I will be hear to lead the defense.”

“As will I,” Irthanus promised. The Phantom lurched and started a gentle descent. “If you remain here, my warriors will as well.”

“You mean well, old friend, but the real war lies elsewhere.”

“The real war lies in the defense of my people,” Irthanus rumbled. “I have conquered plenty of worlds for the Created. They have many generals to do their bidding. I have earned a chance to rest and see that my people settle here safely. And if Shinsu ‘Refum or any of his minions descend on this world, my warriors will show them hell the likes of which they have never seen. No invader will leave this planet alive.”

Rol ducked his head, moved by his friend’s loyalty. “I hope war never comes to this world. But if it does, we will face the enemy together. We will show them the might of our alliance: Jiralhanae and Sangehil, joined together beneath the Mantle.”

The bay doors slid open and the cold rushed in once more. The kaidon and chieftain looked out and saw the snow-capped hills now lined with tents and war forges. A vast encampment spread out before them. Irthanus’s Jiralhanae gathered in the camp, warriors drawn from every settlement on the planet. Some hundreds more arrived every day. All the while the war forges burned on day and night, churning out weapons and war machines for the Created and their new army.

The acrid smell of heated metal rose up from the forges and filled the Phantom’s bay. An unpleasant stench, to be sure, but a welcome one all the same. This alliance was Rol’s greatest accomplishment. His legacy, his gift to the galaxy. If his life and leadership led only to Irthanus’s ascendancy, then that was enough. Step by step, blow by blow, they lifted the Mantle of Responsibility further and further. Soon it would encompass the whole galaxy.

This army would leave Archangel’s Rest soon. Shinsu ‘Refum and all the other rebels would crumble beneath the iron fist of the Jiralhanae. But for now it spread out across the tundra, the shield guarding Archangel’s Rest from its enemies. Rol did not care what his fellow Sangheili said. The Jiralhanae were the best guardians his planet could ask for.

A crowd of warriors awaited their arrival as the Phantoms touched down just outside the camp. Rol and Irthanus dropped from the troop bay and forged their way through the snow, their bodyguards hurrying from their own dropships to join them.

The peace of the Mantle hung tantalizingly close. But Rol could not rest yet. There was much work to be done. The final war still needed to be won. His clan would be part of this last, momentous struggle. With the efforts here he would carve their bloodline into the very stars themselves.

Chapter Forty-Eight: Singular Vision

“Another enemy battlegroup, one thousand strong!”

“All batteries engaged. If this keeps up, we will be overwhelmed!”

“There’s no end to them!”

Stray paced across the bridge, eyes darting between multiple tactical displays. The deck rumbled beneath his feet as the ship shrugged off another enemy barrage. His heart pounded furiously beneath his armor. “All fleet lines, advance! Don’t let up. We’re winning. Keep the formation steady and we’ll smash everything they throw at us.'

“This is madness!” an adjutant shouted from a nearby station. “The enemy outnumbers us ten to one! The Didact ordered you to retreat back behind the Jat-krula boundary. You cannot disobey—”

“I can and I will.” Stray didn’t even look at the naysayer. The nearest display showed hundreds of ships advancing in tight formation. His fleet surged forward even as it was engulfed by thousands of the enemy. Ship after ship rushed to confront them only to be torn to pieces by precise energy fire. “I’ve endured that coward’s orders long enough. He can hide behind to the Mantle all he wants. We are going to stop the Flood here and now.”

“More enemy battlegroups!” another officer shouted. Alarms blared across the bridge. “Their numbers are too great! Our sensors are overloading, they can’t count them all!”

“Every star in the galaxy can be an enemy ship for all I care.” Stray slammed his gauntlets against the command station. “I’ve sacrificed too much to come this far. I will not be denied my destiny!”

Another impact shook the ship, this one hard enough to shatter walls and throw officers from their stations. Stray stood firm amidst the sparks and debris. This was his moment. He would not turn back now. “Ignore their fire. All ships, form up and push through! Find their command ship and destroy it!”

But the fleet’s advance faltered. Its rate of fire slowed as each ship diverted power to shields and point defense systems. Flood vessels swarmed through the gaps in the firing line and slammed headlong into exposed hulls. Stray looked on in furious impotence as several capital ships broke ranks and fled the battlespace. More Flood ships shot straight towards his command vessel. “No! Stand and fight, damn you!”

“It’s over.” A Lifeworker rose from her station and faced him. “You fought well and your intentions were noble. But you’ve lost. Fall back and spare the rest of our fleet.”

The bridge was shrinking, closing in on all sides. “No! You don’t understand!” Stray protested. “We can still win!”

“Give up!” the Lifeworker urged. “It’s not too late!”

More explosions rocked the ship. A team of Warrior-Servants burst onto the bridge. Adjutants and officers hurried aside as the security team trained their weapons on Stray. The lead warrior stepped forward, lightrifle raised. “We are here to relieve you of command. The Didact wants a word.”

“Traitors!” Stray reached for his own weapon. “I’m not the enemy here! Or have you all forgotten about the Flood?”

“Remove him from the bridge.” The Warrior-Servant spoke in infuriating tones. “I will assume command.”

“He never should have held command to begin with,” another warrior noted coldly.

Stray raised his Boltshot but he moved too slow. The Warrior-Servant’s lightrifle caught him in the chest and he dropped to the floor. Pain gnawed at his body. He was suddenly too weak to move. His strength abandoned him. He lay defeated and diminished on the bridge floor as his enemies crowded around him.

“He should never have left that run-down freighter,” a distant voice noted. “He should have stayed where he could do no harm.”

“He should never have been given that armor,” another voice intoned. “He should never have crawled out of his pathetic hole.”

Stray tried to rise but he didn’t even have the strength to move. He stared helplessly up at the figures that now towered over him, their eyes cold and accusing. He raised his arms and saw that they were no longer his own. One was weak and shriveled. The other was nothing more than a skeletal prosthetic.

“No,” a final voice whispered. “He should never have been born.”

A strangled cry erupted from Stray’s throat. “NO!”

He jerked upright, howling with pain and rage. The scene fled away, the war-torn bridge replaced by a sterile medical bay. He toppled off of a low-hanging cot and crashed to the cold floor, his body wrenching free from status monitors and IV tubes. He scrambled about like a panicked animal desperate to escape some unseen terror. Only when he reached the nearest wall and dragged himself upright did he realize he was naked.

Stray blinked down at himself—at his scarred, emaciated body, at the prosthetic arm hanging limp at his side. His chest heaved with exertion as panic gave way to confusion. Where was he? What was going on?

“You’re awake.” The voice came from behind him. “I’m so glad. You had me worried.”

Stray whirled to find a young woman standing by his bedside. She wore a plain blue suit, her blond hair tied back in a braided bun. Her mouth curled in a friendly smile, as if this wasn’t a medical bay and he wasn’t stark naked. She indicated the cot. “You should sit down. Take a rest. I’ve already alerted Tuka. He wanted to be here when you woke up, but they needed him on the bridge. We’re in Slipspace now.”

Tuka. Slipspace. The bridge. His senses slowly returned. Of course. This was the Soul Ascension. He was here with the Kru’desh Legion not…. Where? Who? What had he been? Stray tried to reach back to the dream he’d just torn free from. Already those memories were draining away like water down a gaping drain. He slumped back onto the cot and rested his head in his hands. He felt exhausted.

Juno sat patiently and let him regroup. He remembered the battle on Le Havre. The Forerunner complex, the Silent Garden. Voices in the mist: Diana and Amber. And that other vision, one that rose to mind with far more clarity than his already-forgotten dream. A massive battle across the snow. Archangel’s Rest. His own voice promising him triumph and salvation.

Stray took a deep breath and tried to gather his thoughts. Everything still felt disjointed and out of place, as if he’d awakened into a reality that didn’t quite fit. So much felt wrong and out of place. “What happened down there?” he finally asked.

“We made contact with the Domain,” Juno explained. “With the Silent Garden, to be more precise. It linked us to another instance elsewhere in the galaxy. An instance that Amber and Diana seemed to be experiencing alongside us.”

“Yes. I remember them. Where did they--?”

“They escaped,” Juno said quickly. “I couldn’t pin them down. Whatever happened on their end of the instance, we missed it. I did manage to push Diana out of the system. She isn’t nearly as powerful as she thinks she is.” A hint of pride crept into her tone.

“That figures.” He ran a hand through his hair and fought back an urge to lie back on the cot and simply fall asleep.

“You aren’t angry,” Juno noted.

“Should I be?”

“You want revenge for Diana’s betrayal. That bloodlust has driven you this far. I thought their escape might, well, upset you.”

“Bloodlust, huh?” She was right. He should be furious. But that anger now seemed small and very far away. Compared to what he’d experienced inside the Silent Garden, the old grudges felt dim and pointless. What’s wrong with me? Why am I so… He tried to muster up some anger, to break free from this eerie malaise. “We have more important things to worry about than Amber and Diana.”

“More important things,” Juno repeated. Her avatar offered a warm smile. “You saw something in the Garden, didn’t you? It showed you answers. A way to stop the Created.”

“Yes. I saw…” How could he put it into words? “A vision, I guess. We were fighting on some planet covered in snow. Archangel’s Rest, that’s what it was called. Apparently there’s another Garden node there. And that’s where I can cure myself.”

“You saw all that,” Juno said. “Are you sure?”

“I know it’s crazy. I’m having a hard time believing it myself.”

“No! It’s wonderful. It’s just what we needed. What you needed. Hold a moment.” Juno’s avatar flickered. “Archangel’s Rest is an old Sangheili colony. Inhospitable and sparsely populated but nonetheless—”

“A key religious site for the old Covenant. It has one of the first keeps ever established away from Sanghelios.” Stray tried to smirk at Juno’s quizzical expression. Even that simple motion felt like a momentous effort. “I worked for Jul ‘Mdama, remember? I had to know my hinge-head history. House Baran controls the planet. They never declared for Jul’s Covenant or the Swords of Sanghelios.”

“Their period of indecision is over, it seems. According to the latest reports their kaidon is one of the most powerful Created supporters.” Juno regarded him with a gentle smile. “You held on to that information well.”

“I only look stupid.”

The smile vanished. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

“I know you didn’t. I’m just surprised you’re taking this all so straight. That vision was bizarre, Juno. Aren’t you worried the Silent Garden messed with my head? I know I am.”

“You shouldn’t be,” she assured him. “I was in the system as well, remember? I know it showed you something. Diana and I weren’t the only constructs in the Garden. The Forerunners left it behind for a reason. I realize that now. They wanted to show us all the way forward. There’s a plan in place for us. We’ll go to Archangel’s Rest. We’ll cure you. That’s what the Forerunners want. They want to help us defeat the Created.”

She sounded so sincere. So humanly earnest. So unlike Diana’s prim and proper twin. Stray didn’t know whether to relish this attitude change or fear it. “Are you sure the Garden didn’t mess with your programming? The Forerunners have been dead for thousands of years. They aren’t planning anything anymore.”

“They left traces behind. More than traces. I didn’t believe it any more than you do. But after what I saw in the Garden, I know it’s all true. You have to believe me.”

It was almost too much. The vision of Archangel’s Rest, Juno’s conversion to this cult of the Forerunners, his own muddled thoughts… but she was right. She had to be right. Because if there wasn’t some ancient plan in place to guide them through this war, what chance did they possibly have?

Tuka claimed Stray was an instrument of the gods. That was ridiculous, just a lie cooked up by Diana to keep the Kru’desh in line. Stray didn’t believe in any divinity, be it Cassandra’s single God or Tuka’s plural ones. But what if those lies held a grain of truth? What if he really was part of this Forerunner plan, pre-ordained for greatness by forces beyond his control? He remembered the restored version of himself he’d seen in the Garden, a glorious conqueror so much greater than… whatever he was now. What if that vision wasn’t just something he could be, but something he would be? A glorious destiny that was all his own.

It’s true. It’s all true. It has to be. Because if it isn’t…

“I believe you,” he said finally. “I trust you.” And for once he hid nothing in that declaration, no lies or half-truths or calculations. It was simply the truth. He trusted her in a way he could never have trusted Diana, even at the height of their partnership. Juno had stood by him even when she’d had every reason to despise him, when he himself had lost all hope. He’d survived thanks to her. He’d regained the Kru’desh thanks to her. He owed her everything.

For once in his life, he wouldn’t renege on that debt.

Juno’s face broke into a smile of relief. “Thank you.”

The door to the medbay slid open. Tuka rushed in, stopping short at the site of Stray sitting beside the full-sized Juno. He ducked his head, embarrassed at his own intrusion. “Commander! You’re awake.”

“Try not to sound so disappointed.”

“I wouldn’t—” Tuka caught sight of Stray’s half-smile and shook his head. “Human sarcasm. Of course.”

“And here I thought you’d never get a sense of humor.” Stray wrapped the cot sheets around himself in a makeshift cloak. “Where’s my armor?”

“Stored in my quarters. Yearns to Soar is making a few adjustments as we speak.”

“Those damn Huragok. What’s our situation. What’s the—” Stray paused. With Tuka in the room he had to face the reality of his situation. “What happened after I fell out? What does the crew know?”

“Only that you received a vision from the Forerunners in the Sacred Garden,” Tuka assured him. “You’ve been reflecting on what they revealed to you for some time. That is, I hope, not far from the truth. Morale is high after our victory on Le Havre. The legion attributes the victory to your leadership. A few cycles’ absence will not change that.”

A victory high could hold the rank and file, at least for a while. The Kru’desh were always more concerned with where their next meal was coming from than where some distant shipmaster was. The officers were a different story. Stray needed to make a public appearance soon. That meant more speeches. Wonderful.

“I’ll admit, I’ve had my doubts.” Mohsin Shah stepped into the room after Tuka. He raised an eyebrow at Stray’s state of undress. “We took a heavily defended colony with minimal casualties. The boys and girls down in barracks are ecstatic. Even Commodore Campbell was singing your praises.”

“Tuka, get the stewards to bring me some clothes.” AI and aliens were one thing. Stray wasn’t quite ready to sit naked in front of another human. “And get me my armor back. Why’d we leave Le Havre?”

“A transmission from Deep Winter ordered us back to his fleet,” Juno explained. “Shinsu ‘Refum is regrouping and recalling all his forces. Winter wouldn’t go into details, but something big is in the works.”

Mohsin rubbed his beard pensively. “I won’t pretend to understand everything that I saw down in that cave or whatever it was. But you owe me an explanation about your condition. Victory or no victory, the troops will ask questions.”

“What’s to explain?” Stray waved his prosthetic arm over his gaunt frame. “I’ve been fighting wars my whole life. I’ve survived wounds that should have killed me. I’ve been exposed to so much radiation that I’m surprised my skin doesn’t glow in the dark. And that doesn’t even go into the augmentations. So no, it hasn’t done wonders for my physique.”

“It’s more than that though, isn’t it?” Mohsin pressed. “You only collapsed after you’d been in that chamber. No one else was in a coma for three days afterwards. What’s really going on here?”

The captain’s face said it all. He wouldn’t take no for an answer, and Stray couldn’t blame him. “Fine. You’re right. I’m sick. Dying, in fact. It’s some kind of Forerunner disease.” It didn’t get any easier no matter how many times he put it into words. “Shinsu wants the Silent Garden to give him a way to beat the Created. I want it to give me a cure.”

“I see.” Mohsin didn’t look surprised. “So that’s your angle. Survival.”

“Just like it’s always been. Are you surprised?”

“Not really. I didn’t expect philanthropy out of you any more than I expected commitment to colonial independence.” A low sigh escaped Mohsin’s lips. “Did Venter know?”

“I told him,” Stray admitted.

“And he gave you command anyway.”

“Venter was…”

“Your father,” Mohsin corrected sternly. “If you’re going to use his name you should at least do him that courtesy.”

“Fine. My father was half-dead himself back on Talitsa. I told him I’d keep fighting and that was all he really cared about. He knew he wasn’t going to make it out of there alive. Sorry if you thought he had some master plan when he told you all to follow me.”

“I’m not naïve, Stray,” Mohsin growled. He paced restlessly across the medbay, one hand wrapped tight  around the other’s wrist. “I knew what Redmond Venter was. Not the URF propaganda model, the real man. He was a fighter, not a winner. I survived enough lost battles with him to figure that out. I stayed with him through all that because I owed him everything. He didn’t have a plan when he gave you command any more than he had a plan when we invaded Talitsa. I loved that man like a father, but so many of our people died because of him. I’m not blind to that. But I stayed with him. I kept following his orders. Even after…” He spoke with a hoarse earnestness, as if he’d yearned to say these things for years. He stopped himself short when he caught sight of Stray, Juno, and Tuka’s incredulous stares.

“And here you are.” Stray chose his words carefully. “You don’t owe me anything.”

“No,” Mohsin agreed. “I don’t. And you’re just in this to stay alive. No high-minded ideals, no smokescreens. Did you find the cure you were looking for?”

“I think so.” Stray watched Moshin closely. This man was the weathervane for half his legion. If he lost him, he lost the Insurrectionists. Even Jerrold Campbell would pack up his ships and leave if he thought Stray couldn’t keep control. “A Covenant colony world called Archangel’s Rest. The Created control it now. I’m going to take any ships Shinsu will give me and I’m going to take it, just like we took Le Havre.”

“I see. Can you fight?”

Stray curled his hands into fists and raised them in Mohsin’s direction with a smirk. “I’m a Spartan. They designed us to keep fighting even after we’d been gutted by energy swords and blown open by Needler rounds. Something as minor as a terminal disease isn’t going to slow me down.”

“That’s not what I meant,” Mohsin pressed. “When we’re on this Archangel’s Rest planet fighting through wave after wave of Covenant and Prometheans so that you can get your cure, where will you be? Battles are dangerous places and according to you, you’re just in this for survival. So how do you plan to win next time?”

It was an honest question, not a challenge. Stray accepted it with a wry smile. “You’re right, Mohsin. I’d love to sit up on the Soul Ascension’s bridge and watch everyone else do the fighting. I’d love to stay away from all the dirt and mud and carnage for once. Just once I’d love to sit through a battle and not be terrified that some sniper will pick me off from three kilometers away, or some random mortar will blow me to bits. But that’s not how this game gets played. The Sangheili won’t respect me if I don’t fight and neither will you. So when we hit Archangel’s Rest I’ll be down there with you, just like I was on Le Havre. And once I know I’m not in danger of keeling over dead any moment, I’m going to use what we find there to beat the Created.”

“You’re awfully confident for a man who just woke up from a three-day coma.”

“I have to be.” Stray knew he couldn’t sound too convincing wrapped only in a bedsheet, but he did his best to exude confidence al the same. His momentary determination was already fading. Mohsin’s words cut deep. Was Stray ready to sacrifice hundreds, maybe thousands, of people just to find a cure only hinted at in some hallucination? All that talk of some predestined Forerunner plan sounded foolish now. A child’s fantasy. “We’re on the losing side of this war, at least for now. But I’m going to win. I have to. There’s no place for me in the galaxy the Created want to build.”

Stray hardly believed the words coming out of his mouth. He’d awakened to find himself transformed into another person. The mask he’d so diligently hidden behind was now fixed in place. His old self peered helplessly through his eyes and listened to the new identity speak.

But whatever Stray’s own feelings, the false confidence carried the day. The others were convinced. How much longer could he keep this up?   

“Fine, fine.” Mohsin raised his hands in defeat. “Save the speeches for the hinge-heads. Everyone who made it off Talitsa is still alive. That’s all the convincing I need.”

Juno had observed the tense exchange in silence. Now her avatar arose from Stray’s bedside. Hands clasped behind her back, she surveyed the odd group with approval. “Then it’s settled. Once we rendezvous with the fleet I’ll impress on Deep Winter just how important of an objective Archangel’s Rest is. Stray will do the same with Shinsu ‘Refum. We’ll put together a full task force and take the planet.”

“Just like that?” Mohsin asked. “Will ‘Refum even give us reinforcements? Something tells me he’ll need a little more than a cure to some disease no one knows anything about to think this planet is worth taking.”

“Oh, there’s much more than a cure on that planet,” Juno assured him. “The Silent Garden is a window into the Domain. That means knowledge of everything the Forerunners left behind. It’s an archaeological dream: where their weapons are and more importantly, how to use them.”

“Whoever controls the Forerunners’ legacy controls the fate of this universe,” Tuka agreed. “The Created have proved that point well enough.”

Mohsin didn’t look entirely convinced. Stray couldn’t blame him. A few months ago this man had been waist-deep in a decades-long rebellion against Earth’s colonial rule. A losing rebellion, sure, but one he could wrap his mind around. Now he was listening in on talks about the fate of the universe. Stray had been in his boots before: one moment a wanted outlaw eking out a living on the Chancer V, the next moment a military commander in Jul ‘Mdama’s inner circle. “Don’t worry. You’ll get used to it,” he assured the captain.

“I’d just as soon prefer I didn’t. The rest of you may like this Forerunner nonsense, but I don’t. From what I can tell it’s caused the galaxy nothing but trouble.” Mohsin shook his head and headed for the door. “Juno, give me everything we know about this Archangel’s Rest. I’ll round up my officers and start up a plan of attack.”

“I will do the same with the Kru’desh,” Tuka agreed. “Captain, we should coordinate our efforts. We are one force. Our people will need to accept that if we have any hope of victory.”

“I can provide diplomatic support,” Juno offered. “For anyone who doesn’t like the idea of working with aliens.”

Mohsin grunted. “I can’t argue with that. I’ll make sure my people cooperate.”

He looked back to Stray. “One more thing, commander. You might want to track down Andra. She’s not been the same since we left that chamber. She won’t talk to anyone and she’s barely eating. I can’t get through to her.”

Andra. Stray had forgotten about her. “And what makes you think I can?”

“I don’t know much about Spartans, but there’s some shared history, isn’t there?” Mohsin made a face. “Of course, I don’t know if I’ve ever met a real Spartan. I thought you were all supposed to be stoic killing machines, not power-hungry warlords and moody teenagers.”

“You’re a real comedian. Unless you’re talking about someone else named Andra, I won’t do her any good. She hates me, remember? Ryder sent her to spy on me at best and kill me at worst. It’s all she can do not to put a bullet in me any time I give her orders.”

“You’re being a little hard on her. She was opening up to the rest of the team back on Le Havre. But after what happened down there she’s closed off again. Figure out a way to get through to her.” The captain rested a hand on the door. “She looks up to you.”

That was the craziest thing Stray had heard since waking up, and they’d just finished talking about grand Forerunner plans. “Now I know this is some kind of practical joke. I’ve been awake for less than an hour and you’re trying to show off your new sense of humor.”

“Laugh all you want, but I’ve seen it before,” Mohsin insisted. “Do you think every recruit the old man pulled in acted like they loved him? They hated Venter’s guts for what he put them through. But he got through to them in the end. If you want to be the commander, I suggest you learn how to herd the strays into line.”

With that Parthian shot he was gone. Stray glowered at the spot he’d vacated. Mohsin was learning how to really get under his skin. Comparisons to Venter weren’t welcome. But then, what had he expected when he took the man’s name and reputation? Letting go of old resentments were the price he paid for what Venter’s legacy won him.

“I will prepare your armor,” Tuka promised. “In the meantime—“

“Just get me a jumpsuit,” Stray sighed. “Juno, find out where Andra’s gone to sulk. I guess this is the most important thing I can be doing right now.”

“The captain has a point,” Juno replied. “Though I would have phrased it differently. Personal volatility aside, Andra is a Spartan. You’ve already driven a wedge between her and Ryder Kedar. Circumstances have done the rest. She’s proven herself a valuable asset. Now’s your chance to secure her loyalty.”

“Someone’s turning into a manipulative bitch. I guess I’ve rubbed off on you.”

“And perhaps I’ve had the same effect,” came the arch reply. “Manipulation is your specialty. Don’t tell me you’re starting to get pangs of conscience.”

“Shit. At least Mohsin tried to frame it as me making her feel better. Fine. Guess I’ll go manipulate her, then.” Stray looked over Juno’s new costume: no armor now, just a simple shirt and dress. “What’s with the new look? Did someone call your armor stupid again?”

“Different appearances work for different environments.” Juno’s cold expression softened. For just a moment she once again looked like the AI who’d tried her best to comfort Stray on the flight to Talitsa. That seemed like such a long time ago now. They’d both changed so much so quickly.  “And I thought it might be better for you to wake up to something less dramatic than my usual avatar.”

“Cute. Watch it with the mothering. We’ve got a war to fight.”

---

The Soul Ascension’s halls were a sight to behold. The ship had taken a complete reversal from its previous decrepit state. Now the battlecruiser was a thriving warship, a strange hybrid of Covenant and human technology that revealed just how much the Kru’desh had evolved. Human crew walked among Sangheili and Unggoy as if this were the most natural arrangement in the world. Scavenged UNSC tech was bolted to Covenant walls while human and Covenant supply crates rested side by side. Even in Stray’s brief absence the ship had taken on a life of its own.

It felt strange walking these halls in nothing more than a nondescript crewman’s jumpsuit. Hardly any of the crew. Walking anywhere without his armor made Stray nervous. He was used to jumping at shadows, always wondering where the next shot would come from. Even here on his own ship an assassin might plunge an energy sword through his gut or put a bullet in his back.

But hardly any of the crew even acknowledged his presence. He stepped aside when a pair of Kig-Yar didn’t give way only to nearly be bowled over by a passing Sangheili. Around the corner two Insurrectionists shot dirty looks his way when he passed between them. Even an Unggoy labor team shoved him aside on their way to a pressing maintenance task. None of the Soul Ascension’s rank and file recognized Stray outside his armor.

That was for the best. Stray’s authority rested on the reputation he’d concocted for himself. The Butcher of Philadelphia. The Traitor Spartan. The Covenant commander. A ruthless and bloody warrior, not the bedraggled outcast who barely filled out this jumpsuit. He took a moment to inject more medication before stepping into the gravity lift that carried him down into the Soul Ascension’s underbelly.

“Andra has confined herself to the ship’s library,” Juno informed him.

“The library? No one goes in there. Did you let her in?”

“No, but like all Spartans she has a habit of finding her way into places regardless of whether an invitation is extended.”

"Whatever happens in there, stay out of it," Stray warned.

"Why would I need to do anything? What are you up to now?"

"Let me handle it."

"If you insist." She sounded unconvinced.

The gravity lift deposited him on a little-traversed sub-deck just above engineering. Stray rubbed several days’ worth of accumulated stubble on his face and looked up and down the abandoned corridors. Covenant ships were so large and labyrinthine that entire decks could very easily be overlooked and abandoned by the crew. This was one such deck. Before the mutiny he’d used it as his own private sanctum, a place to accumulate weapons and trophies. He hadn’t been down here since before Amber’s betrayal—it seemed no one else had, either.

The library was sealed behind a small door. Stray let out an irritated huff. Of all the places for her to come and sulk, why was it this one? The library’s very existence was a point of some embarrassment for him. He wanted to get this over with and get on to more pressing matters.

More pressing matters like what? It was all so exhausting. What he really wanted was to climb back in bed and sleep for three more days.

A dimly-lit chamber awaited behind the door. The low-hanging ceiling and its alien Covenant paneling clashed with several rows of scavenged bookshelves loosely arranged around the room. Most of the shelves were bare. Only a handful of old human books—all ink and paper—ruminated beneath the dim lights. Stray ran his finger over one volume and found it covered with dust.

At least Andra didn’t make herself hard to find. She sat on the floor in the center of the chamber with her back to the door, legs drawn up to her chest. Several discarded books lay around her alongside empty ration wrappers, as if she hadn’t moved from this spot for days. The perspiration odor hanging alongside the smell of musty books reinforced that deduction.

“Captain Shah told me you weren’t eating.” Stray nudged the nearest ration wrapper with his boot. “I’m glad to see he exaggerated on that count at least.”

Andra started and glanced back. She’d heard the door open but obviously expected someone else. She fixed him with a blank stare. Her eyes weren’t red with lack of sleep or puffy with tears. They were just empty. “You’re alive.”

“Try not to sound so disappointed. The Silent Garden took a lot out of me. A lot out of you, too, apparently. At least I have a coma as an excuse for staying in one room for three days. What’s yours?”

She turned her face back to the wall. “Just leave me alone.”

“I can’t do that.” Stray rubbed his forehead. “Mohsin’s worried about you, you know. Actually worried. Me? I just can’t have a member of this crew lazing about down in the hold like this. It’s bad for morale.”

“So what?” Her voice was low and raw. She was lucky to be alive after that choking attempt. Someone in full MJOLNIR had tried to throttle her. Without augmentations she’d be dead. Strangled from the other side of the galaxy. That would be a way to go. “You gonna order me out of here?”

“I do happen to outrank you, lieutenant.”

“Shut up,” Andra muttered. “You just gave me that rank to make fun of me. Just like when you had them give me that tattoo. I’m not playing your games anymore.”

“Oh right, that.” He’d almost forgotten about that tattoo. “I needed to pass you off as Insurrection, remember?”

“So you were already planning your big lie before we even got to that summit.” She still wasn’t looking at him. “You already planned to trick me into pulling off your con.”

“It was a contingency I put together,” Stray admitted. “I knew I wouldn’t get what I wanted from the URF without a bit of cloak and dagger maneuvering. Though I admit I took more pleasure out of that inking session than I should have.”

Andra let out a disgusted noise. She still wasn’t looking at him. “You used me. Just like everyone else. And now you want me to keep following your orders. Just like everyone else.”

“Did you forget that you were planted on this ship to spy on me? To kill me if I annoyed Ryder Kedar? I could have done a hell of a lot worse than what I did.”

“Great. You didn’t have your hinge-heads flush me into space. Now you want me to kiss your ass over it?”

“An acknowledgement that I’m not some fire-breathing monster would be nice.” A Sangheili security team could drag Andra out of here. They could toss her in the brig and let her mope there for a while. It’d be a nice example to keep the rest of the crew in line. But that little spectacle would take effort to put on. Stray didn’t feel like making any efforts right now.

“You are a monster,” Andra muttered, but the insult lacked any bite. Something had stripped her of whatever conviction she had left. Stray saw it clearly now. This wasn’t his recruit or Ryder’s spy. She wasn’t even a Spartan anymore. She was nothing, just a broken girl hiding from a universe where she wasn’t wanted anymore.

The pieces fell into place. Stray put his back against the nearest bookshelf and slid to the floor. It felt good to take the weight off his legs. “That Spartan down in the Silent Garden, the one who strangled you. Who was he?”

Andra said nothing for several moments. Finally she said in a small voice, “He was my best friend.”

“Ah. Teammate?”

“Yes.”

More than a best friend then. They’d grown up together, trained together, shared meals together, fought together. That bond was more than just friendship to a Spartan. Stray mind turned again to Cassandra. He couldn’t help it. She was always lurking in the corner of his mind. “Had a bit of a falling out, did you?”

She turned to face him this time. The look in her eyes was pure venom. “Shut up. You don’t know anything about it.”

“I don’t know?” He met her glare with a cold smile. “Right. I don’t know what it’s like to have my team turn on me. To have my friends hate me. To be the one they’re trying to kill. I don’t know anything about that.”

“Don’t you dare compare me to you. After what you’ve done… You deserved it! All of it! You betrayed the UNSC. You joined the Insurrection, you killed your own teammates--!”

“One crime at a time, please.” Stray spread his hands. “It was just the one teammate. Ralph would have killed me if I hadn’t put that knife through his throat. But I guess I should have just sat there and let him blow my head off.”

“You don’t even regret it,” she muttered in disbelief. “You aren’t even sorry.”

“I’m not sorry that I’m still alive, no. I wish Ralph could still be alive, too, but it was him or me.” He didn’t remember much about that fight. Not like other traumas he’d committed to memory. All he remembered was the pain he’d heard in his friend’s voice that day. Something had broken Ralph before Stray reached him. Stray hadn’t outfought him—he’d never been a match for Ralph. Ralph let him win that day, and Stray had paid for it ever since. “What do you want, a tearful confession? I’m still alive because a lot of other people aren’t. Same as you. We’re killers. That’s what they raised us to be. You and all the other Spartans just hate me because I didn’t kill the right people.”

“I’m nothing like you,” Andra hissed. “I’m not a murderer. I was a soldier. I did my duty to defend humanity.”

“Of course. My mistake. You only ever had the purest of intentions when you killed people. Not like me. You don’t deserve any of this. Life’s just been so unfair to you.”

“Life’s never been fair to me!” Andra exploded. Her hoarse voice boiled over with raw fury. “I had a family! I had a life! The war took that all away from me but I kept going, damn it! They asked me to be a Spartan and I said yes! I survived everything: the training, the augmentations, everything! I was a good teammate! My friends and I were going to change the galaxy.”

Her eyes narrowed into slits. “And then you defected and ruined everything.”

“Oh, great.” Stray laughed. “What exactly about your mess of a life is my fault?”

“After you went rogue, Delta Company got sidelined. They didn’t trust us to fight the real wars anymore. So they stuck us all on internal affairs missions and gave all real ops to the Spartan-IVs. You blew up Philadelphia and all of a sudden ONI wanted us all gone.” Andra slammed a fist to the ground. “Everything ruined over a miserable failure like you.”

“Wonderful. So that’s the real victim of all my heinous crimes: your precious career.” Stray was pushing too hard, too fast. He didn’t have any armor or weapons, not even a knife tucked away in his pocket. If Andra snapped and turned on him now he wouldn’t stand a chance. But this latest petulant outburst struck a nerve her earlier insults hadn’t. “Funny how that’s all you Spartans ever really care about. Cut the self-righteous bullshit already. You don’t give a damn about Ralph or any one of those people in Philadelphia. All you care about is that I made you all look bad. Well I’m sorry you didn’t get more of a chance to be Earth’s stormtroopers before the Created brought it all crashing down. There. You want remorse, there it is.”

“Yeah, of course. You’re the real hero here,” Andra sneered. “You’re a real saint.”

“I’m a scumbag,” Stray laughed. “Do you know what Cassandra did when we wound up on Talitsa? She started a med clinic for the needy. She wanted help people. Me? It took me two days to figure out that the Syndicate would pay me to kill people for them. Every chance I’ve ever had to turn things around I’ve found a way to screw up. Look at me now. Mohsin thought I’d come down here and give you a pep talk. He actually thought I’d get through to you. Shows what he knows. I can play-act at being some great commander or hinge-head warrior up there, but down here? I’m a failure, just like you said. I’m a playground bully. You say you were up with the best? I believe you.  I’ll bet you were a regular honor student. Humiliating princesses like you never gets old.”

For a moment he thought she really might reach around and snap his neck. But she just turned her head away in disgust. “Just go away. Leave me alone.”

“Leave you alone? Like your UNSC buddies left me alone? All those years I spent on the run, hiding out in the filthiest pits on the frontier, never knowing when the next ONI hit team would jump me? I survived everything they threw at me. I survived Mamore, when the UNSC war machine was leveling the entire planet. I survived Philadelphia when three teams of Spartan-IVs were gunning for me. The Covenant blew me up and I wound up in charge of one of their legions. What about you? You have to tag along with some people you don’t like and all of a sudden it’s the end of the galaxy. I’ve known street urchins with more fire in their gut than you.”

No response.

“I came from some backwater slum in some stinking armpit of a colony. My mother hated me before I was even born. I came from nothing. Less than nothing. Now I have an entire legion under my command. If I’m a failure, what does that make you?”

“I told you to shut up!”

Andra moved faster than Stray could have possibly imagined. One moment she was sitting with her back to him. The next moment she was on her feet, arms surging down to grab him by the collar. He didn’t even have time to fight back before she hauled him up and shoved him into the bookcase. Her free hand drew back for a punch that would have knocked his teeth out if it ever landed. Instead it hovered, trembling in the air. Andra’s eyes bulged, anger transforming into shock.

Every instinct in Stray’s body screamed for him to fight. Instead he let his arms go limp and simply watched the battle play itself out across Andra’s face. I win. “Now that’s more like it,” he wheezed.

“I… you… I don’t…” Andra’s eyes flicked towards the door, clearly expecting a Sangheili kill team to come bursting into the room. When none appeared she scanned the shadowy library, as if Tuka and his warriors were hiding just out of sight. She blinked, then squinted into Stray’s gaunt features. “What the hell is wrong with you?”