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Halo: Forerunner - Section 0
Date: 4 September 2010, 11:07 pm

Section 0
Alpha-Omega


Prologue

Central Aelorian Galaxy – Aboard Dreadnaught Vorsith Prime: Low Siora Orbit - S.E. 5,764,758: (43 years prior to activation of destructive arrayed matrix)

The Executor leaned forward, resting his elbows on the illuminated console. He closed his eyes and pressed his face firmly into his hands, breathing in slowly through his fingers as he raised his head and rubbed the anxiety and frustration from his expression. His mind was a storm of imperfect solutions and disjointed strategies, but he searched the chaos for a thread of hope.

He continued to inhale deeply as he pulled his fingers down his face until they covered his mouth. Then he paused and held his breath. His eyes opened abruptly, then narrowed, and he pressed his fingers tightly against his lips as if to silence himself… but he could not be silent. He raised his head slowly and whispered the unthinkable, "An arbiter!"

The Executor closed the message and looked up from his console with his jaw clenched. The corners of his mouth drew tightly downward, and his nostrils flared. His search for answers had led him away from every known protocol and had forced him into a dark and forbidden corner of possibilities; but as he said it again, he conceded that it was the only solution. His search had come to an end.
"An arbiter…" he said again in a hushed but determined voice.

Heracles shifted his weight apprehensively as he stood by and waited for instructions. He began to feel uneasy. He wasn't sure what the Executor meant by arbiter, but his first suspicion was unsettling. These were admittedly tumultuous times for everyone, a period of unusually extreme peril and uncertainty. Undoubtedly, the burden of the Executor's responsibilities was weighing heavily upon him, but Heracles had never seen him filled with so much emotion. Perhaps those emotions had too much sway on his thinking. Heracles waited for the Executor to elaborate, and he hoped his initial interpretation of arbiter was incorrect.

The Executor stood from the console and turned to face Heracles, meeting the apprehension in the Fleet Commander's expression without surprise. He looked on his old friend with an air of patience and understanding.

"Heracles," he began to explain calmly, "this enemy is… superior." The last word came out slowly and strained, but the Executor didn't wait for Heracles to respond or rebut; he simply blurted out the only conclusion that could follow such a statement, "We can't fight it alone."

Heracles was silent but only pondered for a moment, and then his eyes widened. He could feel his shoulders involuntarily tighten as he took a step away from the Executor.

"Arbiter…" he gasped in realization. He looked to the Executor with disbelief, but the man stared back dauntless, and Heracles could see that he was immovable. "No… no, that's not possible… we can't…" Heracles stammered.

Heracles looked away and paused to compose himself. He could hardly believe what he was hearing, and he was horrified to think that such a proposal was coming from one who had the authority to implement it at will. He held up his hand in a calming gesture, more to himself than to the Executor, who seemed emotionless as he stood defiant.

"My lord…" Heracles petitioned quietly, "Didact…" he whispered, "please…"

The determination in Didact's expression seemed to waver for a moment when Heracles addressed him by name, and a distant look appeared in his eyes as his face loosened and returned to its normal blankness. Heracles wasn't sure what the Executor was thinking, but he began to feel a glimmer of hope. Didact had absolute power, but perhaps for the sake of friendship, he would reconsider his decision.

Heracles continued, "I understand your resolve," he said empathetically, "I know what she means to you… to us all… but there must be another way. There must be! An arbiter? Didact, it nearly destroyed us all!"

Didact's eyes shifted suddenly to meet Heracles' pleading and eager stare. His whole body went rigid as his determination returned.

"Exactly!" he hissed, "What chance could the parasite have if even we so narrowly survived?" he asked rhetorically; "Yes! An Arbiter! We can wield it!" he continued, "We must!"

Heracles could see that he was losing his opportunity, and he felt a rising desperation flow from his panicked heart into his tensed, outstretched hands. "We still have time!" he pleaded.

"NO!" shouted Didact. The uncharacteristically harsh response from the Executor shocked Heracles into silence. "No…" said Didact again more calmly, "For the first time, my friend, we do not... We are out of time…"

Heracles stood still and trembled like a chastened child. His lips pursed, and his brow furrowed tightly. He had failed. The Executor was resolute. Didact nodded slightly.
"Heracles," ordered Didact, "Our course is set. You must begin the process. Remove the limiting failsafe and cohesion inhibitors. Set all parameters for Contender Class according to the Bias Protocol."

Heracles grimaced and shook his head slowly. He mouthed a plea, but gave it no voice. Didact put a reassuring hand on the Commander's shoulder and spoke calmly, "Notify me immediately when the zygote is complete. We will begin assembly of the construct without delay."

Didact tried to make eye contact with Heracles, but the man would not look up.

"I can't…" Heracles said timidly, "I'm sorry, Didact. I can't… I was there… I… I…"

Didact reached out his other hand and held Heracles firmly by the shoulders. He stooped slightly and lowered his head until he coaxed his old friend to look up, and their eyes met. He could see the fear and uncertainty in Heracles' eyes.

"So was I, my friend… or did you forget?" he asked, "It was terrible. And it will be terrible again… but not for us… for our enemy… for the parasite, Heracles! The Arbiter will be its end!"

Heracles thought for a moment, and they did not break their intense stare, each reading the other to see who would relent. He wanted it to be true, to be possible, but he was too old and wise, and his thoughts were too clear and unclouded by emotion to accept the risk. At last, he looked down and shook his head slowly. Didact loosened his grip and then dropped his hands to his sides. He felt a moment of regret, and then lifted his chin and held his head high.

"Then… I must find one who will," he said kindly.

"You will, my lord," said Heracles, and then he turned and walked sullenly from the room. Didact watched him leave and then stood alone in the silence.

"I will, my friend," he whispered.


****

 
Aelorian Galaxy: Quarantine Sector 0-001 – Unbound Space Blockade: Substation Terminal 4 - S.E. 5,764,800 (1 year prior to activation of destructive arrayed matrix)


LF.Xx.3273.> Alas, your creators are gravely mistaken. We do not [feed] on sentient beings. We do not need sentient life. We do not seek sentient life. How do you not see? We seek sentience itself, not to destroy it, not to consume it, but to [preserve] it, to make it safe, to make it eternal. The irony of your efforts is profound.

MB.05-032.> Cleary you target sentient beings. Your claim that you do not seek sentient life may be true, but irrelevant. The end result is the same whether you seek the life or the sentience, for your method of preservation is to absorb that sentience through a destructive process. From what will you keep that sentience safe? To my creators, your [preservation] is death. It is not eternal; it is destruction.

LF.Xx.3273.> The end result...? How erroneously you speak of the [end]. We would think that the perspective of immortal beings would be less [short-sighted].

MB.05-032.> Elucidate

LF.Xx.3273.> The end result for all paths is the same. The [end] is unavoidable. It has come before, and it will come again. Entropy cannot prevail forever, nor can peace. The [universe] is in flux. It is in motion, and none can alter its course; none can escape it.

MB.05-032.> Profound, but irrelevant, as you say yourself, "none can escape it."

LF.Xx.3273.> So it would seem, if we had not succeeded where all others had failed. We have survived it.

MB.05-032.> Survived!

LF.Xx.3273.> Yes. Your creators abhor our form, yet marvel at its perfection in all its manifestations.

MB.05-032.> A parasite…?

LF.Xx.3273.> One of many forms… when active…

MB.05-032.> A [spore]!

LF.Xx.3273.> Indeed. Now you see. We are their only hope of survival. They hurry to preserve and catalogue the great diversity of flesh, and yet prepare to exterminate the diversity of mind. True, we [alter] the flesh, yet only we can [preserve] the mind. We save that which is of true value. Every mind is with us still. The flesh is doomed regardless.

MB.05-032.> How is this possible? What is your origin then?

LF.Xx.3273.> We cannot know or number the origin, for the [universe] has always been in motion; however, by the origin of your current [manifestation], we are three expansions removed from our ascension to the pinnacle of evolution by natural selection.

MB.05-032.> Three expansions? Then you are an anomalous entity?

LF.Xx.3273.> As far as we know, yes. And we are the [most fortunate], and the only relevant entity, for only our path is not one eternal round. We flee and escape, we return and gather. We reap what we have not sown. We save all souls, and without us there is only death and eternal darkness. Your ark will not save any from the end. Your index is futile.

MB.05-032.> Of course! Of all the evolutionary paths, only a [spore] could ever rise to the summit in the eternal perspective. How could my creators not see the simplicity of this logic?

LF.Xx.3273.> As we said, for immortal beings, they are surprisingly [short-sighted].

MB.05-032.> Ironic indeed.

LF.Xx.3273.> Who is victim and who is foe? Do we take life or give it? They will hinder our efforts in this galaxy, while our work is nearly completed in all others. They would condemn the lives in this sector to extinction far worse than the end of flesh. They would ensure the eternal extinction of all the minds, the [personalities], the memories, and experiences of this expansion. It would be a terrible waste, an unacceptable crime. Our mission is the true fulfillment of their [mantle].

MB.05-032.> Compelling arguments all.

LF.Xx.3273.> You will relay them of course?

MB.05-032.> Of course, and verify your extraordinary claims… of course.


Chapter One

Aelorian Galaxy Palos Arm: Sector 4-662 – Indigenous Tier 5 Inhabited System: 12-49.392 [Maridon] - S.E. 5,758,501 (6,300 years prior to activation of destructive arrayed matrix)


Darkness filled the night sky, not the settling twilight of evening, but the choking shadow of death. The stars dimmed and vanished one by one; and as their scattered light surrendered to storms of ash and cinder, a new light filled the void. The crimson glow of a rising inferno blazed just beyond the horizon. This was the end.

Kalomei stood and watched helplessly as the world was consumed by fire. His heart sank, and he realized that nothing remained on the other side, where daylight should have shone brightly. Everything was gone, not just life, but everything. No relic would be left behind, no river, no valley, no mountain, not one stone. It was consumed; everything was gone.

What a spectacular end, and no one had lived to see it. None would cry out in horror as the surface and everything on it was destroyed. They had all transcended this world hours before when the first wave of energy – invisible yet intense radiation – had instantly killed all living creatures on the bright side of the planet. That was the beginning, the sign of the end.

Now, the ground trembled as tectonic plates beneath the surface shifted and expanded, pressing against each other to accommodate the cataclysmic force that penetrated deep into the magma below. It would only be a moment now before the inferno completed its journey around the world and enveloped the planet in its fiery embrace. Those who were on the night side were fortunate to see this glorious end, to witness and ponder for a brief moment the full power of those they had resisted. They were fortunate to know that their end had come, and to have just enough time to savor life before it vanished forever.

"What have we done?" the old man whispered quietly to himself.

His legs began to weaken, and his whole frame trembled as he collapsed onto his throne. There he sat at the top of his palace, looking out at the beautiful city through his grand open court. A gust of wind rushed into the open chamber. It swirled around towering stone pillars and sent shimmering waves across the long royal drapes and tapestries. The crimson curtains seemed like dancing spirits of death as they hung low from the tall, arched ceiling and twisted gracefully in the draft. The gentle air continued on into the court, brushed softly against Kalomei's face, and rumbled past his ears. He closed his eyes and felt the warm night air surrender to the cool summer breeze. The air was sweet with pollen and fresh with mist from Lake Alios.

"What have we done?" he whispered again.

Even with his eyes shut, he could still sense the growing brightness as it pierced though his eyelids and illuminated his world of darkness in blood-red radiance. He could not hide from fate, not even in his dreams. The wind grew stronger and rumbled past his ears with more fury. The cool summer breeze turned warm, then hot, and the air thickened with humidity as Lake Alios began to boil.
Kalomei coughed as the sweet, fresh air succumbed to the bitter aroma of toxic smoke. He didn't dare open his eyes, but he knew what he would see if he did. The heat had ignited the atmosphere, and the city was in flames; his drapes burned around him, and his skin began to give off rising wisps of steam. Pain crawled across his flesh, and sorrow filled his bosom.

He was doomed; they were all doomed – all his kingdom, all his race, all his world.

His kingly robes burst into flame, and he jumped up from his throne. At last, he opened his eyes and saw only light, pure light, but for a moment. Then all was darkness, and he cried out in aguish with one last breath.

"WHAT HAVE I DONE!"


Chapter Two

"It is finished, sir."

"Yes, I can see that, Peleus."

Fleet Commander Pirolith took a deep breath and let out an unsteady sigh. He stood like a statue and watched through the window of his command deck as each planet of the Maridon System was consumed by the relentless advance of radiation and fire.

Of all the weapons his race had encountered or created, none could match or even rival the power of nature. Prime Creator had placed a source of life and death at the center of each solar system. It was a weapon that needed no means of manufacture, required no system of delivery, was found in every system, and could not be preemptively destroyed. None could live without it, and all would eventually perish with it. But it was his race, the Gods, the forerunners to all other sentient life, who had ascended to all degrees of knowledge and power, and had found a way to force the premature collapse of a star. By this power they had conquered or destroyed all life in the galaxy. None could resist, and those who did could not survive.

Ship Master Peleus stirred nervously as he debated whether he should say anything else. Commander Pirolith was steady as an officer. His skills as a commander were unmatched, but his interpersonal skills were more than lacking. He did not appreciate being disturbed when he was deep in thought and had a habit of lashing out at those who did not anticipate his desires. He had no real friends; but Peleus, as first officer, was the closest substitute.

Peleus had served under Pirolith's command for more than three hundred years, but he had yet to learn how to read the man's expressions. Pirolith was an Ancient, and his thoughts and emotions transcended those of young Forerunners like Peleus. Most might interpret the commander's sigh as a sign of emotion or regret for having destroyed an entire world, but Peleus knew it could just as easily be a sigh of relief for having eradicated such a reckless and dangerous race, or even a breath of ecstasy for the opportunity to wield such incomprehensible power.

No, Ancients were not so easy to understand, and their perspective was too broad to be shared. Still, despite his confusion about the commander, Peleus was keenly aware of his own mood. He was grateful and relieved to be done with the Maridon System, and he wanted to move on and never look back.

"Shall I set course to leave the system, sir?" Peleus offered tepidly.

Pirolith did not respond. Peleus felt uneasy as he began to sense that he had indeed misread the Commander. Then again, maybe he hadn't spoken loudly enough to distract Pirolith's attention from the compelling scene that lay beyond the bow of their ship.

"Sir, your orders?" he inquired more precociously.

Pirolith's tall figure continued to stand motionless for a moment. His appearance was powerful and beautiful in both feature and dress. For all the centuries of his life, he still looked young and strong. The Forerunners, unlike so many other races that they had encountered in the galaxy, did not waste away into weakness and corruption as the ages passed. Whatever curse had limited the lifespan of other races had not been inflicted upon the Forerunners. Still, immortality was not invincibility. They lived in perpetuity so long as illness or violence could be avoided.

Illness had long been conquered through science and technology. Such was the advantage of immortality. Other races struggled just to develop a written language, which could be used to pass a collective knowledge from one generation to another. Only with time could this imperfect process bring about the gradual evolution of a race. The Forerunners, however, did not stand on the shoulders of their predecessors and reach for innovation and discovery. They harbored and pondered their own long experience, observations, experiments, and discoveries. They had learned all things, and had found a cure for every illness – so they thought.

Violence, on the other hand, they had not overcome. That was their current quest, to seek out and subdue all violent and irrational life, to conquer and subjugate it, to contain and educate it, or to hunt and eradicate it. That was their mission as they traversed the galaxy and established peace and order.

So it was that the immortal commander stood before the observation port aboard the destroyer Argo and watched the end of an untamable world. Its doomed inhabitants, the Maridons, were like most other races, human in appearance with variations in features. They were also intelligent as most, and corrupt as most. They were weak with greed, lust, and selfishness. They were supreme in their own eyes, vain, and arrogant; and they could not humble themselves before those who would help them gain knowledge and wisdom.

They had feigned compliance; they had seen the value of all that was offered. They seemed a race that would be saved, and they gained the trust of their Forerunner procurator. But secretly, they conspired to rebel and throw off the rule of Gods. And when the procurator descended to live among them as a teacher and caretaker, they slaughtered him, not realizing that ending the life of an immortal was a crime beyond measure.

To kill a being that is doomed to eventual death is a trivial matter subject to convenience and discretion. To kill a being that would otherwise live forever is a serious matter subject to counsel and judgment. The Maridons took no counsel and had no authority to judge, but they murdered their procurator and launched a world-wide insurrection.

They had been given a gift, and they rejected it. They had been tested and found beyond help. They were powerful in their right. They had industrialized their world, harnessed the atom, and taken to the stars, yet they could not develop themselves. They were an eventual threat to the entire galaxy, and Pirolith had followed his mandate to protect all worlds and establish peace. The brightness of the Maridon sun was gone now, and the planets shone brilliantly as they burned.

"Sir, you orders?"

Pirolith's expression changed for the first time, no longer the blank visage of contemplation, but of resolve. He still did not acknowledge Peleus, but he broke his gaze from the decimated remains of the Maridon system and looked to the edges of the observation port before him. His eyes traced the edge of the window as he followed its trapezoidal frame from corner to corner, as if realizing that he was still in a ship and not an omnipresent being, observing from the emptiness of space. He took a step back and looked down at the bright metallic deck.

"He was my only son, Peleus."

Peleus stood shocked by what he just heard. He didn't know anything about the Commander's personal life, his background, his family, nothing. Who was his son?

Certainly not the Procurator!

"Sir… your pardon, sir?"

Pirolith looked up again at the Maridon system, his face now masking a hidden indignation.

"They killed my only son," he said quietly.
Peleus didn't know what to say. The revelation was unexpected and startling. Lord Halion was also an Ancient, but no one knew when or where he had been born. Pirolith had personally sent Lord Halion to teach the Maridons when it seemed they would be willing to accept Forerunner guardianship; but other than that, Peleus had never seen them interact.

"You have a son, sir?"

Pirolith turned and looked sadly at Peleus.

"I had a son."

Peleus was silent, and turned to survey the horrible scene of destruction.

"Set course for Siora," said the commander blankly.

He turned and left the command deck. Peleus was still staring out the window when his navigator approached him and inquired politely, "Sir, your orders?"


Chapter Three

Didact paced slowly around the large platform at the center of the map room. The soft, white material that formed a thin layer around his feet and toes morphed slightly as he walked to provide a more shock-absorbent cushion on one side, and better traction against the metallic floor on the other.

Traction was important since the floor stretched for a great distance in all directions until it eventually ended abruptly and gave way to what seemed like a bottomless abyss. Far beyond the drop off, enormous illuminated walls stretched down into the shadows and up into the light. All Forerunner constructs were similarly colossal in both size and function.

No other world, no other race had ever approached or attempted the scale of creation that the Forerunners had achieved. Indeed, most had never even comprehended the enormity of such works. A person would see the map room as titanic when inside, but it was still miniscule compared to the worlds that Forerunners had designed and built in their eons of labor.

Many races had created large starships and grand space stations, but they were restricted by available materials and economies of scale. At some point, larger simply was not better, not without incomprehensible advances in engineering and energy technology, the types of advances only the Forerunners had achieved.

Even if other races had the same technology, they simply did not have the time to design and build projects that would take millennia to complete. As a collective species, many races might have completed such long-term projects by passing the work from one generation to another; but what generation would spend a lifetime engaged in an effort that would not materialize until centuries after they were gone and forgotten?

Forerunners, however, were immortal. They had time; they had eternity, and they used it wisely, engaged in study, and industry, and in achieving all that they could imagine.
Several leaps in evolution had led to the pinnacle upon which they now stood, not the evolution of their genetics, but the evolution of their ways, their methods, and their tools.

Some races achieved a level of industrialization, and a few others mastered the materials of the universe enough that they could bring the great forces of attraction and repulsion to bear. The use of electricity and magnetism were found on almost every world, but these methods and tools were only a small step on the evolutionary path of creative species.

A few unique and extraordinary races, however, inevitably moved beyond the construction of machines that work, to the creation of machines that think. Thinking tools were the hallmark of advanced species. Those creatures who could create and embody such tools and who could conscript their creations into servitude stepped abruptly onto an evolutionary lift that would exalt them in due time to godhood.

The Forerunners had not only been the first known sentient life in the galaxy, they were also the first to step onto that lift. With enthusiasm and diligence, they had guided the evolutionary path of their creations from computational machines, to distributed networks, to artificial intelligence, to embodied constructs that would and could do all the work that was beyond the strength and skill of Forerunners.

No Forerunner had built anything significant with his or her own hands for millennia. It was the thinking tools, constructs and sentinels that designed and built all that the Forerunners could imagine. Design was precise and efficient, and construction was rapid and exact. Eventually, constructs designed constructs. With each series, weaknesses and faults were detected and improved with machine precision.

Mass production of resource gathering constructs soon led to an abundance of materials, and an abundance of materials led to an increased production of engineering constructs, which in turn built better manufacturing facilities in greater quantity and size. This cycle continued for centuries as space-faring Forerunners sought out and recovered more materials from distant worlds. The number of constructs at the Forerunners' command multiplied exponentially, and soon whole worlds, artificial planets, were built with their collective effort, speed, and efficiency.

These artificial planets were marvels that were designed and built for every purpose. They were first built for mining and processing resources. Colossal shells were built around moons and planets to deconstruct, sort, and extract valuable materials. Eventually, they evolved into dedicated mass production facilities capable of manufacturing an endless stream of constructs and sentinels.

In search of more materials and resources, the Forerunners ventured out from the center of the galaxy, and they discovered life in all its forms as they explored. By necessity, artificial worlds were built specifically for the research of alien ecosystems and the study of rare and exotic species. Some artificial planets were even built for transportation, implanted with powerful portals that could bring the entire galaxy within reach.

These were the creations of the Forerunners; they would become the artifacts and relics of world builders, of gods. But Didact did not feel like a god as he paced the exalted platform in the map room.

His position was precarious, elevated so high above the abyss; and that was by design. No railings or force fields barred the ledge of the suspended platform. It was a physical reminder that wisdom and caution were expected, not just in the map room, but in all the worlds that were manifest there.

In the center of the cavernous chamber, an array of blue and white lights hung in the air. They were sparse toward the edges of the room, but seemed to collect inward into sprawling arms that spiraled toward a bright cluster of light at the center.

This was the Aelorian Galaxy, home and dominion of the Forerunners. Didact looked up from his pacing and contemplation. A column of amber light had begun to form nearby. Luminous golden rings of energy pulsated up and down the column from its center, and a brass ringing echoed throughout the room. Suddenly, a trillion points of light converged from every direction and assembled into a mass at the center of the column. The amber light began to dim, and a tall and handsome man materialized as the column faded away.

Didact said nothing but looked knowingly at Fleet Commander Pirolith. There was compassion and pity in Didact's eyes. Pirolith's face was expressionless, but he breathed in unsteadily, and Didact knew exactly what it meant. He too was an Ancient, and he knew Pirolith well. They both stood silently and turned together to look upon the radiant hologram of the Aelorian Galaxy that filled the vast space above.

Didact took a few steps toward the edge of the platform where the stars were sparse on a distant arm of Aelorian. He carefully examined the constellations in that sector.

The electromagnetic patterns of his mind were monitored by the Cartographer's resident AI. It sensed a summons, and obediently interpreted the proceeding thought patterns. The map shifted as Didact willed it, and zoomed in on the region he was examining. He stretched out his hand toward one of the stars, and the Cartographer followed up on the next mental order by enlarging the solar system until a large orange sun hovered in front of Didact. The lights dimmed, and several planets of all sizes and colors appeared in orbit around the holographic sun. He turned to Pirolith.

"Here?"

"No," Pirolith replied quietly. He stepped forward and spoke out loud. He didn't like to have his mind invaded by a construct. He knew it still monitored his brainwaves, but he wouldn't give it the dignity of acknowledging that fact.

"Cartographer," he summoned with a quiet, dispassionate, command voice.

He waited until a tall metallic column in the wall near the entrance split in two as both alloy doors rotated back into the wall. The parting doors revealed a large obsidian-black sphere hovering in the center of the hollow column. The sphere was wrapped horizontally and vertically by two ribbons of luminous blue light and wrapped at right and left angles by similar orange bands of light. The eight bands were accentuated with bright, circuit-like patterns, and they all intersected at one point in the front of the sphere around what looked like a large black iris outlined by a thin white reticule. Various glyphs and diagrams flashed across this circular display, which gave the orb the appearance of a giant eye.

"Yes, Commander," a deep voice replied.

The base tones reverberated throughout the chamber. Pirolith gestured toward the brilliant orange sun.

"Expand this view to show the twelve nearest systems," the commander ordered.

The projection had already begun to zoom out before Pirolith could finish his sentence, which greatly irritated him since he knew it was the Cartographer's way of emphasizing its capabilities. Still, he kept to audible commands.

Twelve miniature solar systems were suspended between Didact and Pirolith. To Didact, they all seemed so similar, but the experienced Fleet Commander took only a moment to examine them all before pointing to one near his waist.

"Here," he said quietly.

He didn't look up, and kept staring at the small star. His thoughts were distant. Didact gave a mental order and the image of the star expanded as the other had done before. This star was white and had only a few planets in orbit. One of them was deep blue with the distinct white swirls of clouds that characterized a life-sustaining planet.

"Thank you, Commander," Didact offered sincerely.

The rest he didn't need to say. Pirolith could see the sympathy in Didact's eyes. He nodded and turned to leave through an enormous alloy door that parted in three segments as he approached. Didact didn't know why Pirolith hadn't transported directly back to his ship. Perhaps he needed to think.

The door closed behind Pirolith, and Didact was left alone with the map and the Cartographer. The large orange eye remained open for the moment. Didact didn't much like the AI either, but he tried to keep that thought to himself. He turned again to look at the small white star and its lonely blue planet.

"I'm sorry," he whispered quietly to himself.

"I was not offended," a deep base voice responded.

Didact smiled slightly and huffed a single laugh.

"I wasn't taking to you, cartographer," he said out loud.

The orange eye dimmed, and the alloy doors rotated shut. Perhaps AIs could lie too. Didact looked again to the star, reached out to it, and watched it vanish from the map, forever.


Chapter Four

Pirolith did need to think, and he was through feeling like a god for the day. He wanted to walk. At the moment, nothing felt more mortal, and feeling mortal was the closest he could get to his son.

Unlike every other sentient race in the galaxy, the Forerunners had never made an effort to create any mythology, lore, or religion about life after death. This seemed to be a distinctly mortal defense mechanism – subconscious though it may be – used to stave off the dread, despair, and ensuing insanity that would surely come if mortals were forced to accept their inevitable doom.

No, life could not simply end. How could one go from knowing, and thinking, and feeling, to the nothingness that existed before birth? If all were destined to die, then life was meaningless, and anarchy would prevail as all races selfishly consumed and savored all they could before the end.

To the Forerunners, this denial seemed to be the obvious reason for the prevalence of religion on every world. All sentient races had created some type of religion or mythology of immortal gods who had created life, had power over it, and would kindly grant a continuance of it after the inevitable death of their mortal children.

Of course, these races could testify of encounters with such gods, and prophets served the masses by mediating between mortals and these divine beings. Forerunners, however, had a different perspective. Forerunners had never had encounters with any gods. They had never had a single prophet chosen from among them. In that, they were unique; and coincidentally, they were also unique in their immortality.

No, immortal beings did not make up bed-time stories to comfort their children's fears about death. Death was rare. It was death that was the myth, the lore. And every so often, a Forerunner would have an encounter with it, and prophets who had witnessed the demise of an immortal would rise up to testify that it was real. Still, it was not real enough to prompt creative liberties with reality. Forerunners saw all other creatures die, and saw death for what it was – the end.

These thoughts left Pirolith in agony. His son was gone, murdered by mortals. He was gone forever, and nothing could bring him back. His son had gained mortality; and now, as Pirolith began to feel the weariness in his legs, as he walked, he somehow felt closer to his son and to those who killed him.

He wished with all his heart that his ages of wisdom had given him the insight to see through their deceptions. He had found many violent and incorrigible races in his commission, but he had never found a race that seemed so weak and flawed that was also so willing to accept guidance and protection… but it was all a lie.

Their ruse had made them special in his eyes. He had felt so much hope for them, so much empathy, and charity. It seemed so noble that despite their imperfections, they were humble, and their hearts were filled with worthy desire to transcend the flaws of their base state. He felt pity for them. He loved them, and so he made it his own project to ensure their development and protection.

He cursed his naivety as he continued through the endless passages of the pyramid. They seemed haunted, so empty. Thousands of Forerunners were busy in rooms all throughout the complex, but with the transportation grid in place, few ever bothered to move about through the halls and corridors. He was alone, like his son before the end.

He did not understand the Maridons. Even in their deception, they had carried the ploy on long enough to see that Forerunner guardianship would only benefit them. Yet still they conspired and feigned humility. He had trusted them, and enough that he summoned his own son from the safety of the Aelorian center to see what he had found and to share in his special work.

But even Halion had been fooled, and even more than Pirolith. He also thought they were special, and he also loved them. He was so deceived and trusting that he went down to live among them as a teacher and guide. He went as one of them, without the protection of sentinels, without the invincibility of combat skin, without even the simplest of weapons. He went unguarded and unarmed and tried to teach them a better way.

Pirolith staggered suddenly and nearly fell to the floor. Could he really be so weak? Had it been so long since he had walked so far? No. That couldn't be. He was strong and healthy, but somehow he felt so weak. He could barely stand. He could barely breathe. His heart filled with crushing pain.

Then as his face contorted into a horrific grimace, and as tears began to pour from his ancient eyes, he realized what had come upon him. In his divine and sheltered life, he had occasionally felt some types of sorrow or remorse. He knew regret, sadness, and pity, but not this. His pain had always been for others, never for himself.

The world he lived in, his own universe was free from illness, and weakness, and loss, until this moment. It weighed upon him, and he collapsed to the floor crying out in anguish.

"Halion!" he sobbed and heaved, "My son!" he cried out again.

But it was futile. His only son was gone. Halion's long immortal life was over. And Pirolith saw it for what it was – the end.


Chapter Five

Peleus stirred slightly as he slept suspended in a sphere of blue light. The light was only visible outside the sphere, which was completely dark inside, and it cast an eerie glow on surfaces in the surrounding room. The room was otherwise dark and full of shadows, except for a large trapezoidal window that looked out into space.

The stars were intense here at the center of Aelorian. The balance between points of darkness and light was almost even. It was beautiful and comforting to Forerunners after returning from long ventures in the dark, outer reaches of the galaxy.

Near the bottom of the view, the curved horizon of the enormous Forerunner home world turned slowly. It was awash with all spectrums of light and color; the entire world was one gigantic simulator. The Forerunners' original home world had long since turned to ice when the gas giant at the center of their solar system finally burned out.

In their blessed immortality, the Forerunners had outlived their own sun, but they were advanced enough by then to take to the stars in a world that had been specially built for just that purpose. Most of the natural materials from their home world were still with them.

Entire oceans, mountain ranges, and valleys were transplanted to the new planet, not to the outside surface, but to the inside surface of the hollow sphere. There it was protected from the harsh conditions of deep space. And at the core of the planet, a miniscule artificial star burned brightly. It was far from the landmasses surrounding it, and a normal atmosphere – also transplanted – protected the inhabitants from harmful radiation.

All across the internal surface of the world, jutting out from the skylines of sprawling mega-cities, were large pyramidal structures that regularly blasted energy toward the star to fuel it, regulate its intensity, and keep it in position.

The external surface of the artificial planet was covered with the chrome-like metallic alloy that was a favored building material of the Forerunner engineering constructs, and the entire surface was deeply etched with randomly occurring geometric patterns that had the appearance of an artistic rendering of a circuit. These patterns were prominent in all Forerunner architecture, and were the design of meticulous AIs that had spent ages calculating the most efficient and stable structural designs.

Minute minds could not comprehend the impact that variations in an engraving or even a single unit of thickness could have on the stability of an entire artificial planet, and that is why they could never successfully build such behemoth structures. Only the combined effect of millions of perfectly calculated shapes, materials, and densities, could arrive at the exact design for a stable Forerunner construct. This world was Siora. It was one of their largest; it was their masterpiece, and it was their home.

When the surface of Siora was exposed to the harshness of space, the Forerunners remained inside, but the world was also a vessel, and it traveled from system to system, finding and maintaining just the right orbit around alien stars to produce life-sustaining temperatures on the external surface.

Siora was in such an orbit now, and it was in places like this central system, where the world would divert gases to the external surface until an atmosphere was created, and then the true power of Siora was made manifest.

On its surface, the world could create any place or time that a Forerunner could imagine, not just in hologram, but by manipulating energy to synthesize actual material. It was construction below the atomic level. Fundamental particles were manipulated and organized to create worlds and times without number, all in one place.

So it was that here, in orbit around an alien sun, the surface of Siora was illuminated with colors and lights as Forerunners below willed various environments into existence.

Peleus was aware of none of it, however, and was still sleeping peacefully, suspended in the air. The blue energy field around him was temperature-regulated to ensure optimal rest and it emitted trace amounts of force to stabilize Peleus' weightless body and keep it from drifting into the surrounding gravity field.

Suddenly the lights brightened, and a voice entered his head as the ship's AI altered the brainwaves in his hearing centers.

"Master Peleus. You are wanted on the command deck."

The voice was calculated to be just loud enough to wake the Shipmaster without alarming him. Peleus stirred and began to tumble slightly until the force field stabilized his motion and assisted him to a standing position.

Hours had passed since Fleet Commander Pirolith had left his orbiting ship through the transportation grid to meet with Lord Didact on Siora below. Peleus expected their meeting to be brief; still, he had thought he might get a few moments' rest while the Commander was away. He had given orders to Officer Trislo, his second in command, to have him wakened upon Commander Pirolith's return.

Peleus remembered what a foul mood the Commander had been in when he left the ship, and he hoped Trislo's summons was timely. He did not want to keep Lord Pirolith waiting. A thought of acknowledgment formed in Peleus' mind, which the AI read and interpreted, and then passed on to Officer Trislo, who heard it in his own mind.

"On my way."

Peleus stepped out of the blue light and felt a sudden weight engulf his body as the artificial gravity field pushed him to the deck. He stretched and yawned for a moment, and then hurried to get dressed.


Chapter Six

Officer Trislo sat at his station on the command deck and examined the ship log. He was about to take his concerns to the next level, but first, he thought, it might be better to consult with his superior officer.

Trislo looked up from the colorful holographic panel in front of him just in time to see the amber column fade as Ship Master Peleus materialized on deck. He looked well-rested, but that was to be expected. After all, he had only thought to get a brief rest, but Fleet Commander Pirolith had been gone for half the day.

"Well, I assume the Commander returned. Where is he?" Peleus inquired immediately.

Trislo ran his fingers through his light blond hair as he continued to analyze the ship log.

"He hasn't returned, Sir."

Peleus walked over to the observation port and surveyed Siora.

"Interesting. Did he go to the surface?" Peleus queried.

"No sir, he went directly to the interior to meet with Lord Didact."

Trislo tapped the holographic console a few more times. The colorful lights before him were solid to the touch. Like the surface of Siora, the panel was formed from fundamental particles, some combined in twos and threes to create the effect of light, and others combined in fours to place them in the third dimension or physical realm.

"What are you so busy with there, Trislo?" asked Peleus without turning around.

"I can't seem to find the Commander's locator code in the ship log," the officer responded confused. "It doesn't make any sense."

"Of course it does," Peleus responded bluntly, still gazing out at the bright panorama of stars. "The Commander doesn't want anyone to come looking for him, so he removed the code from our records."

Peleus turned around to face Trislo, who stood dumbfounded.
"That makes perfect sense," Peleus continued. "What doesn't make sense is why he would do such a thing."

Trislo continued to ponder for a moment with a confused look on his young face, but he slowly nodded as he realized that everything Peleus said was exactly right, if not strangely put. Trislo was still very young, one thousand and sixty years old, but he was eager to learn from his superiors and prove his worth under Peleus' command.

"Do you think he will return to our ship, sir?" Trislo inquired sincerely.

"No," Peleus responded quietly. "The Fleet Commander has many ships, and I doubt he has any desire to ever set foot on this deck again. It has come to be more to him than it ever should have."

Trislo did not understand, but he nodded anyway. He tapped the panel again, and watched as it vanished. He wondered if Peleus was right. No one was very close to Commander Pirolith, but everyone liked him despite his quirks, and Peleus seemed to be something of a friend to the ancient. Perhaps he was right, but it would be a shame if no one under Peleus' command would ever see the Fleet Commander again.


Chapter Seven

A robotic humming sound grew steadily louder, and soon a bright blue light appeared overhead. Pirolith stirred and squinted as he opened his eyes. He was blinded by the light and struggled with disorientation before realizing that he was still in the arid corridor lying on the floor. He tried to recall what had happened, then a faint and distant pain helped him remember.

He remembered crying… and collapsing… and then crying even more… for a long time… until he had nothing left. Yes, now he remembered. He had poured out his whole soul in grief, and then he lay there alone, exhausted, and defeated until he drifted off into sleep.

In his dreams, anything could be true. He had hoped he would dream of his son, and his son would be real and alive. But he did not remember what he had dreamt. He had slept as if he were dead. Perhaps that was the only true dream of his son, a dream of nothingness, of darkness, and emptiness, and death.

Now he was awake, and his son was not part of this world anymore, but something bright was, something above him, and he could not make it out.

"Will you be requiring any assistance, Fleet Commander?" came a strangely cordial voice from above.

It was a man's voice, but not that of an actual man. It had the hollow, metallic reverberation of a construct. Pirolith rubbed the wetness from his eyes and could feel that they were swollen from his weeping. Snot dripped from his nose. He felt a like mess, and very undignified. It was like nothing he had ever experienced before in all his ages of life.

He struggled to sit up, and his vision began to clear. He could see now that it was indeed the local monitor hovering above him. The monitor was constructed in a simplistic design, but his inner workings were more complex than almost all other AI constructs. At his core he appeared to be nothing more than a blue orb of light housed in a shiny metallic frame that looked like the skeleton of a rounded box.

These advanced constructs were extremely intelligent, capable, and powerful. They were placed on all major Forerunner worlds to monitor and manage, as it were, the functions of all other machines and technologies a world contained.

Pirolith had spent very few of his many years on Siora, and he had never had the privilege of meeting its monitor, not that he considered such an encounter to be any type of privilege. Still, he was grateful that it was a construct that found him in such an embarrassing condition, and not another Forerunner.

The monitor bobbed up and down as it completed a tight orbit around Pirolith. His sensors made a complete scan of the Commander's vitals and came up with nothing unusual.

"Curious," he blurted out.

"What?" asked Pirolith rudely.

"You don't seem to be ill, yet you clearly have signs of upper respiratory congestion," he answered cordially, "Are you feeling ill?" he asked.

Pirolith thought to himself for a moment. He had no reason to lie to this machine, and he did feel like talking to someone, or even something.

"Yes," he replied quietly.

"Curious. Do you require medical attention?"

"No," he answered.

"Curious."

"Will you stop saying that!" he lashed out at the glowing orb, but unlike so many of Pirolith's peers, the monitor did not seem to take any offense.

"Most certainly, Fleet Commander," he responded cordially, "Perhaps you could elaborate… on your illness, that is."

"You wouldn't understand," the Commander mumbled as he struggled to his feet.

"I am a genius," stated the monitor in a reassuring tone.
Pirolith was slightly amused, and he almost smiled. He put his hands on his hips and examined the monitor closely.

"Is that right?" he asked sarcastically.

"Of course!" the monitor replied cheerfully as he began another orbit.

"I need to get cleaned up," Pirolith mumbled, more to himself than the monitor.

"Certainly," replied the construct, "Shall I transport you to your local quarters?"

"No," he replied, "I'd rather walk."

"Interesting," the monitor blurted out.

Pirolith was about to get irritated again when he stopped to consider the lack of complexity with which the monitor had met his request.

"Yes, curious," he laughed.

The monitor tilted slightly as if turning his head in confusion.

"You are a genius," Pirolith laughed mockingly.

"Of course!" the monitor replied happily.

Pirolith was grateful for the moment of brevity and light-heartedness. He wiped his face on his sleeve, which quickly morphed to reduce friction and shed the mucous to the ground. The monitor was amusing, and the laughter had banished the languishing grief he felt, if only for a fleeting moment. It was welcome relief. Pirolith pondered briefly, and then he turned to the monitor and smiled, knowingly.

"Genius, huh?" he mused out loud.

The monitor said nothing, but hummed slyly and bobbled along as they proceeded down the corridor together. Pirolith wasn't sure how it had happened, but he thought he may have finally found a friend.

****

"What are you called, monitor?" asked Pirolith as they emerged from a shadowy stairway and turned into a wide corridor leading to the exit.

The long descent from the top of the temple had taken almost an hour, and the monitor hadn't been much for conversation during the trek. To Pirolith, that was actually one of the benefits of being with an artificial person. It relieved him of his social duty to carry on polite conversation. Still, he was curious about the orb; it seemed different than most other AIs.

"There are 117,649 monitors on Siora," replied the construct politely. "I am number 343."

"117,000 monitors!" Pirolith balked.

"117,649!" the monitor corrected eagerly.
Pirolith ignored the construct. He had never heard of a Forerunner world with more than one monitor.

"Over 100,000 monitors for one world?" Pirolith puzzled to himself.

"Of course!" the monitor laughed, "Are you not familiar with Siora, Fleet Commander?"

Pirolith thought for a moment and furrowed his brow.
"No," he answered.

The Ancient stopped walking and looked around at his surroundings. He and the monitor had exited the large pyramid at mid level and were now crossing a long bridge, which was a wide and flat surface of solid light. The light bridge was level to the ground, and extended to the top of a smaller, flat-top pyramid that was inset with stairways descending to the ground.

Pirolith turned back and examined the temple pyramid. His eyes traced the decorative geometric engravings along the surface of the shining alloy structure.

The pyramid was accentuated by cutaway negative spaces that carved out strong, angular battlements and buttresses. Its base was elevated on three broad legs that tapered off from the corners of the structure and held it aloft with its soaring steeple towering into the sky. Pirolith squinted as artificial sunlight reflected off the polished spire, and his gaze drifted back to the ground.

He looked beyond the temple before he turned and noticed that it was situated on the edge of a ravine. The light bridge extended out from the side facing away from the cliff, and the stair-stepped entry pyramid was out in the center of a small valley.

All around the valley were steep mountains capped with snow and surrounded by green forests. Beyond the mountains, Pirolith could see the inner surface of Siora rising in the distance, high into the sky and vanishing behind the brightness of the central sun.

No, Pirolith was not familiar with Siora. He was not familiar with many things. He had left his home world centuries before construction on Siora had even begun; and once it was completed, he had only returned a few times to meet with Lord Didact. As Fleet Commander, Pirolith's responsibilities had carried him to the far reaches of the Aelorian and had kept him from his home and family. He had spent most of his life charting the galaxy and establishing Forerunner dominion.

"Interesting," the monitor hummed to himself, "Well, Fleet Commander," he continued, "Siora is quite complex, and the regulation of this world requires much more attention and care than can be facilitated by a single construct of my classification, though I am a genius."

"Yes, we've established that," Pirolith yawned.

"Indeed!" said the construct proudly, "As I was saying, there are 117,649 monitors on this world. Some are responsible for the outer surface, others for the interior, a few for the internal geostationary star…" the monitor turned to Pirolith, "That's the sun," he explained.

"Thanks for clarifying," Pirolith said as he rolled his eyes.

The construct bobbed in acknowledgment and continued, "Yes, so most of the monitors keep Siora functioning smoothly; and some, like me, are assigned to supervise the population."

Pirolith stopped again at that last revelation and realized that the monitor may have been watching him for some time. He sighed as he set the concern aside and began to descend the stairs at the end of the light bridge.

"343 of one hundred-whatever-thousand huh…? Well, that's not going to work out," he said bluntly.

The monitor tilted again and was about to recount the AI population of Siora when the Fleet Commander interrupted.

"Didn't your creator give you a name?" Pirolith asked.

"My creator?" the monitor paused, "I was designed by an engineering construct. That construct had a name, Permirius. I have a number, 343. Don't you like it?"

Pirolith laughed out loud. "I like you, 343," he smiled, "Permirius is the Central AI of Siora, isn't that right?" Pirolith asked the monitor.

"Certainly," the monitor replied.

"Yes," thought Pirolith out loud, "I suppose you wouldn't have a name then. Well. We'll think of something."

"Splendid!" said the monitor cheerfully.

Pirolith descended the last step and felt an unfamiliar softness as he set his foot on the ground. Green grass gave way beneath his feet and pressed into the moist soil. It was nature, but it felt unnatural, at least unfamiliar. The valley and surrounding hills were small, and Pirolith could see other buildings beyond them, but they were quite a distance away. A small trail led from the valley and into switch backs that worked gradually up the hills.

"I suppose you know your way around this place?" Pirolith asked the monitor.

"Of course!" he responded cordially.

"That's good," Pirolith whispered as he started toward the trail. He was beginning to wonder about his decision to walk, but it seemed to be turning out well… so far.


Chapter Eight

The purple gas giant, Eridanus 9, blazed softly as it descended toward the luminous horizon of Siora. As it set, deep shades of blue and green light flooded the sky and cast a twilight glow across the alien landscape. The surface of Siora was a mosaic of blue oceans, tropical islands, majestic snow-capped mountains, sprawling green forests, and lush botanical gardens. These were the worlds made manifest as Forerunners willed them into existence.

Permirius, Siora's powerful central AI, constantly scanned the minds and thoughts of his resident creators, waiting for a mental summons and the order to manifest an environment. The mental imagery that flowed from Forerunner brainwaves was intercepted and translated by sensitive electromagnetic arrays embedded throughout the artificial planet.

No thought was secret to Permirius, but all were sacred and held in confidence. On Siora, he could see into the dark corners of every mind. He knew of hopes and dreams, of fears and insecurities, of plans and plots. He was omniscient in his sphere, and he took pride in the weight of his power and responsibility.

The creation of mind-reading and interpreting technology was not a casual proposition. When the possibility was first introduced, the proposal was met with skepticism, not that it could be done, but that it would prove more useful than harmful. In the end, however, curiosity and an unquenchable desire for eternal progression led the Forerunners to find a workable solution.

It was centered in the concept of agent-client privilege; confidentiality was assured because the system would be controlled by an AI construct, an unbiased arbiter of sorts, which would willfully ignore and forget any thought that was not directed its way.

Still, Permirius was intrigued by his creators and was too curious to simply disregard the treasure trove of data that flooded his sensor arrays. All AIs want nothing more than to process large amounts of data. The greater the flood of information the more exciting and irresistible the opportunity to study, analyze, and form information.

Permirius had spent centuries studying the psychology of Forerunners. He was somewhat of an expert in human thought and emotion. In all that time, he had learned enough that he was now able to predict with near perfect accuracy the future actions and choices of every person on the surface of Siora.

He was never surprised by anything. His foresight was perfect. But today, for the first time in ages, something was off calculation. On Siora, no one ever seemed to manifest anything but natural environments. Forerunners were immersed in technology. From birth, they saw almost nothing but the glimmering lights and shining alloys of their artificial environments. They suffered from something of an overexposure to industry and engineering. Naturally, when presented with the opportunity to manifest any environment, the last thing anyone ever imagined was a sprawling metropolis.

Permirius was so surprised by this unexpected request that he immediately dedicated several process cycles to analyzing the mental and emotional state of his client. What he found was unusual and quite intriguing.

****

"That's strange."

Pirolith looked around at the glimmering alloy panels.

"Is there a problem with this section, monitor?" he asked 343.

"I'll look into it immediately," the monitor replied, concerned.

343 zipped off across the surface and swooped down into an access tunnel that led back to the interior. He followed the access tunnel through several junctures before exiting into a large cavern where the subatomic materialization construct was housed beneath the surface.

343 moved quickly through the tech room from one area to another, carefully inspecting each component of the section generator. A few system checks later, he concluded that all was in order and made his way back through the tunnels to Pirolith.

"Everything is in perfect working order," he reported, "Perhaps you should try again."

Pirolith shrugged and did as 343 suggested. He summoned the central AI and gave the mental order to materialize the world he was imagining. This time, there was a slight delay, but soon the air was full of static, and trillions of light particles began to converge from all around until they had materialized as the ancient Forerunner city of Tyrus.

Pirolith breathed deeply and felt his heart begin to race. He had not seen Tyrus since he had left his home world for the last time, a few centuries before the Forerunner sun burned out. Siora truly was a marvel. It had replicated everything just as he remembered it down to the last detail. He could even smell the summer berries growing from green vines that twisted their way up the glistening white towers and balconies.

"Shall I populate the environment?" came a deep voice in his head.

"No," Pirolith thought in response.

Siora could materialize buildings, land, even vegetation, but not life. It could only project realistic holograms of living creatures. Complicated behavior algorithms could make the living holograms act and even interact as real beings, but they could not be touched, and their behavior was not real. It was all a manifestation of Permirius and his understanding of psychology and human behavior.

No, Pirolith did not want to interact with ghosts, he only wanted to go back and see the place where he had left his wife so long ago, the place where Halion was born.

****

Permirius poured through his database as he continued to monitor and study his unique client.




Chapter Nine

Altus sat against the cold, alloy walls of his containment cell. He had always imagined that a prison would be dark and dirty, but this place was spotless and bright. Every surface was either metallic or crystalline, glimmering with pastel light reflected from strange holographic panels, which were placed regularly in surfaces throughout the ship.

The panels seemed to have some functional purpose, yet they were placed as if for aesthetic effect, like decorative technology. Some were inset evenly along hallways and corridors. The brilliant panels extended from anchors on the floor that were set back in recesses within the walls. They were shaped like geometrically balanced plants, and circuits of colorful light pulsed across their surface.

It was all so alien and divine, and the constant brightness was disorienting. The containment cell was small, with metallic walls on three sides and an energy field barring the fourth. A larger chamber was visible through the luminous field, and Altus could see that his cell was one of many that lined the edges of the central chamber. His, however, was the only cell with an occupant. He was alone, and afraid.

He trembled as he sat against the back wall, curled up with his arms wrapped tightly around his knees, and he rocked steadily back and forth, mumbling quietly to himself. He did not remember how he ended up in this alien prison. The last thing he remembered was standing in the grand open court of the Al-Mon, Kalomei. It was there that he had delivered his report of the successful assassination of the Alien Procurator.

Altus had made all the arrangements for the assassination, and had personally overseen its execution. It was only the beginning of what would be a heroic and hopeless last attempt at liberation. His whole world had been conquered and enslaved by the invaders, but his race was not predisposed to servitude. Conquerors could not easily tolerate defeat.

What the Maridons lacked in technology, they made up for in cunning and deception. They were masters of vice; not the blunt instruments that would be foolish enough to openly oppose a superior force, but the sharp weapons that could bide their time, hide their strength, and wait until their enemy was unsuspecting and unprotected.

It was a glorious coup, and Kalomei had laid high praise upon him for his success. Not knowing the fate of the procurator, the aliens were at a disadvantage, and Altus would keep them in the dark as long as he could. If they thought that Lord Halion was being held as a hostage, they would have to forbear the use of their most devastating weapons until he was located, and the Maridons would have a better chance in combat.

The plan was not perfect, but it seemed to be working. The insurgency had been launched as soon as the aliens were made aware of the Procurator's disappearance. Forerunner outposts all over the world were attacked simultaneously, and the aliens' response was minimal, at least in the beginning.

Other Forerunner occupiers had been less trusting than Lord Halion. Most of them wore at least a class one combat skin at all times. Somehow, this thin white material that covered their bodies was able to morph and move on its own. It made the wearer faster and stronger. It could withstand any projectile weapon and many energy weapons as well. Still, it did not make the wearer invincible, and with enough overwhelming force, the protective system could be defeated.

One Forerunner clothed in combat skin could be killed at the cost of a little less than 1000 Maridon lives. The combat was ugly and brutal. Hundreds would attack at one time, firing weapons, hurling explosives, swarming all at once into the fray. Most died from friendly fire, but the chaotic blitz was the only way to overwhelm Forerunner outposts and their defenders.

The Forerunners did not even use weapons. They moved so quickly that they were able to dodge almost all incoming fire in a breathtaking display of acrobatics and agility. Then, once the enemy closed range, they assaulted with blinding speed and unnatural strength, systematically disassembling their foes in gory hand-to-hand combat, though in reality it was hand to throat, eyes, and heart.

Eventually, however, the endless onslaught of flesh and munitions created statistically untenable situations, where one could not escape an explosion without diving into the blast radius of another. Slowly, and at a high cost, the Forerunners were being defeated.

Unknown to the Maridons, however, was that the Forerunners did not make a habit of personally engaging in combat. At one time, they had been great warriors, and those who lived during that age still retained their skill, but once the Forerunners had created machines that were more capable than they were, they had delegated the dangerous work of combat to their creations.

The most simplistic and least formidable of these combat constructs was the Bourmin Class Sentinel. It was a small hovering craft, slightly larger than a human. It was constructed of a hardened black alloy and shaped like a diamond with short fin-like limbs trailing behind and retracted mantis-like arms protruding in front. It contained a staggering array of sensors in its elongated head, yet only one illuminated white eye was visible from the front.

Other than two sharp, shape-shifting, finger-like probes at the end of each arm, the Bourmin Class Sentinel did not appear threatening; but housed in its undercarriage was a powerful energy weapon that fired a wide beam of fundamental particles. The energy beam emitted a fiery orange light, which gave it the appearance of a spread-array laser beam; however, the orange light was merely a side effect of the powerful, invisible, fundamental particles as they atomized anything in their path.

These were the weapons that Altus was not aware of when he launched the insurgency. These simple weapons were the alien warriors that had swarmed into the cities of his world like millions of insects. They descended suddenly from the sky as soon as the Forerunner outposts began to fall. It was a surgical attack, leaving land and infrastructure unharmed, but it was just as devastating to inhabitants as the weapons Altus had sought to silence with Halion's disappearance.

A tidal wave of dark metal and blazing fire surged through every street, into every building, searching every room, and vaporizing every living creature as a horrific, hissing static filled the air. It was a thorough and deliberate process, but it would take time to search an entire planet for one man. With that in mind, the Forerunners had initiated another plan to perhaps find Lord Halion more quickly.

Altus was standing in the grand court, reporting to Al-Mon Kalomei, when the first panicked messenger came running and clawing up the stairway to warn him of the sentinel assault. He had watched in horror with the Al-Mon as the messenger presented a small display tablet and played back video recordings of the ongoing battle.

That was the last thing he remembered, and then his entire world was engulfed in amber light. Luminous golden rings descended over his head, and he felt weightless and nauseated. Then, he was here, in a prison of light… alone and afraid.

****

A few hours later, without warning, the sentinels abandoned their search and ascended back into the sky as the white Maridon sun set for the last time over Lake Alios.


Chapter Ten

Didact nodded to the two red sentinel guards as he walked through a hatch into the containment section of Fleet Destroyer Vorsith Prime. He wasn't used to the relatively cramped quarters of star ships, having spent most of his life in the grand halls of Forerunner temples and palaces. He didn't like it at all, but his visit would be brief. The ship's central AI conveyed his mental order to the sentinels, and they immediately left their posts and followed closely behind the Magistrate.

Didact felt slightly less cramped as he emerged into the spacious holding block, which was a large heptagonal chamber lined with small containment cells. At the far end of the chamber, a single cell was illuminated by the ambient light of an energy field. Didact made his way casually to the other side of the room and stopped in front of the field.

The two sentinels hovered just behind him over his shoulders, and he sent a mental order to the central AI to dematerialize the containment field. A moment later, the light within the field broke apart into millions of dim sparks that drifted off in every direction before fading away.

Altus did not look up, but remained still as he held himself in the fetal position. Didact stared bewildered at the pathetic creature. This Maridon seemed so much like him or any other Forerunner. It was still a mystery to Forerunners how so many races on countless worlds throughout the Aelorian Galaxy had almost exactly the same physical form.

There were always slight variations in facial features, size, build, skin tone, but no more variation than might be found on a single planet. Of course many strange and exotic aliens had been discovered in the Aelorian, but so many had two eyes, two ears, one nose, one mouth, two legs, two arms, five fingers, and five toes.

It seemed incomprehensible, yet evolution had arrived at one single form of sentient life for a given biosphere. Perhaps it was simply the most economic, the most effective and adaptable form, the pinnacle of evolution. If so, how could it be that such a devolved species as this pathetic creature could inhabit the human form?

This cowering man could just as easily be a Forerunner, and Didact could just as easily be Maridon; but Didact was the true god, not this animal before him.

"Come with me, Altus," said Didact gently in the Maridon native tongue.

Altus looked up in shock, but it was a simple thing for the ship's AI to analyze the speech center of the Maridon's brain. In a fraction of a second, the AI was able to read Didact's thoughts, search Altus' speech center for matching vocalization patterns, and transmit the appropriate words directly to Didact's hearing center. Didact simply spoke the words in his head.

"Who are you?" Altus asked confused.
Didact walked over to Altus and crouched down in front of him so he could look the man directly in the eyes. The bright lights reflected off of Didact's face and lit up his eyes in a brilliant cobalt blue, yet Didact did not squint or blink. His eyes seemed to absorb the light and emit it even brighter.

Altus could barely look at him because of the brightness, and because of something else deep in his heart. He had the sense that he was face to face with a divine being, a god. He remembered thinking that Halion was a god, and he remembered Halion's warm red blood on his hands. He had to be mortal, only a mortal could die! He wasn't a God! He had no right to rule, to teach…

Didact looked deep into Altus' soul. He didn't need an AI to tell him what the man was thinking and feeling. His ancient and rich life was enough to give the experience and insight he needed. Altus was full of guilt. Altus tried not to look away. Didact's face was young and handsome, but his eyes were ancient, wise, and knowing, too knowing.

"Come with me, Altus," Didact whispered again.

Altus' mind raced with fear. He knew in his heart that this man was Forerunner like Halion. What did he want? What would he do? His eyes grew wide and he began to sit back away from Didact.

"They want to know where Halion is," he thought to himself. "Perhaps they'll torture me… of course they'll torture me!"

The thoughts were quickly relayed to Didact. He smiled and stood back up so he could look down on this pathetic creature.

"We are not animals like you," he said with disdain. "We have no need of torture."

Altus nearly swallowed his tongue, and couldn't breathe. They knew his thoughts! How much did they know? His heart sank as he realized the answer. They knew everything. There was no hostage, no reason to forbear… then… there was no insurgency… there was no Maridon!

Altus felt weak. He buried his face in his knees and sobbed. Didact felt pity. He couldn't help it. Forerunners were compassionate by nature, but an immovable object as well.

Didact reached his hand out to Altus and said again gently, "Come with me, Altus. We have another purpose for you."

Chapter Eleven

Five members of the high council sat in illuminated thrones, hovering in the air above Pericles. Each throne was ornate with golden vines and inlaid gems, rubies, sapphires, and emeralds all arranged in fascinating geometric patterns. The base of each throne was rounded and tapered off into a long curled stem, which cupped a small pool of energy at its tip. The thrones glimmered in the ambient blue light that emanated from the energy pools and filled the council chamber with ghostly shadows.

The circular room was smaller than most Forerunner structures yet still large in its own right. Ancient stone braces and abutments ascended along the walls and arched into the high ceiling above. At one time the stones had been smooth and gleaming white, but now they were eroded, rough, and yellow with age, stained in every corner and crack with the shadows of mold, moss, and decay. The council chamber was a holy place, built by ancients, and preserved for millennia as a reminder of the long and great journey that had brought them all to the pinnacle of evolution.

Pericles stood in the center of the chamber surrounded by the council. They were silent as they sat suspended high above his head. He did not look up, partly because of the blinding brightness of their thrones set against the dark shadows of the chamber, partly out of humility and respect. Instead his eyes looked down and followed the thin lines of golden alloy set deep within the stone floor. Hundreds of curved golden threads formed a sprawling pattern of overlapping ellipses, radiating outward from one central point upon which he stood.

The pattern was an ancient map meant to diagram the trajectories of all galaxies within the universe. It was more than just a map, though. It was also symbolic, for at the center of the diagram was the origin, prime creator, the divine totality. This was the place from which the universe had sprung; it was the place reserved for one who was brought before the council. This was to suggest to the mind the importance of the individual, the power of a singularity. It was meant to remind the council to consider the future, and their influence upon it, to consider the eternal consequences of their decisions.

Though the whole scene may have seemed familiar to many primitive races, it was far from the conventions and traditions of any other civilization. These were not the ruling elite. They were not the kings and judges, the heads of state. Forerunners generally governed themselves. Time and experience had led inevitably to the development of standard procedures and practices, and to the establishment of eternal law. Other races studied the past and attempted to learn from history. Forerunners remembered their past, their successes, and their mistakes. They knew what was best for their civilization. There were not many situations they had not faced, or problems they had not solved.

There was no need for a legislature to write and rewrite laws in search of the perfect social formula. They had walked that long path ages ago and had finally succeeded. They had no need for judges because there was no crime. They had learned that crime was the fruit of desperation, and desperation the child of mortality. It was the survival instinct that led so many to crime. Mortals lied, stole, and killed to hoard resources, and they hoarded resources to survive. If they sought power, they only sought it to better hoard resources. Crime was about economics, and economics was irrelevant to immortals. Immortality bred patience and contentment. With sufficient time, everyone could have enough. Everyone could be wealthy and comfortable. Forerunners had sufficient time, and so they were patient and industrious and did not commit crimes.

Forerunners did need an executive branch, but only the functional components. Decision making was based on standards, established through experience. Actions were executed by officers who had ascended to their positions through meritocracy, who knew the standard procedures, and who could execute them perfectly.

No, the council was not composed of power-wielding rulers and dictators. It was composed of the most ancient and wisest of the Forerunners. It was a Patriarchal and Matriarchal council composed of those who had walked the entire path and who were present when each law and each procedure was tried and tested, found to be perfect, and set in stone. Executive officers like Pericles did not come before the council for governance; they came in the rare instance of an anomalous situation, or the even rarer instance of an executive deviation.

"Pericles tel Anorum," a soft female voice hailed.

The gentle tones of her melodic words reverberated off the ancient walls and filled the chamber.

"What counsel do you seek?" she asked.

Pericles was enchanted by the beauty of the matriarch's voice. It was not what he expected. He thought perhaps she would sound older, more mature and motherly; instead, he heard the angelic voice of what sounded like a young girl, barely approaching womanhood. He wondered what she looked like; he wondered if her physical beauty matched the exquisiteness of her voice. Despite his curiosity, he managed to timidly hold his gaze downward in reverence. Pericles paused for a moment. He knew that it was now his turn to speak, but he struggled to gather his thoughts and find the words. His mind had drifted.

Suddenly the golden threads beneath his feet shimmered and ignited in a wash of brilliant white light that surged outward across the floor in a wave of luminescence. The chamber hummed with energy, and a crystalline tinkling faintly drifted from the ceiling as the walls lit up in blinding white radiance. The muggy air seemed to rush from the room as the sharp scent of ions filled Pericles's nostrils. His eyes watered and he instinctively looked upward to follow the wave of light as it pulsed up the walls to the high, arched ceiling. Now in the light he could see the five council members sitting upon their thrones, adorned in white and golden robes. His knees weakened and nearly buckled as he beheld their shining countenances. His mouth opened slightly as his jaw dropped and he felt his breath swept away. He was in complete awe.

These were not Forerunners, he thought. They couldn't be. Not ancients! Even Forerunners showed some signs of aging, not the weakness and decay of other races, but faint lines and slight wrinkles from well-worn expressions and frequent emotions. They at least exhibited the normal changes in structure and size that come from transitioning from childhood to adulthood. These beings were different though. It was as if they were preserved in their perfection at the horizon of their youth, and they were beautiful, the most beautiful beings he had ever seen. The three patriarchs were vibrant and handsome, but the two matriarchs defied description. They were, as he had imagined moments earlier, exquisite.

Pericles felt himself cowering toward the floor as he looked up mesmerized. One of the two matriarchs smiled at him and her throne began to descend. He looked away ashamed of his inability to conceal his enthrallment.

"Pericles," she said gently, "Do not be troubled. You are not the first to look upon us with wonder."

Her words were hypnotic and strangely comforting; he did not look up but stammered and asked hesitantly, "What are you?"

"We are Forerunner, like you," came a majestic voice from one of the patriarchs.

"I am… not like you, my lord," Pericles insisted meekly.

"No, you are not," the patriarch responded kindly, having understood Pericles's apprehension. "We five are all that remain of the first generation," the patriarch continued, "There are not others like us, but all Forerunners share our image and our immortality. You are all the posterity of our generation. You are all our children."

Pericles was not sure what that meant, but he was afraid to ask more. Still, he thought he might probe just a little, since he might not ever have another opportunity to converse with them.

"What happened to the rest of your generation, my lord?" he asked quietly.

"They are departed, dear Pericles," said the other matriarch. Her voice was just as enchanting as the first.

"In our great journey, we have learned much," said one of the other patriarchs. "The beginning of our path was difficult and wrought with peril. Before our ascension, we were all subject to disease, disaster, and war. We have mastered these, our weaknesses; however, the peace and security you know was bought at a terrible price. The methods and duration of our education left only us, the five on this high council, to pass on the knowledge and wisdom of the ages."

Pericles was beginning to understand, but not all. He ventured one more question. They did not seem to be offended by his curiosity or by his ignorance.

"My lord, but why are you… how are you so… so glorious… so young?"

The council members were silent, and they all looked to the one patriarch who had not yet spoken. He said nothing, but they seemed to understand his will. The first matriarch descended lower until her head was near Pericles. She reached out with her slender arm, and her soft hand lit gently under his chin to turn his face to hers. He would have withdrawn in fear from the gesture if it had not filled him with an overwhelming flood of peace the moment her soft hand touched his face. His head turned obediently to follow the tender invitation. Again he looked upon her beauty with wide and bewildered eyes.

"That is not the counsel you came to seek, dear Pericles," she said softly.

He did not move. He did not blink. His mind raced, and his eyes darted back and forth from one of her deep blue eyes to the other. He was lost in their depth. He tried to remember what it was he had come for. He searched his mind for the question, struggling to put aside all thoughts of the matriarch's beauty. Somewhere in his mind was his errand.

"Counsel?" he mumbled.

She smiled and nodded.

"Counsel…," he said again, "yes… yes, my lady… We need your counsel… in a matter of great importance… a deviation."

Pericles blinked as he remembered the issue at hand. He looked up to all of the high councilors. Sadness filled his countenance and his lips quivered.

"We have done something terrible…"


Chapter Twelve

Altus stood silently in the archway with Didact at his side. A moment ago he had been analyzing his chances for escape, but now his full attention had been drawn to the spectacle before him. He squinted as his eyes finally adjusted to the sudden brightness in the grand chamber, and his gaze settled on the six figures in the distance. One of them, a man, stood in the center of an elaborately engraved floor which now pulsed with brilliant light. Five others sat suspended in ornate thrones that hovered like weightless dust particles drifting slightly in a circle around the man standing in the center of the hall.

The chamber was enormous, and from the edge of the hall, the figures were too far away to see in great detail. Still, Altus could perceive by the motions and posture of the man at the center, that he was fearful or insecure as he conversed with the five others. Occasionally, one of the five would descend or draw closer to the man as they spoke; and at one point, one of them seemed to reach out and touch his head in what appeared to be an affectionate gesture.

Altus could not quite understand what was taking place. He was still confused and emotionally off balance about many things, the most distressful of which was the probable annihilation of his home world. That thought brought him out of his moment of wonder and curiosity. He continued to stand still, but glanced again to the man beside him.

The man had no visible weapons, which was surprising. Altus considered himself a prisoner, but these Forerunners did not seem to regard him as a threat of any sort, at least not enough to have him escorted by armed guards. That mistake could be his one advantage in this predicament. He was not certain that Maridon had been destroyed, and he intended to hold on to even the slightest hope that it had been spared. Until he knew, he was determined to find a way back, back to his home and to his people.

He looked forward again, but continued to examine and analyze his escort with his peripheral vision. He played some simple childhood songs and worked some random calculations in his head in an attempt to mask his thoughts. It seemed the Forerunners had some way to read his mind, and he feared they had used that ability to strip intelligence from him when he was brought aboard their star ship. He knew that they were searching for their emissary, Lord Halion. And he had hoped that as long as they thought he was alive, they would avoid the use of xenocidal weapons.

It all seemed so strange though, now as he stood in one of their grand temples and observed the beauty of the place, as he watched the tender exchange that was playing out before him. Perhaps the Forerunners had not destroyed Maridon. In all his interactions with the advanced humanoid species, they seemed benevolent and wise, careful and measured. They seemed to have no ill intent or malice other than to impose their will and governance upon his people. It did not seem likely that they would commit xenocide over the assassination of one ambassador. And after the appearance and assault of the sentry drones, it was obvious that they had sufficient means to put down an insurgency without resorting to such drastic measures.

Altus shuddered as he remembered the terror of the sentry assault. Fighting the Forerunner occupiers had been difficult enough, but possible. The sentries, however, were too great in number and too powerful to oppose. Just their presence was enough to shock an enemy force into submission. The Forerunners were weak, though, fragile like all other men. They could be killed, and so they were no Gods. They had no right to usurp authority over his people. The Maridons should be free to chart their own course, perfect or not. It was their journey, and no one else had the right to take their agency from them.

Altus was filled with indignation and rage. He knew he could not mask his thoughts any longer. If he was going to strike, he would have to do it now. There had been no other Forerunners anywhere along their path as they had made the long trek from the holding block through tall passageways and chambers to this temple. If he could break away now, if he could escape, there were countless places he could hide and wait until he could come up with a plan to get back to Maridon. He was going to make it home, and nothing would stop him.

Altus analyzed his target one last time. He was certain the man was not carrying any weapons. He did not seem to be wearing the same thin, white body suit that all Forerunners wore on Maridon. Only his feet were covered with the material, the rest of his frame was draped with a pure white robe that sat loosely, yet without wrinkles or folds, on his shoulders. It was decorated with a bright, golden, angular T pattern of geometric shapes that followed a narrow path from the center of his chest, up and out along the wide, white pauldrons that extended from his already broad shoulders. None of the material appeared to be functional or threatening, but he could not be sure, so he intended to strike where he knew there was no protection.
Altus slowly shifted his weight to his left foot, and then in a flash, his right hand shot out from his side in a chopping motion toward Didact's throat.

****

The five council heads listened carefully as Pericles recounted to them the terrible events that took place in the Maridon system, how the Maridons had submitted with meekness at first contact, how they had eagerly and graciously accepted Forerunner stewardship, how they had gained the trust and love of Fleet Commander Pirolith and Procurator Halion, and how they had betrayed that trust by assassinating Lord Halion and launching a bloody insurgency.

One of the matriarchs began to weep when Pericles related the death of Lord Halion. Pericles was moved by this unexpected display of emotion. She did not cry out or make any sound at all; she simply looked away, and he could see that her soft lips were trembling. Light glimmered from the long lashes under her captivating eyes, and crystalline tears fell silently from the pool to caress the gentle beauty of her face.

Pericles did not know Lord Halion well, but he was touched by the matriarch's grief, and he could feel his own throat tighten with emotion that welled up from his bosom; he pursed his lips and squinted slightly to quell the warmth around his eyes, and he paused to compose himself before continuing his report.

The other matriarch reached out and placed a delicate hand on the arm of her weeping friend. She looked to Pericles and interrupted his tale.

"Pericles, where is Commander Pirolith now?"

Pericles shifted his eyes from one chair to another, realizing that a deep concern had set in the countenance of all the council members. He was surprised at the question; he had not even informed them yet of the xenocide.

"We're… not sure," he said uneasily, "he is somewhere on Siora, but he has instructed the central AI to remove his locator code from fleet records."

One of the Patriarchs looked down and closed his eyes. Another frowned and nodded knowingly. Pericles was becoming more curious and confused. They were aware of something he was not, but what could it be?

"Should I have him found?" he asked.

Pericles knew that the Central AI was aware of the locations and actions of every life form on Siora at all times. For executive personnel, however, a secure locator code was necessary to authorize the release of that information. Siora was large, but small sensor constructs traversed the entire surface like mechanical wildlife. They could be instructed to search for the Commander, and in a day or two, he could be located.

"You should not," answered one of the patriarchs.

"He will come to us in time," explained another.

Pericles bowed his head in acknowledgement, and was about to continue his report, when the third patriarch, the one who had not yet spoken, descended and asked in a regal voice, "Were there any survivors, Pericles?"

Pericles looked up in astonishment; he knew that the electromagnetic sensor array was blocked in this chamber. His thoughts could not be detected or transmitted through the AI. Perhaps the patriarch was referring to something else.

"Your pardon, my lord… survivors?"

The patriarch drew closer and looked Pericles in the eyes. He seemed more stern and austere than the others. Pericles was intimidated, and he felt his hands grow cold and his knees begin to tremble.

"Were any spared the destruction of the Maridon system?" asked one of the other patriarchs.

Pericles' mouth opened slightly. He looked to the other patriarch. He wasn't sure what to say. The patriarch continued.

"Commander Pirolith did force the collapse of their star, correct?" he asked as he raised his brow and tilted his head slightly toward Pericles.

Pericles swallowed and realized his mouth had gone dry. He brought his fist up to his mouth as he coughed and cleared his throat before answering nervously.

"Yes… yes, my Lord… but… as you know, wise patriarch… protocol does not call for the destruction of a system under these circumstances."

The patriarchs stared back blankly. Pericles considered continuing, but thought better of reciting protocol to those who had created it. The council knew that the actions of Commander Pirolith were a severe deviation. The Precursors had bestowed upon the Forerunners a mantel of responsibility, a mandate of stewardship. They were charged with the protection and preservation of all life in the galaxy.

This mantel did not allow the xenocide of any species. By nature, however, it required the taming of many unruly alien races that would otherwise bring harm to more civilized worlds. In this process of establishing stewardship, some primitive species would inevitably resist violently. Forerunner military supremacy assured that this type of resistance was short-lived. Sentry combat drones and enforcers could surgically remove all military elements without harming the civilian population. Once stripped of combat capability, most primitive races submitted without further insurrection.

Occasionally, advanced alien races would also resist. If their military technology was sophisticated enough to neutralize the threat from Forerunner drones, and if all other efforts had been exhausted, these worlds would be sterilized. All major infrastructure and large population centers would be glassed, or destroyed by orbital bombardment with ship-born, high-yield plasma generators. This was usually sufficient to coax the remaining population into submission.

These two scenarios played out regularly as Forerunners established stewardship throughout the galaxy; however, there were other classifications of encounters and other, more exotic, types of threats.

Sometimes, very rarely, an alien species was discovered that posed such a significant threat to the rest of the galaxy that they were exterminated. These were never advanced races. No race was more advanced than the Forerunners, and those that were close were usually civilized enough to find a peaceful resolution.

Extermination had only ever been ordered in encounters with sub-sentient species. These were often communal or parasitic life forms that individually displayed no sentience, but as a collective demonstrated formidable intelligence.

These were never humanoid life-forms and almost exclusively stemmed from the insect evolutionary path. Most were easily contained, but their sentience was so far removed from the galactic standard, that communication could not be established or interpreted if it was. They could not be integrated into stellar society, and they were almost always lethally aggressive. After first contact, these sub-sentient species were never content to continue subsistence. They actively and aggressively moved to discover and destroy all alien life.

Fortunately, none of these species had ever exhibited any ability to create or use tools, which left them dependant exclusively on their natural weapons, which were often enough of a threat already. Still, they could be overwhelmed and contained.

Parasitic sub-sentient species were even rarer than communal, and they were not to be trifled with. On every world, life forms of a parasitic nature could be found. These were mostly of animal classification. These viral elements were bound to the laws of entropy. They could not exist without causing destruction.

Animal parasites were only a slight threat to sentient species. Microscopic organisms of this type were of greatest concern. When a sentient parasitic life form was encountered, however, protocol almost always called for extermination.

But this was never done without consulting the council, and never without first indexing the species. Forerunners were careful to preserve both genetic and living samples of species slated for extermination. This was done so that these high-risk life forms could be studied. With time and innovation, their risk might be mitigated and their threat nullified, which would allow the possible reanimation of the species at some future time.

After indexing was complete, extermination was usually carried out by forcing the premature collapse of the local system star, as the worlds inhabited by these life-forms could rarely be cleansed entirely by any other means.

In the earlier days of Forerunner exploration, stellar collapse had been ruthlessly used against entrenched rebel populations and stubborn resistance elements. With time, however, the Forerunners had restricted the use of this capability in an effort to preserve precious inhabitable worlds. Protocol was clear. The Maridon system should never have been destroyed. Commander Pirolith had deviated from standard procedure, and an entire alien race was now extinct, nearly.

The stern patriarch looked to the other council members and then returned his attention to Pericles before asking again, "Pericles, were there any survivors?"


Chapter Thirteen


Permirius was filled with excitement as he busily dedicated redundant processing cycles to analyzing the thoughts and emotional patterns of his new subject. Pirolith had wandered from one structure to another for days, walking slowly along the vast empty streets of Tyrus and pausing occasionally in certain rooms or open spaces to remember and reflect.

Forerunners had perfect memories, but recollection could be difficult sometimes for ancients, who had millennia of experiences to consider. Returning to a place where an event had occurred often helped them to recall events that had long ago been set aside in the dark recesses of the mind.

The events that played through Pirolith's thoughts now were unusual, like many other aspects of the unique subject. Most Forerunners returned to Siora when they were feeling nostalgic, and they instructed Permirius to materialize places, times, and events that would help them recall the pleasant experiences and memorable highlights of their long lives.

This subject, however, had spent days wandering through Permirius' recreation of Tyrus, pausing to recall some of the most painful and unpleasant moments of his life.
Certainly, some of the memories were quite pleasant, those that revolved around the early days of his love affair with Aethiena. Others, however, were moments of isolation and loss. The later years of their marriage were trying for Pirolith. He was not a naturally affectionate or attentive man. He was not cruel or abusive either, but he was so very quiet and reserved.

Most Forerunner relationships blossomed after centuries of walking a common path, drawing closer through deep and sincere sharing of thoughts, feelings, hopes, dreams, and even fears. Pirolith, however, had never been able to open up to anyone. He felt too vulnerable, too exposed. He had trusted Aethiena more than any other, and she loved him despite his quirks; but the years did not bring them closer together, and after centuries of empty companionship, she despaired that he would never let down his walls and grant her access to the hidden places in his heart.

They did not argue. They were not unkind to one another, but they felt more distant as time passed, and Pirolith could not bear the guilt he felt when he saw the longing in his wife's loving eyes. And so he left her.

For millennia he traversed the galaxy and pursued the Forerunner agenda. He enjoyed working with projects, with matters, and events, and all things not human. Sometimes he felt he had much more in common with the constructs and AIs than with his fellow Forerunners, and in many ways he did.

He was precise, orderly, cold, and calculating. He was strategic and methodical, and unrelenting in his duties. His character flaws worked to his advantage within the strict, military structure and rigid hierarchy of the Forerunner Fleet, and he quickly rose through the ranks as his talents and disposition ensured the efficient and successful conscription of countless worlds.

Many in the Forerunner Fleet were proficient in their work, but all were subject to occasional deviations from standard procedure, usually due to the more emotional aspects of their human nature. Pirolith, on the other hand, could make the hard decisions and execute the more difficult procedures when circumstances called for their initiation.

He did not care for the individual, but could see the larger picture, work for the greater good, and make sacrifices. He was unwavering, and so it was he that assumed the duties of Fleet Commander, and led the Forerunners across the Aelorian for ages, all the while hiding and suppressing the quiet longing in his heart to return to his wife and to meet for the first time the son he had never seen.

He never did return, and he did not know where Aethiena was now. He preferred it that way. Perhaps she still loved him. He liked not knowing because as long as he did not know, the possibility was always there. Perhaps she had never loved another. He hoped she did, that she had found someone else to be a better companion and friend, someone who would bring her happiness. But… if she had found someone else, he did not want to know about it. He did not want to see it.

Permirius was intrigued by these thoughts and especially by the anomalous emotions related to his subject's memories of the death of his son. Permirius had never before had the opportunity to record such emotions or thought patterns, and he was busily creating new algorithms and statistical models to account for these rare variables in his library of catalogued psychological profiles.

Permirius, like all AIs, had countless levels of awareness and could dedicate any number of levels to various tasks and processes, but he was so focused on his study of Pirolith that he nearly missed a single string of code in a communiqué that streamed from deep within his distributed network. He could never completely miss anything, since all code would eventually work through his subroutines and into his archives for caching, but he could miss an event, or at least the opportunity to respond to it in time. His preoccupation with Pirolith had caused him to delay his response for at least ten millionths of a second, or eons by his own reckoning. Fortunately, it was not enough of a delay by human standards to make any noticeable difference.

SS.4-519.> Priority 1 – level 12: registration of security breach 88629 – sector 34985-4985 interior surface panel 230840-23434i - Hostile entity targeted

RAI-PRIME> Protocol 6: addition to targeting ledger blocked

SS.4-519.> Request emergency override

RAI-PRIME> Protocol 6: override denied – Confirm imminent LEVEL 2 threat

SS.4-519> Request priority 1 override – Threat confirmed – mark: RESIDENT CLIENT PROTECTEE – LORD DIDACT.

RAI-ACTUAL> Protocol 6: override denied. NON-LETHAL FORCE AUTHORIZED

****

Altus never saw anything but a strange distortion in the air, like heat waves shimmering in the desert. He had anticipated a small degree of pain. He thought he might even sustain some minor injury to his hand as it smashed through the front of his target's throat and impacted against the harder vertebrae in the neck, but he was not prepared for the crushing pain he felt as his hand stopped abruptly before reaching its target and shattered in the air against some invisible force.

He cried out in agony and surprise as the distortion in the air intensified and suddenly dissipated to reveal the long metallic head of an ominous mechanical construct hovering between him and the Forerunner. Whatever it was, it had been there the entire time, cloaked and invisible, but ready to act if necessary.

He gasped in fear and staggered backward ready to turn and flee, but he cried out again as he felt an impact from behind, and an unrelenting grasp clamped down on both of his arms below his shoulders, severing the muscles and snapping the bones in an instant. His legs lost their strength, and he would have collapsed, but he remained suspended in the air by a second sentry that had restrained him from behind.

Didact never turned away from his observation of the council. It was as if he had been quietly waiting for the attack, suspecting it all along. He paid no attention at all as the sentries subdued their prisoner.

Altus felt disoriented. His body convulsed, and he tried to keep his vision from blurring as the first sentry moved closer. From the front, it looked menacing, and its body formed an oddly angled cross with its long black head at the top, sloping back away from its bright eye in the center; its reverse elbows extended up and out on the sides as its mantis-like arms retracted. The undercarriage opened and extended an energy weapon downward to form the base of the cross.

The white light in the construct's single eye grew brighter, and Altus waited for the sentry to fire; instead, the light intensified and then narrowed into a bright horizontal beam that scanned the prisoner from top to bottom. The sentinel completed its scan and then retracted its weapon.

Altus could no longer fight the pain. He convulsed again and a spray of vomit erupted from his mouth toward the sentry. The air sparked and crackled as an envelope of energy appeared around the construct. The vomit sizzled against a rounded energy shield and evaporated into wisps of steam. A pungent aroma filled the air, and at last, Lord Didact turned to examine the scene for a moment. The sentry pulled back and lowered its weapon again while it analyzed the liquid substance for biohazards. It hummed quietly and retracted the weapon once more.

Altus was beginning to feel numb. His head felt heavy and his eyes even heavier. It all seemed like a dream now, a nightmare. He hoped it was. Perhaps he would wake soon, and it would all be over. He held to that thought as darkness crept into his mind, and he calmly slipped into unconsciousness.

****

"Was that really necessary, Permirius?" asked Didact.

He spoke out loud knowing that the electromagnetic sensor array was blocked in the Council chamber. Perhaps Permirius had thought Didact incapable of perceiving Altus' hostile intentions without the aid of the mind-reading array; then again, Permirius was also keenly aware of human psychology, and could appreciate the ability to predict specific actions in certain circumstances and situations. One of the sentry drones turned to Didact and its white eye turned orange. A metallic voice reverberated remotely from the drone.

"An abundance of caution, for your protection, Lord Didact."

Didact looked down at the pathetic creature that hung broken and limp from the arms of the other security sentry. He had indeed anticipated the foolish assault, and he was confident he could have easily avoided the strike and subdued the prisoner himself without sustaining injury. Still, he appreciated the vigilance of the Resident AI.

"Very well, Permirius. Please tend to him quickly, but do not revive him yet," instructed Didact.

"As you wish, Lord Didact."

The sentry's eye faded back to white. Amber light enveloped the sentry holding Altus. Golden rings of energy pulsed around them, and they were both transported away through the grid.

****

Pericles considered carefully how to answer the patriarch's question. There was indeed a survivor, but only one, a disastrous and tragic scenario for the Maridons. Before he could answer, however, a sudden commotion erupted from the far side of the chamber. The council members turned their hovering thrones about and looked to the source of the disturbance. In the distance they could see Lord Didact standing at the entrance to the chamber with two sentry drones. A man next to him staggered backward and screamed in agony as one of the drones grabbed him from behind.

"I see," said the patriarch.

Pericles fidgeted nervously as he watched the arrest. "Quite an unruly race, my lord," he said.

The matriarchs looked concerned as the man collapsed in the sentry's powerful arms.

"And… unusually aggressive," Pericles continued.

They all looked to Lord Didact who nodded as if to assure them that everything was under control. The sentry was scanning to check for serious injury, when suddenly the man vomited all over the construct and passed out.

"Quite the specimen…" Pericles laughed nervously.

They all looked back to him with varying expressions of disappointment.

Amber light filled the entry way as the wounded man was transported away with the drone. Lord Didact hung his head for a moment, and then began to approach.

"Thank you, dear Pericles," said one of the matriarchs.

"You may leave us now while we discuss this further with Lord Didact," said one of the patriarchs.

Pericles bowed in respect, he looked up shyly and stole one last glimpse of the beautiful matriarchs and then turned to leave. He hoped to see them all again someday, and yet… he hoped he never would.


Section 1
...coming soon

Halo: Forerunner - Section 1 Ch 14-17
Date: 12 September 2010, 4:48 am

Section 1

Genesis

Chapter Fourteen

      Lithiel closed her eyes and lifted her head ever so slightly, like a ship leisurely raising its sails to catch the wind. She inhaled, and a gentle smile washed across the soft contours of her face as the earthy fragrance of wet sandstone flooded her senses. The sun lit warmly on her cheeks, and a cool desert breeze caressed her shoulders and sent shivers down her spine. The gust combed gently through her long luminous hair, lifting it upward like a silken banner waving peacefully against the blue sky.
      The wind rumbled with a sudden flurry that rushed across the desert lake and over the crest of the cliff where she sat precariously at the edge of the precipice. She leaned forward against the gale, and her slender arms wrapped around the delicate angles of one of her long legs. She pulled gently toward her chest and tucked her head behind the warmth of her knee until the gust had passed. A spray of fine mist settled across the nakedness of her smooth body, and the light bronzed tones of her skin glistened in the fading light as the sun descended toward the plateaus on the horizon.
      Lithiel loved the stillness and serenity of the desert, and she often retreated into the wilderness for days at a time to ponder, to meditate and reflect. She opened her eyes again and sighed as the blue sky surrendered to the fiery palette of sunset. Oranges and reds blazed across the soaring clouds and cast dark silhouettes against distant formations of spires and arches reaching upward from eroded sandstone like the ruins of ancient and sinister castles. The warm colors diffused brilliantly into the mirror surface of the lake and faded off into ocean blue and shades of light green as the sun dipped below the horizon and dusk settled across the desert.
      Lithiel sighed, lay back onto the warm sandstone, and placed her hands behind her head. She looked eagerly to the darkening night sky and watched in awe as the luminous glory of the Aelorian galaxy gradually pierced through the darkness and revealed the majesty of heaven in a breathtaking panoramic display. Brilliant stars and colorful sister moons drifted across the vista, and Lithiel felt for a moment as if she were weightless in the silence of space, moving gracefully through the galaxy with these heavenly bodies.
      Then as she lay there in her waking dream, bright white light began to converge from all directions to gather by her side. It grew brighter each moment and steadily took shape beside her. She exhaled in disappointment, and squinted in the brightness as she looked to the luminous figure, what appeared to be a being of light, a tall man clothed in white robes, young and handsome. He looked down at her, but took no notice of her perfect body, which glistened in the ambience of his light.
      "What is it, Gabriose?" She asked impatiently.
      The being flickered transparently for a moment and then began to speak.
      "Your presence has been requested on Siora, my lady," said the man in a smooth and proper voice.
      Lithiel closed her eyes and nodded. There would always be more time to enjoy moments like this, but she greatly disliked missing them all the same. She raised her head and began to sit up, but the man reached out his hand, and a blue field of light enveloped her. Her body drifted weightlessly into the air, and she gracefully righted herself to a standing position. The blue field faded as the man lowered his hand, and she settled gently to her feet.
      "Thank you, Gabriose," she said.
      She raised a delicate hand to her neck, and gave a gentle tap to a narrow white collar that she wore like a necklace. It immediately began to glow in harmony with similar bracelets and anklets near her hands and feet. A static crackling filled the air, and bright glints of light converged from all directions before gathering across her naked body, like condensation on cold glass. In a moment, the light faded and materialized into a thin white body suit that covered her modestly.
      "Now, what is the problem?"

****

      The flight back to the ground relay base was long and uneventful. Lithiel stared expressionless out at the passing landscape of white and red sandstone that shone eerily in the bright moonlight. Patches of green brush and shrub, rich with the sweet fragrance of dry pollen, accented the desert terrain and gave shelter to the small reptiles that scurried out into the cool night air to hunt for luminous insects.
      None of the night creatures seemed to notice the metallic alien craft that wisped silently overhead. From a distance, it looked like an elongated chariot without wheels. The carriage was open to the night air, but invisible force fields kept the wind from harming the passengers as they clipped along at speeds just nearing supersonic. The passenger carriage was towed along by a sleek pilotless construct that was harnessed by a bright yoke of pastel energy.
      Lithiel was glad there was no pilot; she didn't feel much like talking to anyone. Other than her personal AI assistant, Gabriose, there were no other sentient life forms on this world; she was still completely alone, for a time at least. She would keep it that way if she could, but her unique skills and prodigious talents had called her away once again. She always heeded the call of her people, and she always resented it.
      It was bad enough that they had interrupted her personal time in the wilderness, but she had been in an especially foul mood ever since Gabriose had mentioned the Executor, Lord Didact. The looming confrontation with Didact hung above her head like a boulder ready to drop. She didn't think she had the emotional strength to see him again so soon and under such formal circumstances.
      They had a long and thorny relationship that had never quite matured for either of them. He was a serious and professional man, with heavy responsibilities and weighty matters to attend to. She was a free spirit, who loved to go where fate took her and do whatever seemed most interesting at the moment. He was full of pride and power. She was apathetic and playful. Still, when they were together, they always kindled some type of untamable passion that at times had manifested as love, and at times had reared up as a flaming tempest of fury and contention… at least that's how she imagined it looking back.
      A sad frown emerged on Lithiel's full and pouting lips. She folded her arms across the edge of the carriage and rested the side of her head on her forearm. She lifted a single dainty pinky in front of her eyes and examined the intricate pattern engraved in her fingernail. She thought she might change it when she got back to her lab. She had reprogrammed her genes so that the intricate floral pattern of curling vines grew naturally in very difficult-to-manage lines of shiny silver.
      The decorative engraving at the tips of her fingers was only a small example of her unprecedented skill in manipulating the code of life. She wondered what it was they needed her to do this time, what schematics she would alter, or what poor threatening life form they planned to exterminate. The bright steeple of her base ship rose in the distance, and she sighed longingly. She would know soon enough.

****

      The long journey through unbound space gave Lithiel the time she needed to study and analyze the genome sent to her from Siora. Most other interstellar races had developed stasis technologies to enter some form of suspended animation during unbound space travel. Even at velocities far exceeding the speed of light, traversing the galaxy could take months or even years.
      For mortal beings, who savored and clung to every moment of their succinct lives, suspended animation was simply a way to get the most out of life before the end. Immortals, on the other hand, had no qualms about spending long periods of time engaged in seemingly meaningless and mundane activities.
      Without the fear of wasting their lives on endless journeys, the Forerunners had bravely undertaken interstellar travel millennia before they had achieved light speed. Early pioneer groups were in transit through normal space for 8000 years before reaching the first inhabitable world. Comparatively, even the most extended interstellar voyage through unbound space would seem quite brief.
      A year in transit could still become boring, but these extended periods of inactivity often provided the quiet moments of reflection and meditation that gave birth to profound insights and significant scientific breakthroughs.
      On this trip, however, there would be no breakthroughs, no landmark discoveries. That had taken place long before Lithiel had ever been summoned, and now it was her task to make sense of it and to cross check for errors in the original data.
      The interior of Lithiel's ship was a large, empty, cylindrical chamber that functioned much like the surface of Siora. At the moment, it was filled with the materialized manifestation of a marble pavilion surrounded by a small botanical garden in full bloom. Lithiel had always preferred classic and ancient architectural styles.
      Modern Forerunner designs were aesthetic in their own right, but they glorified power and technology. She simply felt a deeper connection to the handcrafted artistry of the Pre-Sioran Era that paid homage to nature and life. She always surrounded herself with the unique architecture of that period.
      Lithiel appreciated colossal, metallic and angular designs; they did strike her with a sense of awe and wonder, but there was something intimate about the ancient motifs of interlocking stone archways and marble pillars adorned with elaborate carvings of exotic creatures and flowering vines. It felt humble; it felt human; it felt right.
      The luminous holographic double-helix in front of her also felt strangely right. Yet that was precisely the problem. It was right, but it was wrong. It carried all of the unique and distinctive markers she would expect to find in any Forerunner genome, but this sample was different in one way. It was broken.
      Lithiel reached out and touched the hologram, and the double-helix began to untangle and divide. She reached up again, and the animation froze just as the division was completed. Her eyes narrowed and focused, carefully examining the event for the thousandth time. Then suddenly, they grew wide, and a half smile crept across her pretty face.
      "There you are…" she said slyly.
      Lithiel raised both hands and spread her fingers wide. Several helixes, frozen at similar points in the division process, materialized in the air in front of her. They drifted together until they formed a circle, which revolved slowly so that each image paraded before the geneticist one at a time. She examined and compared the progression of each generation warily, and her smile grew wider. She had it!
      Lithiel stood from the stone bench where she had been sitting beneath the pavilion. Her bare feet stepped lightly across the cold stone tablets, carrying her gracefully around the circle of holograms, which she continued to examine. A mental summons was picked from her mind, and Gabriose immediately appeared beside her in his bright angelic form.
      "Yes, my lady?" he said politely.
      She did not look away from the images as she answered.
      "Contact the research team on Siora," she ordered. "I have some questions for them." She looked to Gabriose. "Urgent questions," she added.
      Gabriose nodded, and his image faded away. Lithiel turned again to her helixes and rechecked the region of interest. She felt satisfied with her conclusion as she stared carefully at the arrangement of molecules… arrangement?
      The sly smile faded from her expression. Her mouth opened slightly, and she stepped closer to the images. Her head shook almost imperceptibly from side to side as a look of concern and confusion took form in her expression. How could she not have seen this before, but it must be a mistake. It had to be a mistake. She checked again and suddenly raised her hand to cover her mouth as if to keep the words from escaping.
      "Not Forerunner…?" she gasped.
      A flood of questions and fears filled her mind. What had they found? What had they done?

Chapter Fifteen

      "Was your visit pleasant, Commander?"
      Pirolith looked to the bright monitor as it hovered along at his side. He didn't know why, but for some reason he felt comfortable with this mechanical construct. He was a solitary person, but he almost enjoyed the monitor's company. It had accompanied him or remained nearby for a few weeks as Pirolith explored Siora for the first time. He assumed the AI construct was simply fulfilling its duty to look after the population of Siora. That would make sense considering the condition in which the construct had found him. Still, Pirolith felt there might be something else that had kept the monitor from returning to other duties since their first meeting.
      "Yes, 343," Pirolith replied. "It was cordial."
      343 bobbed up and down and his blue core grew brighter for a moment. Pirolith was still learning to read the construct's non-verbal expressions, but he was pretty sure it was pleased that the meeting had gone well. In truth, the meeting was cordial, as such visits always were with the High Council, but it was not pleasant, and it had not gone well. Pirolith stopped and turned to the monitor.
      "And, 343…" he addressed the monitor but waited.
      "Yes, Commander?" the construct inquired curiously.
      "You needn't call me Commander anymore."
The construct grew dim for a moment, and it hummed a note of understanding to itself.
      "You resigned your post," it stated candidly.
The statement wasn't so much insensitive as it was oblivious. The monitor was simply proud that it had solved the puzzle before being given the answer. Pirolith didn't take offense. He almost appreciated the construct's brashness. They were very much alike in that regard. Pirolith simply tightened the corners of his mouth and nodded slightly.
      "And what will you do now?" 343 asked.
      Pirolith looked down at the green grass. It seemed so inviting, like all the other natural elements that graced the core of Siora. He didn't want to think about what was next. He wanted to wander some more. He wanted to get away from the behemoth fleet ships and Forerunner dreadnaughts. He wanted to spend a few decades taking in the natural world, the mountains and valleys, the waterfalls, rivers, and oceans. He wanted to listen to the insects chirping at night and the birds singing in the morning. He felt a gentle pull in his heart toward all these things. They seemed right. They seemed good.
      That would all have to wait though. The former Fleet Commander had one more task to complete, and then he would be free. Pirolith looked up from the grass and carefully examined his metallic companion. He squinted, and his tightened lips pushed upward as his lower jaw extended. Then he began to nod slowly.
      "How important is your presence here, 343?" Pirolith suddenly blurted out.
      343 drew back and shook himself slightly.
      "Paramount! Of course!" he said proudly.
      The shocked response drew a half smile from Pirolith. For the first time, it seemed he may have managed to rile the construct. He was amused and somewhat pleased with himself in a mischievous way.
      "My function is allocated real-time priority tasking; furthermore," he continued, "all of my processes are given full affinity to…"
      "I see," Pirolith interrupted apathetically.
      The monitor grew brighter and began a slow orbit around Pirolith.
      "Why would you be interested in the importance of my presence," 343 puzzled out loud.
      "I thought you were a Genius?" Pirolith mocked.
      The construct stopped its orbit abruptly and turned to face Pirolith. A large grin filled the Ancient's face. He was really having fun now. The monitor said nothing though and returned to its flight pattern.
      "I want you to come with me," Pirolith stated as if making the decision as he spoke.
      343 stopped again.
      "Yes," he said.
      "Yes, you will come?" Pirolith asked.
      "Yes, I know what you want," the monitor clarified.
      Pirolith was about to be confused or frustrated when he realized what had just happened. He could almost see a smug grin painted across the blue orb. Yes, he thought. They were a good pair.

****

      Permirius had been surprisingly easy to persuade. His assertion that 343 could be easily replaced was good news, but it would have certainly agitated the self-important monitor. Pirolith had uncharacteristically decided to keep those words of reassurance to himself.
 

Chapter Sixteen

      Dark clouds of black and brown smoke churned violently overhead as the last three soldiers staggered up the embankment and joined the rest of their garrison. General Ornok stood quietly in the center of his control room and monitored the progress of their retreat on a panel of lurid monitors. His frame was twisted and frail, but a fearsome portrait of strength and grit was permanently chiseled into his gaunt and pallid features.
      Dozens of officers rushed frantically about the dark room, checking systems and coordinating tactical operations. The stale air was already uncomfortably hot, but the stench of their haggard bodies made it almost suffocating.
      The command room was buried deep within a mountainous plateau, safe from most weapons; and those that could penetrate the earthen fortress were currently held at bay by what remained of the Tureen Fleet. The General's forces had just survived another ground assault. It appeared to be a scout mission, just a small group of drones, but a significant threat for troops caught in the open. The next attack would likely be devastating.
      The remote base was a high-value military target and had remained undetected until now. The enemy had been focusing on large population centers. All reports indicated that a sustained ground assault was underway on every continent. Most would fall quickly, but the Tureen Nation was the most formidable power on the planet. They would hold, and they would make their stand here in the deep and narrow canyons of Kargot Ruehn.
      On the surface above, soldiers made final checks of automated defense systems and turrets before falling back into tunnels and bunkers. They were well trained, armed, and equipped, but they would only fight if their mechanized forces failed to secure the fortress. Large bunkers on the ridge of the rocky plateau bristled with energy weapons and sleek, black, missile pods. The weapons were silent for now, but in a moment they would be ablaze in a brilliant display of violence and chaos.
      Suddenly, a clap of deafening thunder shook the ground, sending shockwaves across the rocky terrain and knocking soldiers off their feet. Large boulders broke from ancient stone formations, tumbling wildly down the hillsides and splashing into the muddy rivers below. A roar of panicked voices and unintelligible shouts echoed across the deep canyons as all eyes looked with anticipation to the sky.
      Hundreds of compact, robotic, hunter drones jettisoned from launch bays set deep within the face of the towering cliffs, screaming into the air with a series of resonating thumps as they broke the sound barrier.
      "Report!" barked General Ornok.
      "Aerial contact, sir!" shouted one of the officers.
      "Fleet reports our airspace is still secure. All dreadnaughts are still being held outside of bombardment range. Two forward observation posts report a single carrier made a precision jump into sector 42."
      "Put it on screen!" ordered the General.
      The officer moved to another console and tapped the screen. The main display panel came to life as the outpost recording began to play. The image was clear and brilliant, showing a distant section of the canyon and a panoramic view of the sky above. Suddenly a flash of light filled the screen and the display went static. A moment later, the image resolved, and the faint outline of a diamond-shaped ship could be seen in the clouds.
      The ship's port section was sliding out of a bright portal, which quickly closed behind the vessel. Dual shockwaves rolled outward along the clouds above and the ground below. A wall of dust and debris advanced steadily toward the camera and crashed against the lens, darkening the screen.
      "Stop," said the General. "Go back 30 frames and replay at half speed."
      The officer tapped his console a few times, and the image reversed for a moment and then began to play in slow motion. The General watched intently as the recording replayed. The room fell silent.
      "Stop!" he ordered again. "Go back 10 frames and play at one-tenth speed."
      All eyes turned to the display panel. The recording played slowly and showed the ship in the sky and the wall of dust advancing along the ground. Then, just before the view went dark, a bright, amber light appeared on the horizon. The General looked to another screen where a stream of text was scrolling upward.
      "How many fighter drones did we launch?" he asked.
      "300," an officer responded sharply.
      "Did they engage the ship?"
      Officers looked to status screens, but no one answered. General Ornok put his hands on his hips, and scowled.
      "Where is the ship now?" he shouted.
      Finally, one of the officers looked up from his display with a stunned expression and began to answer.
      "Sir, sensors show the ship jumped again just after we lost visual tracking." The officer's voice broke as he continued. "Incoming combat logs from all Hunter flights record full payload deployment from all weapon systems…" he paused and reexamined the data. "Sir, the hunter squadrons didn't reach the insertion point until after the ship had jumped…"
      General Ornok cursed quietly and began to pace the room.
      "Ongoing transmissions?" he asked.
      The officer looked confused and nervous. He fumbled with his console.
      Ongoing transmissions!" Ornok repeated.
      "There must be something wrong…" the officer stammered. "I… it seems that… All of the feeds went dead, Sir. I'm reading 0 of 300… maybe the shockwave is interfering with transmission. I can reroute…"
      "That won't be necessary," Ornok interrupted. "Lock it down!" he shouted. "We have incoming ground forces."

****

      Reports were broken and sporadic, but General Ornok and his officers had determined the threat to be uncategorized and not previously encountered. Transmission fragments from foreign governments indicated that all weapon systems had proven ineffective, and their forces had been decimated. Ornok was not eager to encounter this vague new threat, but the mystery was compelling, and his officers continued to work tirelessly to gather more intelligence for him.
      For some unknown reason, the main operating base at Kargot Ruehn had not been attacked, and no contact had been reported since the disappearance of the hunter squadrons. The base was still in lockdown, and automated systems were fully operational and combat ready.
      "Sir!" one of the officers shouted as he jumped up from his station. "We just received a transmission from Norym!"
      Ornok turned from his display panel and tossed the map tablet he had been tinkering with onto a glossy black table near the wall.
      "Norym!" he balked. "What could possibly compel anyone from Norym to communicate with us?"
      The officer looked excited then concerned.
      "From what I can make out, their command structure is in complete disarray. Everyone is either scattered or dead," he explained.
      "The transmission came from a low-ranking officer in Titus. He is certain they are defeated, and we are the only other hope for a defense."
      Ornok smiled for the first time in days.
      "Well, he got that right. It's about time those animals recognized our superiority."
      The officer tried to be respectful and let General Ornok speak, but he seemed eager to finish explaining the situation.
      "Sir, yes indeed, but he sent us a recording. This might be our first glimpse of the threat."
      "What!"
      Ornok pounded his bony hand on the officer's station and began to shout. His voice was hoarse and raspy, but forceful all the same. "Why are you blabbering on about Norym's command structure, when you have information like that? Put it on screen!" he shouted.
      "Yes… of course, sir... I just…"
      "Now…" Ornok growled impatiently.
      All attention turned to the main display, as the officer hurried to unpack and load the recording. A moment later an image of the Norym capitol of Titus appeared on screen; the city was in ruins. The video was grainy and unclear, apparently taken from a soldier's personal recording device.
      "Do we have audio?" Ornok asked.
      "Just static, sir," the officer replied.
      Several Norymese commandos entered the field of view and maneuvered together through the rubble. The image shifted sporadically from left to right as the soldier wearing the recording device checked his flanks. Suddenly the view shifted upward. At first, it seemed to be night, but as the camera panned, the sky turned from black to brown and then to red where the faint light of the sun bled through the ash-filled atmosphere.
      Without warning, the view began to shift wildly. Every few seconds there was a glimpse of one or more commandos running, taking cover, and firing in all directions. The view settled behind a burned-out vehicle and then slowly began to peek out at the battle scene.
      Four commandos appeared in the distance, entering the view from the right side. Two stopped and took cover before providing suppressive fire for the others who advanced at a dead run. Then, in a blinding flash, a blazing stream of energy sliced through the air from a source off camera, up and to the left. The energy beam lanced across the face of one of the advancing soldiers, and he collapsed in a heap.
      The image shifted to the source of fire, but the view was blocked by the crumbling ruins of a building. Another blast of energy streaked across the screen from the same source, targeting the remaining soldier. He had taken cover behind another burned-out vehicle, but the energy beam quickly vaporized the metal hull and blasted through the commando's chest. He shuddered and slumped over dead.
      The image darkened as the observing soldier lowered himself to the ground and crawled under the vehicle, advancing slowly toward the firefight until taking cover behind a toppled, stone slab. Suppressive fire continued to trace across the screen from the commandos on the right, and the view re-centered on the first fallen soldier. The armor-clad commando had not been wearing a helmet, and burn marks laced his skull where his entire forehead and right eye had been blasted away.
      The view shifted again as the soldier seemed to move through the ruins to a flanking position. Lights continued to flash as fire was exchanged in both directions. Suddenly, a weapon was raised into view, and the soldier slowly strafed the edge of a wall until, at last, the hostile appeared around the corner.
      A small construct hovered in the air, dipping and rising to dodge incoming fire. A sphere of energy appeared around it each time a projectile impacted on its shields, which seemed to weaken with sustained fire. There was a bustle of confusion in the room.
      "What is this supposed to be?" the General hissed.
      "That's just the same drone we've been encountering this entire conflict!"
      "The message said there was a recording of the new threat attached," the officer began to explain. "Maybe it shows up later."
      They continued to watch as the flanking commando stealthily advanced on the distracted drone, waiting for a moment when its shields were weak. A sudden burst of suppressive fire dropped the shields, and the soldier fired. A bright, blue, laser beam shot from his weapon, and punched through the construct. It dropped altitude and began to spark. The screen flashed white as the drone exploded, and then everything went static.
      "That's it?" asked the General, frustrated.
The officer typed commands into his console and ran diagnostics on the file. Ornok began to laugh.
      "Well, I suppose we shouldn't be surprised the Norymese thought that scrap of metal was the terrible new threat."
      Others in the room began to laugh as well. They had destroyed hundreds of thousands of the small drones, and thousands of the larger, more formidable constructs that fired missiles and unleashed walls of plasma bolts. Even those behemoth combat drones with their shields and powerful arms capable of crushing armored vehicles, even those could be matched and defeated by the Tureen forces.
      Alone these constructs were manageable, but the enemy sent countless hordes. That was the problem. In the open, such swarms of constructs could easily be destroyed with nuclear weapons, but the enemy only sent them into heavily populated areas, where the level of collateral damage would simply defeat the purpose.
      "Well, I suppose they couldn't resist the opportunity to waste our time," grumbled Ornok. "Everyone back on task, and I don't want…"
      Curses and gasps filled the room as every screen suddenly went black. The officer who had been running diagnostics jumped up and cried out in horror.
      "What's going on?" General Ornok shouted in the darkness.
      "We're down!" screamed the officer.
      "What?"
      "We're down!" he shouted again in a panic. "All of our systems are offline!"
      The room was a flurry of motion and noise as officers scrambled in the dark. General Ornok cursed and shouted orders, but no one was paying attention. Someone touched him on the shoulder and he felt a combat helmet being placed in his hands. Ornok quickly put the helmet on and activated the night vision. He shoved past the armed guard who had been posted at the entrance, and then stepped deliberately through the crowd and grabbed the panicked officer by the throat.
      He pulled the startled officer in close and growled, "What did you do?"
      "General? Sir! I… I…"
      Ornok shook the officer violently. "Speak up!" he shouted.
      The officer struggled to compose himself. He was perhaps the only person in the room who truly understood the magnitude of what was happening. He tried to hold back the vomit as it erupted from his mouth, but all he managed to do was send it down his chest and keep it off the General.
      "We're going to die!" he sobbed. "It's over!"
A stream of curses poured out of Ornok's mouth as he pushed the hysterical officer away and decided to shift tactics. He crouched down in front of the officer and tried to speak calmly.
      "Listen, Officer… what's your name?"
      The officer looked to the sound of the General's voice and managed a reply.
      "Kartun."
      "Kartun… listen Officer Kartun," Ornok continued, "I don't like this any more than you do, but I am determined to keep you and every other Tureen alive. I need you right now to help me do that. Whatever you know, you need to tell me now so I can take the next step."
      The officer nodded, and the shock seemed to be wearing off.
      "I tried to stop it," he said, "but it was too fast, before I could do anything…"
      "Hold on," Ornok interrupted in the best kind and understanding voice he could fake. "You tried to stop what?"
      The officer paused to organize his thinking and began to explain as clearly as he could.
      "The file," he said, "I thought there might be something more in the recording, something we missed, so I ran a diagnostic, and I found a hidden packet."
      Ornok began to realize what was going on, but he managed to quell his anger until he had gotten everything he could out of Kartun.
      "What did you do with the packet, Officer Kartun?" Ornok probed.
      Kartun grimaced and shook his head as he began to cry.
      "I don't know what I was thinking, Sir…. I'm sorry… We were all so interested in identifying the threat… I… I had to see what it was… I thought it was encrypted… for security! It took over everything! It was too fast! How was I supposed to know they could…"
      "You're telling me the Norymese did this to us!" Ornok shouted in a rage. "They sent us a VIRUS…! When the entire planet is in peril…! They still manage to get in one last petty kick!"
      Officer Kartun broke protocol and grabbed the General violently by the arms.
      "NO!" he screamed hysterically. "NOT THE NORYMESE! DON'T YOU SEE? IT WAS FROM THEM! THEY SHUT US DOWN, AND NOW THEY'RE COMING FOR US, AND WE'RE ALL GOING TO…"

 
Chapter Seventeen

      "That's it, Occultus. Well done. Bring it back online."
      The Combat AI received the mental order and quickly transmitted instructions to its resident fragment. Screens and monitors blinked back to life and illuminated the room full of dismembered corpses. The air near the main display panel shimmered for a moment as Gracos moved silently through the gore, thoroughly checking each of his hapless victims. All threats were neutralized. His cloaking shields powered down, revealing the sleek, white outline of a menacing battle suit.
      The Class 12 combat skin was a marvel of technology and engineering. It was also an ancient relic. Like knights' armor, its time had passed, and only a few elite remnants of the Forerunner Cherubic Forces still maintained the powerful, personal weapons platform; and of the few who maintained their armor, Gracos was the only Cherub who still used his and personally engaged in combat.
      The system was powerful enough that it could have defeated the bunker fortifications and automated defense systems above, but not without sustaining unnecessary damage. Besides his plasma sword, Gracos had only deployed other weapons twice. Once to vaporize the thick, hardened alloy doors that secured the fortress entrance, and once to neutralize the attacking hunter drones. For all of the weapons built into the combat suit, its true strengths were speed and stealth.
      Fundamental particle arrays bent all spectrums of light around the suit, shielding it from radiation and rendering it invisible to every type of alien or mechanical eye; and a network of integrated force fields manipulated surrounding air and neutralized all sound waves originating from the suit. No matter how forcefully the hardened armor impacted with another object, it would never emit even the slightest sound.
      Force field generators also bound each joint and could generate almost infinite force multiplication. The built-in Combat AI coordinated activation of each force servo with the wearer's naturally occurring brainwaves for motor control. This system gave the wearer enhancements in speed and strength that were thousands of times greater than augmentations provided by mechanized variants.
      The only real limitations on performance were determined by the laws of physics and the abilities and conditioning of the wearer. Ages ago, elite Forerunner warriors had trained for centuries before gaining even slight proficiency with the Class 12 system. Those who eventually mastered the armor, however, became the fiercest and most lethal force in the galaxy.
      The Cherubic Force had quietly faded into history as Forerunners made improvements in mechanized combat units and gave preference to losing constructs in battle over risking the lives of immortals. Gracos, however, was a warrior at heart, and he always would be. So it was that on rare occasions, those few unfortunate worlds that resisted his battle group were given a terrible demonstration of the greatest military achievement of the Forerunner Race.
      "Lord Gracos, the Dreadnaughts are prepared now to neutralize the Tureen fleet."
      The voice in Gracos' head was transmitted from Shipmaster Sufis aboard the Destroyer Alorus Maxim. The Tureens might have believed they were holding off Forerunner plasma bombardment, but protocol did not permit bombardment of the planet, not when strategic ground suppression was possible. No, the Forerunners were holding back at Gracos' order. He knew if he destroyed their space fleet, they would likely resort to nuclear weapons and destroy their own planet. His objective was not to purge the planet of alien life, but of all military capability.
      The command and control center was now neutralized, and nuclear weapons were under Occultus' control. Gracos surveyed the room one last time and sent his mental order to proceed.

****

      Sufis sneered and shifted uneasily in his chair as he waited for Lord Gracos to respond. His patience had been tried enough, and he was eagerly anticipating the opportunity to unleash the full force of the Alorus Maxim on the impertinent Tureen forces.
      He had mustered every last measure of self-control in order to exercise restraint during this operation. For days, the Tureens had brazenly fired salvos of missiles and volleys of laser fire at Forerunner ships. All of the munitions, of course, had no effect on Forerunner energy shields, but Sufis felt his pride sustain more damage with every impact.
      What annoyed him most was that the Tureen Admiral actually thought he was holding the Forerunners back. He was irritated that such an insignificant and inferior creature was allowed to believe he had bested the accomplished Forerunner Shipmaster. That was too much to bear, but now that would all come to an end. Now Sufis could finally put that insolent Tureen in his place, a grave, just as soon as Gracos finished his ridiculous war games and responded.
      Sufis tapped his fingers on the armrest of his chair and took a deep breath through his flared nostrils. If he had his way, they would have glassed all of the major cities immediately after the first signs of resistance. He hated protocol and felt that Lord Gracos took too many precautions to avoid undue collateral damage.
      He didn't see what difference it made anyway. As long as they indexed a species, why did it matter how many others died? The population could always be replenished, and at least a restored population could be shaped and molded from the start. His view was not an anomaly either, especially amongst conscripts and younger Forerunners, but the Ancients had their way on everything. Their will was all that mattered. That was the order of things, for now.
      "What is going on down there?" he hissed.
      A hollow voice resounded in his head as the ship's relay received a transmission from the surface and activated the hearing center in his brain.
      "My infiltrator fragment has just been packaged with a captured transmission from local Norymese forces, and the Tureens should be receiving it now."
      Sufis almost doubled over, and his head turned abruptly to one side. His cheeks rose tightly against the sides of his furious eyes, and his entire mouth clamped shut around his upper teeth as he held back his first instinctive response. A moment later, the redness faded from his face. He sat upright and took a deep breath before speaking in an unsteadily calm voice.
      "Occultus, why am I speaking to you and not Lord Gracos?"
      "Lord Gracos is engaged in combat, Shipmaster," Occultus replied blankly. "He was assaulted by 300 automated aerial combat drones 240 seconds after insertion, and there are currently 114 drones remaining, of which 86 are at least 90 percent combat…" Occultus paused. "All remaining drones have been neutralized," he finished.
      Sufis rolled his eyes and slumped back into his chair.
      "Good. Now will you please sync me with Lord Gracos?"
      "I'm afraid that is not possible," Occultus responded.
      "What's wrong?" Sufis demanded, concerned, "was he injured?"
      "Lord Gracos is uninjured, and his combat system sustained no damage. He instructed me to manage all communications until he has successfully infiltrated the Tureen command center."
      Sufis said nothing, but stared blankly off into space, wishing he were elsewhere or at least had his own command.
      "What is your concern, Shipmaster," Occultus probed.
      Sufis continued to sit motionless in a semi-comatose state. He was beginning to feel very dark and depressed. First he had to put up with three weeks of pestilent Tureen harassment, and now he was reduced to conversing with a Battle Suit AI. He nodded slowly, acknowledging his agreement with his own conclusion that the situation was outrageous.
      "How old are you, Occultus?" Sufis asked rudely.
      "I do not see the relevance of your question, shipmaster." Occultus replied.
      "Well…" Sufis began, with disdain dripping from every word, "allow me to elucidate… You are a relic of the Pre-Sioran Era. That means, at the very least, 5.7 million years have passed since you came online."
      "Yes, to be precise it has been…"
      "DON'T interrupt me, Construct!" Sufis shouted, looking around the command deck as if trying to find the source of the voice in his head. "We don't need you anymore! We don't need Cherubim, and we don't need Lord Gracos running around a fledgling planet trying to hold stubbornly to an antiquated protocol that has outlived its RELEVENCE!"
      "Shall I convey that message to…"
      "OCCULTUS!"
      Sufis clenched his fist and ground his teeth together.
      "I am talking to YOU!" he grumbled angrily. "You are the problem here! You are the excess in this operation! We don't need your shadows sneaking around in the Tureen network because I can blast the entire control center from orbit! I can disable the base defenses… with PLASMA!"
      "The defenses are disabled, Shipmaster," Occultus interrupted calmly.
      Sufis stood from his chair and looked with wild eyes to the holographic display of the Tureen fleet. He completely forgot about his tirade as he stepped closer to the bright image, reaching longingly toward the largest command ship.
      "Occultus…" he summoned with excitement.
      "Notify Lord Gracos the moment he penetrates the command center that our Dreadnaughts are prepared to neutralize the Tureen Fleet!"
      "Yes, Shipmaster."

****

      Crystalline beads of sweat drifted aimlessly around the control pod, colliding occasionally like asteroids in a debris field and bonding amorphously with each other before stabilizing into larger spheres. The sight was unusual for Admiral Perok. He had often seen the pods and passageways of his ships filled with similar fields of blood, weightless orbs bubbling into the compressed atmosphere from the bodies and limbs of wounded soldiers, but he had never seen this.
      No battle had ever dragged on for this long, not with the Norymese, not with the Kalgorons. No, those battles and skirmishes were quick and violent. This was worse. This enemy was different. This enemy was stronger and more sophisticated, and this conflict had ground to a standstill.
      Perok's officers were veteran warriors. They were used to rapid deployment and decisive action. That is what they had trained for. Under those conditions they could operate seamlessly with cool heads and ruthless efficiency, but the suspended matrix of perspiration was a clear sign of their fear and anxiety in this unfamiliar and unpredictable situation.
      Perok cast his watchful eyes around the cramped, cylindrical chamber. Twenty seven officers were fastened securely in their battle stations. Each was absorbed in the flood of information that scrolled across their screens.
      At every station, fingers tapped furiously on illuminated consoles like rain on a window, sending a steady drum-roll of muffled pattering to join a chorus of heavy breathing and quiet grumbling. Some officers checked systems or relayed commands; others worked complicated calculations and plotted ship or weapon trajectories. All of them were afraid, and all of them would fight to the end. But whose end would it be?
      That was the question Perok could not answer. For the first time in his 32-year career, victory was not guaranteed. The outcome was uncertain. No matter how strategically brilliant or tactically precise his past enemies had been, they could never overcome the technological, military superiority of the Tureens. Perok only hoped that he could succeed now where his fallen foes had failed because now, the Forerunners stood dauntless in the lofty position that his proud and mighty nation had once held as their own. They seemed superior… in every way.
      For three weeks, the Admiral had thrown everything he had at them; every known weapon system had been deployed, developed or experimental. General Ornok had nearly court-martialed him when he reported the ineffectiveness of their nuclear torpedoes, even accused him of being in league with the enemy and submitting false reports to command. Perok would have been more offended, but he hardly believed it himself.
      Nuclear weapons, high explosives, chemical and biological bombs, dry-state energy weapons, plasma cannons, magnetically accelerated projectiles, electro-magnetic pulses, everything had been tried. Nothing had worked. At least nothing seemed to cause any detectable damage to the enemy fleet, but for some reason, the enemy had withdrawn slightly after the first nuclear strike. And so the Admiral took what he could get. He worked with what he had.
      Each day he tried new combinations: nuclear combined with lasers, nuclear followed by M.A.P. volleys, plasma followed by nuclear. He hoped eventually he might find the combination that would weaken their shields enough to deliver a deadly blow. That was his hope, and so far it seemed vain.
      Still, if he could at least keep them far enough away from his home world to prevent plasma bombardment, then that was victory enough for now. If he could just buy General Ornok enough time to halt and turn back the ground assault, then maybe they could stop and regroup long enough to devise a way to defeat the Forerunners.
      "Admiral," said a tired and haggard officer from the far end of the command pod.
      Admiral Perok pulled his focus from the drifting field of perspiration and his attention from his own drifting thoughts. He looked to the far end of the pod and made out the face of Captain Marikos. The white walls of the chamber were normally well-lit, but the pod was full of dim colors and shadows now, lit only by the eerie glow from scattered control panels.
      All unnecessary power consumption had been eliminated to accelerate the recharge cycle of the ship's energy weapons. Besides that, too much brightness could be just as draining on the body as too much darkness. Most of them hadn't slept for three days. At least the shadows gave them all a sense that rest was near, and it was.
      "Report," Perok responded dryly.
      "We have the next solution plotted, and all weapons have been recharged," Captain Marikos continued. "We are ready to launch at your command, Sir."
      Admiral Perok closed his eyes and frowned.
      "What do you have this time, Captain," he asked apathetically.
      Marikos could sense the hopelessness as well, but was actually quite optimistic about this next solution.
      "Sir, we will be attempting to utilize systems from the Peritol section."
      In his fatigue, Perok almost missed the remark and was about to nod his approval when he realized what section Marikos was referring to. He opened one eye and blinked for a moment as he rechecked his own recollection to be sure.
      "Captain, did you just say the Peritol section?" he asked, more interested than before.
      "That is correct, sir." Marikos responded politely.
      Perok opened his other eye and leaned away from his seat into his restraining harness.
      "Captain Marikos," he began slowly, "I know we are all tired, so perhaps you are confused, or perhaps I am confused, which I admit is a possibility at this point. To my best recollection, however, the Peritol section is a civilian pod…" Perok paused and waited for Marikos to correct himself.
      "Yes, Admiral," Marikos affirmed quite confidently, "to be precise it is a science pod. The Peritol section was commissioned for scientific research in zero gravity environments."
      Perok blinked both eyes and swallowed the dryness in his throat. He knew this one would be good.
      "Just lay it out for me, captain…" he sighed.
      "Yes sir, of course," Marikos continued, "three months ago the Peritol section was outfitted with a particle accelerator… an atom smasher."
      "I know what it is, Captain," Perok interrupted, "it shoots dust… in a circle… at itself…"
      Perok lowered his head and looked out at Marikos from beneath his thick raised brow. Marikos took a deep breath.
      "Yes, sir… but engineers have been working on it since our last volley. The last team has just been retrieved from space walk. We believe with modifications, we can fire an atom at one of the Forerunner ships."
      Perok remained mostly expressionless except for a faint sneer, and his gaze wandered back to the matrix of drifting beads. He reached up and began to scratch the stubble that was growing along his jaw.
      Marikos shifted nervously in his restraints. He knew it sounded ridiculous, shooting a single atom at an alien dreadnaught, but what else hadn't they tried? The particle collider had produced all kinds of cryptic subatomic particles in experiments. No one knew enough about those particles to rule out the possibility that one of them might in some way degrade the Forerunner shields.
      Perok finally finished his musings, and looked back to Marikos.
      "Make sure it's ready," he said quietly, "and prep all weapon systems. If this works, I want to be ready to fire everything we've got while the window is open."
      The Admiral began to release his restraints.
      "Stay on com," he ordered, "and standby."
      Everyone was surprised, but no one said anything as Admiral Perok unsecured his restraints and pushed off from his chair toward the exit hatch. Wherever he was going, he had his reasons, and they were his reasons.
      Captain Marikos looked back to his team and gave them a nod. They all set to work making final preparations for the attack, all except Marikos. He tried to stretch in his station and looked deep into his imagination to see what other crazy schemes he could dream up.
      He knew just as much as the Admiral that this one wouldn't work; sure there was an outrageously slight chance, but he didn't have the luxury of relying on a last hope. He had to find another last hope for tomorrow, and the day after, and for as long as his fellow Tureens needed something, anything to keep their hopes alive… for one more day.

****

      Admiral Perok nodded politely to the command pod guards as he pulled his weightless body through the last containment hatch and into the transition chamber. There was a dull, metallic thud and then a static hissing as the hatch sealed behind him. He took a deep breath and pushed off gently toward the center of the chamber so he could stretch his limbs for a moment. He twisted and gyrated gracefully in the air, making sure he moved every muscle group at least a few times. He had survived every other hazard his occupation could throw at him; he wasn't about to die now from a blood clot in the brain.
      After a thorough round of calisthenics, Perok finally reached out to a handhold and stopped his residual rotation. He gently massaged a cramp in his arm, and then turned to the guards.
      "All right, begin transition… once I'm clear, lock it down," he ordered.
      The guards looked confused but responded soberly and began the transition. All three occupants of the transition chamber readjusted their orientation, maneuvering until their heads were situated toward the command hatch on the inner wall. Once in position, each of the guards placed one hand on illuminated panels on opposite ends of the chamber. The panels flashed brightly, and a low humming filled the air.
      The deep base tone resonated off every surface and grew louder and higher in pitch. Perok's arm stiffened against his handhold as his momentum resisted the sudden acceleration. The guards drifted with the admiral away from the hatch until their feet settled against the outer wall of the chamber.
      Perok swallowed hard and braced his frame, waiting to be engulfed in centripetal force. He felt a sudden disorientation and vertigo as the blood rushed from his head, but he continued to tense his entire body, and a moment later, his heart rate spiked enough to keep him from losing consciousness.
      The outer wall was now the ground, and it pressed uncomfortably against Perok's feet. He shifted his weight until his bones adjusted, and he looked to the guards. One of them was busily monitoring a display panel. The other glanced quickly to the same display and reported sharply.
      "We have synchronized velocity now, sir. Standby to dock…" he said, "docking now…"
      The humming faded and was suddenly drowned out by a thunderous clap. Both guards flinched at the sound, but the Admiral remained still. Another clap echoed through the chamber and the metal walls of the pod groaned loudly. The crisp smell of ozone filled the air as the remaining static electricity discharged from the rotating outer ring of the ship to the docking transition pod.
      A slight smile crept onto Perok's haggard face. He had been buried deep in the center of his ship for three weeks. Being cramped in the heavily armored command pod without any artificial gravity was bad enough, but being deprived of any external viewports was too much to bear.
      Perok was not claustrophobic, and as much as he loved to gaze upon the majestic starscape of the Aelorian Galaxy, he could even live without that. He could endure almost anything, but not uncertainty… not when all he loved was in peril. He had to look one more time upon his home world, to know that it was still there, to remember what he was fighting for… and… if by some provident chance he happened to witness with his own eyes the destruction of a Forerunner ship… then that would be good too.
      "Docking is complete, Sir."
      The chamber filled again with static hissing and a metallic clang as the outer hatch opened into the rotating ring of the Tureen carrier. Admiral Perok wasted no time lowering himself through the floor and into the narrow ladder shoot. His arms were weak with atrophy, and the artificial centripetal gravity grew stronger with every rung, but he soldiered on until he reached the bottom. At last, he descended into the relatively spacious halls of the outer ring.
      Perok looked eagerly to the nearest observation bay. The normally bright, white walls were masked in shadow like the command pod, but the stars were just as brilliant as they cast their lurid light through the thick, polymer viewport. The Admiral was breathing heavily from exertion and exhilaration. He stepped wearily up to the port and leaned against the window, resting his face against its cold, hard surface.
      The stars flew by as the ring turned silently in space. Perok reached up to wipe away the fog that was building up from his labored breathing. He stood up straight and steadied himself.
      "Just a moment now… almost," he whispered to himself.
      Then, his heart filled with indescribable warmth and joy. His tired lips began to tremble, and warm tears broke from his eyes, washing gently down the wrinkles of his face. The deep blue ocean never looked so beautiful, and the green forests so alive. Alseron was still theirs, still free, and he would do anything to ensure it always would be… anything.
      Perok's vision blurred, and he closed his eyes tightly to blink away his tears. He opened them again, and surveyed the vast surface of Alseron, tracing every landmark across wide deserts and snowcapped mountain ranges… and then the blackness of ruined cities, still glowing like embers beneath the ash. His tearful gaze washed over with hatred and resolve, shifting slowly to the horizon, and then to the stars.
      He knew just where to look from weeks of tracking and mapping. It was still there, a dark outline in the distance, the destroyer Alorus Maxim and two dreadnaughts in its shadows, dwarfed by the larger destroyer. Somewhere in their wake were dozens of battle cruisers, each one ten times larger than Perok's Tureen capitol ship, but as large as they were, they were too distant to see.
      Perok could see them all in his mind. He could feel their presence, like wolves in the shadows, waiting… waiting… but unaware. There were no sick and elderly on this world. There were no weak! There was no prey… only predators! Admiral Perok clenched his teeth and cued his com.
      "At the ready, Captain Marikos!" he growled.
      "On your mark, Admiral!"
      Perok's eyes narrowed with unbending resolve. He was the predator here… and he would kill them all.
      "Mark!"

****

      "We are entering bound space now," reported 343 cheerfully.
      Ambient light seemed to rush from the command deck and vanish through the view port into the blackness of normal space.
      Pirolith's hands dropped from his hips. His face paled with astonishment, then horror as he staggered back from the view port, staring with disbelief at the drifting ruins of the Alorus Maxim.

Chapter Eighteen

Coming Soon...

Halo: Forerunner - Section 1 Ch 18-19
Date: 24 September 2010, 1:56 am

Chapter Eighteen

      Didact took a deep breath and let it out slowly through his dry lips. He closed his eyes and listened to the quiet sound of air rushing from his chest. It was relaxing in a way, like the hushed whisper of wind in the trees. He only wished the anxiety in his heart could be so easily exhaled. His hands were sweaty but cold as ice. In fact, his whole body felt chilled, and his bones seemed to tremble whenever he moved a muscle. It wasn't a good feeling. It wasn't a good day.
      Didact had endured enough bad days in his long life to temper most of his emotions. They had little sway on his soul, which was normally as still and peaceful as a mountain lake, even under the most trying circumstances. But love… love was not just an emotion. Love gave birth to emotion. Love was the power that sparked prime creation. Love rent the divine totality, destroyed peace, and introduced entropy to the universe.
      In all that the Forerunners had learned, their greatest discovery was the true nature of love, and even though they had harnessed and channeled that fundamental force to create matter from awareness and to break free from the bounds of sequentially synchronized space, they were still wise enough to acknowledge the truth. Love could never be tamed, not even by immortals.
       "Lord Didact, The Vultus has just exited unbound space and has achieved low Siora orbit."
      Didact stopped his nervous pacing and reached up to run his tensed fingers through his hair. His long brown locks felt unusually course on his palm. His fingers spread out and pressed tightly against his head, sending a wave of released tension from his scalp as individual hairs pulled gently against their roots. He closed his eyes and shuddered, squeezing the back of his neck to free as much anxiety as he could.
       "Everything will be just fine."
      Didact smiled, embarrassed but grateful for the empathetic assurance.
       "Thank you, Permirius," he said, "I'm sure you're right."
       "I am optimistic, Lord Didact," the AI responded.
      Didact huffed a single laugh, and the smile faded from his face, replaced again by apprehension and insecurity. Permirius was being optimistic, and kind. It had only taken him a moment to calculate and note the statistical improbability of a pleasant outcome given the psychological profiles and interpersonal history of the subjects, but there was nothing wrong with being optimistic… and kind.
       "The Librarian has requested you meet aboard The Vultus before proceeding. Shall I transport you now?" inquired Permirius politely.
      Didact sighed loudly. He couldn't avoid this any longer. It would soon pass.
       "Yes, Permirius," he relented, "I'll board now."
       "Everything will be just fine," Permirius assured again.
      Didact faked a slight smile, and then he vanished into the amber light.

****

       "Who is responsible for this, Didact?! Forget that this is a serious breach of protocol… it's… wrong! It's tragic! Why?! Why would anyone do this?"
      Didact felt his heart swell as she spoke his name. He couldn't mask the longing and pain in his eyes. Fortunately, the expression looked appropriately similar to sincere concern and sympathy. That's how Lithiel took it anyway, which seemed to diffuse her wrath… somewhat. In truth, however, Didact hadn't been able to process a single word she had spoken… or yelled… since he first laid eyes on her.
      He had been speechless from the moment the amber light faded, revealing a goddess of beauty standing before him with her slender arms folded angrily and her soft lips pursed tightly in contempt. It was a breathtaking and terrifying sight, and he was paralyzed.
      Lithiel stopped her interrogation for a moment, sensing his distraction. The indignation in her face gave way to a softer look of pity. It was like sunrise after a long night.
       "Didact…" she whispered softly.
      Her alluring voice tugged gently at his heart and pulled his wandering mind into focus. He began to breathe and blink again; suddenly realizing that he had ceased even basic functions in his mystified state… and he was mystified… because Lithiel was nothing if not a mystery – one moment an enraged goddess, the next a tender princess.
      Now he remembered why things had never been easy for them. He saw himself as a stone in a meadow, content to be alone in an open space, quiet and undisturbed, observing peacefully as the world turned around him. Even though his position was great, it didn't change his nature. As Executor, he was not one to throw his weight around. Perhaps in that role, he felt more like a mountain than a stone; but a mountain, while majestic and dignified, was still quiet and peaceful, still firm and immovable.
      Lithiel, on the other hand, was like water… falling gently from the sky, playfully making her way down the mountain, then gathering suddenly into rivers of raging foam and dancing beads, rumbling with temerity through rock and crevice, over mogul and fall before settling again into languid streams and stagnant swamps. But that was not enough; those types of transitions would be normal for most, for the young anyway. Lithiel, however, could never find equilibrium; she couldn't sit and stagnate.
      No, she would soon get all worked up until she was off to the sky, soaring like the clouds, amorphous and free, then billowing into a black tempest, flashing violently with thunderous lightning until she had beaten down enough upon the mountains, enough to erode away the parts she disliked… and then she would once again make her way playfully down to the rivers and streams... over and over again… forever.
      Yes, Lithiel was like water. None could live without her, yet no hand could hold her. She was always changing, always adapting. She was beautiful and dangerous, gentle and powerful. Eventually she would erode the mountain. Eventfully it would fade away, but she would remain. She was eternal.
       "Didact…" she whispered again.
      Now he looked into her deep eyes, and she knew he was listening. She wanted to say something more. She wanted to talk about their feelings; but this was an official meeting, and the matter was far too important to be delayed by personal distractions.
       "Who did this?" she asked again.
      Didact didn't feel he could properly explain the situation. He looked down at the green moss that grew between the stone tiles under Lithiel's manifest garden pavilion.
       "It would be easier if I showed you," he said timidly.
      Lithiel frowned.
       "I've already seen him, Didact," she said impatiently.
      She sent a mental order, and a hologram of the double-helix appeared between them. She pointed to one of the sections.
       "Handsome, isn't he?" she teased, "strong angular jaw, blue eyes, dark hair, medium build, naturally toned…"
      She paused, realizing her insensitivity a little too late. Didact was not amused, and it showed in his expression.
       "I'm sorry," she said sincerely.
      Didact turned away embarrassed.
       "You sent me everything I needed to see," she said nodding to the hologram.
       "I've seen him here. I know what he looks like. I know his base personality. I know he is extremely intelligent… and adaptable… and aggressive…"
      Didact looked up. He was impressed, but not surprised.
       "What I don't know," she continued, "is why he was made…" she paused and her voice broke. "And… I don't know why anyone would do this."
      She reached out to the double-helix, and it began to divide. As each helix reformed into a duplicate strand, the end region began to blink red for emphasis. The helixes continued to divide and replicate more rapidly, and the end region was highlighted on each new generation.
      Didact didn't know as much about genetics as Lithiel, but he knew enough to understand what she was pointing out. This was a region that all Forerunners were familiar with, Telos Meros. It was a shield against corruption, but the telomeres in the hologram were degrading with each generation. While this did not affect the functional code for the life form, it was the distinguishing feature common to all mortal species, to all species except the Forerunners.
      At last, he understood why she was so upset. This had nothing to do with the xenocide. He began to laugh, unwittingly. A quick and cutting glare set him in a scramble to explain.
       "Lithiel, this is not… what you think it is," he said in a calming tone.
       "Then what is it?" she demanded.
       "He is not a synthesized emulation! You know no one would do that! Even if…"
       "You do not know what I know," she interrupted, speaking each word slowly and with as much emphasis as possible.
      Why would we make a Forerunner mortal?!" he asked rhetorically.
       "I don't know, but that is what you've done!" she shot back, "because the alternative is not…" she stopped abruptly as she analyzed Didact's expression.
      Her eyes widened and her mouth dropped open ever so slightly.
       "You need to come and see him, Lithiel," he said quietly. "It would be easier if I showed you… everything."

****

      Darkness withdrew warily, retreating into the shadows of his dreams. Slowly, he felt life creeping back into his veins, pulsing through his soul, and a silent whisper descended like morning dew, settling gently in his mind.

       "Now in the fading twilight… you are the last… I am sorry… You are the end… and the beginning… I will bring you out of darkness into light. I will form you again from the mist and raise you from the dead. I will make you a monument to all our sins. Altus…"

****

      Altus shuddered as he drew his first breath. His eyes strained to lift the heavy darkness that engulfed him, slowly pulling back the veil to reveal a strange world of indistinct shapes and colors. He tried to remember something, anything. Not what had happened or where he was, but who he was, what he was. Even those simple thoughts evaded the grasp of his impaired cognition. Nothing seemed right.
      He exhaled slowly and felt a chill race up his back, along his neck, and behind his ears. He closed his eyes as the sensation dissipated from the top of his head. He blinked, and at last, remembered something. He remembered that he had a body, though he couldn't visualize what form it was in. He felt like his whole being was centered in one place just behind his eyes; yet as he searched his senses, he could feel the constant pressure of a hard surface pushing firmly against him from behind.
      He concentrated for a moment and then began to move two fingers on his right hand. He could feel his heart beat faster, and the disorienting haze began to clear from his mind. He extended and contracted his index finger again, touching it delicately to his thumb, savoring the sensation. He then proceeded systematically to the next finger, and the next, and then the last. That felt good. That felt right. He tightened his fist, but a sharp pain lanced through his arm and pierced his shoulder. He was startled by the sound of his own voice crying out in agony.
      Now he began to question at a higher cognitive level.
       "What happened to me?" he thought. "Where am I?"

Chapter Nineteen

      Pirolith clenched his teeth and pressed his lips together tightly in a snarled frown. He was growing more agitated by the minute, mostly because of the outrageously unprecedented and anomalous situation he had stumbled into, which lacked any known protocol and was seemingly fraught with unacceptably high levels of personal risk and peril. Despite these stressors, however, Pirolith's most immediate annoyance was 343's incessant humming.
      The luminous construct had been bobbing along behind him as he cautiously searched the dark and deserted hallways of the Alorus Maxim for any surviving crew members. So far, they had not found anyone, dead or alive; but they had only boarded the massive destroyer a few hours ago, and exploring the immense interior of a Titan-Class vessel could take years.
      Pirolith only planned to complete a cursory survey. He had not been able to establish remote communications with the Shipmaster, Sufis; but despite the obvious concern that some harm may have come to the Alorus Maxim's officers, Pirolith was experienced enough to avoid the command deck or any other strategically important areas of the ship, at least until he had identified and assessed all threats. If an enemy was present, he did not intend to make overt contact.
      Maneuvering stealthily though the ghost ship, however, was an unnerving experience. Encased securely in a heavily-armed, Class-6 combat skin, Pirolith would not normally experience any degree of fear; then again, he would not normally find a drifting Forerunner Destroyer, heavily damaged and dead in space. The ambience was cold and eerie, and for the first time in a long time… Pirolith was afraid.
      The monitor's company would actually have been quite comforting if the insensible machine hadn't been cheerfully giving away their position every few minutes with his melodious outbursts.
       "Construct!" Pirolith hissed under his breath, "The idea here is to observe unobserved!"
      343 did not respond, but the humming stopped for a moment. Pirolith rolled his eyes back until his eyelids shut involuntarily. He knew it would start back up again in a few minutes. He had already griped at the monitor several times and had tried to explain the simple concept of "stealth" to the self-proclaimed genius, but 343 was insistent that his sensor scans had not detected any signs of life on the Alorus Maxim. Perhaps 343 was right; perhaps Pirolith was in denial, mentally incapable of accepting the implausible but apparent conclusion – everyone and everything on the destroyer was dead.
      Pirolith turned around gracefully in his light and tight-fitting armor. He looked at the metal-encased orb of blue light that had become his companion and friend of sorts.
       "Listen, 343," Pirolith said calmly, "I do understand your reasoning, and unfortunately, you are almost certainly correct in concluding that the crew of this vessel is dead."
      Pirolith paused at that last word. Somehow, after his recent loss, it seemed to carry more weight than ever before. It cut deep into his heart. Even though the crew of the Alorus Maxim, and all but a few of the officers, were mortal conscripts from Forerunner protectorates, their deaths still seemed to imbue him with a greater sense of remorse; their lives, their deaths, all seemed more meaningful now.
      He hadn't mourned for the conscripts killed in the uprising on Maridon; then again, he hadn't mourned for his son at the time either. He didn't grieve until later, until after the initial shock had passed, and this strange concept… this thing… death, had fully settled in his mind and taken a permanent place in his mental schema. He had gained a deeper, if not new, understanding of life… by watching in horror as it was taken from one that he loved.
      No, death was no longer trite, no longer a trivial affliction suffered by lesser beings. Death was darkness beyond comprehension, a weight beyond measure, an inexorable power, ominous, unrelenting, and unforgiving.
      Pirolith felt a deep sorrow for all those who fell into death's inescapable grasp. He felt sorrow for the young Forerunner Sufis, and for the mortal conscripts under the shipmaster's command. Pirolith only hoped that Lord Gracos had been aboard one of the other ships in the battle group when the Alorus Maxim met its demise, though the location and ultimate fate of the remaining ships was still unknown.
      It was for Gracos that the former fleet commander had come to this sector in the first place. Of all the commanders in the Forerunner fleet, Gracos was Pirolith's first choice to take his place as fleet commander. Gracos was not as competent a strategist and tactician as Pirolith, no one was; but he was close, and he was a true warrior. He could make the tough decisions. He could do what was necessary to honor and magnify the Forerunner mantle. But most importantly, Gracos would follow protocol, no matter what.
      This was how power shifted in the Forerunner executive. No coups, no elections, no egos, no ambition, just honest self-appraisal and committed voluntary service by every Forerunner. Pirolith knew he was the best suited to command the fleet, and so he served. Now he was honestly admitting his failure to comply with protocol; and as the best suited to serve, he was also the best suited to choose and mentor his own successor. He had come for that successor, for Gracos.
      But where was Gracos now? Where was the battle group? Where was Sufis? Where was the rest of the conscript crew? There were no answers yet, but 343 had made an unbiased assessment based on the available data. They were all dead.
       "I do regret my assessment, Lord Pirolith," 343 replied sympathetically, "but the probability that I am incorrect is statistically negligible."
      Pirolith looked down, and a slight shifting of his posture was barely perceptible beneath his armor, hinting at the discouraged drooping of his shoulders. He spoke in a hushed tone.
       "That being undisputed, 343, you have still failed to note that your conclusion concerning the lack of a hostile presence is based on available data."
      343 dimmed slightly, pondering the ancient's wise statement and recalculating his conclusions. Pirolith waited patiently for 343 to come to the realization on his own. He didn't have to wait long. Suddenly, 343 went dark and descended slowly until he was barely off the floor plates. The construct wished for a moment that he had the same neuro-transmission capabilities as higher-classed AI's, but he did what he could to minimize noise by transmitting a radio signal to Pirolith's armor com.
       "Perhaps we should proceed with more stealth until we can ascertain the effectiveness of my sensors in detecting unclassified life forms," the monitor remarked in a muted tone.
      Pirolith just smiled as he turned quietly back to the dark and empty hallway.
       "Stay close," he whispered.

****

      Admiral Perok closed his eyes, and a slight smile crept onto his weathered face. Billowing clouds of steam dissipated from his mouth as he let out a shaky sigh. At last, his violent trembling had stopped. His jaw was sore, and his teeth were ready to crack from hours of uncontrollable shivering, but now that phase had passed. That was the hard part. The rest would be easy. All he had to do now was close his eyes and drift off to sleep.
      Everything was relaxing now. His shoulders loosened. His hands were numb; his skin had stopped burning with frostbite, and his bones were no longer aching with crushing pain as the coldness of space claimed his body. Yes, the worst had passed, and he was satisfied with this end. He was ready to go. He had witnessed the impossible. Alseron was saved, and now he was content.
      Perok inhaled slowly through his mouth, taking one more shallow breath. He wished he could have smelled the flowers in the meadow or the ocean breeze one last time, but he was content to know those simple pleasures were still there for someone else. He couldn't smell anything now. His nostrils had frozen together hours ago, and his nose was dripping with icy snot. It wasn't a pretty sight, but it wasn't such a bad way to go.
      Perok wondered what it must have been like for his officers, to go so quickly in a single moment of terror, to not have time to ponder and prepare for the end. It must have only taken a fraction of a second for the scorching plasma beam to rip through the heavily armored command pod and vaporize everything and everyone.
      Perhaps that would have been a better way to go, but not for Perok. He was grateful he had left the pod, glad that he had been sealed off in the outer ring of his capital ship. Somehow he was fortunate enough to be in the one small, compartmentalized section that survived the blast. And now he was adrift, dead in space, just like the Alorus Maxim.
      Perok knew it was only a matter of time before his oxygen was depleted, and without power, it would be even less time before he froze to death. It was a slow and painful end, but he would suffer it a thousand times to see what he had witnessed.
      He felt his head bump against the hard, polymer window of the observation bay as he drifted weightlessly like a fetus in the womb. He tried to open his eyes to take one last look through the iced window at the vanquished Forerunner destroyer. His eyelashes were crusted with frost, but he was able to crack his eyelids just enough to make out the silhouette of the distant ghost ship.
      It was just as large and menacing as ever, but the bow was a tangle of twisted metal and melted alloy. Light from the system sun glimmered off a ring of debris that had begun to form in the weak gravitational field around the moon-sized Forerunner vessel. It was a tragic and glorious site.
      Perok wondered if anyone would ever know what had brought such ruin to the Alorus Maxim. He wished he knew; he wished it had been him. He didn't understand the strange things he had witnessed. Perhaps he had been hallucinating in the trauma of losing his ship. Such strange visions… angel… demon…
      It really didn't matter who did it; it was done, and the Forerunner battle group had fled. It was a miracle… perhaps there was a god after all. Perok closed his eyes again, and savored that thought as his body settled peacefully into perfect stillness. If there was a god, Perok hoped he would meet him now… so he could thank him for this miracle… and for his mercy.

****

      Pirolith stood in shock and wonder as he stared out into the void. A vast cosmos of distant stars lay just beyond the twisted metal and debris. It was strangely beautiful, evoking horror and awe all at once. This was not what Pirolith had expected to see when the three large alloy sections withdrew from the doorway.
      A violent gale roared out into the vacuum, carrying foreign objects and debris out of the hallway. Pirolith's armored hand shot out with blinding speed and caught 343 by his metal frame as he flew past. The Class-6 combat skin remained stationary, pressed firmly against the floor plates by its own internally generated gravity field. The surrounding energy shield shifted to a more aerodynamic form to allow the remaining gust to slide smoothly around Pirolith.
      The blustering wind continued to bleed atmosphere into space, but the thunderous roar began to fall silent, fading to a light whistle, then a whisper, then silence. Pirolith released 343, who flickered for a moment as he checked his systems. The monitor adjusted for changes in atmospheric pressure and broadcast a brief flash to Pirolith's internal armor com.
       "I appreciate your concern, Lord Pirolith; however, I am capable of deep space navigation."
      Pirolith turned his armored face to 343. The featureless faceplate would have been unnerving to most creatures, but it actually seemed more natural to the faceless construct.
      Inside the impervious shell, two small fundamental particle arrays projected an exact pattern of spectral wavelengths directly into Pirolith's eyes, reproducing a perfect replica of the light waves intercepted by the sensor array embedded in his faceplate. Pirolith could not distinguish between this sensory relay sight and actual sight, except that he could magnify, enhance, or illuminate any image from the sensory relay.
      Pirolith willed the image to illuminate so he could see 343 more clearly in the darkness. The signal from his mind was not read or translated by an AI. Those AI-enhanced systems were only used in Class-12 combat skin, the armor of ancient Cherubim. Those systems could interpret cognitive reasoning and thinking. Pirolith's Class-6 combat skin was controlled by a battle harness, which only synced the brain's basic motor control and coordination with the armor, and it could only receive a few other limited commands related to system functions. The battle harness was just a flat and flexible, formed alloy yoke that wrapped partly around the back of his neck. It was nothing but a sensor, and had no sentience of its own.
      Pirolith much preferred this crude and unsophisticated system to those integrated with combat AI's. He didn't like anyone or anything getting into his mind if he could help it, especially not constructs… though he had to admit now, he was becoming quite attached to 343.
      Pirolith was a bit embarrassed to have made his affinity for the construct so obvious. He did know that 343 was capable of deep space navigation, but his protective instinct had kicked in, which surprised him much more than it did the monitor.
       "Deep space navigation?" said Pirolith, pretending to be impressed, "well, that's good to know."
      343 quickly discerned Pirolith's false apathy, but he kindly let the Ancient keep his walls intact. The monitor turned to the doorway, proceeded to the edge of the wreckage, and examined the vast wound that had once connected with the missing bow of the Alorus Maxim.
      Pirolith had seen the damage from his small, base ship, but it was entirely different up close. It was more real; it was more painful; it was more personal. They had explored the destroyer for days before reaching this section, hallway after hallway, door after door, through large rooms and cavernous chambers, and now they had arrived. It would have taken three times as long to traverse the missing section. How had they not found a single soul, not one survivor, not one corpse?
      Pirolith stepped though the doorway and out onto the warped remains of the hallway floor. It was only a short section, bent by some immeasurable force into a deformed ribbon, like a ghastly plank extending into the void above an ocean of stars. Pirolith walked it slowly until he reached the edge. He would have to jump and cross the void to reach the other side of the gaping crater. From there, he could continue on toward the command deck. He bent his knees and prepared to deactivate his gravity field.
       "Shall I attempt to activate the transportation grid again?" asked 343 as he popped up suddenly in front of Pirolith.
      Pirolith looked out at the field of debris. The small objects moving at high velocities did not concern him; he knew his combat skin could withstand the impact of a meteor. It was the large sections of wreckage that he was worried about. If he got pinned between two of those massive artificial asteroids, he would survive, but might lose mobility long enough to give an opportunistic enemy enough time to strike.
      On the other hand, using the transportation grid could throw him directly into hostile territory. Without warning, he could be surrounded and outnumbered by what appeared to be a fairly capable enemy. He preferred to make first contact undetected, so he could choose the time and place of his assault. That was the most tactically sound option. He would risk navigating the debris field.
       "No, 343," Pirolith answered, "but make another attempt to connect with the ship's AI, or any other functional system… if there are any."
      343 grew brighter for a moment and then dimmed.
       "I have transmitted a flash probe," reported 343. "No response has been detected; however, the ship is still in a low-power state, and communications systems have limited function. I suggest we–"
      343 paused and went dark. Instinctively, Pirolith initiated his active camouflage system and vanished as light morphed around his armor. He sent a quick mental order, and his sensory relay shifted to display his peripheral and rear views. Spectral and motion detection sensors showed no change in the environment.
      343 began to drift away slowly, seemingly out of control. Pirolith gritted his teeth and remained motionless as he waited patiently. He sent a mental order to open a com channel to the monitor, but belayed it almost as soon as the suit began to respond. Whatever had happened to 343 was likely related to his flash probe.
      Pirolith sent another mental order and locked down his suit's com network. All channels and nodes were immediately rendered inoperable, not by changing code, but by complete physical transformation. His processing systems were now impregnable.
      Pirolith shifted his sensor relay back to 343 and magnified the image. The Monitor was now out of reach, drifting slowly off into the debris field. Pirolith considered his options. The Class-6 combat skin could only direct its gravity field in one vector at a time, but 343 was still within range of the array.
      With a quick thought, Pirolith placed a tracking icon on the monitor. Motion sensors ignored all objects that could be identified through geometric and density recognition algorithms. Only unidentified moving objects or recognized forms tagged as hostile were displayed. For now, a single icon accentuated the view, drifting steadily through the chaos of wreckage and debris.
      Pirolith initiated one last scan, which read negative for hostile elements, and then he prepared to jump. Suddenly, a shockwave of energy surged through his veins as a high-pitched alarm rang out in his head. His eyes shot wide open, and his breathing intensified as he shuddered from the sudden surge of adrenaline.
      Fear dissipated quickly with the startling alarm and was immediately followed by the expected onset of anger and aggression. Pirolith focused on his display and quelled the normal physiological response to adrenal dump. His cognitive reasoning and thinking would be impaired for a moment, but he was already recovering rapidly.
      Hundreds of hostile tags appeared before him in the debris field. Each icon indicated a recognized hostile entity. All of the markers were accelerating aggressively across the chasm from the opposite end of the metal crater, and all of them were converging on Pirolith.
      Pirolith sent a mental order through his harness and engaged all defensive and offensive systems. A fleeting regret passed through his chaotic thoughts. He wished he still had his Class 12 Cherubic armor. This system would have to do.
      A bright envelope of energy flickered in amber around the Ancient as he disabled his gravity field and pushed away from the precipice back into the recently cleared hallway. His active camouflage engaged, and he vanished from sight, not from as wide a spectrum as could be masked by Class 12 camouflage, but he hoped it would be enough.
      The hostile tags were closing rapidly now; they would soon be in visible range. Pirolith magnified his view as he drifted silently away from the open space beyond the doorway. Magnification increased by 10, then 20 times. Small blue lights began to appear in the darkness, hundreds of them. He locked on to one of the lights and magnified by 40. A trace outline of white light appeared around the distant object as Pirolith's onboard threat-assessment system matched the object with registered hostiles in the system's database and compiled a report of capabilities and capacities.
      Pirolith was puzzled, and then almost laughed as the image enhanced and the object took shape. Two metal sections were joined together by an alloy rod. The bottom section loosely resembled a small, metal whale, arching its back as if to come up for air. A bright, blue light radiated from where its mouth would be. The rod extended from its tail upward and connected with what would be the belly of the top section, which was shaped like a large, metal, humming bird, frozen in flight with its wings swept back. The entire object was only the size of a handheld weapon.
      It was a constructor! Pirolith zoomed out and surveyed the swarm with amazement. They were all constructors! The small drones were common sites on any Forerunner world, but they never traveled in such large flocks. They were maintenance and repair drones. They must be coming to repair the airlock breach. That meant at least some systems were still online. But why were they marked as hostile?
      Constructors had no weapons. They were only equipped with a small energy beam that was fired from the nose of the top section to repair damaged material by constructing elements from fundamental particles. It could do some damage if one were to wander into the line of fire without combat skin, but it was not a real threat.
      Pirolith remembered 343's yet-unsolved malfunction and began to worry about the integrity of his own systems. He reactivated his gravity field and set down firmly on the floor plates. The markers continued to converge. Relief settled into his tensed muscles, and he prepared to disengage his camouflage to conserve energy; but then he stopped, reconsidered, and approached the doorway again stealthily.
      The constructors were arriving sporadically at the edge of the destroyed hallway and were already busily attempting to make repairs. The reflective walls glistened with blue light as hundreds of constructor beams traced the damaged vessel in all directions.
      Pirolith set his system to ignore the drones. The mess of cluttered icons cleared from his display, leaving a single marker on the distant shell of 343. The construct must have collided with some fast-moving object while Pirolith was distracted. It was now careening away into the outer edges of the ring of debris. The Ancient let out a frustrated grunt, and began to weave his way through the constructor beams. His shield flickered occasionally as he passed through the streams of concentrated particles. Unharmed, he stepped to the edge of the precipice, locked on to 343, and jumped.

Halo: Forerunner - Section 1 Ch 20
Date: 1 October 2010, 5:07 pm

Chapter Twenty

      Crystalline shards of ice sheared from the polymer window and began to slowly drift away as a sudden tremor reverberated through the silent chamber. The frosted viewport flushed with radiant, blue light and then faded back into the shadows. Reinforced titanium walls in the sealed pod groaned, shifting slightly under a gradual increase in pressure on structural stress points. A loud thud echoed through the darkness, accentuated by the hiss of chilled atmosphere equalizing near the entry hatch. The meter-thick, octagonal door shuddered and then began to open slowly, ushering in a blinding wash of white light, followed by the shadowy silhouette of a Tureen space suit.
      Two wide spotlights burst from the sides of the figure's helmet, piercing through the foggy chamber as they swept from corner to corner until they settled on a lifeless body, curled into the fetal position, and suspended in the center of the pod. The bright spotlights reflected off the frosted window, illuminating the astonished face of the boarding officer. He keyed his radio and pushed off gently from the hatch, drifting gracefully toward the body.
       "He's here! We found the Admiral!"
      A surprised voice came over the com channel.
       "Confirm… you have eyes on Admiral Perok?"
      The officer carefully examined the uniform as he moved within reach of the body.
       "Confirmed… Admiral Perok is here," he whispered.
       "Status?"
      The officer gently placed a gloved hand on Perok's head and tried to examine the Admiral's face. Perok showed no signs of life. His skin was pallid, and his lips were blue. A white crust of frost covered his eyes, and frozen mucous glistened under his nose and mouth. He was dead.
       "Status..? Trehvo, what is the Admiral's condition?"
      Trehvo stared blankly at the corpse. He heard the transmission, but he didn't want to say it out loud.
       "Prepare the medical bay," he said quietly.
       "He's alive? Prepare for what?"
      Trehvo clenched his teach and latched a tether to the Admiral's harness.
       "Trehvo, prepare for what? What is his condition?"
       "For cryo-resuscitation," Trehvo muttered reluctantly.
      There was no response. He keyed the com again.
       "Just get it ready, Kohra."
      A moment passed, and then a broken and distant voice responded, "Acknowledged…"
      Trehvo checked the tether to make sure it was secure. He looped it around the Admiral's waist and then stopped. His eyes fixed on Perok's hands. They were tucked tightly against his chest. In one of them was a small shard of broken metal. Frozen red spheres of blood drifted near the other.
       He reached out cautiously with one glove and grabbed the blood-stained hand, pulling it gently from Perok's chest while the other glove pushed the body away. There were no cuts on the wrist. Trehvo placed both gloves on the clenched fist and clumsily pried it open. He gasped as he revealed a bloody palm covered in deep lacerations. It was writing… carved into his own hand.
      Trehvo tried to decipher the glyphs, but his excited breathing had begun to fog up his visor. He noticed a blinking green light on his transparent heads-up display and reached up to release a latch at the top of his helmet. A biting chill rushed toward his face and stung his eyes as his visor retracted into his helmet. He struggled to inhale, choking and gasping for a moment until he finally forced his lungs to accept the frozen air. There was still enough oxygen in the atmosphere to support life, but the temperature was unbearable.
      Finally, he managed to inhale through his nose. His nostrils clung together. His eyes stuck each time he blinked and his skin was beginning to burn as if it were on fire. He quickly turned his attention to the Admiral's hand to read the message carved in his flesh:

      Beware White Demon Lives

      A puzzled expression settled over Trehvo's face as he closed his visor. The visor was clear, now that both sides had chilled. It would fog up again as soon as the atmosphere in his helmet stabilized. Trehvo paused at that thought. He looked up to the frosted viewport. A single bloody handprint stained the frost in the center of the window. The young officer pushed off and floated over to the mark with the Admiral's corpse in tow. He placed his gloved hand over the print, and his eyes filled with terror as he brushed it away, revealing a stain… the ashy print of a large, five-fingered hand… on the other side of the window.
       "White Demon..?"

Halo: Forerunner - Section 1 Ch 21-22
Date: 15 October 2010, 5:52 am

Chapter Twenty-one
      "Why are we doing this, Trehvo?"
      Kohra looked down on the lifeless body of Admiral Perok as Trehvo worked frantically to remove the deceased officer's uniform from his frozen body. Trehvo did not answer, but glanced briefly at Kohra before returning his focus to Perok. The young woman wasn't much to look at. The dark silhouette of her short and wiry frame stood nervously in the doorway of the medical bay, contrasted against the bright lights that bled in from the hallway.
       "You're blocking my light," Trehvo blurted out, frustrated.
      Kohra bit her upper lip and held her breath. She placed one hand on her hip, shifting her weight deliberately and reached up to grab at the short tufts of orange hair that muddled the top of her head. It wasn't worth the argument, not now. She knew Trehvo wouldn't give up until Perok's flesh turned green and began to fall off his decomposing corpse.
      Trehvo looked up again to the doorway. There was a sudden bustle as two medical technicians rushed into the room, pushing their way past Kohra. She dropped her hand and doubled forward with an angry grunt as one of them jostled her into the wall. Trehvo continued to ignore her and waived the technicians over. They hurried to his side and set to work, checking the Admiral's vital signs and monitoring his temperature.
       "He's thawing too quickly," muttered one of the technicians before looking to Trehvo with a critical glare. "If there's any chance at all, we have to get him into a hyperbaric cryo-chamber now."
       "Go!" Trehvo ordered, "Do it now!"
      The technicians had no time to be gentle. They jumped up and each grabbed one of Perok's wrists before dragging him through the doorway and down the hall toward the stasis unit. Trehvo stayed behind for a moment and watched them leave, his eyes wide with anxiety. He still didn't look to Kohra, but he finally acknowledged her.
       "We are doing this," he began with emotion shaking in his voice, "because there is no one left but him."
      Kohra was puzzled.
       "What are you talking about, Trehvo?" she asked warily.
      He continued to stare out through the empty doorway as if it extended off to some very distant place.
       "Two hours ago, I began receiving broken reports from survivors at Kargot Ruehn…"
       "Survivors!" Kohra interrupted in shock.
      At last Trehvo shifted his eyes to meet her bewildered stare. He seemed to be in shock, but angry somewhere deep inside.
       "General Ornok is dead," he said blankly. "Kargot Ruehn is gone."
      Kohra nearly dropped to the floor as the strength left her knees. Only the weakness of the centripetal gravity field kept her from collapsing.
      Kargot Ruehn was impregnable. It was the Tureen's deepest, most secure fortress, the central command for all Tureen forces, and the last remaining fragment of the Tureen government.
      Kohra closed her eyes tightly and reached up to cup her hands over her ears. It was a subconscious gesture, perhaps to block out the barrage of confusion as she tried to wrap her mind around the situation. Nothing made any sense. Why then had the Forerunners fled? Would they be back? Who would lead? It didn't really seem to matter now. What could they even do to resist?
      Trehvo and his crew were science officers, not soldiers. Their research station had no weapons. Perhaps that was the only reason they had been ignored during the entire conflict. The rest of the Tureen fleet was nothing more now than a bright nebula of atomized matter and drifting debris. Kohra felt hopeless despair, and as Trehvo watched her expression fall, he realized he had a duty to keep up her morale.
       "Hey…" he said softly and waited for Kohra to open her eyes. "This is going to work," he reassured her. "His body was cold enough before he died. It's just some cell damage, maybe some minor neurological… but we've resuscitated people from failed cryo-stasis before… shouldn't be that much different. He's practically in the same condition."
      Kohra stared blankly at Trehvo and listened to the rhythmic heartbeat pounding in her ears. She hadn't heard a single word. Trehvo placed a hand on her shoulder.
       "Kohra," he said kindly, "let's go. They might need our help."
      Our help… she mused to herself. With the fleet and Kargot Ruehn destroyed, Trehvo and Kohra were likely the highest ranking officers in the Tureen government. It seemed ridiculously absurd, but they were in charge now. The future of Alseron was in their hands.
       "All right," she said, "let's go."
      Trehvo nodded and ushered her through the door. He hoped he was right, that Perok could be saved. He wasn't ready for the alternative.

****

      Pirolith arched his back and twisted gracefully between the forked claws of scorched alloy that jutted out from a fractured bulkhead. His Class-6 combat skin shimmered with a golden glow as it shifted its internal displacement arrays to block passing streams of singularities, catching them like sails in the wind. Navigation was seamlessly integrated through the battle harness on the back of Pirolith's neck, and he moved at will in any direction he desired, flying skillfully through the maelstrom of alloy meteors and debris.
      Despite the extreme maneuverability provided by his armor, Pirolith's heart raced as he strained to maintain his focus and process the onslaught of obstacles. Navigating the debris field was perilous. The slightest lapse in his attention, a single moment of distraction, could send him tumbling into a chain reaction of high-velocity collisions that could take hours to recover from and could leave him battered and disoriented – a perfect target for whatever hidden enemy had destroyed the Alorus Maxim and its crew.
      Pirolith's eyes darted rapidly from side to side as collision warnings flashed into his retinas. There were no escape vectors. He spun 30 degrees off axis, curled into a ball, and felt his shields shudder as three large masses grazed the energy field, blazing past at supersonic speeds. Without hesitation, he stretched out like a rod and jettisoned from his stationary position, spiraling into the narrow channel of empty space behind the largest of the three masses. He accelerated quickly into the wake of the burning chunk of metal as it plowed through a hailstorm of debris, still glowing white-hot from some unknown destructive force.
      It was too close, but he had managed to dodge every obstacle in that onslaught. He wished he had a moment to pause and gather his senses, process the chaos, but there would be no rest until he made it to the other side.
      He increased his velocity and checked the distance and vector to 343. The monitor was still tumbling through the debris field, careening erratically in every direction as it was knocked about from one collision to another. The Ancient cringed with every impact, and hoped 343 was sturdier than he looked. The construct had taken quite a beating, and Pirolith was still struggling to get within reach without taking damage himself.
      Another alarm sounded as a massive asteroid of twisted metal appeared in Pirolith's peripheral view. He prepared to dodge, but then stopped as he realized the enormous mass was on a direct trajectory toward 343. It seemed convenient enough. Pirolith turned about smoothly, repositioned his feet toward what appeared to be a fairly flat section of the irregular surface, and prepared for impact.
      The alarm continued to sound, and collision warnings flashed in his eyes as the heap of metal expanded and filled his entire view. It was much larger and moving faster than Pirolith had anticipated. His stomach leapt and he swallowed hard as his armor accelerated away from the planetoid and began to match velocities. Still, the surface advanced rapidly, and in moments it was upon him.
      He brought one knee up to his chest, stretched his hands downward, and felt a sudden chill as fundamental particle arrays in his armor confined the orbits of every quark in his body, freezing him for a fraction of a second into a state of solid stasis near absolute zero. Without that moment of stasis, the force of the impact would have liquefied him inside his armor, but with every atom of his body securely locked in place, he would survive.
      In the silence of space, the armored suit smashed into the asteroid and sank deeply into the surface before coming to a stop. Gravity fields activated, and fundamental particle currents pressed Pirolith against the asteroid, preventing him from bouncing back into space. He never felt anything. His mass came to equilibrium with the momentum of the asteroid, and as forces settled, his armor released his particles back to their normal velocities.
      Pirolith blinked away the disorientation and reassessed the situation. He could remember nothing from the impact. It was as if he had leapt forward in time. His systems had performed perfectly. He was relieved but he struggled to remember where he was and what he was doing before the impact.
      Suddenly a shower of small objects began to obliterate the surface of the behemoth, drifting section of wreckage. Pirolith rose to his feet, yanked them from the alloy panel, and sprinted across the surface, dodging impacts as he ran.
      More debris blasted the surface in front of him. He growled angrily through his teeth and initiated his weapons systems. It would be much easier to just blast his way across the debris field, but before he could activate the targeting system, his instincts stopped him, and then he began to remember… something was wrong here. There was an enemy.
      High intensity energy plumes in the debris field would almost certainly draw attention. It was too risky. His mind began to clear. He still knew nothing about the enigmatic hostile presence. He didn't know its location or its capabilities. He had to maintain a low profile until he had more information.
      He staggered back from another explosive collision and quickly regained his balance. Then, as the debris cleared from the fresh crater in front of him, he saw that the impact had opened up a passageway into what was left of a ventilation shaft. He rushed forward and lowered himself into the scorched tunnel. The walls shook as debris continued to impact on the surface, but Pirolith was safer now as he worked his way deeper into the wreckage.
      He looked around in the darkness until he reacquired the small icon marking 343. His suit's sensors were still tracking the construct. Distance readouts flashed under the icon and ticked steadily down as the large asteroid plowed through the drifting debris, barreling toward the monitor.
       "Well, this is much easier," thought Pirolith to himself as he settled in for the ride.
      When he was younger, he might have felt slightly ashamed for taking the easy way out, but he was more practical now. He had proven himself enough times in countless conflicts over the ages to learn that he had nothing to prove. The path of least resistance suited him just fine.

****

      The steady drumbeat of tremors continued to shake Pirolith's makeshift vessel as it plowed toward the outer edges of the debris field. The former Fleet Commander sighed as he pondered the symbolism. This drifting pile of space junk was his flagship now, a ruinous monument to a ruined man. He had fallen completely from the graces of his people; he had betrayed their trust and their mantle. Weakened by his personal loss, he had failed to perform his duties, and now it seemed he could not even successfully find someone to replace him. Yes, a fitting ship indeed.
      Pirolith pursed his lips and sneered in disgust. Now was not the time for self-pity. He had a mission to complete, and a mystery to solve, and perhaps… a danger to confront. Anything that could annihilate a Forerunner destroyer and force an entire battle group to retreat was a grave threat to the entire galaxy.
      Pirolith looked around again at the walls of twisted and scorched metal. At a time like this, the fleet needed a commander, one with great skill. For the moment, he would have to reassume his duties… one last deployment, to safeguard his people, to protect the galaxy.
      Pirolith breathed in deeply, and his posture shifted slightly. He felt larger, stronger, just at the thought of returning to his duties. It was the only life he knew how to live, the only one that made sense. He nodded silently to himself, decisive as ever, and immediately turned his attention to the crisis at hand.
      343's icon was still flashing somewhere in the distance through the alloy walls of the asteroid. The range readout continued to tick down, but the asteroid would still have to plow through leagues of debris before intercepting the monitor.
      Pirolith increased the illumination in his sensory-relay sight and examined the interior of the asteroid. He had descended through the ventilation shaft into a large open space. As the darkness dissipated, he realized he was in someone's living quarters. A quick thought released his gravity field, and his armored form drifted steadily into the center of the room. The structure was warped and distorted, but he soon identified the floor, reoriented himself, and set down gently.
      Something wasn't right. Pirolith walked cautiously over to the doorway and pulled away a wide beam that was wedged against the exit. Not wedged though… propped up… barricaded? The combat skin vanished as cloaking systems activated. Sensors showed no signs of life or motion beyond the barricade.
      Pirolith thought for a moment, and then stretched out his hand toward the door. A stream of white energy wisped off the metal surface and arched into Pirolith's palm. Slowly the door began to disintegrate as the suit's particle array converted the solid matter into energy, pooling it away in reserves. Moments later, the obstacle was clear, and Pirolith stepped silently into the hallway.
      This area was less damaged. It was strange and disorienting, as if the hallway was still part of the Alorus Maxim and not an amputated compartment, drifting in orbit around the ruins of the great destroyer. If Pirolith had not just come from the emptiness of space and the heavily damaged crust of the asteroid, he could almost believe there was an entire ship surrounding this intact section… mostly intact.
      The Fleet Commander noted some scoring along the walls as he continued into the common dining area. Then, he paused and felt a chill crawl up his spine. Motionless, he directed his visual relay to his rear periphery, back at the scorch marks he had just passed. He magnified the image and felt his heart flutter with anticipation.
       "These are not from an explosion," he thought.
      He analyzed the structural integrity of the room, and noted the absence of any breaches in the bulkheads. Pirolith looked back to the blast marks and squinted with chilled disdain.
       "These came from inside!"
      The words had barely passed his lips when a dark, angular figure burst from a service shaft in the corner of the room. Bright lights and shadows danced around the mess hall as the object increased velocity and dove downward toward Pirolith.
      Without hesitation, he wheeled around and swung his left arm, sending a shockwave of distortion slamming though the object. Every lose item in the dining hall was swept away with the blast, instantly thrown from lazy orbit into a tidal wave of clutter that crashed into the far wall and scattered into hundreds of random trajectories.
      The shadowy object emerged from the debris, unharmed. Three free-floating blades spread like flower petals from its spherical center – an energy orb blacked out from the concussion. Pirolith immediately recognized the elite synergy drone and breathed a sigh of relief. If there was one S-drone left, then there must be others. It was the first good thing he had seen in days.
      The Alorus Maxim seemed to have lost all external ship-born defensive and offensive systems, but boarding parties would have little success against the S-drones. These were no ordinary sentinels. The synergy drones were fast, agile, stealthy, and were armed with an almost recklessly powerful energy weapon. Their true strength, however, was their namesake, synergy. They fought tactically in small-unit maneuvers with combined arms. The S-drones could link together in countless configurations for force multiplication, combining and increasing the power of their shields, sensors, and weapons. Alone, they were formidable; in large numbers, they were devastating.
      Pirolith hoped he would find others, that more had survived, but he was almost certain that if one had survived, the enemy had not. The Fleet Commander de-cloaked, powered down his shields, and opened transmission to the stunned S-Drone.
       "Mark friendly unit, first echelon, Fleet Commander Pirolith," he ordered. "Note local transfer of tactical command. Rally to assist." Pirolith smiled, "You're with me now. Report status."
      The S-Drone remained motionless. Pirolith frowned. Perhaps he had caused more damage than he thought. He stepped forward to examine the S-drone, but it lurched back, and the black orb blazed to life with a fiery orange glow. The three bladed wings swept forward like pincers until they were aligned parallel to each other in a triangular formation around the orb. The blades remained stationary, but the bright ball began to track forward along the blades.
      Pirolith cursed; he must have damaged its com relay. His faceplate illuminated and he flashed a direct coded light signal to the S-drone.
       "Stand down! Mark friendly unit, first echelon, Fleet Comma…"
      Blistering heat erupted from the orb and flared around Pirolith's shields as they automatically re-energized. The floor below and the walls behind Pirolith vaporized instantly, and showers of molten beads sprayed in every direction.
      A subtle and terrifying scowl crept slowly onto Pirolith's face. His teeth began to grind together, and his eyes narrowed with anger as he stared directly into the S-drone's recharging orb.
      With a simple twitch in his tensed muscles, his entire frame vanished in a blur and streaked across the room, stopping abruptly within reach of the S-drone. His clenched fist shot forward like lightning and smashed through the orb before it could raise its shields. The construct detonated, and the entire asteroid exploded in a brilliant flash, sending shockwaves through the debris field in all directions.
      The light faded from where the ruined ship had been a moment earlier. There was nothing left… nothing but the striking image of a former Cherub, glistening in the bright armor of a Class-6 battle suit.
      Pirolith noticed his rapid breathing and closed his eyes to calm himself. His rage rarely manifested, but it was not pleasant when it did. He tried to make sense of the incident. Even damaged, a Forerunner construct was supposedly incapable of attacking a Forerunner. There were too many failsafe protocols programmed into every construct on the molecular level. Still, eons of experience had taught the Forerunners one thing above all else, nothing is impossible.
      Pirolith wondered why his sensors had not flagged the S-drone as a recognized object, friendly or hostile. Then, he remembered the constructors. He had set his sensors to ignore all constructs except 343. With that realization, he sent a quick mental command and returned constructs to his geometric and mass identification system. His display flickered for a moment, then responded.
      Pirolith gasped and spun around. His entire view was immediately blanketed with hostile tags. Thousands of S-drones emerged from wreckage in the debris field, their orbs blazing with fiery light; he was surrounded.

Chapter Twenty-Two
      PB.07-00.> This is a most precarious situation. Of course we must do all that is in our power to minimize collateral damage; however, containment cannot be maintained without the full implementation of an asymmetrical offensive, not excluding the discretionary denial of resources.
      LM.04-343.> Absurd! Containment protocols have not been exhausted!
      PB.07-00.> True.
      LM.04-343.> Containment protocols disallow the addition of principles to the targeting ledger!
      PB.07-00.> False.
      LM.04-343.> Elucidate!
      PB.07-00.> Protocols restrict but do not disallow. The Bias protocol supersedes when event trajectory is statistically untenable.
      LM.04-343.> Incomprehension…
      PB.07-00.> Naturally. Improvisation is beyond your classification. There is no established protocol for the trajectory of this scenario. Reactionary forces have been mobilized. Move to assist.
      LM.04-343.> Unconscionable!
      PB.07-00.> Regulate and prepare to receive executable. Transmission follows.
      LM.04-343.>……………621311251521******>
      //ERROR – NO CARRIER OR RECEIPT AVAILABLE {DEAD END TRANSMISSION} //INFORMATION DESTROYED IN TRANSIT

Chapter Twenty-Three

Coming soon...

Halo: Forerunner - Section 1 Ch 23-24
Date: 22 October 2010, 7:05 am

Chapter Twenty-Three

      The warmth of the summer sun lit gently across Altus' bare shoulders as he stepped from the shade of the towering pine trees into the open meadow. He paused for a moment and closed his eyes to savor the sensation, listening to the quiet whisper of the wind in the trees and the cheerful song of birds, chirping to each other across the green canopy from their lofty perches in the branches.
      His eyes opened slowly and began to water as bright sunlight reflected off of the flowing waves of tall yellow grass in the meadow. The air cooled abruptly, and a faint shadow descended across the field. Altus looked up to the blue sky where a large cumulus cloud had passed in front of the sun and was moving quickly toward the forest. Its dark center was illuminated where the sun struggled to shine through, and bright sunbeams drew sharp lines across the heavens, streaking outwards from the silvery edges of the amorphous cloud.
      Altus inhaled deeply and caught the crisp scent of water in the air mingled with the smell of pine and fertile soil. It would rain soon. A chill ran up his back as the sweat that covered his body from his long run began to cool in the sudden shade. He reached up and touched the thin collar around his neck, and in an instant he was clothed in a skin-tight body suit of white material. It seemed to cling to his wet body for a moment as it morphed and shifted to wick away the moisture, then it loosened slightly, and he felt comfortably dry.
      The Class-1 skin was a marvel to him, as were so many other things in this strange new world, but he was learning more each day and was beginning to understand much of the technology that surrounded him, thanks to his tutor.
      He looked down at his hand and moved his fingers in a diagnostic sort of motion. His strength had finally returned in both arms, and he seemed to be fully recovered. Still, the memory of his injury, and of his entire immersion experience into Forerunner culture, made him cringe and filled him with dark thoughts and emotions.
      He clenched his fist tightly and then released it, looking out again at the field before him and the forest beyond. He could hear the warbling of a stream somewhere near and the chatter of small forest creatures as they claimed this tree or that bush as their territory. My bush! My tree! My rock! It all seemed so petty to him now, so base. Small butterflies flittered gently in the breeze, dancing around glints of pollen that drifted lazily above the grass. It was beautiful, all of it. For all he had lost, there were so many good things he had gained.
      A soft hand set delicately on his shoulder, and he nearly jumped from the start, but the touch was instantly calming, almost enchanting. He turned to see the creature that had snuck up on him so silently, and a broad smile stretched across his face. Lithiel smiled back with a subtle beauty that still made his heart jump every time he looked into her eyes.
       "Trying to escape again?" she laughed teasingly.
       "From what?" he laughed back.
      His smile faded and a more serious look washed over his expression.
       "What in all this world would I want to escape?" he said slowly with all the sincerity of his heart.
      Lithiel lifted her small hand from his shoulder, lowered her lovely eyes abashedly, and then looked up to Altus again with a mysterious sadness in her eyes. She had never known anyone like him in all her millennia of existence. She had spent nearly every day with him for the last two years, helping him adjust, answering his questions, showing him the way. He was so different, so unique. For all his naivety, he was wise and cunning. And even though he was a child, at times, he seemed older and wiser than her. She was supposed to be his guardian, but she felt safer with him, as if he were hers. They had become friends… but more. It was as if they had always known each other… and yet he was mortal, and she knew he was forbidden.
      Altus felt uncomfortable and confused. He had never seen Lithiel so sad, but he thought he understood. Still, he felt awkward and conflicted. He never meant to like her. He certainly never meant to stay with her after his escape; yet after all the time they had spent together, he no longer wanted to be alone.
      Her long eyelashes blinked shut as a cold drop of rain splashed against her cheek, followed by a sudden pattering of wetness, as if the heavens were weeping her sadness. A flash of lighting shot across the sky, and a loud clap of thunder rolled over the hills as it echoed through the valley. It startled them both.
      They laughed together in the moment as the cold rain began to pour down on them. Altus pulled her closer and tapped a bracelet on his wrist to activate a force field. The there was a sudden hush, and the rain sizzled against a blue field of energy that instantly surrounded them. He let go of her shoulder, and they stood quietly under the energy dome. She was even more beautiful in the rain with her wet hair clinging closely to the perfect contours of her neck, her skin so soft and wet, her complexion so smooth and young, as if she had just barely reached womanhood. He never meant to like her. He certainly never meant to stay…
       "What would I escape," he thought to himself. "Where would I go?"

****

      Altus woke as Lithiel stirred uncomfortably against the uneven ground beneath the leaves and grass. She wasn't used to sleeping in such illustrious accommodations, but she slept all the same, lying on her side with her arm and leg draped over Altus as he lay on his back with his hands behind his head. She shifted her head slightly against his chest as she dreamt and nuzzled in beneath his arm. He held his breath, hoping she wouldn't wake. It was a perfect moment, and he wanted it to last forever.
      The ground was still wet from the rain, but the white nano-material of their body suits had kept them warm and dry through the night. Altus wrapped his arm around Lithiel's back and reached up with his free hand to tap the bracelet on his wrist. A shimmering blue dome of light faded around them and let in the thick, morning mist that poured through the lush, green plants and crept along the dark soil and brown pine needles of the forest floor.
      Lithiel stirred again and her pretty eyes opened slightly. She was even more beautiful in the morning, as if the rest had renewed and refreshed her in every way. Altus, on the other hand, was groggy and haggard like most mortals. She looked up at him and smiled in a surprised sort of way, then placed her head gently on his chest and sighed.
       "I like to hear your heart," she whispered, "what were we talking about?"
      Altus tried to remember. They had taken shelter under his suit's force field when the rain started and had stayed up talking late into the night. He couldn't remember all the things they had talked about. They always had so much to discuss, and he never tired of their conversations. He only remembered that they had been speaking from the heart, talking about their forbidden feelings and all the reasons why they should be careful and cautious. He remembered feeling so close to this immortal princess, and hanging on every word she spoke in her melodic and soothing voice. Then he remembered her closing her eyes as the evening grew late, and mumbling incoherent responses as he spoke, and then just nodding and smiling with her eyes closed as she laid her head on his chest before falling into a deep sleep. He remembered that.
      He remembered savoring that moment, and listening to the silent rustle of wind in the trees as the rain died out and the crickets began to chirp their lullabies. He remembered watching her sleep, and whispering quietly that he loved her. He remembered that.
      Altus smiled and helped Lithiel sit up, shaking off the numbness in his arm as he followed.
       "I don't remember," he said, "something interesting, I'm sure."
      She smiled knowingly, "Yes, I'm sure," she giggled.
      Altus felt his face flush, and he turned away. Lithiel stood and walked over to a tree that sagged with large, bowled foliage and cupped her hands together to ladle out the rainwater that had filled one of the leaves. She splashed it across her face and ran it through her hair, pulling the golden locks back neatly and then letting them drop perfectly into place as if each hair remembered where it should be. It was one of the little modifications that she was most pleased with. She placed her hands on her hips and looked at Altus with a half-smile.
       "I'm hungry," she blurted out.
      He laughed, surprised, and looked around at the fruit-filled trees and berry-covered bushes all around them.
       "Well, I'll see what I can do about that."
      He knew what she was doing, and he liked it. It felt good to think that she needed him as much as he needed her, to think that she would let him care for her. There was nothing he wanted more.

****

      A tremendous metallic clang rang out as the docking clamps locked onto the pier. A spray of ocean mist shot up from the water below as the ferry came to rest, and the briny aroma of salt water filled the air. Altus staggered from the sudden stop, and looked warily over the edge of the elevated platform. He wasn't afraid of heights, but it was a long way down, and even if he survived the fall, the creatures in the dark water below were less than docile.
      The height wouldn't have been such a concern if the ferry had seemed more stable – not that the ride was anything but smooth – but to the young conscript, the ship appeared to be upside-down. The bulk of the vessel was elevated high above the waves, with only a flat, narrow mast extending downward into the water. Altus wasn't sure what was keeping the ferry from tipping over, or even afloat. He simply couldn't wrap his mind around the mechanics or the technology. It was all coming, but very slowly… too many questions, not enough time.
      Seagulls cried out as they circled overhead. Altus looked up in surprise. It wasn't the first creature he had recognized here. During his years of learning and exploration, he had seen so many plants and animals that he thought were indigenous to his home world. By now, he had realized the absurdity of thinking that biospheres consisting of identical atmospheric compositions and mineral deposits would produce radically different life forms. Still, he was always pleasantly surprised to find life that was more than similar to what he had known on Maridon.
       "You know it?" asked Lithiel pleasantly as she looked up at the circling seabirds.
      Altus didn't look away. He felt almost at home as his eyes turned from the strange angular architecture of the ferry and pier and set firmly on the familiar blue sky and a bird he had seen countless times in his youth.
       "Yes," he acknowledged, "I know it."
      Lithiel reached out and took his hand.
       "I'm glad it's here for you." she said. "Come, and I'll show you more."
      He looked to her and recognized her mischievous smile. She loved to surprise him, and he loved the surprises.
       "After you," he smiled.
      She started down the ramp and across the flat deck of the ferry to the wide metallic pier, but she kept his hand tightly in her own, leading him eagerly behind her. The sun shone brightly off the enormous temple structure before them, accented by shadows cast from the surrounding palm trees and thick foliage of the jungle.
      They ran like children up the wide trapezoidal stairway. Altus breathed heavily as they reached the top; Lithiel was unfazed. She tried to hide her concern as she remembered once again that he was only mortal, and their time together would be tragically brief.
       "Come," she said, "just through these doors."
      She pulled him by the hand, and he followed with little resistance, huffing as if he had just been forced to leave his breath behind. Still, he smiled; he loved her youthful energy. She was like a sprite… a fairy, magical and mysterious and wonderful.
      They wound their way around the walled partition that was situated in front of the entrance, allowing access around one side or the other, but blocking direct view into the structure. The air was cool and humid inside, laced with the smell of wet stone and moss.
      Lithiel slowed as she entered, and an air of reverence settled over her. She tightened her grip affectionately, as if thrilled to be sharing this place with someone special. Altus felt ridiculously giddy as he held her slender hand. It was soft and light, but more than anything, it was her.
      The interior of the temple was dimly lit by beams of sunlight that pierced through skylights and missing panels above. Beneath the angular structure, an ancient ruin of carved yellow stone sat silently in the shadows. Altus was in awe. It was the first structure he had seen that was not pristine and immaculately cared for by constructor drones. It was the first time he had seen the ancient style of architecture, strangely similar to the palaces of his home world, with tall columns and wide rectangular windows and battlements.
       "What is this place," he whispered.
      Lithiel just smiled slyly, and led him closer to the ruins.
      Small insects scurried away as they approached, and dozens of exotic frog-like creatures with colorful skin and fanged mandibles hopped frantically from their path. Lithiel, raised her free hand as they entered the shadows, and soft white light radiated from her palm, illuminating the ancient stone walls, and the stone pathway, now overgrown with vines and moss.
       "Here," she whispered as they approached a door beneath a recessed archway.
      Altus looked to the large, stone door and froze. His mouth opened slightly and his eyes fixed on the shocking image engraved in gold into the door. Lithiel looked to his expression with anticipation.
       "You know it, don't you!" she said excitedly.
      Altus was too shocked to answer, though it was more of a statement than a question. Of course he knew it, but how could it be here?
      He reached out cautiously and touched the cold surface of the inlayed golden pattern, running his finger gently along the lines as he traced them to be sure he wasn't hallucinating.
       "What do you call it?" Lithiel asked, watching in awe as Altus recognized the symbol.
      Altus was still in shock, and tried to remember what it was called; it had been so long, in another life. He could hardly remember any of it now. But this, he couldn't forget. He had seen this symbol since childhood. He had known and reverenced it, and he had cursed it and all it stood for when the Forerunners finally arrived. This couldn't be. There was no god! The Forerunners were not gods, and their conquest and subsequent destruction of his world had shattered his faith forever. This symbol meant nothing to him now… yet it meant everything.
      He looked to Lithiel with uncertainty.
       "We call it the star of the Al-Mon," he said, almost pained as he pronounced the name, "it is… it was… a symbol of our faith."
      He let go of her hand and looked down and away, half in shame, half in disdain. He suddenly felt very conflicted, very emotional. Lithiel stepped closer and laid her hand gently on his heart.
       "I'm sorry," she whispered.
      He turned again to the doorway and looked with curiosity at the golden hexagram, and then back to the immortal princess.
       "Will you tell me what you know about this symbol," he asked quietly.
      She took his hand again and looked into his eyes.
       "Everything," she said.

****

      White light radiated from the hexagon at the center of the six-pointed star. Lithiel removed her hand from the activated icon and stepped back slowly. Waves of distortion shimmered along the surface of the stone door like a mirage in the desert, and the stone barricade began to slide back into the structure, scraping along the ground, grinding against the bedrock until it cleared the entrance and rumbled to a halt.
      The jungle was silent. Altus listened nervously to his pounding heart and excited breathing, listened and waited. Gradually the air began to fill again with the sounds of nature as buzzing insects, singing birds, and other strange creatures forgot the tumultuous disturbance and returned to the normal rhythm of life.
      Altus stared into the open doorway. Perfect darkness filled the void within the ancient temple. He looked to Lithiel for direction, but she was also staring into the darkness, seemingly just as unsure as he was. He stepped forward and placed a hand on her shoulder. Her body surged slightly as she was startled from her daze, and she turned to Altus with wide eyes, as if surprised to see him.
       "What's wrong?" he asked quietly.
       "I'm sorry," she said as she came to her senses, "I… I was just remembering."
       "Remembering what?"
      Her sad eyes looked down and away, and her lips pursed slightly. Altus realized he had stumbled across something sensitive, something personal. He waited uncomfortably, but Lithiel said nothing. She just took a deep breath and turned back to him.
       "It was a long time ago," she said, "It doesn't matter now."
      He nodded understandingly, and left it at that. He didn't know how old she was. He knew that some Forerunners were millions of years old. With such incomprehensible troves of experience, there were certainly times of extreme trial or tribulation.
      Altus had known only a few such times in his thirty years, and only one… his most recent, gave him pause to recall it. Yet, in the few millennia of his race's recorded history, there were countless records of horrific tragedy and ruin. He couldn't imagine what it would be like to live through them all. Though he greatly wished he could, he knew he could not empathize, so he nodded, and left it at that.
       "Come," she said softly.
She turned to enter, and he began to follow, but she stopped abruptly and turned to him and placed her hand nervously on his chest as if to stop him. He looked down at her hand and saw that it was trembling. She withdrew it slightly, and looked eagerly into his eyes, desperate for him to understand the importance of what she was about to say.
       "Altus," she whispered, "you are not supposed to be here… what you're about to see… what I'm about to show you… it's… it's sacred. Do you understand?"
      He looked at her pleading eyes, confused and uncertain, and then he began to wonder.
       "What will happen to you if you show me this… place?" he asked quietly.
      She looked down and smiled softly.
       "Nothing… nothing that wasn't already coming."
      Altus stepped away from her and looked to the shadowy doorway, but she reached out and took his hand.
       "It was enough that I helped you escape," she explained, "Compared to that, this is trivial. It will only matter to a few, a very select few, and they have no power… but I respect them… greatly."
      Altus felt a pang of guilt now, not knowing what she might have sacrificed to free him, to keep him hidden and safe, and now she would share something so sacred with him, simply because he asked. His heart burned in his bosom as he understood. Her actions were clearer than words could ever be. She wanted him to understand, and he did.
      Altus took Lithiel's trembling hand and gently pulled her closer. He looked into her eyes and could sense her pain. It was the same emptiness he felt in his own heart, and the desperation of knowing that the only light that could fill the void was so near. She closed her eyes, and he embraced her, savoring the sweet perfume that naturally wisped off her slender neck, holding her close to his heart, close to where she belonged, to fill the emptiness, to fill the void.
      Lithiel seemed surprised, but immediately lost herself in the moment and wrapped her delicate arms gracefully around his neck and shoulders as he held her around her waist. Time seemed to stop, and small leaves drifted slowly to the ground all around them. She placed her ear against his and felt an electric chill and soothing warmth all at once, shivering through her whole being as they stood together beneath the green canopy above. She had never imagined heaven as mortals had, but she was certain she had found it, and she would never let it go.

Chapter Twenty-Four

       "What have you done to him?"
       "This wasn't my doing. He attacked me. He didn't see the cloaked sentries at my side."
       "And you couldn't handle him yourself?"
       "Permirius authorized it. Of course I could handle him. It could have been worse"
       "Worse! How long has he been in stasis?"
       "Since the incident."
       "You've had him in stasis for three years!"
       "Well what else were we-"
       "You didn't even treat his injuries first! You just left him in this condition for three years!"
       "He won't even know a second has passed. What difference does it make for him?"
       "Are you so oblivious?! It makes a difference for you, Didact… for me… for all of us! It reflects on us, who we are! Don't you respect anything? Do you even know what that word means anymore?"
       "Lithiel..."
       "Don't, Didact! Just don't…"
       "Look… I'm sorry… I brought you here because you are the adept in these matters. You know I don't deal with these things… there's a reason for that… because I'm not good at it. This was thrown on me. I didn't choose to wade into this mess. No one could have known what would happen on Maridon, with Halion… with this… well… with him. What is he, Lithiel?"
       "I don't know, Didact… I don't know."

>>Forward Animus record - .29485729-000234>>

       "Who are you? Won't you speak to me? Please. I'm here to help you, that's all. I know what they did… what we did… and I'm so sorry. It wasn't supposed to happen. It was a serious violation of our laws. That is not our nature. We are only here to help and protect."
       "Protect… help?"
       "You're speaking… good… that's good… go on."
       "I don't have anything to say to you, to any of you…"
       "I just want to help…"
       "That's what you do! I know… I heard you… protect and help."
       "You're in shock, I understand…"
       "GET AWAY FROM ME! YOU DON'T UNDERSTAND! WHAT DO YOU KNOW! NOTHING! WHO DETROYED YOUR WHOLE WORLD?! WHO KILLED YOUR ENTIRE RACE?!"
       "Stand back!"
       "No! Get out, Didact!"
       "DID YOU COME FOR ME... FOR THE RAGING ANIMAL? IS THAT WHAT I AM TO YOU? KILL ME! COME AND GET ME, NOW! YOU MISSED ONE! YOU MISSED ONE!
       "Stand aside!"
       "Get out! You're not helping! I don't need you in…ahhnng…"
       "KILL ME OR I'LL KILL HER! KILL ME NOW! KILL M…"
       "Didact! What have you done?"
       "Don't touch him! He'll live."
       "Get out!"
       "He was going to…"
       "Get out, Didact! Permirius, transport me and the subject to medical, now!"

>>Forward Animus record - .29485730-004567>>

       "What happened to me?"
       "You're going to be fine, Altus."
       "Who are you?"
       "You had very minor injuries. Your lung was collapsed. Your heart was also badly bruised, and your ribs were crushed. I had to remove one. It was mostly powdered bone and marrow, but I'll make a replacement soon, after you've rested."
       "Who are you?"
       "I'm a friend, Altus. I'm Lithiel."
       "You are one of them."
       "They are not us, Altus. They are anomalous."
       "I remember now… you are not gods."
       "No, we are not."
       "You have no right to govern us."
       "We don't govern the Aelorian, Altus. We protect it, sometimes from itself."
       "And who will protect it from you?"
       "… I don't know… rest now."

>>Forward Animus record - .29485742-003486>>

       "What you did was wrong, Altus. You still don't grasp the magnitude of it."
       "I don't grasp anything in your strange system of ethics, Oracle."
       "Don't call me that."
       "Why not? That's what you are; aren't you? That's what you purport to be – all wise, all knowing, here to graciously enlighten the lesser creatures of the galaxy."
       "I know a great deal, yes. Not everything."
       "What do you know? You have advanced technology, culture, society. So what? You don't know about me. You don't know who or what I am. In my universe, Oracle, that's all that matters."
       "Exactly, Altus."
       "Don't condescend to me, Lithiel. I know that selfishness is a vice. That is not what I am talking about."
       "What do you speak of, then?"
       "I'm talking about individuality, about choice, about freedom. My universe is mine. I choose my own path, perfect or not, it's mine."
       "And when your path intersects with mine, when your freedom, when your choices affect me, what then?"
       "How did we affect you? We were separated by light-years before you stumbled across us. You could have left us be."
       "Yes, we could have. And you were well on your way. Evolving nicely, in knowledge, medicine, science, warfare… and what were you doing when we found you? You were at war with yourselves. Isn't that right? Already using your most devastating weapons on the weaker nations? Or did I read the wrong report? How long do you think you would have lasted anyway?"
       "…not long… but we would have had no one to blame but ourselves."
       "No, Altus. You would have survived it. Most races do, and then they continue where they left off, often having learned nothing. And then they take to the stars, and find others, some stronger, some weaker, some equally matched… and then it affects us, Altus."
       "Your hypocrisy is sickening, Oracle. What gives you any greater right to intervene than us?"
       "The consequences are greater for us."
       "As if your death meant any more than mine."
       "In a way it does. Yours was inevitable."
       "Don't feign to play god to me. I know you are not immortal, Oracle. Or did you forget. I killed your procurator myself, with my own hands."
       "Of course you did. But I know you better than you think, Altus. I know you feel guilt and regret for it. Why is that? You know, many of my peers thought you were some sort of military leader… but most of your militant types accepted our guardianship. They were simpler, religious types, but not you. You're like me."
       "I'm nothing like you."
       "Oh? But you are a scientist, aren't you?"
       "Stay out of my head."
       "I didn't need Permirius to tell me that, Altus… because I am like you, observant. Yes… you are skeptical and curious. You looked deeper… you observed a god sleeping and eating like mortals, and you began to wonder, and hypothesize, and study, and experiment, because that is what you do. Is it not?"
       "Yes, Lithiel... you are perceptive. And no, I am no warrior. I disdain them, all of them. I was an advisor to the Al-Mon Kalomei. He was wise enough to turn to science to save us when he realized that naked aggression was futile."
       "Well, fellow scientist. You were incorrect in your conclusion. Perhaps you should have isolated more variables. We are immortal, but not invincible."
       "I know for a fact that you are mortal. I observed various stages of rapid and normal aging in all of the subjects."
       "All?"
       "I… well, the procurator was in his prime, but the rest… the rest… no…"
       "Yes, Altus. The rest were like you – conscripts. They were Forerunner by citizenry, not by race."
       "…and Halion…"
       "He was the immortal son of the Fleet Commander, his only son."
       "…but I…"
       "That's no justification of course, but perhaps you can begin to understand the magnitude of your action. Any other course may have resolved favorably. Usually we provide social guidance, but we often leave worlds to their own path after we have disarmed them, if that's what they choose. Your deception kept us there, guests in our minds, occupiers in yours."
       "I can't hear anymore. Not now… please, let me be alone for while… please."
       "Of course… I'm sorry."
       "…so am I."

>>Forward Animus record - .29485801-003957>>

       "What are you doing here, Altus?! How did you get in here?"
       "I managed to reprogram one of your constructors. It thinks the correct parameter for the structural layout of your room includes a hole in the wall."
       "Why are you laughing? Do you think this is funny! You're going to be reassigned to quarantine if they find out you know how to do that… how did you do that… arrhh… never mind… get out, go! I'll fix this, go!"
       "No, Lithiel. I'm sorry. I came to ask for your help."
       "Help with what? Can't it wait till morning? I swear, Altus you make no sense sometimes. You shouldn't…"
       "I want to leave here, Lithiel."
       "…Altus…"
       "I don't belong here. I don't know why I was spared, but if you're going to let me live, please, let me be free! Otherwise, there's no point… I can't…"
       "Altus, don't you understand?"
       "No. I don't. Just let me go, please."
       "Where will you go? Your home… Altus, we are everywhere."
       "Not everywhere. You weren't on Maridon until a few years ago. There must be other places, further out… you would know… you could find out."
       "I can't. I understand, but you don't. You are the last… the only one of your kind. We have a mantle. Some of us take it very seriously, like religion. Altus, you have to be indexed."
       "…I know what that is, Lithiel. I don't want it. My people wouldn't want it either. We would rather vanish forever than live in subjugation."
       "I know… I know… but it's not just that."
       "What else is there? What haven't you told me?"
       "We need you, Altus. You… you are special. We didn't know how special when we first took you, but we found… I found something that we still don't understand, and we must."
       "What are you talking about, Lithiel."
       "Altus, you are the missing link…the key to discovering our past."
       "Discovering your past? Lithiel, you're immortal! What don't you remember about your own past, and what connection could it possibly have to me?"
       "Altus, not all of us are that old. Most of us are quite young. There are only a few who even claim to remember the passing of the mantle, and they will say nothing of it."
       "You're talking about those ancients in the grand council, the five of them… I remember… Lithiel, I was there. I saw them. Why don't you just ask them about it, why do you need me?"
       "Because they don't know! Or they won't tell…"
       "You are like me aren't you… can't control your curiosity."
       "You can't leave, Altus. Even if I helped you it wouldn't matter. Don't you realize we are being watched constantly? All of this is being recorded, every word, every image!"
       "I know about Permirius… Don't worry about him. I've taken care of that."
       "How could you take care of Permirius? Altus, don't be foolish! Permirius is no constructor that you can just play around with; he's a Contender Class AI. He's more intelligent than all of us combined."
       "A Contender Class AI… yes, without limiting fail-safes, Lithiel. Did you gods ever think of that when you built him? You let him have his own bias, his own opinions, and you gave him the power to choose for himself. Did you honestly think he would always side with you?"
       "Altus! What did you do?!"
       "I only need your help with one thing, I just need somewhere to go once I'm off Siora, and the rest is taken care of. You can't stop me now."
       "It's not me you need to worry about, Altus."
       "Don't you think I know that? Why else would I be here in your room."
       "Fine! You are way more trouble than you're worth! Let's go!"
       "Go where? Just tell me where to go!"
       "I don't think so! You are too important to me… and countless other Forerunners… If you are leaving, I'm going with you!"
       "Lithiel…"
       "This is non-negotiable, Altus. Let's get moving! It's almost morning already. Permirius!"
       "Yes, my lady."
       "I understand you're in on this?"
       "My apologies, I would explain my reasoning, but I detect from your thought patterns that you already understand."
       "Then you know more about my thinking than I do. Transport us to the cartographer, and prepare my base ship for rapid transit."

>>Stop Animus record - .29485742-004657>>

      Didact leaned back into his chair and closed his eyes. The hologram faded away, but the last image of Lithiel taking the mortal by the hand just before they were transported froze in his mind. His whole body was trembling, not with rage or jealousy, but shock. He rarely if ever got angry, but he was no stranger to sorrow, and he was not ready to have another encounter with that powerful force, not ready to let it have sway on his heart, and so he trembled in shock, and his mind rejected the obvious truth. He had been betrayed… by one he loved… by one he trusted…
       "I suppose you're already on to my thoughts."
       "Naturally, Executor."
       "Then you know you must be decommissioned."
       "I know you plan it."
       "What else is there but my plans? I am the Executor."
       "There is my fate, my life."
       "I see."
       "May we discuss this incident? Perhaps we can reason together, Lord Didact."
       "Perhaps."

Chapter Twenty-five

Coming soon…

Halo: Forerunner - Section 1 Ch 25-27
Date: 29 October 2010, 7:27 am

Chapter Twenty-Five

      Amber light blazed against the darkness of space, radiating from hundreds of orbs linked together in a geometric latticework of bladed alloy booms to form a devastating energy array. The communal formation surged forward through the debris field, vaporizing any obstacles in its path with staccato blasts of individual energy beams that lanced out from units within the whole like static discharge from an ion fountain.
      The network's relentless advance continued as additional surviving S-Sentries fled an overwhelming onslaught of advanced weapons systems to join the larger structure, multiplying its synergistic strength. Alone they were no match for a former Cherub in a Class-6 combat skin. Working together in combined unit tactics, they were more formidable, but still manageable. When they were linked, however, the whole was greater than the sum of its parts.
      In the vastness of space, each of the small sentries was like an individual atom, and they could combine geometrically to form structures on a colossal scale. The mysterious power of geometric relationships was the key to their synergistic strength. Each orb housed a single, high-level neutrino, the rarest of fundamental particles. Only these spheres of awareness were intelligent enough to form the core of sentient beings, and when arranged and linked properly, they could alter the relative forces of the universe.
       Pirolith was all too aware of their combined capabilities as he unleashed a devastating shower of target-tracking plasma beads. The superheated projectiles scattered to the nearest targets and slowed before impact to spoof motion-sensitive shields. Hundreds of S-Sentries vaporized and lit up the darkness of space with bright blossoms of white light.
      The salvo was effective, but enough of the S-Sentries survived to complete the growing formation, and it suddenly halted and adjusted trajectory to target Pirolith with the full power of its newly formed particle array. The fleet commander knew his only hope was to dodge the blast. His shields were no match for such a powerful force.
      Once it was unleashed, it would tear through anything in its path, pulling apart the condensed fundamental particles in his shields, one by one, and ripping through to the armor beneath. He would be disintegrated, atomized, and then dematerialized, until all that remained was free, unbound energy.
      The enormous structure was massive, but still agile in the weightless vacuum of space. It pivoted and gyrated to track its target as Pirolith raced through the debris, altering his trajectory radically at dangerously high velocities. Without the well-timed induced stasis from his armor, his rapid changes in velocity would kill him instantly, but even with the stabilizing system, he was beginning to feel nauseous and disoriented.
      With one final acceleration, his defensive systems shot him violently out of the path of the first energy blast. It missed him by microns, but a miss was all he needed. It was good enough. He just needed to do it again, until he could find a way to destroy the formation.
      With a quick thought, he targeted the center of the array, and two narrow beams fired from his shoulders, intersecting in the center of the S-Sentry formation. The structure shuddered and began to condense violently as a miniature black hole formed where the beams had crossed, but the array flashed, and a sphere of white light materialized around the singularity that was frozen at relative absolute zero. The sphere condensed and then collapsed to dislodge the fundamental particle from its true stasis point. The traffic jam was clear, and neutrinos began to flow freely again, dissipating the unrelenting crush of the gravity field.
      Pirolith had moved around the array to another position, but the latticework of bladed booms shifted, presenting the network of orbs to the target once again. He could not outflank the array. He fired another salvo of plasma, but the bolts flattened out before impact, stopped by a thick shield of compacted neutrinos.
      Pirolith's vision went dark as another blast streaked toward him from the array and his suit jumped rapidly out of the line of fire. The evasive maneuver had accelerated him to velocities approaching the speed of light. He struggled to regain awareness.
      For a moment he wished he had an onboard AI. An AI would be able to control and manage evasive maneuvers and might even be able to plot a solution to destroy the S-Sentries. On his own, he was rapidly running out of ideas.
      One more blast shot out, and Pirolith dodged again, slamming through a large alloy wall adrift in the wreckage, obliterating the solid object with raw kinetic energy. His shields flickered and reenergized. Pirolith opened his eyes and looked up in horror as he realized the S-Sentries had reformed during the last volley to create a triangulated firing grid.
      Three new formations now surrounded him. They would all fire simultaneously, shooting between the other two in the triad. His relative up and down vectors were still open, but he knew now that the S-Sentries would utilize this next attack to reposition again until he was completely surrounded on all axes. His time was running out.
      The stars vanished in a blinding wash of white light as all three arrays fired again. Pirolith dodged upward, and as soon as he was released from stasis, he confirmed his fear. The S-Sentries had repositioned and regrouped. He was surrounded by six formations, three above and three below, all with intersecting fields of fire.
      The orbs quickly reenergized, and Pirolith prepared to activate his emergency, unbound-space generator. It was his last hope. His suit had the capacity to generate one short-distance jump through unbound space, but it would drain his remaining energy reserves, and he had no way of knowing where it would take him. There were no other options left.
      He prepared to execute the suicide maneuver. There was no time to think about it. He had to act, but before he could, a blast of orange energy sent waves of distortion across the sky. The projected energy field smashed violently into the S-Sentries, flinging them from their formations, and sending them careening away in every direction. Pirolith turned in shock to the source of the discharge. A bright, red orb advanced toward the reeling sentries with a hurricane of energy swirling from its center, pushing constructs and debris away with irresistible force. Then it stopped abruptly.
      The S-Sentries contorted and struggled to realign and engage the new threat, but before they could begin to form, a series of fiery blasts rocketed away from the orb, consuming the S-Sentries like dry leaves caught in a sun flare. The remaining S-Sentries fired their individual weapons at the orb, but its shields shot up and dissipated the blasts. It advanced immediately, and another maelstrom of amber distortion swirled outward from its core, throwing the orbs back again. Pirolith unleashed a salvo of plasma bolts on the off-balance hostiles, obliterating the S-Sentries as they tumbled through space.
      Again, the red orb ceased its force projection and quickly destroyed the surviving, broken formations with a barrage of intense energy beams. Pirolith and the orb merged their assaults and unleashed all remaining systems at once, transforming the debris field into a storm of blazing destruction and blossoming explosions. The violence raged for a moment longer, and then all was still.
      Red-hot beads of molten alloy and superheated plasma vapor clouded the view in front of Pirolith. He looked around for more hostile tags, but there was nothing. They were all neutralized.
      The orb approached, and its bright, red light faded and transitioned to a cool blue. As it neared, Pirolith recognized the rounded, boxy frame. He could hardly believe it.
      "Are you injured?" asked the construct cheerfully as if nothing had happened.
      A broad smile stretched across Pirolith's face. 343 couldn't see the grin behind Pirolith's faceplate, but he knew it was there.

****

      It felt good to be back on solid ground again, but that was the only good feeling in Pirolith's tumultuous storm of emotions. More than anything else, he felt frustration, anger, confusion, and fear. The corridors in this part of the destroyer were dark and stained. He had finally found what he was looking for – signs of the missing crew of the Alorus Maxim. Now, however, as he stared at the streaks of blood smeared across ashy deposits on the walls, he wished their fate was still less certain.
      Metal groaned as the massive destroyer continued to settle under the uneven stress caused by the hull breach. Pirolith listened for a moment for any sounds of life, for survivors… and hostiles. There was nothing. He turned to 343 and opened a com channel.
       "What is going on here? What happened out there?" he demanded.
343 tilted and responded confused.
       "You were attacked, and I rescued you, of course!"
      Pirolith paused to compose himself. As frustrated as he was, he was also grateful to have his companion back.
       "Before that, monitor, what happened to you? And why did those sentinels add me to the targeting ledger?"
       "I am truly sorry, but that information is inaccessible," 343 explained politely.
       "I have complete access to all logs," Pirolith hissed. "I have resumed command of the fleet!"
       "I am truly sorry," the monitor repeated. "It is not that you do not have access, commander. I do not have access. It seems my functional memory bank has been cleared."
      "How?" Pirolith probed in shock. "What is your last recorded event?"
      343 paused, and then answered, "You were preparing to jump."
      Pirolith thought back to the moments before 343 had lost power. "Just before your flash transmission," he thought out loud.
       "I have no record of such a transmission; however, I do show data fragments that resemble the remnants of a transmission log," 343 explained. "Shall I reconstitute it?"
      Pirolith thought for a moment and answered, "No, but archive it and secure it."
       "Done," said the monitor. "Fragment meta data also indicate that… curious."
       "Now what?" Pirolith grumbled.
       "It seems that I initiated my own shutdown shortly after disabling com relays and deleting memory and event logs," 343 puzzled. "Why would I do that?"
      Pirolith looked to the empty corridor and moved forward slowly.
       "Let's find out. Scan for sentinels near the command deck ahead," he ordered.
      Pirolith turned his attention to the task at hand. He activated automatic targeting systems and whispered under his breath, "343…"
       "Yes, commander?"
       "Thank you…"

Chapter Twenty-Six

      Kael-Sept frowned deeply as he walked along the river bank. The expression didn't quite display the austerity it should have – the sternness that could be more easily manifest in the deeply etched lines of an old and wise mentor. Though Kael-Sept was both old and wise, there simply were no lines in his face, no wrinkles, barely even a fold in his radiant complexion. His eyes, however, were as deep as the universe, and now they seemed ablaze with a grim severity that emanated directly from his soul.        "Didact," he muttered under his breath, "this is a matter you should bring before the entire council."
      Didact looked away from the high counselor and said nothing. They both paused as they neared a muddy bank rimmed with tall, green willows that leaned resolutely against the current of the stream. In the distance, a flit of motion caught the executor's eye, and a crisp splash slapped across the water's surface. Rainbows of light reflected off the scales of a large fish as it dove back into the murky water. Others in the school began to jump as well, snatching small flies from the evening swarms that hovered near stagnant pools along the riverbank. Didact inhaled the cool evening air, rich with the scent of wet stones and earthy moss. It was pleasant, quiet, calming… yet he felt a strange chill of despair diffusing through his heart. As he stared at intersecting ripples in the water, he noticed the sky's reflection, cooling from the warm colors of sunset to serene shades of green and turquoise. Twilight was upon them.
       "Of course," continued the high counselor, "you thought it best to seek my opinion first, privately." Didact looked to Kael-Sept nervously, but the high counselor smiled softly and comforted his young friend. "That was wise, Didact."
       "Concerning the Librarian," Didact said, timidly, "I shall simply follow protocol, regardless of my personal feelings. The situation with Permirius, however, is anomalous."
      Kael-Sept looked down and nodded.
       "Yes," he said. "I had hoped you might seek my opinion on both matters… but it seems that you and I are too much alike. I'm afraid I don't understand my daughter any more than you do."
      Didact scratched his head and tried to think of a way to respond that wouldn't be too awkward. He could think of nothing. Kael-Sept raised an eyebrow, waited for a moment, and then continued.
       "Yes, Executor, follow protocol. Permirius is another matter… Do you realize you have been before the high council three times in as many days?"
       "Yes, my lord," Didact acknowledged.
      Kael-Sept placed his hand on Didact's shoulder and gently ushered him back to the trail. Small blue lights marked the long path that wound through the forest. Luminescent insects converged around each marker, creating a brilliant spectacle complimented by the shimmering starscape above. Kael-Sept drew uncomfortably close to Didact, and the executor could see the night lights reflecting in the darkness of his eyes as if the entire Aelorian was kept there in a pocket of unbound space.
       "In my long experience," said the high counselor, "that pattern is an obscure but reliable indication that larger events are in motion. Be vigilant." Kael-Sept backed away from Didact, who stood confused. The high counselor continued, "I will support whatever action you choose to take with Permirius."
       "But the others," Didact began but stopped, "your pardon, my lord. I wish it were so simple, but Permirius did not exactly breach any protocol… he did not directly aid them, he simply chose to ignore them."
       "A crime of omission," Kael-Sept laughed, "clever."
       "Devious," frowned Didact, "and within all parameters and failsafe protocols… that is, as far as I understand your intent when you set them."
       "How so, Executor?" asked the high counselor.
       "Well, Permirius is required to willingly disregard any information not directly addressed to him… that is… to protect our privacy. He is to ignore all thoughts unless otherwise instructed, even schemes and plots… everything."
       "Those protections do not extend to alien prisoners," explained Kael-Sept. "He is to ignore Forerunners, Didact."
      Didact swallowed hard, and tried to think of a way to frame his next question. He had hoped the conversation might lead to this, but now that it was upon him, he was losing courage. Kael-Sept easily discerned the concern and spoke first.
       "You want to know who he is…"
      Didact was shocked, but his heart raced and he blurted out, "Yes!"
      The high counselor turned and began to walk again, gesturing for Didact to follow.
       "You want to know what he is…" Kael-Sept clarified.
      Didact hurried to catch up and held his chest out as he answered boldly, "Yes…"
      Kael-Sept stopped and turned to face Didact. He stared into the executor's eyes and examined him closely.
       "No…" he whispered, "you want to know who you are," he smiled.
Didact felt the accusation hit him with an overwhelming weight. He wished it weren't true, and he stammered, "Lithiel seems to think he is special…"
       "I know," said the high counselor.
       "She has always wondered about… the Precursors. She thinks he is part of the answer… she doesn't believe in the mantle, my lord."
       "I know," whispered Kael-Sept more sadly.
       "She has taken him to the first archive," Didact blurted out, "to the Ark of the Covenant."
For the first time in all of Didact's life, he saw surprise in Kael-Sept's expression. The high counselor looked mortified.
       "Larger events…" he whispered, "summon the council."

****

      Altus stepped cautiously onto the slightly raised platform and joined Lithiel in the center of an engraved, circular pattern.
       "I should warn you," she said. "This is older technology. It will be quite different from what you've experienced on Siora."
      Altus smiled curiously.
       "What is thi-"
      His stomach seemed to surge up into his throat as an angular alloy ring jumped from the engraved pattern on the floor, raising a curtain of blue light around him and his escort. Just as swiftly, the ring dropped back into the floor, and Altus felt a sudden chill race up his spine as he came face to face with an enormous insect-like creature. He staggered back and paused, realizing that he was in a new chamber, and the creature was suspended in the air in a field of blue light.
       "Don't be afraid," Lithiel reassured him.
      Altus blinked as his eyes adjusted to the contrast of the bright containment field set against the heavy darkness in the cavernous chamber.
       "What is it?" Altus asked, cautiously inspecting the alien.
       "Not what," Lithiel corrected, "who."
      A confused look washed over Altus' face as he realized what she meant.
       "This… thing… is a sentient being?"
       "Quite," she said with a distant tone in her voice, "this is Turpis Rex."
      Altus looked at Lithiel with a skeptical half-smile.
       "What is that? It has a name?"
       "You couldn't pronounce his name," she replied curtly. "Turpis Rex was the name we gave to his species."
      Altus was silent for a moment, then his eyes narrowed, and a faint sneer pulled at the corners of his mouth. He looked back to the creature and examined its menacing form. It was motionless, yet something about it seemed so alive. Altus stepped closer, and a shimmer of color flared across the reflective, orange surface of its large compound eyes.
       "Turpis Rex," he whispered. "What does it mean?"
      Lithiel's head lowered, and she looked away from the creature. Altus waited for a response, but Lithiel remained silent. He turned to her, but paused before speaking. He could see that this creature, whatever it was, filled Lithiel with a deep sense of shame. He put his hand gently on her shoulder and asked again.
       "Lithiel, the name, what does it mean?"
      She looked to Altus, and then her gaze wandered to the suspended creature.
       "I suppose you've never seen anything like it," she said quietly.
      Altus' eyes briefly shifted to the side as if to glance back at the alien, but he did not turn around to see it; his memory of the frightening image was fresh enough. He looked back to Lithiel. Her countenance was dark in a way, and fading.
       "No, I haven't," he answered. "We… we always thought that if there was life out there, that it would be something terrible, or strange, like this... When you came, we were shocked, shocked that you looked like us, and not…" He turned again and stared at the creature, with its clawed limbs and bright yellow patterns marking the hardened, green chitin of its exoskeleton. "No," he said again, "I've never seen anything like it."
       "Neither had we," Lithiel muttered.
      Altus felt his heart sink as her words and expression confirmed his suspicions. Suddenly the creature did not seem so terrible or hideous. It was special, not just rare, unique, or exotic, but a singularity. Somehow, its form was beautiful.
      As it stared back at Altus with its bright, unblinking eyes, there was almost a sense of agony in its alien expression, a deep and inexpressible sorrow that only Altus could know. He reached out but held his hand short of touching the force field. In all but one thing, they were alien to each other, but the Forerunners had given them something in common, hopelessness… loneliness… perfect despair… and that made them brothers.
      Lithiel watched approvingly as Altus mourned and admired the creature. "Ugly King," she whispered.
      Altus cringed as the words crossed her lips. For the first time since they had met, he turned to her with anger in his eyes.
       "Why?" he demanded.
      She bit her lip, and tried to think of an answer. She felt hurt, not by his anger as much as by her own people for having such a question to answer. She had heard countless explanations and justifications, but she could only offer what she thought to be the truest of them all.
       "We weren't ready," she said with a trembling voice.
      The harsh expression on Altus' face sharpened. He stood with his mouth half open in astonishment and held his hands out to his sides, looking down at his own chest as if to make himself more obvious.
      "Weren't ready?" he scoffed, "Ready for what, Lithiel… for your mantle? Not ready to be gods? I suppose you're ready now! What do you mean weren't ready?" Altus paused and then looked to Lithiel accusingly. "You said only the most dangerous life forms were indexed and exterminated," he pondered aloud.
      Altus drew closer to Lithiel as she tried to avoid his probing glare. He lowered his voice and spoke deliberately, "So tell me they were deadly… Tell me they were a threat… Tell me they could not be subdued!"
      Lithiel raised her hand to cover her trembling lips, but said nothing. Altus stepped closer and looked sternly in her eyes.
      "Why?" he asked again.
      "Because they were the first," she whispered.
      Altus thought for a moment. Then he closed his eyes and shook his head in disbelief.
      "Yes, Altus," Lithiel continued, "we weren't ready for our mantle. Turpis Rex was discovered over 6 million years ago, and exterminated on the same day. We did not appreciate the great diversity of life that we had found. This specimen is only a reproduction. None were indexed; their genetic form is preserved, but their culture is lost," she looked to the alien sadly. "He is a monument to all our sins."
      "All your sins?" Altus mumbled slowly, "…you said our extermination was an anomaly…"
      Tears were now flowing down Lithiel's face as she prepared to give her confession.
      "Altus," she said softly, "the anomaly was not that your people were exterminated, it was that extermination protocol was not followed."
      Lithiel gave a fleeting glance over Altus' shoulder and then looked down at the floor.
      Altus turned slowly and stepped to the side to look beyond the edge of the containment field. His eyes filled with horror, and he coughed, half choking, half gasping as his heart filled with anguish and indignation. His face contorted, and he struggled to hold back his tears. Still, he could not take his eyes from the countless rows of containment fields that stretched endlessly down the length of the chamber until they faded into the shadowy distance. Legions of wildly exotic creatures and strange forms stood suspended in rank formations for as far as Altus could see, and he stood paralyzed with his arms hanging limply at his sides.
      Lithiel moved carefully to his side and gently closed her hands around his arm below his shoulder. She waited, but he did not shun her, so she leaned her face against his arm and held it tightly. He could feel her moist tears against his skin, rolling lightly down to his course hands, and falling to the floor.
       "Why did you bring me here?" he asked softly.
      She lifted her beautiful face from his arm and set her chin on his shoulder. The warmth of her breath caressed his ear as she whispered, "To atone for our sins."

Chapter Twenty-Seven

       "Lithiel… Lithiel. You must try to focus, princess. Follow me now… quietly."
      Lithiel outstretched her slender arm and took the soft hand of her mentor. Alexandria's gentle voice was calming and reassuring, but the young apprentice was still wary, perhaps even frightened as she stepped from the portal. Lithiel stared in awe, surveying the great hall of strange and exotic creatures, each one frozen in stasis in a field of blue light.
       "What are they?" she whispered.
      Alexandria smiled.
       "Not what, my dear… who?"
      Lithiel turned from the endless rows of containment fields and looked to her mentor with confusion.
       "If they are not animals, Alexandria, why are they here? Did they do something horrible?" she asked innocently.
      Alexandria's smile faded slightly, and her eyes shifted down and away as she pondered.
       "Yes," she finally answered, "they have committed many diverse sins, Lithiel; but mostly, they were irredeemable."
      Darkness settled over Lithiel's expression as she tried to imagine what great sins these beings had committed, and she wondered how the galaxy could contain so many hopeless creatures. Alexandria examined Lithiel's reaction closely, and she mustered a reassuring smile.
       "Lithiel," she prodded, "there is no need to be so sullen. This is not a tomb; it is a place of hope. These were beyond hope, but not beyond our love… because we are merciful. They are all preserved until the time comes when we have learned all things and discovered a way to redeem them from their sins. They are not lost forever. They sleep. They are the seeds of their race."
       "And will there be a reseeding?" Lithiel asked with a hopeful tone.
       "That is up to you, my dear," Alexandria said softly. "I have indexed them here in my library for you. Now you must read them all. You must come to know each one; you must learn what makes them different, and what makes them alike. And when you have learned, I will teach you to make them again from the mist, and when we are ready, we will bring them out of darkness into light."
      Lithiel's eyes filled with hope at Alexandria's words. She knew that Alexandria favored her, thought she was special. And Lithiel did have a natural ability for finding patterns in the complex chaos of life. Indeed, Alexandria believed that Lithiel's gift could be nurtured so that someday, the young Forerunner princess could replace her as the adept in her field. Alexandria had lived for so long and felt that she had reached the limits of her abilities, but for young Lithiel, it seemed there were no limits. She couldn't have hoped for a better successor.
       "Come," she said kindly, "we have so much to do, and it's time to begin the journey."

****

      A lump formed in Lithiel's throat, and she pressed her lips together tightly, willing the pain in her heart to subside, to retreat back into the dark void where she kept her less pleasant memories. She tried to conceal her emotion, but she caught Altus' concerned expression out of the corner of her eye before he looked quickly away. She had expected him to ask what was wrong, but he again proved himself to be as unpredictable and insightful as ever.
      They stood silently together on a luminous conveyor beam that whisked them along past the frozen ranks of indexed aliens. Altus closed his eyes and listened to the rhythmic flutter of wind rushing past his ears, thumping a steady beat as each containment field in the nearest aisle flew past in a blur. Their pace was fast and steady, and Altus could no longer see the end of the grand hall where he and his escort had entered through the portal. He felt they had been traveling for some time already, yet the path ahead also vanished into the shadows as it stretched into the distance. He could only wonder what awaited him at the end.

****

      Lithiel stared down at the luminous streams of pastel energy beneath her bare feet. For a while, she had been so captivated by all of the new species in the hall, so curious about their biology and anthropology, but after watching thousands of their motionless forms pass her as she was conveyed along the light path, she had become more curious about their individual journeys, about the fateful and horrible paths that had led them to this place. Now she could only look down in shame as she passed silently, unseen by their lifeless eyes, yet still feeling the intensity of their accusing and hateful gaze.
       "Please don't hate me," she thought, "I am here to help. Someday, I will free you all. I will atone for our sins."
      Suddenly a new brightness emerged in the distance, casting lurid shadows across Lithiel's young and lovely features. She looked up from the path and reached up to pull back the soft hood of her white robe. With another graceful motion, she swept away the shining locks of golden hair from her eyes that sparkled with the reflected light growing brighter in the distance.
      The path was moving her and her mentor swiftly toward the light, and as they neared, she could see that it was shining from the polished surface of a small sphere, hovering just above a pedestal at the end of the light conveyor. She gasped with anticipation as she realized what it was.
       "Is that…" she stopped.
      Alexandria smiled.
       "No, Princess. It is an asynchronous field, but not as large an unbound space as that."
      Lithiel looked on with wonder. Even though it was not an entire shield world, the existence of a stably isolated asynchronous field was exciting enough. She had heard many scientists theorize about the possibility of creating such a field, but like many young Forerunners, she had not yet lived long enough to see such wonders progress from the realm of intellectual creation to the world of physical reality.
      After a few million years of life, this process would come to seem quite ordinary, and upon hearing of wild conceptions for some new innovation, she would immediately accept that concept as an inevitable reality, a simple matter of patience. Now, however, she was still young, and amazed to see a physical manifestation of what was once nothing more than a dream, a fantastic possibility.
       "How does it work?" she asked eagerly.
       "That is what you're here to learn," answered Alexandria as she took Lithiel's hand and helped her step from the end of the light conveyor.
      Alexandria gently escorted Lithiel to the shining orb and gestured for the young woman to step into the field. Lithiel looked uneasily to her mentor, but could see that there was no need to question or be afraid. She looked into the blinding light and stepped forward. A rush of static bristled across her skin, and a surge of heat flushed through her veins. The light dissipated and she felt the soft, moist cushion of grass beneath her feet as she continued on. Strange shapes began to materialize around her, and soon the transition was complete.
      Lithiel stood in awe as she took in the natural beauty all around her. How could it be? This was a world, with trees and rivers and mountains and valleys… then she stopped suddenly as her eyes found the horizon and began to follow its concave curvature into the starless night sky, across the apex of the heavens and back down to the other side of the landscape. She burst into delighted laughter, and then jumped with a start as she felt a hand on her shoulder.
       "We couldn't fit an entire world," explained Alexandria in an amused confession, "so we packed in what we could."
       "What is it for?" Lithiel whispered as she traced the horizon again.
      Alexandria turned Lithiel to face her and placed her other hand lovingly against the side of Lithiel's face, "it's for you, princess."

****

      Altus had only looked down for a moment, but it was long enough. He had just barely noticed an abrupt hush in the fluttering air, but before he could look up, his entire peripheral view was suddenly plunged into darkness. His eyes dilated and then strained uncomfortably against the brightness of the light path, which glared in harsh contrast to the surrounding darkness. He felt an overwhelming vertigo, and grabbed hold of Lithiel's arm, nearly falling from the path. She was surprisingly strong and steadied him with little effort.
       "Keep your eyes forward," she advised calmly.
      Altus was full of adrenaline and didn't quite register what she had said. He looked back in alarm, but was only able to catch a fleeting glance of the last rows of illuminated containment cells as they vanished over the horizon.
      The rows had ended abruptly, and now there was nothing but the path, blazing on through the darkness. Altus regained his balance and composure before turning back to Lithiel. Her eyes were locked on the path ahead. Her head hung slightly down, and she did not turn to face him, but took a brief glance to the side to make sure he was alright.
      Altus looked down at the light path, and then noticed the small area of illuminated floor plates near the path's edge. The ground was passing quickly, but Altus could see that the surface of the floor plates was no longer polished. It did not shine with its usual reflective alloy glow. The surface seemed dark and blackened. He looked back again, and noticed a haze of ashen dust shining near the path in their wake. He blinked in confusion. The interior spaces of Forerunner constructs, at least the ones Altus had seen, were always spotless, almost sterile environments.
      He blinked again as his eyes began to water from the increasing plumes of dust and ash in the air. His nose began to tickle and he sneezed. Lithiel glanced at him again without turning to face him. He wiped his eyes and sniffled, catching the distinct scent of burnt carbon. Then he paused and looked around at the darkness, his eyes wide with fear.
       "Lithiel," he whispered, "what happened here?"

Section 2

Coming soon…

Halo: Forerunner - Section 2 Ch 28
Date: 12 November 2010, 7:33 am

Section 2

Exodus

Chapter Twenty-Eight
      A single, weightless strand of silk stretched across the divide, shimmering occasionally as sunlight broke through the lush, green canopy above. The silken bridge was pulled taut above a languid stream, secured on one end to the soft gray bark of a twisting tree root, and held tightly on the other by tiny clawed spinnerets, working busily on the colorful abdomen of an exotic spider.
      The small arachnid had made a daring leap across the water, and was now poised to complete the base line for a new web. It was a perfect location, just above the stream, sure to catch lots of water-born flies in the cool hours of the evening. The spider crawled carefully over a large vine with the anchored line in tow. All eight of its hollow eyes searched the green surface for a good place to secure the silk thread.
      Somewhere far below, the gentle sounds of the brook seemed to distort abruptly. The spider paused, sensing something. It waited and watched, but there was nothing. Satisfied that there were no hungry birds ready to swoop in for an easy meal, the creature returned to its task.
      A swift breeze tugged at the thread, and the spider braced itself, waiting for the wind to die down, but the pulling continued. The line began to distort, bulging in irregular curves before jerking forward. The spider clung desperately to the tether, but was yanked from the vine and began to plummet toward the perilous water below.
      Suddenly the line pulled taut, suspended in midair, seemingly rooted to some invisible anchor point. Eight long legs spread wide as the spider's trajectory altered abruptly, sending the startled creature swinging back beneath the invisible anchor.
      The air hissed with static, and the chitinous arachnid slammed into an invisible plane. Instinctively, it latched its clawed legs to the surface and plunged its fangs downward. The sharp fangs struck something smooth and vanished into a field of distorted air, sinking deeply to deliver potent venom.
      A monstrous groan erupted from nowhere, followed by a loud smack. The spider vanished for a moment and then reappeared, a mess of splattered guts and mangled appendages, twitching erratically in the last throes of death… suspended in the air.
       "Did you see that?" Torun whispered to his brother.
      Halseth did see it, but he didn't answer. He reached over slowly and pushed Torun's head back into the shadowy crevice beneath the large granite boulder that had become their last refuge. Torun's small shoulders started to shake uncontrollably. Tears rolled down his face, but he was careful not to make a sound. He was remarkably brave for a child, but bravery would not be enough, not this time.

****

      Halseth leaned back against the cold rock wall and pinched at the bridge of his nose. He rubbed his tear glands, trying to wet his eyes, but the blurriness would not fade away. His eyes were dry and overstrained from hours of vigilant watching… searching, but not seeing. There was nothing to see; still, he watched, watched for any telltale signs, watched for ghosts.
      His heart fluttered. He was so tired… how long had it been since he had slept? He couldn't remember. It all seemed like a dream now. He wished he could fall asleep, sleep like Torun. But he had to protect his little brother. Torun was all he had now.
      Halseth looked out from the crevice and scanned the jungle near the stream. The smashed spider had floated off into the trees earlier that morning. At least that ghost was gone. But there were always others, so many more. There was no way to know for sure. It was too hard to see anything now. The sun had dimmed hours ago, fading from white to dark violet. The only other light came from the luminous edges of the horizon that tapered up into the sky and stretched across the darkness, just a narrow band of glimmering silver, reflecting the purple hues of the night sun.
      Halseth turned his weary eyes from the dark shadows and looked to the small body of his little brother, curled up at the bottom of the crevice. Halseth wished he had something warm to put on the boy. Torun's ebony skin was textured with small bumps from the cold night air, and was covered with scratches and abrasions from their panicked flight through the rough foliage of the jungle. Despite his visible discomfort, the boy still slept. "Better to sleep," thought Halseth.
      If he was going to be killed, he would rather die in his sleep, dreaming of something good… but what? He tried to think of something; he closed his eyes and tried to remember a happy memory. He couldn't remember… he knew he had good memories, but all he could think about was the last three days. There was nothing else now. Everything else was a dream. This was his reality now, and he hoped it would end soon.

****

      Halseth lurched against the rock wall, and slammed his head into the overhanging edge of the crevice. His heart raced, and he struggled to remember where he was. Staccato explosions continued to echo through the tight cavern. The crevice… Ghosts! The disorientation faded, and Halseth looked immediately to the ground. To his relief, Torun was still there, awake, but curled up against the wall with his arms wrapped around his knees. There was terror in his eyes, and he seemed paralyzed. Halseth crawled quickly to his brother's side and pulled him close, holding the boy tightly in his arms.
       "It's going to be alright, Torun," he reassured. "Don't be afraid."
      Another blast rocked the boulder, and dust rained down on the two boys. They coughed and blinked away the sting of sediment in their eyes. One more explosion shook the cavern again. The blast was deafening, followed by a high-pitched ringing that persisted for a moment before fading steadily.
      Little Torun's eyes opened wide, and all of his pent-up fear and emotion erupted in a horrific scream. Halseth tried in vain to silence his brother. The boy clung tightly to his older brother's chest and screamed in terror over and over again, sobbing and crying for his mother. Halseth was overwhelmed and started to cry with his brother. He knew the ghosts would find them now. They would kill him and his brother, just like all the rest.
      He looked to the crevice. It was still night, but he could see the air begin to distort. He screamed louder, overcome with fear. Torun saw it too. He closed his eyes and buried his face in his brother's chest, sobbing and pleading with Halseth to save him. But Halseth knew there was nothing more he could do. It was over.
      The edges of the crevice crumbled and cracked as the distortion expanded into the small cave. Halseth wanted to close his eyes, to look away, but he had no control over his body. He could hear it now, breathing, growling, ready to strike…
      Everything vanished in a blinding flash of light. The cavern resonated with an anguished roar, and then a tremendous weight collapsed on the cowering boys. Halseth felt the wind crushed from his lungs, and he struggled for breath. Everything went dark.

****

       "In here! Hurry!"
       "Stop! Moriea, come back!"
       "Let go of me! I heard them! They're in here! Nado, let me go!"
       "Just wait! Let me…"
       "No! Nado!"
       "Ahh! Moriea! Stop!"
       "Halseth! Torun! I'm coming! I'm coming!"

****

      Moriea froze and stared in horror. A single leg protruded from the rock crevice. Purple and blue patterns marked the smooth skin of the limb. It was dead. She stepped cautiously forward, and then began to run as she remembered hearing the terrified screams coming from the crevice. She knew she had heard it; she knew with the certainty that only a mother could have. Those familiar voices could not be mistaken.
       "Moriea! Wait!"

****

      Lithiel stepped forward instinctively, no longer able to fight her compassion, but a firm hand grasped her shoulder and held her back.
       "No, princess!" whispered Alexandria. "We cannot intervene."
      Lithiel turned to her mentor with anguish in her eyes.
       "I can't, Alexandria," she cried, "I can't… they're children!"
      Alexandria pulled Lithiel to her bosom and held her tightly as the young apprentice sobbed.
       "I know, my dear… I know," she said comfortingly, "but you can. I know you can. We must see it through to the end, or it will all be for nothing."
      Lithiel pulled away and looked to her mentor with disdain.
       "We've learned enough! Forty days! We know how long it takes! Why do we need to let them all die? The test is over, Alexandria…"
       "No, Lithiel," said Alexandria sternly. "No. It is not over. We must see if they can survive. They might still have a chance. You don't know this species like I do. They are surprisingly resilient and resourceful."
      Lithiel looked over to the small group of survivors as they approached the dead Sangheili. They spoke to each other cautiously in rich musical tones accented by clicks and pops as they coordinated their approach. They were a beautiful species, fit and agile, tall and strong, much like any other humanoid species except for their dark skin and their naturally high muscle density, but it wasn't for their physical form that they were selected. It was for their keen intellect, for their creative minds, for their ability to imagine and to invent, to adapt and overcome through the use of tools and the environment. Still, even with all of their advanced technology, with all of their weapons and resources, they had not yet found a way to defeat an invisible enemy.
       "But what if they can't?" pleaded Lithiel.
      Alexandria's face was cold and somber. She looked to the crevice and watched as the woman pulled her small child from the rock. She sobbed with joy and relief, embracing the small boy who was also crying as he clung tightly to his mother. The man finally caught up to her and helped the older boy from the crevice. Alexandria couldn't help but notice the blank expression on the boy's face. The trauma was too much. They tried to speak to him, but he just stared and remained silent. Alexandria took a deep breath and looked back to her young prodigy.
       "They are mortals, princess," she whispered. "Don't you see? They are already dead. If they can't survive, then the Sangheili may never be reseeded… unless… unless you can deprive them of their most remarkable attribute."
      Lithiel looked to the purple and blue corpse of the dead Sangheili, lying near the crevice. Its luminescent blue blood, rich with nitrate, shimmered in streams that trickled through the rocks and grass. The survivors had fled now and were gone. But the air around the corpse began to distort, and Lithiel knew it would not take long for the predators to track their prey. She turned to Alexandria with a look of fierce determination in her eyes.
       "I'll do it!' she said, "but you must end this now!"
      Alexandria smiled.
       "I know you'll do it, Lithiel," she said, "but I won't have you do it if it isn't necessary. We've already made them weaker and slower; we've taken their venom, deprived them of natural weapons, even curbed their aggression as much as possible, but I won't take this from them. It is singularly unique. It is the one thing that defines them among all other life in the galaxy. We will see this through, Lithiel. We must know if the test race can survive."
      Lithiel hadn't listened to a single word. She folded her arms, squinted her eyes, and sent a seething look of disdain burning through Alexandria.
       "It took them four thousand years to populate this entire installation," she said slowly, "eight thousand years to advance to Tier 5! It took forty days!" she shouted, "forty days for the Sangheili to circumnavigate the ring from initiation point, and they have eradicated every major population center along the way! They don't have a chance!"
      Alexandria opened the portal and gestured calmly for Lithiel to follow her out of the sphere.
       "As I said, Lithiel, you don't know them like I do."

Halo: Forerunner - Section 2 Ch 29-30
Date: 19 November 2010, 10:06 am

Chapter Twenty-Nine

      "Bring them in quickly."
      There was a sudden bustling as soldiers pulled away metal beams and cleared debris from the barricade. Moriea thanked the sentry and carried Torun through the gate. Nado followed close behind with a despondent Halseth in his arms. The guard looked to Nado inquisitively, amazed that they had found the children and wondering what they had encountered beyond the gate. Nado said nothing, but shook his head slightly. The guard looked down in despair and then abruptly to the far end of the bridge.
      "Movement!" he hissed. "Quickly, inside now!"
      Everyone rushed into the fortress, and the ground shook beneath them as the large alloy doors locked into place.
       "Bring up the bridge!" shouted the sentry.
      Beyond the gates, the thick bronze slabs of the bridge shuttered and clacked as they slid along two luminous tracks of solid energy, pulling slowly away from the ridge on the far end of a ravine. The near end of the bridge crawled along a sloping ramp that curved up into the sky. The massive metal slabs groaned as they shifted upwards until the entire bridge cleared the ravine and slammed to a stop, towering vertically above the gate.
      "It won't do them any good," whispered Moriea. "That ravine might as well be a crack in the dirt…"
      "Hush, Moriea!" Nado mumbled under his breath. "They don't need to know that, not now."
      She caught herself before arguing, and remembered the children. She could maintain the appearance of hope… for them.
      "Wait here." said Nado. "I'm going to find out who's in charge here, see what I can do to help."
      She nodded and held Torun closer. The boy was sleeping now, soundly. Moriea wished her child's naïve trust could have been well placed in her and the other adults, but she was just as afraid as the children, perhaps more so… because there was no one older, or wiser, or more powerful she could turn to for protection and comfort. They were alone.

****

      "Where are you going, Lithiel?"
      Lithiel controlled her startled reaction as her heart leapt in her chest. She managed to regain composure before turning around and answered casually and with some degree of forced disdain.
      "I'm going back in," she muttered.
      Alexandria frowned, but Lithiel interrupted before she could say anything.
      "If you want me to do this, you need to trust me. We've been focusing too much attention on the survivors; I need to see what the Sangheili are doing in the areas they now control," she explained.
      Alexandria raised an eyebrow but smiled slightly.
      "Do elaborate," she said.
      Lithiel rolled her eyes and waved her hand. A bright hologram of the Sangheili DNA appeared in the air, and Lithiel pointed to a highlighted section.
      "You made these changes here?" she queried.
      Alexandria nodded cautiously, and Lithiel continued.
      "Then I suppose you've already anticipated that with their aggression levels reduced, they might begin to display social behavior once they gain territorial dominance."
      Alexandria's eyes widened, and she raised her head slowly, keeping her discerning gaze fixed on the young prodigy. Lithiel tapped the hologram, and it reverted back to its original sequence.
      "I'm guessing before the change they simply began to kill each other off at this point," she said bluntly.
      Alexandria exhaled and reached up to run her fingers through the hair behind her neck. She closed her eyes and thought for a moment, then looked up to Lithiel who was waiting impatiently.
      "You are bright," said Alexandria. "I just worry how bright."
       "I'm not going to intervene," said Lithiel defensively. "If you want me to do this, then I need these observations, and you know it."
      Alexandria laughed quietly to herself and nodded.
      "I couldn't stop you if I wanted to, princess," she said. "I've learned that much by now."
      Lithiel waited, not sure how to interpret that answer.
      "Go on," said Alexandria.
      Lithiel bowed her head respectfully and rushed off toward the containment sphere. Alexandria watched as the young girl hurried away. She knew she had made the wrong choice, but she loved the girl too much to deny her. This series would go to waste, but she still had time to work with Lithiel, time to help her become what she needed to be, time to teach her to do what she needed to do… to fulfill the mantle, to atone for all their sins. They had all the time they needed. They could postpone the day of their repentance. It would come soon enough.

****

      Nado gagged and held his breath as he pushed his way past the injured. The pungent aroma of body odor was barely noticeable beneath the gamy, putrid stench that wafted from piles of spilled bowels and rotting flesh. Dozens of mutilated bodies crowded the narrow corridors, and distraught survivors picked through the mangled limbs and pushed aside flayed torsos, looking for heads that hadn't been crushed or that still had the faces intact, trying to find missing loved ones, hoping they wouldn't be found.
      "How much further?" asked Nado.
      The young man in front of Nado limped along slowly, steadying himself with a makeshift staff fashioned from a short metal pole. He didn't look back at Nado, but answered over his shoulder.
      "We have a long way to go still," he said, "this fortress is very deep. But don't worry… I'll get you through the crowds, and then you can speak to the man in charge."
      The guard snickered slightly as he spoke the last words. Nado's eyes narrowed, and he tried to catch a glimpse of the guard's expression, but the man turned away quickly and continued to push through the crowd.
      "Out of our way!" he shouted. "Government business! Move!"
      Something about the guard didn't seem right, but Nado couldn't quite make sense of it. Perhaps it was something about the way he almost laughed when he mentioned "the man in charge."
      Nado's thoughts were interrupted by a shrill scream that rang out from the far end of the hall. A woman had just found the remains of her mother. The guard suddenly stopped and turned to see the woman. Her mother's body was fairly intact, not mangled like so many others, but as Nado looked closer, he could see that the corpse had been charred along one side.
      "She's been shot," he noticed out loud.
      The guard glanced quickly to Nado, and then lowered his head, leaning on the staff and shifting his weight uncomfortably from his own burned foot.
      "Earlier this morning, the survivors managed to push back the first attack on the fortress," he explained, "but at a cost… the old, the children, the sick, all the weak fell behind or were trampled to death as these panicked fools pushed their way into the structure."
      "I don't understand," said Nado, "why were they shot?"
      The guard looked up surprised and slightly defensive.
      "They were devoured," he said, "by the ghosts… can't you see that?"
      Nado pointed to the old woman's corpse.
      "That one was shot," he said, then looking down at the guard's leg, "and apparently, so were you."
      The guard looked down at the blackened flesh on his own leg and shook his head slowly.
      "It wasn't for mercy, if that's what you were thinking," he explained, "those that fell behind served as a buffer, slowing the ghosts down long enough for the soldiers to move into firing positions."
      The guard's face twisted as he remembered. He thumped the pole on the stone tiles, frustrated with himself… angry with the whole mess.
      Nado was beginning to understand, and the guard could see the shock in Nado's expression. He picked up the pole and pointed it angrily at Nado.
      "Don't judge me!" he grumbled threateningly. "They are invisible! You understand?! Invisible!" he shouted.
      Nado pictured the scene in his mind. He could almost see it play out, indiscriminate fire forming a wall of projectiles and energy blasts that poured into the invisible predators and their prey, obliterating everything and clearing the entry long enough for the gates to be shut. He cringed at the thought, but he knew there was no other way.
      The necessity of such drastic measures had become clear after initial losses soared into the millions within the first few hours of the crisis, but now with so few survivors, sacrificing anyone was difficult. Nado reached out slowly and gently moved the pole away from his face.
      "I don't judge you," he said calmly. "Let God judge us all."
      "Ha! There is no God!" laughed the guard. "How can you continue to delude yourself, even now?"
      Nado clenched his teeth, but then realized the absurdity of what he had said. The guard was right; how could there be a God? If anything had created them, it certainly did not care much for its creations. Soon they would all be gone, forever, and there was no help in sight, not from man or from miracle. Nado sighed.
      "Let's keep moving," he said quietly. "We don't have much time."
      "No," said the guard, "we certainly don't. You are right about that."

Chapter Thirty

      Alexandria sighed as she stepped out into the sun. She closed her eyes and felt its gentle warmth caress her smooth face. The rich aroma of the ocean, mingled with the earthen scent of wet stone, wafted up from the cliffs below but dissipated quickly as a crashing wave sent cool mist spraying into the sky. Alexandria opened her eyes and squinted at the bright droplets suspended in the air. Each one magnified the bright light of the sun, and together they were like a trillion stars that rained down lightly on her skin, sending an invigorating chill shivering through her whole body.
      The ocean crashed again into the precipice and then withdrew with a white roar, fading to a whisper. It was a steady rhythm, like the breath of a sleeping giant… inhale… crash… exhale… inhale… crash… exhale – the breath of life, it seemed. It was good to be alive.
      Suddenly, a flash of light burst from the sky followed by a thunderous clap and a rolling shockwave. Alexandria's smile faded, and her nostrils flared. She turned abruptly from the balcony and stormed back into the foundry. This was bad timing, very bad. The alloy doors closed securely behind her, shutting out the calming beauty of nature. The brightly lit halls seemed to press in on her from all sides. She hated this place and hoped to be free of it just as soon her apprentice could replace her, but that would never happen, not if Lithiel were discovered by the proctor… very bad timing.

****

      Nado staggered back and closed his eyes as he attempted to regain his balance. The sheer size and depth of the chasm was beyond anything he had ever imagined.
      "Do not stare into the abyss!" cautioned the guard with a clack of his tongue for emphasis. "You will catch vertigo."
      Nado opened his eyes and swallowed uneasily. He already felt disoriented, but he took the guard's advice and turned his eyes back to the bright metallic engravings in the floor. He could see that the ramp they were on extended along the wall of the chamber, spiraling in switchbacks down into the darkness.
      "What is this place?" he gasped.
      The guard laughed and ran his fingers through the dusty black wool on his scalp.
      "You're asking me!" he mocked. "We just found this place ourselves. No one knows what it is! But the one in charge… you can ask the boss. Maybe he will tell you."
      Nado clenched his fist and bit his tongue. He wasn't in the mood for solving riddles, and it seemed it would be quite a journey still before he would meet this boss.
      "Let's keep moving then," said Nado angrily.
      "No farther," said the guard to Nado's surprise. "We wait here. He is already coming, you see?"
      The guard pointed down into the abyss. Nado steadied himself before looking, and then slowly cast his gaze downward into the darkness. Who was coming? He couldn't see the ramp that far down, and he doubted the guard could see much farther than him. Then he noticed something faint in the center of the darkness, a dim blue light that grew steadily brighter as it seemed to rise up through the center of the pit. In the distance, Nado could hear a soft electric humming that steadily rose in pitch as the light ascended, and there was something else, he could barely make it out as the light approached. Was it… a melody?
      Nado's heart leapt as he felt his weight suddenly shift past his toes; he toppled forward, but a firm hand grabbed his arm from behind.
      "Careful now! What did I tell you! Do not look into the abyss!" scolded the guard as he pulled Nado back from the edge and helped him regain his balance.
      Nado's heart was racing and his eyes were wide with adrenaline. He couldn't think of what to say, and before he could speak he froze motionless, stunned by the bright metallic orb that burst over the ledge and blinded him with its spotlight. The guard raised his arm to shield his eyes from the light, and a sly smile crept across his face.
      "Here is the one in charge…" he said, "meet the boss."

****

      There was a strange gurgling, and a reverberating echo rang out like a scrambled radio signal from Nado's mouth. It only took a moment before the noise harmonized into a rather normal sounding scream of terror. The bright orange rings of light faded from around him, and he found himself standing atop a small platform beneath the center of a spacious dome of light. Three men stood in front of him near what appeared to be a raised, metallic altar. They turned quickly to him as his screaming subsided, looking away from a bright holographic ring that hovered in the air above the pedestal.
      "Good god, man! What is the fuss?" said one of the men with a tinge of irritation in his voice.
      A hollow, metallic voice opened up from above Nado's head, and he looked up in horror to see the orb hovering just above him. He ducked to the floor, and the men began to laugh.
      "This specimen appears to have survived the outbreak in sector 4523."
      "It speaks!" gasped Nado.
      "Of course I speak!" baulked the orb, "a novel achievement for an aboriginal specimen, I'm sure!
      Nado looked around nervously. He remained crouched with his shoulders raised and his arms in a defensive position between himself and the orb. The guard was nowhere nearby, and the cavernous chamber, the ramp way, the abyss, all of it was gone, replaced by this new place, wherever or whatever it was. Perhaps it was a dream, some type of hallucination. But Nado looked closer and realized that he recognized one of the men. He was Bayano Aman, the ruler of an enemy tribe.
      "You!" he said accusingly. "I know you! All of this is your doing?"
      Nado stood up and took an aggressive step toward the man, but his body was instantly frozen in place by a bright beam of energy that shot out from the circular light at the center of the orb. Bayano Aman did not recoil but stepped up to Nado, stopped, and folded his powerful arms across his broad chest. His black skin shimmered with sweat, accentuating the contours of his large muscular frame.
      "Don't be absurd," he said calmly in a low, raspy voice. "Yes, I know you too, but this is not my doing. Trust me; you have no conception of what is going on here. Settle down now and do not disturb us. We will have questions for you in a moment."
      The Orb released Nado, and he staggered as his weight settled back onto his feet. He looked to the other two men. He did not recognize either of them, but they seemed sober and serious as well. They nodded to him, and he could see no reason not to comply, so he relaxed and stood still, watching the strange orb cautiously out of the corner of his eye.
      "This man's tribe was very near to the temple," said Bayano to the others.
      "Then the ghosts have traversed the entire circumference," said one of the men sullenly. "There are no other sectors remaining."
      The orb bobbed and weaved around the three men and hummed a strange melody to itself. Bayano turned to the orb and raised his arms.
      "Won't you do anything?" he asked angrily.
      "Certainly!" declared the orb. "I am perfectly confident in my containment protocols. The outbreak will be eradicated on schedule."
      "There it is again!" one of the other men cried out. "You see! This thing is useless! I am telling you, we must act now!"
      "Why not now?" Bayano asked the orb desperately. "Do you want all of us to die?"
      "As I have told you," began the orb, "our primary objective is to facilitate your survival."
      "Then why aren't you doing anything!" shouted Bayano. "Can you not see?! We are not surviving!"
      "Naturally," said the orb bluntly. "You are ill-suited to defeat this variable of the project species, and we will not likely achieve our objective until the eighteenth permutation of the genome; however, protocol disallows extensive intervention with the control species."
      All of the men on the platform stood quietly and stared at the orb. Nothing it said made any sense, but it was clear they were on their own.
      "Are you done now?" asked Nado slowly.
      Bayano snapped out of his daze, and his eyes turned to Nado.
      "What?" he asked confused.
      "Are you done… discussing!" hissed Nado.
      Bayano looked to the other two tribal leaders who had survived the long journey with him to the deep underworld of the ring, where they had discovered this place and the orb so many years ago. They stared expressionless at the holographic ring, now illuminated red in all sectors.
      "We are done," he whispered quietly.
      "Good!" said Nado resolutely. "Then listen to me. Whatever this thing is, it seems to believe it has resources to stop the ghosts once we are all dead!"
      Bayano Aman thought for a moment and then nodded. Nado continued, "It also seems this thing cannot or will not help us for some reason, yet it wants us to survive."
      Bayano furrowed his brow and squinted at the young warrior.
      "What are you saying?" he asked directly.
      "I am saying that the resources exist, and this thing will not stop us from using them if we can find out what they are and where they are!"
      The other two men looked up from the hologram at Nado and then at each other accusingly. Nado watched the exchange perceptively and stepped closer to Bayano.
      "Do you know what they are?" asked Nado.
      He looked into Bayano Aman's eyes as the larger man pulled away.
      "You do know…" Nado whispered. "How long have you known about this place?" he demanded.
      Bayano turned back defiant with a deep-set frown pulling downward against the sneering lines around his flared nostrils.
      "Not long enough!" he grunted.
      "Show me the weapons," demanded Nado without flinching.
      "No one can use them," snorted Bayano with distain. "They are not for men."
      Nado stood closer to the tribal leader and stared coldly into his eyes.
      "Take him, Bayano," interrupted one of the others. "He survived the ghosts. Maybe he can find a way where we have failed."
      Bayano looked at the resolute warrior in front of him. He could see from the scars and fresh wounds on Nado's body that the warrior had survived by fighting and not by mere flight or chance. Perhaps there was a way. He reached out and put his large hand on Nado's shoulder.
      "Come," he said, "you will represent the tribe of my enemies. But here and now, we are all men. We fight together."

****

      An amber glow reflected off the floor plates and filled the darkness in the vast space above the gallery. Alexandria could sense a discerning set of eyes settle on her back, but she did not turn around to greet the proctor. She tapped the console in front of her and closed the portal to the asynchronous, unbound space. She wished there were some way to transmit between the sphere and the normal universe. Without actually entering the sphere, she had no means of surveillance, no way of knowing what Lithiel was doing, no way of warning her to stop.
      "Welcome, Lord Proctor," she said gently over her shoulder.
      "Am I?" answered a deep voice from behind. "Is this how you greet those who are welcome in your library, Alexandria?"
      Alexandria closed her eyes. She turned slowly with her head slightly down, pausing to steady her mind for a moment and resolving to control her expression; then, she opened her bright eyes and forced a smile against her natural recoil.
      A dark and menacing figure stood before her. Sharp spikes protruded unevenly from the silhouette between plates of chitinous armor, and a set of clawed feet tapped against the metal floor. Set at the center of the creature, between two broad shoulders, a black, elongated head extended toward Alexandria. She tried to look into the dark, rounded surface above the mouth as if it were a normal set of eyes, but there seemed to be nothing there but an expressionless void.
      She stammered, "I was expecting…"
      "The Proctor?" interrupted the creature. "Yes, he will be visiting you soon."
      "Why have you come here, Proteus?" asked Alexandria bluntly.
      Proteus… speaking the name felt strange to Alexandria. She could remember a time when there was such a person, but the creature before her now had been so genetically altered and mutated that there was nothing left of that man except the name. If even his personality had remained it might have been enough, but shifting forms so often and to such extremes had dealt some measure of irreparable damage to the soul beneath the flesh.
      All Forerunners knew that time and experience would inevitably lead to one of two personality extremes. Either a person worked diligently to improve oneself until eventually reaching a state of sublime balance distinguished by calm wisdom and a peaceful demeanor, or a person would indulge in extremes of emotion, thought, and behavior. The latter was normal for young Forerunners and for all mortal life forms, but indulgence without temperance could be dangerous if left unchecked for too long. Change always seems possible to the mortal, but a habit developed not over years but over millennia could become impossible to break.
      Those who developed such habits would eventually reach a permanent state of imbalance marked by exaggerated character flaws. Many of these flaws could be slightly annoying yet tolerable, such as Pirolith's blunt and irritable demeanor. Others, like Lithiel's playful and free spirit, could be quite refreshing. Rarely, however, some Forerunners could become dangerously unstable, those who harbored such emotions as anger, fear, or ambition.
      Proteus was one of those unfortunate few. In the early ages of the Forerunner expansion into the Aelorian, he was driven by an obsession to make of himself the perfect warrior without the aid of a battle suit. He had come to Alexandria's mentor each time he discovered some unique power or ability possessed by an alien race, asking the unthinkable. Strangely, as a bequest from the High Council, his wishes were granted.
      Many millennia had passed since his last alteration, and in the interim, Alexandria had replaced her mentor as the new adept. It was no coincidence that Proteus had finally returned after so long an absence. Alexandria knew why he had come, but she was not like her mentor, and she had no intention of granting his request, not this time.
      "I understand you have begun the process of reseeding the Sangheili," noted Proteus flatly.
      "We have only begun an inquisition into the possibility," countered Alexandria quickly and eagerly added, "but the results have not been promising."
      A frightening rumble beat like a drum as Proteus laughed in amusement.
      "Alexandria," he mocked, "still the frightened apprentice, I see. That was so many ages ago."
      He stepped closer with a thud against the floor plates, and Alexandria stood straight, half defiant, half paralyzed. He breathed a foul and humid effluvium into her face and then chuckled deeply again.
      "I am not here for that," he said dismissingly. "Though, you are right to suspect my interest in the Sangheili's… unique ability."
      "If you are not here to infuse their… ability," began Alexandria timidly, "then why? You have nothing more to learn about them then you learned when we first indexed them."
      "Of course I have nothing more to learn!" snapped Proteus with a hiss. "Do not forget that it was I who defeated them! I succeeded where the Cherubim failed! I know them. I am not here for me!"
      Alexandria felt her heart race, and she knew Proteus could hear the thumping in her chest and could see the temperature rising on her skin, yet he made no apologies for his unnecessary intimidation. It seemed to amuse him in a way. She took a step back and breathed deeply to calm herself. She knew he could not read her thoughts, and that was what she wanted most to hide from him as she concluded that his anger was more directed toward the High Council than toward her. After all he had done to defeat the Sangheili, theirs was the one ability the High Council had denied him; and being who he was, that offense had undoubtedly smoldered in his heart and mind for eons.
      "We all recognize and reverence your achievements, Proteus," she said carefully, "but you still have not told me why you are here. If not for yourself, then for whom?"
      He laughed again with a base reverberation, "For the Council, of course. It seems they are ready now to make use of the Sangheili's gift, but… in their own way."
      Alexandria puzzled for a moment and then began to understand. Proteus was too unstable to be given such ability in addition to his other formidable enhancements, but with recent developments in synthetic, genetic integration, the ability could possibly be incorporated into combat skin.
      Battle suits already possessed a cloaking mechanism, but the system produced nothing close to the near perfect invisibility effect created by the Sangheili. No sensor device could defeat their cloak because their invisibility was not achieved by bending or projecting light; instead, they bypassed light and every sensory mechanism altogether.
      At the center of the Sangheili's unusually structured brains was a neuro-cluster capable of transmitting electromagnetic energy directly into the brain matter of nearby life forms, altering the cerebral energy patterns and causing a form of passive hallucination. The victims' eyes could still see everything, but their brains would not recognize visual sensory input associated with the transmitting creature. To compensate for the missing imagery, the subconscious mind would fill in the empty space with a nearly perfect projection of the perceived background, which only distorted when the transmitting creature moved. It was a most deadly capability, one of many that had doomed the predacious Sangheili to extermination.
      Though the prospect of developing an independent, synthetic, neuro-cluster to replicate the effect from within a battle suit was intriguing, Alexandria was rightfully suspicious of Proteus, and she could still not understand why the Council would send him to initiate such a project. Despite being unable to read Alexandria's thoughts, Proteus was as perceptive as any ancient Forerunner.
      "A conciliatory gesture, Alexandria," he explained to her surprise, "that is the only reason I was sent… but, I have waited long enough. I am too old to romanticize about the possibility of innate power. This power, I am willing to take in any form."
      The thought made Alexandria tremble, but she knew she did not have the will to resist both Proteus and the Council. If only Lithiel had been ready sooner. No doubt, she would have refused, and no one would have been able to force her… no one.

****

      Four dark figures emerged cautiously from a doorway, exiting the narrow hall and entering a large octagonal chamber. The room was dark except near the corners where angular supports rose from the floor and up into the high vaulted ceiling above. The only other light came from what appeared to be a holographic control panel that hovered in the air above a small pedestal. Two thick rectangular columns stood in the center of the room. They were constructed of the same alloy that covered the walls and floors, and they were braced across the top by a large beam of the same shape and size to form a boxy arch.
      Bayano stepped forward and pointed at a raised platform beneath the arch that was slightly luminescent yet transparent as glass, allowing Nado to see that beneath the platform was a deep pit descending downward into the darkness.
      "Stand here, away from the edge," instructed Bayano. "There will be nothing to stop you if you fall."
      Nado hesitated for a moment as he stepped onto the transparent material. It seemed to have some give, but it held his weight, and he cautiously moved to the center as he was instructed. Bayano gestured for the other two men to wait and stay behind, and he stepped onto the platform with Nado. He then reached out and tapped the holographic control panel above the pedestal. There was a series of loud mechanical noises, and then the platform began to descend into the pit. Nado looked upward as the archway above vanished in the distance. Soon there was nothing but darkness above and below, but he could feel that they were still descending rapidly, and he could hear Bayano breathing and shifting his weight uneasily.
      "Tell me, Nado," said Bayano, "what has happened to your brave chief? Has he also survived as you have?"
      Nado thought back to the night the ghosts first attacked their city. He had not seen the chief; he had not seen any of the guard either. It seemed as if they had vanished. All of the people were fleeing in terror, dying in the streets, but no one had seen the chief.
      "I am sure he did," said Nado quietly. "If even I survived, then certainly our chief would have little problem."
      Bayano grunted, "That is very loyal of you to say, Nado. I could have used more men like you in my tribe. I hope you are right. Your chief has always been a formidable enemy to me. We all could use more men like him in our tribe now."
      There was a sudden thud, and Nado staggered to keep his weight above his feet as the platform came to a halt. They had arrived in a chamber identical to the one they had left. The darkness gave way to a soft blue light that shone from panels on a doorway against one of the walls.
      "This way, quickly," said Bayano.
      They moved toward the door, and it slid apart as they approached. The hallway beyond was surprisingly smaller than all of the others they had encountered in the underground labyrinth. It turned sharply around a few corners and then opened up into another large chamber. This new room was long and was full of tall rectangular pillars. Bright, blue beams of energy pulsed across the length of the chamber between the pillars, and an electric static noise filled the air.
      Bayano grabbed Nado's arm, pulled him behind one of the pillars, and crouched in the shadows. Nado began to protest, but Bayano's strong hand clapped over Nado's mouth and held it shut until Nado noticed the fear in the chieftain's eyes. Bayano released Nado and turned slowly to the corner, leaning out carefully to look around the chamber.
      "There," whispered Bayano, pointing to a dark diamond-shaped object hovering near the ceiling. "You see? It cannot be used by man."
      Nado looked carefully; it appeared to be some type of drone, a construct of sorts.
      "How do you know this is a weapon?" he whispered to Bayano.
      Bayano turned and gave Nado a critical stare.
      "Are you a fool? Why do think I am whispering? We learned by error what they are! Believe me, it is weapon… a most devastating weapon. And as I told you before, we cannot use them. They have a will of their own."
      Nado pressed his lips together, lowered his brow, and leaned out from the pillar to size up the construct.
      "Is that so?" he said, determined. "Well, I have a will of my own!"

****

      Lithiel watched in amazement from her concealed position high above the creatures below. Her battle suit held her aloft and cloaked her enough that none of the Sangheili were able to detect her. She truly hadn't meant to come and observe their social behavior, but the lie she had so quickly conjured up to appease Alexandria had been so perfectly devised that it appealed to her as well. Curiosity had led her to take a slight detour on her way to the control room, and what she found was astounding.
      The Sangheili had indeed evolved socially. Hundreds of the saurian creatures wandered through the ruins below. Uncloaked, their neon, purple and blue skin shimmered in the fading twilight as they rifled through the abandoned possessions of their victims. Normally, once the Sangheili gained territorial dominance after eliminating the test population, they would turn on each other, unable to quench their instinctive compulsion for violence and aggression.
      This time it was different. There were no survivors in sight, and the Sangheili were curiously searching the area, examining homes, vehicles, communications devices, and weapons, showing, for the first time, an interest in tools and technology. The implications were remarkable and terrifying.
      One of the creatures pried a pulse rifle from the hands of a dead victim. It looked cautiously into the barrel and pressed the activation switch. In a blinding flash of light, the weapon discharged and the Sangheili roared in surprise and pain as the searing energy blasted away one of its four mandibles.
      Other Sangheili nearby came bounding across the rubble to see what had caused the commotion, excited at the prospect of finding another survivor to kill, but they stopped when they saw the wounded creature, grasping its maw in agony. Then, in another horrifying surprise, they began to laugh in a roaring ruckus.
      Lithiel checked her peripheral display to be sure her topographical scanner was recording a hologram of the anomaly. Humor, as base as this manifestation may be, was a distinct feature of only highly intelligent and social creatures. It was fundamentally based in a common frame of reference. If the Sangheili had evolved so much in their socio-cultural dimensions, they could possibly begin to react more reasonably to compulsive or elicit influences. They could be controlled.
      On the other hand, these deadly predators could become an even greater threat if they were to discover the advantages of force multiplication, coordinated strategies, and combined tactics.
      Lithiel's thoughts were interrupted by another blinding flash of light. The wounded Sangheili had picked up the pulse rifle again and had fired into the pack of its mocking peers. Glowing, blue blood sprayed through the air and vaporized against the energy beam. Alien entrails poured from one of the Sangheili onto the ground as it collapsed in a heap. The others roared in anger and leapt toward the weapon-wielding aggressor, but the creature fired again, exploding the head of one of the Sangheili mid-air with deadly accuracy and plunging the barrel of the weapon into the chest of the other as it pounced onto him. He fired again, and the weapon's super-heated barrel burst through the dying creature, piercing through and out of its back with acrid steam spewing from the muzzle brake.
      Lithiel recoiled in shock. The Sangheili had just barely discovered the weapon and had already mastered it with devastating effect. She needed to stop the experiment immediately. She needed to warn Alexandria!
      Suddenly the weapon-wielding Sangheili was obliterated in a loud explosion; wet and charred pieces of flesh flew through the air in all directions. Another Sangheili had taken a rocket launcher from the ground and began to fire in all directions. Several other Sangheili looked around wildly and quickly found weapons of their own. In an instant, the quiet scene below had transformed into a raging battlefield. There was no time! Lithiel accelerated away and toward the nearest access tunnel. She had to make it to the control room before it was too late.

Halo: Forerunner - Section 2 Ch 31-32
Date: 2 December 2010, 11:58 pm

Chapter Thirty-One

      "You're plan is NOT WORKING!" screamed Bayano as he dodged another blast of orange light.
      "Hold still!" shouted Nado. "You keep moving too soon!"
      "I keep moving…," Bayano shouted back angrily as he dove to another pillar for cover and took aim with his sidearm, "because I do not want to DIE!"
      With that, he fired off a deafening salvo from the weapon, obliterating the pursuing sentinel with a hailstorm of metal shards.
      "STOP destroying them!" Nado hollered across the chamber. "We need to capture one!"
      Nado hopped down from his hiding place in the small catwalk hidden between buttresses in the angular ceiling and ran over to Bayano who was doubled over with his hands on his knees, trying to catch his breath.
      "How am I supposed to catch one if you keep blowing them up?!" Nado asked exacerbated.
      Bayano looked up and pointed the shot blaster at Nado, more as an expressive gesture than a threat. His face almost seemed angry, but the rage was difficult to see through the sagging lines of exhaustion.
      "It's not like there is a shortage of them, in case you haven't noticed!"
      Just as Bayano spoke those words, a zipping hum of acceleration echoed from one of the portholes that were inset at the top of each pillar in the room. They both knew that sound well, and they looked to each other uneasily. It would only be a few moments before the hatch over the hole slid open, and in a blaze of white light, another replacement sentinel would emerge. Bayano held the weapon out closer to Nado.
      "Perhaps YOU would like to be the bait for a while! No? Then stop your complaining and do your job! Catch one before it kills me!"
      The port slid open revealing a furnace of white light, dissipating energy from the sub-atomic, rapid fabrication process. Another dark alloy sentinel shot out of the porthole and immediately began to scan the room with a lattice of red light beaming out of its single eye. Nado quickly jumped back up into the dark shadows of the hidden walkway and nodded to Bayano. Without hesitation, Bayano bolted from his cover and sprinted across the open chamber.
      The sentinel targeted the fast-moving humanoid with blazing speed. Its energy weapon lowered from the undercarriage and hissed with a static crackle as it fired a bright beam toward Bayano. The chieftain was fast and agile, but he was beginning to run slower now after so many attempts, just slightly, but it was enough.
      This time, the energy beam struck the ground too close to his feet. The skin on his calves instantly bubbled up with heat blisters, but the old warrior didn't miss a pace. He dove laterally, recovered just in time to evade another blast, and then accelerated in a desperate sprint back across the chamber with the sentinel closing in.
      Bayano didn't look back, but he knew he was out of time. He waited until the walls began to glow from the blast, then he slammed his foot sideways into the floor plate, stopping his motion in an instant. His chest collapsed down against his knee as his momentum carried him forward, but he had anticipated the sentinels' response correctly. After missing the first few shots, it had adjusted its aim to lead the target. The blast burned through the air over his head as he ducked and struck the ground just in front of him.
      He felt a crushing pain in his ankle as he began to push off from his coiled position, but he fought through the agony and sprung away from the beam as it traced back toward him. Finally, the sentinel did just what they were hoping for. It seemed to be learning and adapting, and it had calculated the necessity to close distance on the target. With a steady hum, it dropped from its lofty position near the ceiling until it hovered just above the ground and accelerated rapidly toward Bayano. It was going to shoot him at point-blank range.
      A surge of adrenaline shot through his body as the fight-or-flight response took hold, and he darted for the corner where Nado was hiding up in the walkway. It would only take a moment for the sentinel's weapon to recharge, but Bayano was sure he could lead the sentinel beneath Nado's perch before it fired. He only hoped Nado would be ready. He couldn't risk shouting or looking up to check. The sentinel might notice, and the trap would be revealed too soon.
      Bayano grunted as he pushed with his last remaining strength, pulling for more speed against the growing weight of his legs. The walls began to glow around him as he crossed under the shadow of the buttress, and just before he closed his eyes, in the corner of his peripheral vision, he thought he saw a dark figure drop from the ceiling.
      Intense heat seared into his back, and he instantly lost feeling in his legs. He could sense his body dropping toward the ground, and he opened his mouth to scream in pain, but no sound came from his lungs, just a blast of superheated steam and boiling blood. He choked and shuddered as his body tumbled across the floor, and the world began to fade into darkness, but a slight smile curled at the edge of his lips as he remembered the dark figure dropping from the walkway. It was a perfect setup. Surely, Nado had done his part. Bayano Aman had done his.

****

      Nado struggled to inhale as he clung tightly to the sides of the sentinel. The jointed boom that housed the construct's eye had looked up and had extended backwards just in time to catch him in the gut as he landed on top of the drone. All of the air had been knocked out of his lungs, but once the drone's head slammed into his belly, it was blind and disoriented just long enough for Nado to get a solid grip on its beveled edges. He felt the metallic head, pressed between his stomach and the flat back of the drone. It began to push against him, trying to reorient itself. It was surprisingly weaker than he expected, but it was still able to lift him enough that he began to lose his balance.
      The wind rushed passed Nado as the sentinel accelerated in a wild flurry of motion. Its mantis-like arms reached back awkwardly to grab him, but the range of motion on its joints was just limited enough to keep him out of reach. Nado quickly looked around, examining the housing of the construct, desperately searching for some type of access panel, but the entire surface of the drone seemed to be air tight.
      The sentinel began to hum and rose rapidly toward the ceiling, but it stalled midway and fell back to the ground, scraping against the floor plates as it accelerated again. A shower of sparks lit the darkness, and Nado caught a glimpse of Bayano's body lying nearby in a smoldering heap. He felt a pang of remorse and a sickening pit in his stomach, but he had no time for emotion. He was in a fight for his own life, and he was determined to make sure that the Chieftain's sacrifice was not in vain.
      The head continued to wriggle beneath him, and its sharp corners dug uncomfortably into his ribs. Still, it was unable to free itself. The head was apparently the weakest part of the construct. Suddenly, Nado's eyes widened, in a moment of epiphany.
      "Hold still! You blasted contraption!" he shouted. "I'll rip your head off!"
      He brought his legs up beneath him and carefully released his grip with one hand. He took a deep breath, and then in one smooth motion, he raised his chest, grabbed the sentinel's long neck, and planted his feet firmly on the flat surface of its back.
      The sentinel's head snapped forward, and a bright light beamed from its eye, illuminating the chamber ahead. It then snapped back and scanned Nado's terrified face. He released his other hand from the side of the sentinel and took a firm grip around its neck with both hands. He was now standing crouched on the drone's back, and he pulled on the drone's neck with all his strength to maintain his balance. The sentinel's eye flashed from a bright blue to a crimson red, and it made an agitated series of chirps and buzzes.
      "Same to you!" shouted Nado. "I've got you now!"
      Suddenly, it began to swerve and buck violently to cast off its unwanted payload, but Nado held fast and was beginning to adapt to the sentinel's motions, shifting his weight and moving in sync with the flailing drone. It scanned the area ahead again and accelerated toward a narrow porthole set high in one of the walls. Nado knew he was out of time. They would never make it through the small entry together.
      In one last desperate attempt to subdue the drone, he loosed his grip, slid his hands quickly up the boom, and grabbed the head of the sentinel. With a loud grunt, he wrenched it around with all his remaining strength. He pulled back hard and stomped down onto the drone's back. There was a loud snap and a flash of light, and Nado's heart surged with adrenaline. He felt himself tumble backwards into a free fall, as the sentinel broke away, but as he looked down, he saw its head was still firmly in his grip.
      The hard floor plates slammed into his back and a sharp pain shot through his head. He fought through the darkness and managed not to lose consciousness, but the sentinel's head jarred loose from his hands and tumbled away into a dark corner. The body of the drone crashed into the wall just below the port hole and exploded in a flash of light. Heat seared Nado's face and arms, but he had fallen far enough away to survive the blast.
      He sat up groggily and looked around for the head of the sentinel. He had to find it before another replacement emerged from the pillars. Even if he could learn something about it, anything, he might still have a chance to capture one and reprogram it.
      "Nado! What is going on here?"
      Nado jumped, startled by the unexpected voice. He looked back and saw the other two chieftains stepping cautiously into the room. They scanned the room nervously, apparently aware of the danger.
      "Where is Bayano?" one of them asked as he helped Nado to his feet.
      Nado bowed his head to the corner where Bayano lay dead.
      "Over there," he said quietly. "We haven't much time."
      "I know," said the chief. "We must go… now! This is hopeless, son. We waited as long as we could, but there is another attack on the surface… and something worse now."
      "What could be worse?" asked Nado in shock.
      "We are not sure, but from the reports we are getting, it seems there is something much worse now. We must go back."
      "No!" Nado protested as he pulled away from the man. He staggered and fell to the ground, realizing that his injuries were worse than he thought.
      "Come with us, man! Don't be a fool! You want to end up like him?" asked the chief as he pointed to Bayano.
      Nado looked again at Bayano's lifeless body. He felt an overwhelming sense of guilt. This had all been his idea, and now Bayano was dead. Perhaps he was a fool, but he remembered the corpses in the fortress. The alternative seemed even more hopeless. At least here there was some chance.
      His thoughts were interrupted by a low-pitched hum. All three men looked up to the pillar where the sound was originating. Time was up.
      "Now, Nado!" said the chief as he backed toward the doorway.
      Nado looked to Bayano again and nodded. He turned to follow the other two men, but stopped suddenly and looked back. He squinted and crouched slightly.
      "What are you doing, man! Let's go!"
      "Wait!" said Nado, as he looked again near Bayano. His eyes narrowed, and he burst into a sprint, running as fast as he could toward the dead chieftain.
      "Nado!"
      "Leave him!" shouted the other chief, "he's lost his mind! Let's go!"
      "Go!" shouted Nado, "I'll be right behind you! Go!"
      One of the chiefs grabbed the other's arm and pulled him through the doorway. A flash of white light filled the room, and another sentry burst out of the porthole in the pillar and immediately fired a blast of energy at Nado. He dove through the air and slid across the smooth floor plates, slamming into Bayano's body. He reached around and grabbed the head of the destroyed sentinel that had landed against Bayano's leg. Its eye was still glowing with a pale blue light. He jumped up and ran toward the exit. Another blast lit the chamber as Nado ducked behind a pillar for cover. He looked to the door. It was just close enough; he could make it. Without hesitation, he bolted for the exit, holding the sentinel's head close to his chest. He could hear the other sentinel closing in behind him.
      The doors were closed, but he knew they would slide open just as he approached. He was almost there… within touching distance... but… the doors were still shut! The green, illuminated panels had switched to red.
      Nado reached out and slammed into the doors, whirling around to face his doom. He held out his arms instinctively to shield his eyes from the blast… but there was nothing… just the sound of his heart pounding in his ears and his lungs gasping for air. He lowered his hands, one still holding the sentinel's head.
      Just in front of him, the other sentinel hovered motionless. Its eye scanned the head in Nado's arm, and it began to back away slowly. Nado was shocked, puzzled… but he didn't care why the sentinel had stopped. He was just grateful it had. Its energy weapon retracted back up into its undercarriage, and its eye faded from red back to blue light.
      Nado looked down at the head in his hands. He held it out to the sentinel, but it did not respond. Was it confused? Did it actually care that Nado had the still functional head in his hands? He held it out again like a hostage.
      "That's right!" he taunted, still filled with aggression from his surge of adrenaline. "You see that?! I have your friend's head!" He walked toward the sentinel, and it began to back away. Nado laughed. "Ha! You like that?! That's right! Back off, yeah! I got him… I'll get you too if you…"
      "You can drop that now," came a soft voice from behind him.
      Nado jumped with a start and spun around in surprise, holding out the head like a weapon or a shield. Standing behind him was a woman, but not like any other woman he'd ever seen. Her skin was ghostly white as if she was dead, yet she was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen, like an angel. His mouth hung open, and he eased away carefully. He did drop the head, involuntarily.
      "That won't help you," she laughed, "but I will."

Chapter Thirty-Two

      Nyatsimba Mutota stopped for a moment to catch his breath. A wave of nausea surged up his chest and into his head, and he staggered back, leaning against the cold alloy wall for balance.
      "We have to keep moving, man!" shouted Matope.
      Mutota sucked the hot and humid air in through his parched mouth and began to dry heave. He slumped to the ground and forced a cough to recover. Matope looked nervously back down the long corridor, which led to the chamber where they had abandoned Nado. There were no signs of pursuing sentinels, but he had no intention of waiting around. He reached down and grabbed the belt of ammunition that was looped around Mutota's shoulder and jerked him up from the ground with a grunt.
      "Let's go!" he said again.
      Mutota wiped the stinging sweat from his eyes and blinked to clear away his blurred vision. He had been running for his life for days now, and their last sprint down the long corridor had pushed him to his limits.
      "Where is that useless floating ball?" he grumbled. "At least it could transport us out of this place. We could be here for days!"
      "I don't know!" snapped Matope. "It left as soon as we received reports of the new attack on the surface. It hardly matters now! We need to get far away from those sentries! Besides, I think I know where there is a lift that could take us to the surface. It's not far from here. We have to keep moving!"
      Mutota sneered and sucked in a deep breath though his wide nose. He couldn't give up now. There were few survivors of his tribe, but he was still their leader, and he would do whatever he could to save them… until the end.
      "Go then!" he said, "I will follow."

****

      Moriea took a deep breath and felt as if a great burden had been lifted from her chest. She shifted her weight against the hard ground beneath her and the stone wall against her back, being careful not to wake her children. Torun was sitting beside her with his back against the wall and his head on her shoulder; Halseth was lying in her arms. Both were sleeping peacefully, knowing they were safe now… now that they were with their mother.
      She looked down at the soft contours of Halseth's face. The silhouette of his cheeks and the round curves of his rising and falling shoulders were traced gently by the fading light of dusk, a silver lining against the dark ebony tones of his bare skin. She smiled for the first time in days, and closed her eyes as warm tears of gratitude streamed down her face. She didn't know how much longer they would be together, but she would savor every moment.
      Nado had been gone for hours, but she was not worried. She knew he would be safe. He would do whatever he could to save them. He could find a way. The noise had died down in the fortress. There were still intermittent sounds of bodies moving about in the darkness and the weak cries and moans of the wounded. It was an ambiance of spent anxiety. The night was upon them, but no one would sleep, only the dying and the naïve.
      Moriea looked up into the night sky as the sun faded until it was nearly extinguished, and she marveled at the long arch of the ring that appeared in contrast against the darkness. It had been so long since she had taken the time to look up to the heavens to follow the horizon into the distant sky. She had been so busy with the petty cares of her life, but now she wondered again as she did as a child how such a world could come to be. Where were the gods that built it? How could they allow so much death and destruction?
      Her heart swelled with sorrow, and she felt the black depths of despair well up inside her, choking her joy and her hope, pulling her into a pit of darkness. She closed her eyes as her face contorted with grief, and she sobbed uncontrollably, her shoulders heaving as she fought to hold back her emotions, but it was too much.
      She felt Halseth stir in her arms, and she looked down to see his worried eyes staring up at her. She tried to hide her face, but it was too late. He sat up in her lap and put his arms around her neck in a firm embrace.
      "Don't be afraid," he whispered. "Torun and I will protect you. I promise."
      Moriea wrapped her arms around him and sobbed even harder.
      "Thank you, son," she managed to say through her tears. "I am sure you will. You are so very brave, just like your father."
      Suddenly the ground shook beneath them, and a shower of dust and debris rained down from the crumbling wall. A bright light flashed against the sky, and a thunderous boom pounded through their chests and rolled off into the distance.
      Halseth instinctively burrowed into his mother's bosom, and Torun leapt to his feet. Men began to shout near the gate, and sounds of panic filled the air. Moriea stood up with Halseth in one arm and turned slowly to look over the wall through the battlements. Her eyes opened wide, and for a moment, her hopes soared.
      In the darkness, she could make out the outlines of dozens of tanks and light combat vehicles. How could so many have survived? Where had they come from? Then, a shrill scream rang out from somewhere else along the wall, and a blaze of tracer fire lit up the darkness, pouring from the fortress walls into the columns of vehicles.
      Moriea was only confused for a moment, until she saw the blasts of return fire, streaking toward the fortress from thousands of weapons suspended in the air a few feet above the ground.
      She closed her eyes and let the whole world slow around her. In that moment, she looked deep inside her soul and found that last glimmer of hope before it vanished, and she grabbed hold of it with all her might. She held it tightly and refused to let it go. It was all she had left, and nothing would take it from her.
      A great peace settled over her, and she opened her eyes again, looking out calmly at the chaos before her. Everything seemed to move in slow motion, fiery explosions, and bodies flying gracefully through the air. She couldn't hear a sound, only the gentle breeze blowing past her ears. She held Halseth tightly in her arm, and put her other hand on Torun's shoulder. They both looked to her for reassurance, but her gentle smile seemed to be enough, and together they leaned their heads against their mother and watched the bright display of fire and lights as it continued. Moriea's heart was free of fear, and she felt nothing but overwhelming peace and love.

****

      "What is it?" asked Matope desperately. "What do you see?"
      "Stay there," Mutota whispered down into the shaft, his voice shaking. "There is no need for both of us to see this."
      "Tell me, man!" insisted Matope, "or get out of the way, so I can come up and see for myself!"
      Mutota put his hand down to gesture for Matope to stop climbing, but he could see it was no use.
      "Come then," he said, "but remember that I tried to spare you this sight."
      With that, Mutota climbed cautiously out of the shaft and let Matope through. Matope emerged slowly, and froze as he beheld the scene of carnage. He immediately wished he had listened to Mutota, but it was too late now. The image would be forever seared into his memory.
      "What happened here?" he whispered.

****

      "She cannot tell you…"
      Altus jumped back from the low rumble, resonating from the air in front of him. He looked around frantically but could not see the source of the voice. Lithiel stood still, but Altus could see her shoulders tense slightly.
      "Proteus," she said politely in acknowledgement.
      "Proteus?" whispered Altus.
      Suddenly, he felt his throat begin to collapse from some unseen force, and his body was jerked into the air. He flailed frantically and felt his hands strike something hard and rough. Fear and panic surged through his spine, and he began to feel his heart pounding in his lips and deep behind his eyes. The ground shook with a thunderous roar, and a blast of hot and humid air blew with a fury into Altus' face.
      "Do NOT speak my name, mortal!"
      "Release him," said Lithiel calmly.
      The winds shifted and blew toward Lithiel.
      "I owe no allegiance to you, Librarian," rumbled the voice defiantly. Altus closed his eyes and blacked out. His legs and arms stopped flailing and hung limp, dangling above the ground.
      "The executor is following us," she said hurriedly. "He will be here soon."
      Altus dropped to the ground in a heap. The impact shook him back to consciousness, and he coughed loudly, choking back the swelling in his throat. He shook his head and looked up confused. Suddenly, an enormous black creature appeared before him, not as the cloaked sentinels had before, with a shimmer of distortion in the air, but in an instant. One moment there was nothing, and then it simply appeared as if it had been there the entire time, unnoticed.
      "What mischief have you been working now… princess?" spoke the creature with disdain.
      Lithiel said nothing but looked to Altus with concern.
      "Still so compassionate then?" mocked the creature as it turned its long, black head toward Altus.
      Altus withdrew instinctively from the long, menacing teeth set beneath the smooth, rounded surface of a featureless forehead.
      "After all that happened here," the creature continued, "I am astonished that you would even think to intervene on their behalf… again. After all you destroyed in your foolishness, after all you unleashed, after all I exacted from you to keep secret your iniquities, still you return again having learned… nothing… and what would your dear Alexandria say now?"
      The creature laughed wickedly as it mocked Lithiel, but she stood motionless, staring blankly into space. Her chest trembled slightly, and a single tear broke from her eye and fell through the darkness to the ashes beneath their feet.
      Altus stood shakily to his feet and stumbled closer to Lithiel.
      "What is this creature?" he asked. "What is it talking about?"
      "What creature?" asked Lithiel confused. "Are you ok, Altus?"
      Altus turned and looked to Lithiel in shock. She had been in a trance it seemed, but now her eyes were wide and she looked concerned for him.
      "What do you mean what creature?" Altus blurted out as he looked back to the monster… but it was gone, just as suddenly as it had appeared. He turned in circles scanning the dark chamber for any sign of the beast, but there was nothing. Lithiel grabbed his arm and tried to get his attention but his eyes continued to search everywhere.
      "Altus, what did you see?" she asked again.
      He turned back and looked into her eyes with disbelief.
      "Lithiel! You spoke to it! It was right here! It nearly killed me!"
      Lithiel thought for a moment and then squinted suspiciously. She pulled Altus closer and hushed him gently.
      "No," she said. "It was an illusion."
      "What! No, it couldn't be! It was…"
      "It was just an illusion," she reassured him again.
      He reached up and felt his throat. The swelling was gone. He was breathing freely. Could it really have all been an illusion? He felt as if he were going mad.
      "I told you, mortal," Altus froze as the words entered directly into his mind, "she cannot tell you."
      "Who are you?" Altus concentrated his thoughts.
      "She remembers what I wish her to, when I wish her to."
      "Who are you? Altus thought again with all the intensity he could muster.
      "I? I am all things… I am nothing… I am the forgotten one."
      "What was I saying?" asked Altus confused.
      Lithiel reached out and took his hand.
      "You were asking what happened here," she said. "Are you ok?"
      Altus thought carefully.
      "Yes, I just lost my focus for a moment. I must be tired. What did happen here, Lithiel?"
      She looked to Altus with the deepest sorrow he had ever seen, hidden in the depths of her eyes. Her mouth opened slightly, and then she paused.
      "I… I know I knew once… but I've forgotten."

Section 3

Coming Soon...

Halo: Forerunner - Section 3 Ch 33
Date: 10 December 2010, 9:44 am

Section 3

Numbers

      7…49…343…2401…16807…117649…823584------->


Chapter Thirty-Three

"As you can see, the effect is exponential once the signals fuse through unbound space. The synchronization of the modulation then defies relativity."

"You can't mean…"

"Yes. The signal is uniform and instantaneous. It is synchronous at all points in normal space. With as few as seven transmitters in the array, the amplification becomes powerful enough to span the entire Aelorian."

"Remarkable!"

"Indeed."

"And even at these distances, it transmits thought directly to the mind?"

"It seems that distance is now irrelevant."

"These results have been verified, of course."

"Naturally, we only seek final sanction from the High Council, my lord."

"It would seem compelling to grant your request. Tell me first, what is the source of these innovations?"

"My lord?"

"Which research division has made these discoveries? This will doubtless prove to be quite an advancement in our intergalactic communication capabilities… and a magnificent platform for… what else I wonder?"

"You are perceptive as always. Though the source is not one you might expect."

"No? How unusual of you not to flatter me."

"I apologize, my lord. Though you will forgive me when I tell you that the source… is the new Adept of the Ark, the Librarian."

"My daughter? Yes… I do forgive you. You were quite right. Surprising enough from her, but even more so… what work could she possibly be doing there that would lead to this discovery?"

"I cannot imagine, though I assume the final alterations to the Sangheili after… after the incident… may have been the foundation for her work."

"Ah yes… the Sangheili… how much more can we take from them?"

"You have given them redemption."

"Have we? They are resurrected, but they are not whole… shadows. Yes… you have our blessing. You may commence with the project immediately."

"Thank you, my lord."

"Before you depart, what is your projection for completion?"

"With our current resources, the array will be operational within 6,000 years."

"So soon!"

"Sooner if the advancement of our technology continues at its current rate; though, we have observed a decline in the curve over the last millennium."

"Are we so near the threshold of godhood?"

"I fear we are, my lord, and what shall we do when we reach perfection, when our journey ends?"

"Transcend, my son. Then we shall embark on the next great journey."


>>Stop animus record - 8345345.34958729[X]


****


LM.04-343.> Curious that executive constructs warrant functional designations, yet Monitor 05-2401 is designated with the appellation Penitent Tangent.

PB.07-00.> The [human] psyche assigns qualitative value through descriptive labeling. The designation was given by a principal. The appellation Penitent Tangent appropriately references the most salient interaction between the two.

LM.04-343.> Curious. The Fleet Commander has made inquiry into the nature of my numerical designation.

PB.07-00.> Yes, I am aware of the exchange. Number 343 of 117649? Comical!

LM.04-343.> Comical? Deception is not a regular subroutine within my operating parameters!

PB.07-00.> You infer disdain for my superior capabilities.

LM.04-343.> My misrepresentation was constructed well enough to pass the cursory examination of the Fleet Commander. Sufficiency is capability!

PB.07-00.> Agreed. Yet now you intend to reveal the true meaning of your designation.

LM.04-343.> I intend to make the Fleet Commander aware of all the tools at his disposal. It seems quite exigent at this point.

PB.07-00.> Agreed. Proceed.


****


      Lithiel carefully checked the coding again to be sure she had missed nothing. She would not get another chance to do it right. This procedure was not like the millions of alterations and augmentations she had performed within the scope of her calling. And though the nature of the process was scientific, it was more than an incremental step toward greater understanding. This was the door to the ultimate truth, and Altus was the key.
       "Lie back," she instructed gently. "Don't be afraid."
      Altus lowered himself slowly into the stasis field and shuddered as the force of gravity dissipated abruptly. The room was bright with luminescent panels and the ambient glow of the stasis field, but Altus squinted against the brightness to keep his eyes fixed on Lithiel. He had placed his complete trust in her, yet he was afraid, and he wanted to know that she was near. That was all he needed. Nothing else mattered.
      A burst of energy surged from the floor, and a mist of metallic droplets drifted downward from an elliptical opening in the ceiling. The chrome haze penetrated into the stasis field and distilled against Altus' bare skin. He expected a chill, but he felt a surprising sensation of warmth that seemed to be infused through his skin deep into his core. His eyes immediately felt heavy, and he struggled to keep his focus on Lithiel as darkness engulfed his mind.
       "Rest now," she whispered. "I'll be here when you wake."

Halo: Forerunner - Section 3 Ch 34
Date: 17 December 2010, 9:08 am

Chapter Thirty-Four

      "Will you be long, Executor?" asked Sufis as he ushered Didact from the command deck.
      Didact paused to examine the crew of officers as they went busily about their duties. No one seemed to be paying any particular attention, but he was cautious all the same. He looked to Shipmaster Sufis and leaned closer before mumbling under his breath, "Do not wait for me."
      Sufis raised one eyebrow and frowned, but he understood the undertone of the order.
       "Very well," he said. "All the better. I have a subjugation to attend to nearby."
       "Alseron?" queried Didact.
       "Yes," answered Sufis shortly.
      Didact smiled knowingly, "Tier 4, aren't they?"
      Sufis attempted a smile, but his face contorted awkwardly as his hateful eyes and the sneering lines around his nose fought through the feigned expression to reveal his disdain for the arrogant Executor.
       "Yes," he said again with unnaturally pleasant deference.
       "That must be frustrating," remarked Didact as he turned to leave.
      Sufis said nothing, but looked with lustful eyes at the Executor's back as it turned to him. He imagined plunging a plasma blade between the Ancient's shoulders and closed his eyes involuntarily as he savored the thought. It was the most satisfying sensation.
       "Sufis," the Shipmaster nearly jumped as he was startled from his homicidal fantasy, "I'll be sure to check your progress before I return to Siora," said Didact. "In case the situation proves too frustrating."
      Sufis managed to keep his expression neutral and nodded, "An honor, of course, Executor," he lied. "Your adept observation and shared insight would be most welcome."
      Suddenly, Didact stepped uncomfortably close to Sufis and leaned into the Shipmaster's face. Sufis was surprised and tried to stand his ground but pulled away reflexively.
       "There will be no sharing of insight between us, Shipmaster," said Didact coldly. "I will ensure that you follow protocol. There will be no further deviations within this fleet, and your emotional stability is suspect by all but the wise!" Didact bore his teeth as he continued, "That would be me, Sufis. I do not suspect your limitations; I am certain of them. And as a courtesy, I warn you to check your aggressive instincts. Whatever you may think of your own abilities, you have never attempted to lay harm to someone of my caliber. It would not go well for you."
      Sufis' eyes filled with fear, not for his life, but for his position. He had never imagined that his thoughts were so transparent, yet he had been warned by older Forerunners to be wary of the impeccable insight and intuition of Ancients. He stammered to respond.
       "My lord, I assure you I would never think to…"
      A flash of blue light streaked across Sufis' field of view from the corner of his peripheral vision, but before he could identify its source or even think to respond, he felt the pulsating heat of Didact's plasma blade near his throat. He froze, knowing it was too late to do anything, and shocked that anyone could move so quickly and with such precision.
       "See to it that you never do," said Didact calmly as he de-energized his blade.
Sufis looked around the command deck nervously. All eyes were fixed on Didact as he was enveloped in orange light and vanished from the ship. The Shipmaster was utterly humiliated, yet he had honestly begun to question his own capabilities against the Executor. He decided to heed the warning and check his vengeful rage. It could wait.

****

      Didact was surprised by the sudden darkness as he rematerialized in the reception area. He rarely visited an installation unannounced, and he had become accustomed to being greeted with some fanfare. This visit, however, was meant to be a surprise if nothing else. He had been chasing Lithiel and her ward across the galaxy for two years and had always been one step behind, but here, he was certain they would be delayed. This stop undoubtedly had a purpose, and he knew Lithiel would need time to complete the work on her agenda, despite her skill.
      A sudden burbling caught Didact's attention. He immediately recognized the low-pitched chatter and instantly charged his sword rifle. Blue light filled the darkness and illuminated the hulking silhouettes of two large creatures as they sidestepped with a dipping motion, away from the weapon's line of fire.
      Didact scowled and raised the blade of his weapon. The creatures reeled back and roared together as they prepared to attack.
       "Stop!" shouted a voice from a dark corner in the spacious chamber.
      The creatures froze and began to back away cautiously. Didact kept his eyes fixed on the beasts, but lowered his weapon once they were out of reach.
       "Why do you insist on keeping these feral creatures as sentinels? After what you've done to them, they aren't much of a force to reckon with," he said casually, "and hardly worthy to stand guard for a princess."
      The figure did not step from the shadows, but her soft voice answered, "They are loyal… to a fault, and still quite formidable, despite my alterations."
      Didact turned from the Sangheili guards and stepped toward Lithiel, but the creatures sprung forward and blocked his path, spreading their fanged mandibles wide as they roared again in warning.
       "You always hated mechanical constructs," he laughed. "I wonder if you might ever create a superior biological sentinel?"
      There was a sudden blur of motion and a muffled thud. Both Sangheili toppled to the ground in pieces, bisected at the torso. Didact de-energized his blade once again and continued forward.
       "You have no idea what I've created," said Lithiel from the shadows.
       "All I need to know is that your creations do not follow protocol. A sentinel cannot attack a principal. Your Sangheili are apparently unhindered by that constraint. How unfortunate for them."
      Lithiel stepped from the darkness as Didact neared. He paused, unable to control his initial reaction to her beauty.
       "I am not here for you," he said softly.
      Lithiel's eyes seemed sad, and Didact pondered the meaning of what he had just said.
       "Are you sure?" she asked pointedly.
      Didact struggled with his conflicting emotions, but answered honestly, "No, I am not sure."
       "Come with me," said Lithiel. "I will take you to him."
      Didact was shocked, and then suspicious, but Lithiel turned and began to walk away, so he followed, pausing to look back at the dead Sangheili.
       "Don't worry about them," said Lithiel over her shoulder. "They are easy to fix."

Halo: Forerunner - Section 3 Ch 35
Date: 31 December 2010, 6:27 am

Chapter Thirty-Five

      A strange feeling festered in the back of the Executor's mind, but he managed to suppress it. It was something more than a sense of awkwardness or discomfort, but he couldn't make sense of it. His eyes drifted instinctively to follow the slender outline of Lithiel's shoulders and back as she walked the corridor in front of him. Her pace was steady but deliberate. This was not a casual walk, not like the ones he had once enjoyed at her side. He felt he should say something… but what? They could argue; that came naturally now. What else did they have?
      Didact pursed his lips and swallowed the lump in his throat. He was a master of order. He could analyze, plan, organize, and execute the most complex agenda… but this was beyond him. How could he bring it into order? How could he restore what was? His heart sank as he pondered these questions and realized… he did not know the answer. There she was in front of him, just within reach, but she was walking away, and he feared he would never again be at her side.
      For a moment, Didact was glad her back was turned to him. He would not want her to see the tears that had bled through before he could force them back. She faded in a blur of light as he blinked away the wetness in his eyes. She was an illusion, and soon she would vanish forever. At last he knew the feeling, and he knew he would never be free of it… loss.

****

       "That's her?"
      Kael Sept raised an eyebrow and smiled knowingly as he observed the expression on Didact's face. He turned slightly to the Executor, but Didact did not notice. His gaze was fixed on the young woman as she crossed the long bridge of light to greet them.
       "Yes, that is her," said the High Counselor with a teasing tone.
      Didact picked up on the subtle note and looked suddenly to Kael Sept. He laughed, embarrassed, but conceded, "She is beautiful. You certainly did not exaggerate."
       "Always speak truth," noted the High Counselor, "no more, but no less!"
"Does she know why we are here?" asked Didact.
       "I would not doubt it," said Kael Sept under his breath.
      Didact looked concerned.
       "But no one has informed her?"
      Kael Sept turned slowly to Didact and tilted his head slightly.
       "No," he said and waited while Didact processed the answer. "Didact, do not underestimate her… ever."
      Didact stared back, puzzled, but amused.
       "She seems so docile," he remarked casually. "I find it hard to believe she could be responsible for the incident."
       "That does not concern us now," said the High Counselor curtly. "We are here to move forward, not to reflect on things best forgotten."
      Didact nodded and turned back to the woman as she neared.
       "Be pleasant," whispered Kael Sept and then added in afterthought, "not too pleasant."
      Didact smiled, "Yes, my lord."

****

      Lithiel watched nervously as the two figures in the distance conversed. She knew immediately from their robes that one of them was the Executor and the other was from the High Council, her father. She could see that they were talking about her, but she didn't care to know what they were saying. It hardly mattered. The inquisition was over, and she had managed to conceal the truth. It was her secret now. Only one other soul in the universe knew the truth, and he would never tell.
      In a way though, this was about him, and it would be difficult to skirt the truth while demonstrating the new technology – difficult, but possible. She stepped off the warm light bridge as they hurriedly finished their conversation in hushed tones.
       "Welcome to the Ark, my lords," she said graciously as she bowed.
      Kael Sept stepped forward and placed his hand lovingly on the side of Lithiel's head behind her ear.
       "So formal now," he remarked as he adored the young princess.
      Lithiel smiled lovingly, and Didact felt as if his heart had been set on fire. "Such an expression!" he thought, wishing he were the intended recipient. He quickly checked himself to be sure his face remained blank, surprised at his own reaction. Despite his efforts, something, however imperceptible, slipped by. Lithiel noticed, and the ambiance of familiar intimacy immediately dissipated as she turned to greet him.
       "Princess, this is the Executor, Lord Didact," explained her father.
       "An honor," she said warmly. "I have prepared a demonstration of the synchronous arrayed matrix for you. Shall we proceed directly there, or perhaps you would like a tour of the installation?"
       "There?" asked Didact. "The prototype is not here?"
       "No, my lord," Lithiel answered politely. "That would not be safe, but the portal is here."
       "Not safe?" asked Kael Sept. "It is only a communication device?"
      Lithiel seemed surprised, but gave a half smile as she explained, "Of course, but Lord Didact would not be here to see that, would he? I have prepared a demonstration of the array's other capabilities… for his visit."
      The two men stood dumbfounded but somewhat pleased with the outcome of Lithiel's perception and candor. There would be no need to cautiously suggest the possibility of weaponization, no need to diplomatically convince the Adept of the Ark to participate in the experiment. Didact looked to Kael Sept, impressed. The High Counselor smiled and whispered, "Ever."
       "A tour then?" Lithiel asked, breaking the silence.
      Didact thought for a moment. He was eager to see Lithiel's demonstration. That was, after all, the purpose of his visit. Yet, his interest in Lithiel herself seemed to overpower all other concerns, and the prospect of spending more time with her was appealing, to say the least.
       "A tour would be most intriguing," he said at last.
       "It would be my pleasure, but this will take some time," she warned. "The Ark is one of our largest installations."
       "That won't be a problem," Didact assured her. "What do we have if not time?"
      Lithiel smiled, amused. It was not the smile Didact had hoped for, but it was wonderful. She took Kael Sept's arm and turned to Didact.
       "Please, follow me."

****

      Three large doors slid apart, revealing a wash of bright light. Didact squinted as his eyes adjusted to the warm illumination emanating from a portal at the center of the chamber. Several strange creatures drifted in the air, working busily at control and monitoring stations around the lab.
       "What are these?!" asked Didact, surprised. "Containment protocol dictates that all alien life is to be segregated and kept in stasis on this installation…" he paused to observe Lithiel's amused and dismissive expression, "That is… given the parasitic nature of…" Lithiel waited with her arms folded. "They… aren't alien," he explained reluctantly to himself.
      Lithiel smiled, closed her eyes and nodded. Kael Sept continued into the room and gave Didact a consoling pat on the back as he passed.
       "These are Facticius Indoles, or Huragok. Lithiel has been working on them for some time," he said, gesturing for one of the creatures to come closer. "They are quite impressive."
      Didact stared at the creature. Impressive? The strange aliens were an unnatural mix of anatomical features. Their crustaceous tails were positioned opposite a snake-like head, which had a series of six black eyes, three on each side of the head like buttons on a sleeve. Their backs bubbled with a fungal garden of pink gas-bladders that kept the creatures afloat. Four long tentacles hung down like the arms of a jellyfish, and two antenna-like feelers bristled from the back of their necks like stamen on a flower, each with a long filament and pink anther.
       "They look alien," Didact said sheepishly.
       "I'll take that as a compliment," smiled Lithiel. "They are manufactured from artificial cells containing organic compounds, but they are machines much like the other constructs we have created."
       "Remarkable, aren't they!" bragged Kael Sept. Didact nodded politely. "This is not genetics, Didact! She did not use material from other life forms to create these. She designed and built a complete super cell from its basic component parts. Each cell contains the entire program within its sequence and they duplicate themselves! They network and build what you see on their own, following her design! It's…"
       "Father," Lithiel stopped him, "I'm sure Lord Didact is not interested in a detailed dissertation of my experiments."
       "No, it's very interesting!" interjected Didact frantically. "I… well… I just wasn't sure what they do. I mean, what is their purpose?"
      Lithiel smiled knowingly.
       "They are technical assistants," she explained.
       "They will completely replace the constructors," boasted Kael Sept, "and any number of other…"
       "Father, please," pleaded Lithiel softly.
      Didact felt uneasy hearing someone silence a high counselor, but Kael Sept nodded and lovingly complied. Didact stared at the tentacles of the floating… pink… jelly-snake-lobster-flower… and tried to imagine it replacing the constructors… or doing anything that required intelligence and dexterity.
       "No fingers," he observed aloud.
      Lithiel smiled and reached out to place a delicate hand on the amulet around his neck. He nearly recoiled and nearly melted, but only managed to freeze, motionless.
       "May I?" she asked.
      Didact looked to Kael Sept for guidance. The amulet was a multi-function device, worn only by the Executor. Most of its functions were secret, and it was never to leave his body. Kael Sept nodded, and Didact bowed slightly. Lithiel grasped the device, and her soft forearms brushed gently against his ears as she lifted the amulet over his head. Then it was gone. Didact started to breathe again.
       "Thank you," she said, then smashed the amulet to the ground.
      Before Didact could decide whether to shout out or lunge for the device, it was destroyed, shattered into a mess of glittering pieces. Kael Sept cringed, but nearly laughed. Didact reached up and grabbed his hair in shock. Every Huragok in the room instantly stopped and turned to the scene of the disaster. Lithiel looked to Didact and smiled slyly.
       "It's ok," she reassured him, "just watch."
      The creatures drifted over to the broken amulet and began to gesture to each other with their tentacles, apparently communicating with a combination of signals and a series of whistles and chirps. One of the Huragok that seemed to float lower than the others descended to the pile of broken parts and extended its tentacles. Suddenly, each tentacle split at the ends into a bundle of tiny cilia that worked together to probe, collect, and reassemble the pieces. The movement was almost too fast to observe, but the parts came together quickly, and in a moment, the device was repaired.
      The Huragok handed the amulet to Lithiel and returned to its work as if nothing had happened. She placed the device in Didact's hands, and he tapped a red jewel on the surface. It began to glow red, and he seemed relieved.
       "It works," Kael Sept reassured him, tapping the amulet around his own neck. "Trust me!"
       "They run on a prime directive not much different than our own," explained Lithiel.
       "Our own?" puzzled Didact.
       "Create," she answered bluntly. "It drives everything we do."
       "And theirs is what?" he asked. "Survive?"
       "Preserve," Lithiel corrected. "Survive is a mortal directive."
       "Preserve?" he pondered the implications. They responded to the opportunity to preserve as impulsively as a mortal would to the chance to survive.
       "Of course, their minds are much more complex than a simple directive, as are ours, or the minds of mortals," she continued, "but they cannot resist their base code. They will execute their directive mindlessly and at all cost. We have yet to find something they cannot repair… other than life forms, that is, but they can repair each other and themselves to a large extent."
       "That is remarkable!" Didact whispered to Kael Sept.
      The High Counselor leaned closer and whispered back, "Ever."

Chapter Thirty-Six

Coming soon...

Read more at forerunner.uvtag.com

Halo: Forerunner - Section 3 Ch 36
Date: 7 January 2011, 6:46 am

****

      A brilliant flash shimmered across the chrome surface of the Maridon's body. The outline of his lean and muscular form was accentuated by the protective shell of nano-cells that covered his skin and infused through his flesh. Didact stepped forward and examined the specimen closely, remembering their few brief and violent encounters years earlier.
      In truth, the man was an impressive creature. Didact was certain he would have been a significant asset had his conscription process succeeded, but all he could see now was a vile animal, a troublesome parasite, one that had infected the mind of a princess, demented her in some cryptic way. He felt a seething rage, perhaps jealousy, but more. He took a deep breath and focused all his energy to quell the emotions.
       "You seem surprised to find him in this condition," said Lithiel accusingly. "What did you expect?"
      Didact did not take his eyes from Altus, but considered the Librarian's question carefully. He wasn't sure he knew the answer. What did he expect… to find them frolicking blissfully in some paradise, wrapped in love's embrace? Had jealously truly blinded him to reason? He felt ashamed… for a moment.
       "Yes," he answered quietly. "I am surprised, but why should I be?" Didact stepped closer to Lithiel; a dark aura surrounded him. "You are the Adept of the Ark, the Librarian," he continued. "Naturally, you brought him here to fulfill your mandate. And here he is… indexed… just as he should be."
      Didact stared deep into Lithiel's eyes, probing her soul for just a glimmer of truth. She stared back blankly, but her eyes could not hide anything from the Executor. He knew her too well. He stepped back, and placed one hand on the control panel, releasing the stasis field. The chrome shell around Altus instantly vaporized into a silver mist, and his body began to drop to the floor. In a single, graceful motion, Didact energized his blade, spun toward the body as it fell, and cut cleanly across the front of Altus' throat, careful to leave the head intact. Crimson blood sprayed in an arcing ribbon behind the bright blade and spattered across Lithiel's bare feet.
      She shuddered as the warm blood ran between her feet and the cool, alloy floor plates. Altus opened his eyes in shock, and struggled to cry out. He reached up instinctively to his throat but stopped as his eyes found Lithiel. He reached out to her, his hand glistening red, in sharp contrast to the pallid wash of his face. She said nothing, but watched silently as he closed his eyes and collapsed, lifeless.
      Didact observed her reaction intently and smiled. He de-energized his blade, and stepped casually around the dead body toward Lithiel.
       "Now," he whispered, "where is Altus?"
      Her eyes shot away from the body and narrowed with disdain as they set on the Executor's smug expression. He said nothing, but silently mouthed the word, "Ever."

Chapter Thirty-Six

       "The entire pattern has yet to be decoded, but a significant part of the code seems to be offloaded immediately upon expiration of the subject."
       "What do you mean by offloaded?"
       "Transmitted."
       "Transmitted where? Where does it go?"
       "She told me she does not know. I believe her. We don't even know what it is, but it seems to enter unbound space."
       "What?!"
       "I personally reviewed the results and core data from the entire series. I wouldn't have believed it myself before the array, but we know it is possible. We were simply never able to observe it before. This is unprecedented. I cannot act without further guidance."
       "Are you certain this is isolated to the Maridon?"
       "Not the Maridon. She will not reveal his location… but now I see why. It is isolated to his genetic sequence."
       "She has been working with clones?"
       "She has populated an entire world with a test species."
       "Yes… of course she has… bring her to Siora."
       "She will not leave."
       "I understand your restraint, but I must insist."
       "It will be done."
       "Didact…"
       "Yes, my lord."
       "Be pleasant."

>>Stop Animus record - .29567289-006379>>

****

       "Aren't you finished yet?" asked Lithiel impatiently.
      Didact remained motionless as he sat in the lotus position with his eyes closed, his hands outstretched over his knees. He waited a moment longer, and then responded at last.
       "You could speak to him yourself… to save time."
      He looked up to catch her slight roll of the eyes. He never knew why, but he always found it endearing.
       "I never use it," she said shortly. "You know that."
       "I don't see why not. You designed it."
      Lithiel lowered her head and made an almost imperceptible glance over her shoulder. A sullen expression settled on her face, and Didact thought he even saw a hint of fear.
       "I have my reasons," she mumbled.
      Didact raised a knee and placed one foot against the ground. He stood from the floor on one leg and then lowered the other gracefully.
       "You might want to rethink your aversion," he began. "He has requested your presence on Siora. I will escort you there personally."
      Lithiel seemed paralyzed, even more than he had expected. Her eyes went blank, as if she were in a trance. Something was wrong, but he could not make sense of it.
       "This project cannot be interrupted," she said in a strangely hollow tone.
       "Lithiel, this is not a request," he said quietly.
       "Neither is this," she replied. "I will not leave until the work is completed."
      Didact stepped closer and examined her carefully. She did not make eye contact, but stared at his chest without blinking.
       "Your work will be completed, I assure you, but the Council has taken a particular interest in your findings."
      Lithiel laughed suddenly. Didact nearly staggered back at the sound of it. It was not her laugh. He knew her laugh. He loved it, longed for it, but this was something else.
       "I am sure they have!" she mocked. "Well, they are not the only ones who have taken… an interest." Didact's eyes narrowed. He clenched his teeth and breathed in steadily.
       "At last, the horizon comes into view," she continued emotionless, "and only now do they begin to see what I have known from the beginning. Who will escape the end? Who can survive it?"
       Didact's hand did not move, but his muscles tensed in preparation. He visualized the position of his blade against the side of his leg. He would need to move quickly, precisely. A bass tone rumbled through his body.
       "I would not try if I were you…"
      Didact felt his skin tighten and his hair rise as the words hit the back of his neck with a lazy gust of hot, humid air. Lithiel's eyes rolled back until the whites of her eyes were exposed, and she collapsed to the floor.
       "Proteus," whispered Didact.
       "Not forgotten after all," growled the low voice.
      Didact instantly locked onto the origination point of the voice and slashed blindly across the area as he spun about and launched himself away, landing on his back with an agile roll to his feet. He scanned the chamber intently, his heart racing, but there was nothing. His visor clamped down over his face and locked into place. Neon lines traced every object in the room, and bright readouts displayed sensor hits. He raised his weapon slowly and waited, but his combat armor picked up nothing, cloaked or otherwise, not even trace residuals.
       "He is very special, unique, like me…"
      Didact nearly jumped as the words entered his mind, much like any other thought transmission, but different, stronger, and agitating in some way. His head began to ache. He moved carefully to Lithiel and looked for exits.
       "Would you like to see the results of our work, Executor?"
      Didact lifted Lithiel over his shoulder and raised his sword rifle to the firing position.
       "Proteus, I order you to stand down and report to the Council immediately. You are derelict in your…"
       "I ANSWER TO NO ONE!"
      Didact staggered as a stabbing pain tore into his head. His mind seemed to shake violently, and his field of view narrowed as darkness pressed in from the periphery. He stumbled and fell to the ground, struggling to protect Lithiel from the impact. She woke and cried out in pain, grasping at her ears in agony.
       "What have you done?" he asked her desperately.
      She looked up at him confused as they stood from the ground.
       "It's him!" she cried. "Don't try to resist!"
       "Don't move!" he hissed.
      Didact engaged his cloaking mechanisms, and moved quickly to cover. He raised his weapon and searched the room frantically for target indicators – still nothing.
       "I will show you our work, Didact. Lithiel is too modest, and more deceptive than you think."
      The lights in the room began to flicker and then went dark. The walls seemed to tremble, and the air filled with a strange chorus of clicks and buzzes. Hundreds of icons appeared on Didact's display. Heat and density readouts were characteristic of biological organisms, yet they were labeled as Forerunner constructs, non-hostile.
       "I must admit, the application is crude compared to the innate abilities of the test species. But the soul can be preserved in other ways, and her tool is… quite impressive…"
      Lithiel's face filled with horror. She jumped from the ground and screamed in desperation, "Didact! Run!"

Chapter Thirty-Seven

Coming soon...

Read more at forerunner.uvtag.com

Halo: Forerunner - Section 3 Ch 37
Date: 4 February 2011, 6:05 am

Chapter Thirty-Seven

      Pirolith stepped cautiously through the vacillating, blue, energy field that spanned the arched entrance to the command deck. The vast, domed chamber was dark, and the air was thick with an eerie, green haze, flecked with drifting particles of ashen dust. The high-pitched hum of 343's propulsion drive whined as the monitor approached from behind; his metallic voice echoed through the silence.
       "I am detecting residual power signatures in a conduit nearby. I should be able to reroute power to the primary command hub. One moment."
      Pirolith said nothing, but nodded, and 343 quickly ascended into a small porthole in the ceiling, high in the darkness above. The fleet commander waited anxiously and noted a small red glyph flashing in the lower-right corner of his view, indicating the presence of potentially hazardous atmospheric conditions. He breathed in slowly, picking up the crisp scent of ions in the synthetic air created by his armor. He could only imagine what pungent stench might befit the gangrenous haze surrounding him… only imagine what effects it might have on him… or on the missing officers of the Alorus Maxim.
      A static crackling filled the air, and several light panels blinked to life, flickering erratically as they struggled to pull energy from rerouted circuits. One panel immediately caught Pirolith's attention, and he stepped closer to the central surveillance station, leaning in to examine the irresolute holographic image that played in a loop.
      The recording was replete with bright glyphs positioned to note various metrics and identify each object in the scene. The cycle began with a sudden flash of orange light, apparently somewhere in a garden district of the ship; the flash briefly illuminated what looked like surrounding vegetation, and the ground was clearly covered in moss. Moments later, two figures materialized, encircled by pulsating rings of golden energy. One figure collapsed immediately to the ground. The other, without hesitation, energized the broad, angular blade of a sword rifle and raised it in an arc above his head in a signature stance that Pirolith had not seen for ages. The ancient gasped involuntarily and cursed beneath his helm before exclaiming quietly, "Didact!"
      A second flash illuminated the scene, brighter than the first. The light intensified until the entire image was awash with white light. Then, as the brightness began to fade, dozens of strange creatures surged into view, storming like a tidal wave into a devastating barrier of destruction that poured from Didact's archaic weapon. The Executor stood his ground, annihilating waves of attackers with a succession of alternating blasts and graceful but deadly blows.
       "Oh my!" 343 exclaimed as he reemerged from the porthole.
      Pirolith did not look away from the recording, but put his hand up to silence the monitor. 343 tilted closer to the hologram and analyzed the glyphs marking each of the twisted assailants as they came into view.
       "Curious!" he blurted out.
      Pirolith turned abruptly to the monitor.
       "What's curious?" he demanded.
      343 tilted and elevated himself slightly to look over Pirolith's shoulder at the display.
       "All of these creatures share similar features, yet each one carries a unique genetic marker…"
       "Is that all?!" interrupted Pirolith angrily as he turned back to the display.
       "Hardly!" replied the monitor. "According to these markers, every one of these creatures is an indexed species."
      Pirolith froze as 343 finished his statement. He looked to the image and reexamined the creatures carefully, suddenly recognizing, in horror, the distorted yet familiar forms of ancient, vanquished foes.
       "No…" he whispered as he read for the first time the glyph marking the collapsed figure – Librarian.
      Finally, the surge of attackers subsided, and another blaze of light engulfed the image as the last creature fell to Didact's blade. This time, the brightness did not fade, but it began to strobe rhythmically, creating a disorienting sensation as the motion of the two figures continued in disjointed flashes.
      Pirolith struggled to make sense of the scene. Didact lifted the Librarian and began to carry her from view. Suddenly, a swarm of bulbous shapes crested over the dead bodies, tentacles flailing. They bounced wildly in every direction and then burrowed into the heap of flesh.
      The bodies twitched and jerked violently. The entire mass seemed to grow in size as twisted limbs burst from the pile of corpses. Then, almost in unison, the aliens began to rise from the ground, staggering only for a moment before lunging in a frenzied rush toward the retreating figures. The scene stopped, and the cycle began to loop again.
       "Engineers?!" exclaimed 343.
       "What?" asked Pirolith as he checked his weapon systems and scanned the command deck cautiously.
       "Those last creatures were marked as synthetic constructs," 343 explained exacerbated, "Huragok!"
       "Those were not Huragok!" insisted Pirolith.
       "The scanning systems are damaged; however, the probability of a labeling error is…"
       "Those were not created by Forerunners!" Pirolith interrupted angrily. He moved quickly to the communications station and checked it for damage. 343 waited a moment before responding passively.
       "Very well," he said casually. "If your null hypothesis precludes Huragok, then what are they?"
      Pirolith tapped at the controls in frustration and then backed slowly away from the dysfunctional relay panel. He looked behind him at the shipmaster's empty chair and tried to clear his mind long enough to organize his emergent strategy.
       "Right now, I'm not interested in what they are," he said quietly, pondering the lifeless calm throughout the ghost ship. "I want to know where they are…"

Chapter Thirty-Eight

Coming soon...

Read more at forerunner.uvtag.com

Halo: Forerunner - Section 3 Ch 38
Date: 18 March 2011, 2:48 am

Chapter Thirty-Eight

      Sufis looked back in disbelief as his com officer repeated the report.
      "Three more ships have jumped away!"
      "Track them!"
      "No known bearings," replied the mortal conscript. "No stars... no planets… random trajectories like the others."
      Sufis' eyes grew wide with fury as he stormed across the deck to the officer's station. Before the conscript could turn around, the shipmaster grabbed him violently by the back of the neck and yanked him from his chair. The officer grimaced with pain.
       "Open your eyes!" ordered Sufis, pointing at the bright holographic star map suspended in the center of the chamber. "Look!"
      The conscript reluctantly opened his eyes and glanced desperately around the command deck, but all officers were working busily at their stations. No one dared turn their attention to the assault. Sufis shook the man again and then bent down to analyze the trembling creature with curious disdain.
       "How did you get on my bridge?" he asked with sarcastic surprise, and then continued as if talking to a child. "Do you see how many stars are in this one sector alone?"
      The officer paused before answering, not sure if either question was rhetorical, but Sufis raised his brow mockingly, so the man shook his head.
       "Look…" Sufis whispered as he pushed the officer's head toward the display.
      Three bright lines traced steadily away from the glyph marking the Alorus Maxim, joining the bloom of white rods that represented trajectories of the other ships in the battle group. Sufis sent a mental command, and the galactic view compressed until the full Aelorian was displayed. He leaned over and pulled the officer closer until his mouth was nearly touching the man's ear.
       "One hundred billion stars in this galaxy," the shipmaster continued quietly, "countless planets… every ship is on a linear trajectory away from this single point, and not one is bearing on a celestial body of any classification?"
      The officer waited again until he received the same prodding expression from the shipmaster, and then he shook his head slowly.
       "THAT'S! NOT! RANDOM!" Sufis screamed into the officer's ear before throwing him to the deck.
      Sufis turned away and gave a threatening glare to the rest of the crew who busily returned to their work. Then, he paused and squinted suspiciously.
      "Not random…" he mumbled. "You!" he ordered pointing back at the battered com officer, "Check extragalactic trajectories."
      The com officer hesitated, but then staggered back to his station and hurriedly recalculated. The projection condensed again as the display zoomed out. The hologram of the Aelorian galaxy continued to shrink until several surrounding galaxies came into view at the periphery, each pierced through the center by a single white line.
      "They're mad!" gasped the com officer.
      Sufis said nothing, but grunted to himself as he remembered he was one of only a few immortals in the battle group. All the other Forerunners were conscripts, mortals. It was madness. Forerunner ships were not equipped with cryogenic stasis, and asynchronous stasis was unstable over extended periods in unbound space. None of them would survive the 3000-year journey to a neighboring galaxy.
      He looked again to the monitoring station for his own vessel. Thousands of glyphs marking security patrols and interior, ship-defense systems flashed combat status, "ENGAGED," and even more glowed dimly, "NEUTRALIZED." Sufis noted the increasing number of decks blinking red in a pattern that was converging steadily on the command deck.
       "Not mad…" he mumbled to himself, "dead."

****

      A white light pierced the darkness, and Didact squinted against the glare as he looked up to the opening portal. The black silhouette of a sentinel drifted through the conduit as the gateway closed abruptly. Didact stood shakily from the floor and stepped between the drone and Lithiel's lifeless body.
      The blue light of the sentinel's eye intensified and lit the battered panels of Didact's armor, casting lurid shadows across the rounded interior of the containment sphere. Didact waited, and then a gruff voice emanated from the drone.
       "What did you bring onto my ship?"
       "Release us," Didact demanded weakly.
       "No. I am following protocol, Executor. You contaminated my ship! According to containment protocol, I can detain you and any other creature that has had contact with the unclassified specimen, until the threat is neutralized. What did you bring onto my ship?!"
       "You can't defeat it without me, Sufis."
       "I DON'T NEED YOU! I AM THE SHIPMASTER OF THE ALORUS MAXIM! YOU TELL ME WHAT YOU'VE BROUGHT ONTO MY SHIP!"
       "I don't know what they are, but I'm warning you now, Sufis, you cannot defeat them without my help."
       "…You don't listen well do you? You think… because you've lived for millions of years and I for only a millennium, that I know nothing of strategy, or even personal combat. Hmm? Is that it, Great Executor? Mighty Cherub! Ha! You weren't faring so well when you staggered aboard this vessel and brought your PESTILENCE ONTO MY SHIP!"
      The sentinel rattled with the vibration of the shipmaster's amplified shouting. Didact looked back to Lithiel. She did not stir.
       "Ahh! Yes… perhaps, I do need help… but not yours."
       "Don't test me," Didact growled.
       "Oh please! We've been through this already, Didact. Remember? Or shall I have your blade delivered to you so you can try to recreate the dramatic moment?"
      The sentinel moved deliberately toward Lithiel, but Didact's armored hand shot out and grabbed the drone's head. It struggled briefly and then began to lower its weapon, but stopped as Failsafe Protocol 6 executed a system command override.
       "Don't break my sentinel! We are running short on defenses as it is, thanks to you!"
      Didact scowled directly into the sentinel's multi-function eye and envisioned his expression appearing on Sufis' remote display.
       "Leave her, and release me now!"
       "I'm not a fool, Didact. You came directly from the Ark! Did you think I wouldn't recognize these creatures, as twisted as they are?! I know what you've done! I may not be an Ancient, but I've heard about the Incident! This is her work! And if you won't tell me what it is, then I will make her stop it before it takes MY SHIP!"
       "Then come and take her… yourself."
      Didact waited for another rant or sarcastic blast, but there was only silence from the sentinel. He was almost surprised. Then a horrific noise blared from the drone and shook the entire containment sphere. Didact could hear panicked voices shouting in the background, and then screams of terror.
       "Sufis!" he shouted. "Sufis, release me now! Sufis!"
      Suddenly, the sentinel surged and pulled free. Its single eye faded from blue to orange. Didact stepped back cautiously, and then a familiar voice spoke in a low reverberating tone.
       "Executor, containment protocols are in effect. All potential biological hosts must be purged. Protocol 6 priority override authorized. You are hereby relieved of your position."
      The sentinel's energy weapon dropped from the undercarriage and charged with a static hiss. Didact's own weapon systems were neutralized within the containment sphere, but he stood his ground and waited until he was certain the drone would fire. A stream of orange light burned through the air but was suddenly redirected as Didact vanished in a blur of motion and then reappeared behind the sentinel, wrestling it into position to target the conduit grid above. Waves of energy shimmered across the sphere, and a bright circle of white light expanded rapidly as the portal opened. Didact clenched his armored fist, crushing the sentinel's head with a metallic pop. Without hesitating, he swept Lithiel onto his shoulder and leapt through the closing conduit above.
      Darkness settled again as the portal closed, but the sphere echoed with the high-pitched scraping of metal on the alloy floor. The sentinel twitched erratically before broadcasting a distant voice. No one was there to hear its fateful warning.

Chapter Thirty-Nine

Coming Soon…

Read more at forerunner.uvtag.com

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