Shadows of Reach: A Master Chief Story Page 42

  “You should not overestimate your abilities, Dokab.”

  “I assure you that I do not.”

  ‘Gadogai dropped his mandibles, and Castor tried to guess where the Sangheili would attack first… then was spared the necessity by a furious bellow from twenty paces across the terrace.

  “Castor!” Atriox’s voice was so powerful it cut through even the ferocious portal wind. “What are humans doing on my ship?”

  ‘Gadogai’s hand drifted away from his energy sword, and he glanced toward Atriox. “I was just asking that myself.”

  Atriox ignored him. “Well, Castor?”

  “The orders you gave Escharum, war-brother.” Castor took a step back as he spoke, trying to place himself out of ‘Gadogai’s reach. ‘Gadogai stepped toward him. “Were they not to secure the portal at any cost, to activate it, and then return with you to the Ark?”

  “That command no longer stands,” Atriox said. “The Banished who remained behind will hold the Ark, of that I have no doubt. We will gather our forces on this world and depart at once. There is a greater purpose that the Banished must attend to.”

  Castor was tempted to inquire what purpose Atriox was speaking of, but it did not matter. He could conceive of nothing greater than the Ark itself, and the power it held to ignite Halo and finally begin the Great Journey. Such a vision would be forever out of reach of the Faithless, he knew. That was why he had already made certain that no matter what came out of the portal, he and his Keepers would be going to the Ark. There was simply no other way.

  Yet, this betrayal still caused him some sorrow. He had known Atriox when they were both young, and Castor could hear now in his old war-brother’s voice the same level of confidence he had heard then, long before they had parted ways. For a heartbeat, Castor wondered if he might reason with him, and perhaps convince him to return to the Ark and walk alongside him on the Path he had once embraced.

  But Atriox was not one of the Faithful. He cared nothing for the Great Journey, and to him, the gifts of the Forerunner gods were no more than weapons to be used in annihilating his enemies and bolstering the power of the Banished.

  There was a greater purpose.

  “Nothing is more important than the Ark,” Castor replied. “I am taking this Lich, war-brother. And I ask that you do not try to stop me.”

  Atriox continued to stare at Castor, his expression as much contemplation as outrage, and Escharum raised his hand, signaling his warriors to stand ready.

  Finally, Atriox spoke in a low voice. “Castor, thousands of Banished remain on the Ark. You will find nothing there but death. Remove your Keepers from my ship, and I will pardon your foolishness.”

  “I have no need of your pardon, war-brother,” Castor said. “Even if all we find beyond the portal is death, finding it on the Ark would be a glorious end for those who walk the Path.”

  That was an immutable truth—one that Atriox certainly understood. Once, he had shared the same faith as Castor, before his Covenant leaders had robbed him of it with their foolhardy tactics and their penchant for leaving battlefields flooded with the blood of their Jiralhanae subordinates.

  But it would be futile to try calling Atriox back to the Path. The activation pylon on this end of the portal would remain ignited only until the local charge dissipated. It might last an hour, or mere minutes—there was no way to tell with such ancient systems. Either way, by the time it closed, the Keepers’ Lich would be gone… or Castor and his followers would be dead. He would accept nothing between.

  “In truth, neither of us has long,” Castor said. “The portal’s opening will be noticed by the Apparition. One of her Guardians is surely on the way here to investigate.” He pointed into the transit installation. “There is a tunnel inside the sanctuary, as Escharum knows well. It leads to an access shaft. The humans who seized it from us are no more eager to meet the Apparition’s Guardian than we are. If they have not left this planet already, they soon will.”

  There was no need to explain. Escharum’s intrusion corvette had departed when the humans attacked, but the portal’s storm would provide perfect cover for it to return. Like every Banished vessel of any size, it was equipped with a gravity lift capable of raising warriors much farther than three kilometers. It would be a simple matter for the corvette to extract Atriox, Escharum, and their forces.

  Castor took another step back, now onto the ramp.

  Instead of matching his movements this time, ‘Gadogai turned his head half toward Escharum, whose hand was still raised, holding his guards at the ready. The war chief, in turn, looked to Atriox for the final word.

  Atriox shook his head. “No. We may need our forces to break through a UNSC rearguard. I will not squander them on a traitor who is sure to die another way. Summon your corvette, War Chief, and take your guards to meet it. I will follow behind.”

  The guards quickly fell into line and departed into the transport installation.

  Escharum lingered to scowl at Castor. “Pray Atriox punishes your defiance now,” he said. “If we ever meet again, I will peel the flesh from your bones with my own hands.”

  With that, Escharum turned to do as he had been commanded, and followed the last of his guards through the doorway.

  Atriox did not move.

  After a breath, Atriox spoke to ‘Gadogai. “You will be the hand of punishment, Sangheili Blademaster. Make him pay for his betrayal with howls and screeches. When you have finished, return to us… and bring me his head.”

  Atriox was still speaking when the red dot appeared on the side of the blademaster’s nose, up near the bridge where its glow would be bright in his eye.

  Castor raised his hand, signaling the marksman to hold his fire.

  “Blademaster,” Castor said, “you should be careful of what you do next.”

  “Do not be a fool,” ‘Gadogai said, eyeing the red dot. “I will kill you before your human fires, and him before he realizes he has missed.”

  “Perhaps you will kill me.” As Castor spoke, three more dots appeared in a line running up ‘Gadogai’s chest. “But they will not miss. You will be dead before I reach the ground.”

  ‘Gadogai contemplated the new dots in silence. His back was to Atriox, so the warmaster could not see them.

  “Do not fall prey to his deceit, Blademaster.” Atriox turned after Escharum, calling over his shoulder, “And do not fail to bring me what I have demanded.”

  “I fear that is no longer an option.” ‘Gadogai spoke softly, watching as the dots danced over his chest in a tight circle. “Well done, Dokab. You have my admiration.”

  Castor waited until Atriox’s shadow had passed through the doorway into the transportation installation, then said, “It is not your admiration I desire… nor your life.”

  ‘Gadogai raised his head. “That offer you mentioned earlier?” he asked. “I would still be welcome?”

  “You would pledge loyalty to the Keepers?”

  “I believe I just did.” Using a single finger, ‘Gadogai removed the energy sword from his belt and tossed it onto the ground, then began to walk toward the ramp. “That does mean I am one of you now, yes?”

  “Yes,” Castor replied. Even weaponless, ‘Gadogai could probably slaughter half the Keepers aboard the Lich before his death—but if the blademaster was willing to die for Atriox, he would have done so already by killing Castor. “Welcome to the Keepers of the One Freedom.”

  “For as long as there still are Keepers,” ‘Gadogai said, stepping into the Lich’s hold. “Atriox does not make empty promises. There are thousands of Banished waiting for us on the Ark. We’re only traveling to our death.”

  “Do you think death is a threat to the Keepers of the One Freedom?” Castor backed into the hold and roared with laughter. For the first time in a long while, he was elated. Deeply and truly elated. “Have you forgotten all you ever knew of the Faith? Death is only the beginning of the Great Journey.”

  EPILOGUE

  1845 hours, Oc
tober 12, 2559 (military calendar)

  Pelican Extraction Craft, En Route to UNSC flagship Infinity

  High Orbit, Planet Reach, Epsilon Eridani System

  The eighteen ODSTs riding in the Pelican’s troop bay with Blue Team were asking no questions. They were part of the platoon that had been in the access shaft with Chief Mukai, then ascended the gravity lift with her and Fred-104, so they knew what the Spartans had been through. Most of the troopers were making a point of watching the monitor on the forward bulkhead, which showed the swarm of UNSC craft rushing back to the Infinity. A huge slipspace portal had opened over the Highland Mountains, and now fifteen thousand soldiers and support personnel were rushing to load up before one of Cortana’s Guardians arrived to investigate.

  John wasn’t accustomed to people trying so hard to avoid looking at him. Usually they couldn’t help but stare, and that was even truer of seasoned soldiers than it was of civilians. Soldiers were trained to observe and assess everything around them, and the good ones—the ones who survived—made it second nature.

  But usually Spartans weren’t nearly so in-your-face all torn up. And to the eye of an experienced soldier, to anyone who had even a vague knowledge of the training and resources that had gone into making Spartan-IIs what they were, Blue Team’s wounds and mangled armor had to be a grim reminder of their own mortality.

  John felt his weight shift forward and rise as the Pelican entered one of the Infinity’s dozens of hangar bays and settled onto its struts. The ODSTs—always eager to leave behind the helpless confines of a dropship—began to unbuckle their harnesses and reach for the gear satchels secured beneath their seats.

  “Not you!” the crew chief barked. “This is the science bay. Sit tight—unless you’re volunteering for an experiment.”

  The ODSTs immediately settled back into their seats. The Pelican’s ramp descended to reveal two women standing on the hangar deck—one a familiar gray-haired woman in a lab coat, the other blond and wearing the black utilities of an ONI officer.

  Captain Veronica Dare of the Office of Naval Intelligence wasted no time stepping to the foot of the ramp. “Spartan-One-Zero-Four, I understand you have an urgent message for me?”

  Fred shot a quick glance toward John. He had been unusually quiet since telling Blue Team about his encounter in the Keeper tunnel, and it was understandable. According to Kelly and Linda, Fred and Veta Lopis had grown kind of close during their missions together, and Fred had taken it hard when Lopis and her Spartan-III Ferret team disappeared two years ago. Running into her again out of the blue must have been a big shock.

  “Go,” John said over TEAMCOM. “Major Van Houte and Chief Mukai can help with the gear. They’ll have to be debriefed with the rest of us anyway.”

  “Thanks.” Fred started down the ramp. “I think.”

  John signaled Linda and Kelly to help Mukai and Van Houte at the lockers, but lingered at the top of the ramp. While Fred was fully capable of dealing with ONI himself, Dare was married to one of the Spartan-IVs who had been sent to bring back Blue Team after it went AWOL to find Cortana, and ONI officers were famous for their long memories. Besides, Fred was still on John’s team and, more importantly, as close a friend as a Spartan-II could have.

  If he needed backup, John intended to be ready.

  Fred fished out the message capsule that Lopis had given him, then dropped it into Captain Dare’s outstretched hand. Dare slid it open and removed a small scroll. When she had read it, she let the tail of the scroll dangle between her fingers, then looked up at Fred’s faceplate. Her own face was impassive, save for one raised brow.

  “You’ve read this message, Spartan?”

  “Oh yeah,” Fred said. “Atriox’s return expected. Keepers of the One Freedom going to the Ark to initiate the Great Journey. Lopis and her Ferrets riding along. Fun stuff. Ma’am.”

  “Fun is hardly how I’d describe it.” Dare paused, then shook her head. “Incredible. They’re still out there.”

  “Yeah,” Fred said. “But how did they get there?”

  Dare scowled. “You do know that even when ONI was whole, I wasn’t read-in on every operation, right?”

  “So… not even a rumor?” Fred asked.

  “Sorry. Ferret operations were highly compartmentalized. If I get any info, I’ll pass it along. Otherwise, don’t expect anything, Spartan.” Dare read the scroll again, then folded it about two-thirds of the way down. “May I borrow one of your knives, please?”

  “Sure.” Fred pulled one from his shoulder sheath and passed it to her. “Why not?”

  Dare cut the message at the fold, then passed the top third back to Fred along with his knife.

  “You can keep that part,” she said. “I don’t see how it’s any of ONI’s business.”

  Fred returned the knife to its sheath and tucked the message into a cargo pouch, then drew two fingers across his faceplate—the symbol for a Spartan smile. “You’re not as tough as they say, Captain.”

  Dare gave him a small, tight smile in return. “Oh yes, I am.” She turned to the gray-haired woman who had been waiting impatiently behind her. “They’re all yours now, Dr. Halsey.”

  “I don’t believe that was ever in doubt.” Halsey looked up at John and braced her artificial hand on her hip until he had fully descended the ramp and stopped in front of her. “You took your time.”

  John found himself smiling inside his helmet. “There was resistance.”

  “I heard.” Her glance dropped to his legs, and she waved the back of her hand at him, motioning him to give her some distance. “Let me look at you, John.”

  He retreated two steps and stood at parade rest while she studied his Mjolnir armor, focusing on the damaged cuisse and greave. Then Linda and Kelly started down the ramp, carrying the team’s weapons and load-bearing harnesses, and Halsey’s gaze shifted to them, lingering on Linda’s half-melted helmet and Kelly’s field-patched pauldron and breastplate. Halsey paled, then she swallowed hard and seemed to stumble toward John, taking his arm when he reached out to steady her.

  Before John could say anything, she straightened herself and said, “The Spartans are my greatest achievement.” Her eyes were moist. “Do you understand that?”

  “Are you okay, Dr. Halsey?”

  “That would depend entirely on whom you were to ask.”

  She exhaled deeply. Seeing Blue Team in such bad shape had clearly upset her. It was Halsey who had sent them on Operation: WOLFE, but she had seen Spartans return torn-up from a mission before—or not return at all—so John wondered if there was something more.

  Dr. Halsey had always treated the Spartans as her progeny, ensuring that they had everything they needed to thrive and survive. But lately, she had said a few things that made John wonder if she regretted some of her work. Or maybe she regretted the things that had been necessary—the conscriptions at age six, the harsh discipline, the augmentation surgeries that had killed or crippled half of his entire class.

  John was glad she had done it though. He and his fellow Spartan-IIs were proud of what they had become, and what they had done to save humanity. He wanted to tell Halsey that, but he was more adept at eliminating threats on a battlefield than bandaging the spiritual wounds of the woman who had forged him, and in the end he just didn’t have the words.

  Finally, Halsey seemed to recover her composure. “Was the mission successful?”

  John glanced over his shoulder into the troop bay, and found Chief Mukai and Major Van Houte already descending the ramp with the assets for which so much had been sacrificed. He took the lockbox from Van Houte and held it out to Halsey.

  “Yes.”

  “Good.”

  Halsey took the box from John, then traced a fingertip along the Avar saber imprinted on its lid and looked up at him again.

  “This is not going to be easy, John.” She looked at the cryobins and sighed, then walked to the hangar mouth and stared out through the energy barrier toward the cloud-swaddled expans
e of Reach—and the slipspace portal’s vast, dark hole hanging on its horizon. “But it is the only option we have.”

  John and the rest of the team—Mukai and Van Houte, too—joined Halsey at the hangar mouth and stared down on the planet. The Banished were leaving Reach as fast as the UNSC, the distant specks of their Phantoms and Spirits rising on tiny points of propellant. No doubt they were fleeing toward the handful of capital ships still hiding from the Infinity, somewhere beyond the horizon.

  John even saw the front-heavy intrusion corvette that had been sitting in Rejtett Valley when Blue Team arrived. It was rising out of the same area Blue Team had just departed, accelerating away from the slipspace portal. Clearly, the Banished realized that Cortana’s Guardian would soon be arriving, and they did not want to be there when that happened. By the end of the hour, Reach would belong to the Reavians again.

  Good.

  Kicking the Banished off the planet had been a dangerous distraction, but one he didn’t regret. The rehab pioneers were tenacious and smart. If anyone could restore Reach to its verdant glory, they could. And they had the hearts of warriors. John pitied the next bunch of aliens who tried to take their home away. This time, the pioneers would be ready.

  The corvette had barely vanished when the slipspace portal collapsed in on itself, leaving only a vast, swirling vortex of clouds and lightning. The Infinity’s jump alarms began to chime, and Captain Lasky’s voice came over the intercom.

  “Tau surge in sector three seventy eight,” he said. “Secure all hatches and hangar doors for emergency slipspace jump.”

  Lasky did not need to explain the significance of the tau surge, or why the Infinity was making an emergency jump. Shortly before a vessel emerged from slipspace, there was usually a surge of tau particles in the vicinity of its arrival. And since the captain had a pretty good idea of what was coming, he did not want his ship anywhere near Reach when the Guardian arrived.