Broken Circle (20 page)

The San'Shyuum gunner Mleer came hobbling up then, looking around wide-eyed. “I saw the battle! Are there more of them?”

“And what if there were?” Trok growled at him. “What use were you?”

“I didn't know if I should leave the ship—my orders.”

“He's right, Trok,” Mken said, helping the warrior trudge toward the vessel. “Mleer, help Trok back to the dropship. I need to know the relics are safe. Let us leave Janjur Qom . . . as quickly as we can.”

They would leave their true home for a mere substitute—for High Charity. But they had the females. And they had both the Purifying Vision and the rare Luminary. He would especially take that in triumph back to R'Noh, and somehow manage not to simply throw it in the Minister's face.

The Refuge: An Uncharted Shield World

Strategy Hall

850 BCE

The Age of Reconciliation

‘C
rolon, ‘Drem, Gmezza, and Scorinn had been summoned to Strategy Hall to face Ussa ‘Xellus. Tersa, standing with Lnur off to the side, watched them closely. ‘Crolon and ‘Drem looked sullen, Gmezza and Scorinn frightened.

“We did not speak of sedition, Great Ussa,” said Gmezza. He took a limping step closer to the podium where Ussa sat, half slumped in his chair, listening closely.

Ernicka the Scar-Maker, expression like a storm cloud, stepped between them.

“It is quite all right, Ernicka,” Ussa said, glancing to all who stood before him, his eyes lingering a bit longer on Lnur. “He is not armed. Nor am I afraid of him.”

“We simply requested more explanation,” said Scorinn, her eyes cast down. “We wondered why . . . We heard rumors . . . We . . . I apologize, Kaidon, that we . . .”

“I do not tolerate sedition,” Ussa said. “If I am leader here, then it is truly so. If I am not to be accepted, so be it. But those
who wish me to be leader must accept my word. Nothing else is possible here. And that is the way of a clan and a kaidon. But . . . not every doubt can be considered treason. If it were, we would all have to be executed at some point.” He looked at ‘Crolon and ‘Drem. “I have heard from Gmezza and Tersa that you two suggested that I was planning to destroy everyone . . . to annihilate the shield world. That I was planning to invite the San'Shyuum to be my allies.”

“Oh, but we didn't say
that
,” said ‘Crolon smoothly. “We were misheard. The sound of the waterfall obscured us perhaps. We had heard Tersa there speaking of a method for dismantling the planet—this shield world—and we heard the machine called Enduring Bias discussing the San'Shyuum fondly. But we were actually concerned about Tersa, not about you, Great Ussa. In fact—”

“Did I hear someone use my informal designation?” called Enduring Bias, zipping into the room. The Flying Voice flew in over their heads and hovered over the dais, turning to look at the group gathered before Ussa. “Someone was inaccurately paraphrasing me, I suspect. And not the first time.”

“You are familiar, now, with our customs, Enduring Bias,” Ussa said, not looking at the device as he spoke. “You know what we regard as breaking our rules and those rules respecting sedition—treason, treachery, dangerous levels of disloyalty. There are some fine lines, in some cases—but perhaps you are aware of remarks by these two”—he nodded toward ‘Crolon and ‘Drem—“which might fit into the category of treason or treachery.”

“If you will kindly allow me a moment or two, I will interface with the facility's observation cells . . .”

“Observation cells?” Ussa said. “What is that? I do not know the term.”

“I have informed Sooln about them,” said Enduring Bias. “The
observation cells are organized by the communications center—the Chamber of Sensitive Geometries. The cells are implanted into the walls throughout the facility. It was one more special innovation for this facility—a marvel, really. As we've chatted, I've organized a short selection of interesting observations of the two Sangheili in question.”

And then Enduring Bias projected holographic surveillance footage of ‘Crolon and ‘Drem speaking. It started with their conversation with Tersa in the Chamber of Sensitive Geometries, went to their discussion with him in the Hall of Feasts, including the suggestion that they would falsify testimony against him if necessary. It went to a private conversation they had in a corner of a dormitory, in which ‘Drem remarked, “If we're to save us from the madness of Ussa—he must die!” and ‘Crolon replied, “Keep your voice low, my friend. But I will just say—I do not disagree. We must organize people against him. And someone must be selected as the new kaidon. I was thinking I myself might be suitable . . .”

“I have heard enough,” Ussa said firmly, glowering at ‘Crolon.

“But there is much more!” Enduring Bias said.

“That will be sufficient.”

“You believe this dark angel?” ‘Drem demanded, looking around desperately. “That machine—over flesh-and-blood Sangheili? I knew it was something demonic about it. I could feel it!”

“Oh, ‘Drem!” ‘Crolon said soothingly. “Ussa would never be so foolish as to trust a machine over his brethren in flesh and blood! He will naturally suspect that the Flying Voice has fabricated this imagery, these apparent conversations—surely the device has the capability.”

“I
do
have such a capability,” said Enduring Bias. “However, it was not necessary, since these real conversations took place.”

“That thing cannot be from the Forerunners!” ‘Drem shouted,
pointing, backing toward the door. “It is from . . . the San'Shyuum! It is from our enemies!”

“Ernicka, take those two into custody,” Ussa said, indicating ‘Crolon and ‘Drem. “Lock them in storage room seven. We will call a convocation for their execution shortly.”

“No!” ‘Drem turned to run, and Ernicka rushed after him, drawing his burnblade. He threw the weapon, and its shaft cut into ‘Drem's spine. The Sangheili fell and thrashed in agony, wailing.

Tersa found ‘Drem's writhing to be a distasteful sight. So did Ussa, apparently. Ussa said, “Ernicka—finish what you have started.”

Ernicka walked over and pulled the searing blade from ‘Drem—and then, in one smooth motion, severed the traitor's head from his neck.

‘Crolon was staring at this in desperation. “Great Kaidon . . . I . . .”

“Take along a sentry, and escort the one who lives to the storeroom, Ernicka,” Ussa said.

Ernicka turned menacingly to ‘Crolon. “You heard the kaidon.” He brandished the burnblade. “Go. I follow.”

‘Crolon walked unsteadily from the room—stumbling as he went in the spreading pool of ‘Drem's blood, so that he nearly fell into it face-first.

Ernicka grabbed ‘Crolon's arm and, keeping a solid grip, escorted him from the hall.

“As for you four,” Ussa said, turning to Tersa, Lnur, Gmezza, and Scorinn. “You should know that while there is a mechanism for disassembling this world, it does not relate to . . . destroying it.” Ussa hesitated as if he were not sure himself that this was entirely true. Then he went on. “You must simply trust me.”

“I always have, Great Ussa,” said Tersa. “And today I've seen that my trust was well founded.”

Ussa pointed at Gmezza. “And mind what you babble about with others . . . you and your mate!”

“Yes, Kaidon!”

“Now, go about your business! The four of you are wearying me. I wish to consult with Enduring Bias alone. New questions have arisen . . .”

Vengeful Vitality

In Orbit Around Janjur Qom

850 BCE

The Age of Reconciliation

“Commander . . . are we ready to leave orbit yet?” Mken asked nervously, watching the scan monitor. So far there were no signs of an attack from the surface. But the Stoics had enough technology to be dangerous—perhaps even to a ship such as the
Vengeful Vitality
, which was in the same orbit since it first arrived. Janjur Qom glowed magnificently in a viewport, but now Mken wanted very much to leave it behind.

Trok ‘Tanghil shifted in the captain's seat to ease the pain of his wound. The projectile had been removed, and he'd been salved and bandaged, but Mken knew the old warrior was still in agony. Trok squinted at a readout and grunted to himself. “I did warn you that I had not the expertise Vervum had, Your Eminence. It appears he locked down the engines. I believe I can get under way shortly, but . . .”

“I know you are injured, Trok, but you are also the only one competent enough to do this.”

“I was not complaining of my wound, Your Eminence,” Trok muttered. “I am merely saying it will take a little longer.”

“I know—never mind. Just do it as quickly as you can. I will check on the females.”

They had lowered the ship's artificial gravity to match High Charity's, so Mken got out of his chair and made his way on foot back to the corvette's hold, retrofitted for the comfort of passengers.

He was visiting the females mostly to keep himself busy. His mind was tormented with questions about the Luminary. As he went along the corridor, his hand went to the projector base for the Purifying Vision in his robe pocket. He couldn't carry the Luminary about with him, not handily, but at least he could keep the Purifying Vision close. He was going to take it to an officer's cabin and peruse the hologram again.

It was unbelievably precious. He'd accessed the Luminary just long enough to know that it did indeed contain galactic coordinates for the Halos of legend, specifications for the devices and their manufacture, as well as where they had originated from and data on their ultimate purpose. He hadn't delved deeply into it—he needed the help of other Prophets with more expertise in sacred relic technology. But at some point, on the way back to High Charity, why not examine the Luminary again? It was still in the dropship, safely in
Vengeful Vitality
's deployment hold. He could almost hear it calling to him.

Mken found the nine females strapped tensely in the cushioned seats, four on one side and five on the other, along the fuselage of the vessel. Lilumna was gazing in awe out a port at Janjur Qom.

Mken turned to Lilumna's sister, Burenn. “I wanted to say thank you. You saved our lives, bringing your . . . your
friend
Erb into the fight.”

Burenn's voice trembled as she replied. “I had hoped my mother would care for Erb. And now . . .”

“I want you to know—if I were to have a daughter, I would want her to be like you. I thank you again—we all do.” He turned to Lilumna, still gazing at Janjur Qom. “So, what do you think of it?” Mken asked.

“It is so vast, so shining . . .” Lilumna shook her head. “I knew—we have some basics about our world, and yet . . . I didn't know. Until you see it . . .”

“Yes. I do understand,” said Mken.

“There's something else you may not understand,” said Lilumna, looking at him. “When I gaze at it, I-I don't want to leave it. Suddenly I realize how large our homeworld is. There must be better San'Shyuum than those in Reskolah. There must be more males—better ones! They must be there on Janjur Qom somewhere! Burenn and I—we are not certain we want to go with you now!”

Mken made a hand gesture of sad commiseration. “I understand how you feel. But—we are committed. You must believe me when I tell you we cannot return to Janjur Qom. We are going to High Charity.” He cleared his throat and tugged on a wattle, hesitating—but he decided he must say it. “Outside the door I just came through, there are two armed guards. They will not let you leave this hold until we are through slipspace—and well on our way.”

“So . . . we
are
slaves after all!”

“No! Absolutely not. I assure you of this. But here, you must follow the rules of this ship. And I command this vessel, for now. I must insist you remain here. You will not be enslaved on High Charity—of that, I promise you.”

Mken turned away from her and slipped through the door, closing it behind him. He looked at Vil ‘Kthamee and Mleer,
waiting outside, and wondered what would happen if they had to use their weapons to keep the females in check. Would Lilumna be shot down?

Would Vil be forced to actually kill her?

His gut clenching at the thought, Mken turned away, heading for the bridge.

“Your Eminence,” came Trok's voice on the communicator in his collar. “I have the ship ready to depart.”

“Then go! Take us out of orbit!”

Mken had just reached the bridge when he heard the screech of warning from the scanners and looked at the monitor to see the large projectile coming at the
Vengeful Vitality.

The corvette had only begun to move from Janjur Qom's orbit when the missile struck.