Broken Circle (9 page)

By the Forerunners and all that was holy—what if Salus ‘Crolon was right?

High Charity

850 BCE

The Age of Reconciliation

Mken was in his private study, hunched over grainy holograms of ancient Forerunner sculpture. Some of the artifacts were not true sculpture, perhaps, but devices that only looked like works of art. It was often hard to tell.

He caused the image to rotate, taking in its curves and hollows, its sweeping volutes. The shape seemed to suggest evolution, galactic spirals, a tower of swirling shapes all writhing together . . .

His understanding of the Forerunners identified them as
beings who had maintained, for a time, organic, material form; they became somehow channelers of a divine inspiration that transformed them and made them suitable for the Great Journey to a higher realm, through the agency of the seven Rings. The Rings, set about the galaxy in spiritually significant positions, had been designed to summon sublime spiritual energies that burned away falsehood and freed the soul to speed rapidly to the heart of the godhead.

The San'Shyuum believed the Forerunners had deliberately left their traces across the galaxy as signposts, pieces of a holy conundrum that once solved would allow other races with enough faith to walk the path of the Great Journey, eventually joining the Forerunners.

But if the Forerunners were like avatars of God—then who ultimately was that God? Was there not some
over
-God, that all must submit to?

There must be. And perhaps the end of the Great Journey was a glorious encounter with that ultimate deity.

But again Mken was peppered by doubts about the Great Journey and the purpose of the Halo array, which the Forerunners had created. Did the description of the effect not sound like weapons? Were there not references—if they were translated correctly—that suggested that the energies were capable of great displays of power?

But of course those references were murky at best. Probably mistranslated. And he'd never dared share them with other Prophets. Strictly speaking, he should have worked till he found nonheretical interpretations.

The Holy Rings were most certainly real, though they had generated a mythos of their own among the San'Shyuum. Mken wondered if they still existed at all—if they were still out there in the galaxy, and somehow had remained intact?

Could the San'Shyuum find them—and discover the true purpose of the Great Journey?

And who am I to question the Great Journey? Am I a heretic to even wonder at it? I am but one small being, a speck in the universe. The Forerunners were at one with the purpose of the universe itself, were demigods whose powers of invention crossed from the realm of the natural into the supernatural—or so it appears. Who am I to question? And who am I at all? Am I the Prophet of Inner Conviction? Or am I just the San'Shyuum who once did the childish ripple dance with the others?

“Prophet of Inner Conviction—are you there?”

Mken sat up straight, startled, making his antigrav chair bobble slightly on its field.

He looked up to see the screen above his work space blinking with an indicator of an incoming visual call, a verbal message resonating in the air.

He flicked his fingers over the glowing holoswitches, summoning a response with the precision of ingrained habit, and the holographic image of R'Noh appeared before him. R'Noh wore a silver filigreed robe and a high, branching copper-colored collar that was not like a Hierarch's, but seemed suggestive of one, like a child's mockup of a Hierarch's headdress.

R'Noh's large dark eyes glittered with menace; his nostrils flared as if he were some distant, primitive San'Shyuum ancestor on a hunt and scenting his prey.

“Ah! There you are, Inner Conviction!”

“Yes, R'Noh, here I am. And here you are. Do please state your purpose. I'm engaged in study. Sacred study.”

“But perhaps you can
spare
a minute or two?” Just a mild flavor of mockery in his words.

Mken considered refusing. But why court trouble? There was R'Noh's fresh posting to head an absurd, newly minted Ministry to consider.
Anticipatory Security
.

“Certainly, R'Noh.”

“Oh thank you, Inner Conviction. This will not take much of your time. There are a few matters—and it may be that one will be the solution to the problem presented by the other.”

“And what problem would you bring to
me
, R'Noh?”

“Ah, should I not be bringing them to you? You speak as if you imagine my status is the same as when we last met.”

“No, no—Anticipatory Security. I heard that you were now a Minister. I should have conveyed congratulations before now. I only just heard. Felicitations. Now—what can I help you with?”

Mken so badly wanted to flick R'Noh's face away with a thumb stab at his holoswitch. As if crushing some insignificant chitinous crawler. The vile memories . . .

But he gestured
Happy to be of service.

“Thank you, Inner Conviction—I will get right to it, then. You know how difficult, how time-consuming, how tiresome and embarrassing a genetic sorting can be. We don't wish to impose one upon you. But we are automatically informed when anyone's medical interface is consulted about pregnancy.”

Mken blinked. “Indeed? And how long has that been the case?”

“Oh it's a recent . . . arrangement. A little while ago it was decided that the new Ministry was a good idea and at that point . . . the anticipatory information was approved.”

“Anticipatory. As in looking ahead. I see. Someone has been checking to see if they are pregnant—and this is of concern to me because . . . ?”

“Because it was your mate.”

Mken struggled to keep his equanimity.
Do not lose your temper.
“And what of it? We are not on the Roll of Celibates.”

“Yes—about that. It seems to some of us who have looked into this matter that you might well have been on the Roll—except for some nudging here and there, perhaps.”

“You are alleging corruption? You have not been Minister long—I did not expect you to go mad with power so quickly, R'Noh. Has it not occurred to you that you are making a very severe accusation?”

“I am accusing no one of anything, Inner Conviction. But only consider what the nature of the new Ministry is. We must try to halt problems before they take root and grow. This means we must cast around for those problems. And casting around can include parsing rumors. Including rumors about you.”

“And yet you claim you are not accusing me of anything?”

“We are just . . . inquiring. Perhaps there is a shadow of suspicion. Perhaps not. But . . .”

“I assert again—I am not on the Roll of Celibates. So no wrongdoing has been committed here. We are permitted to have offspring. It is no concern of yours if my mate looks into the possibility of pregnancy.”

R'Noh made the gesture of
One is but thinking aloud
. “Ah, but one can, if there is sufficient reason for suspicion, be
added
to the Roll of Celibates at any time, Inner Conviction.”

“And is that why you've reached out to me? Because I can expect you to advocate for this . . . this blight on my reputation?”

Mken was working very hard to keep himself calm and motionless. He would not let this wretch see him with his wattles waggling with anger.

“Why, Inner Conviction, no one has decided to advocate for any such thing. Certainly, information would have to be gathered.
Interrogations made. Who knows how far it could take us? Even if nothing was found, the inquiry alone is a blot on one's reputation. You know what our brethren are, so prone to jumping at assumptions. Rumors would redouble and would themselves reproduce and multiply.” R'Noh seemed quite pleased with his witticism.

“All this is pressure, held over my head. There is something you want of me. State your true business. I have work to conduct.”

“You are perceptive—I say that without confirming or denying your supposition. But, Inner Conviction, coincidentally there
is
something we want you to do for us.”

“We?”

“Yes. In fact, the plan issues from his eminence, Excellent Redolence, and myself, in a humbler way.”

“The Hierarch. The High Prophet of Excellent Redolence. He approves this . . . this blackmail? This extortion?”

“What? Am I hearing correctly? You would accuse Excellent of extortion? Surely not, Inner Conviction!”

Mken grated his teeth. He wanted to say
Direct extortion would take courage, so perhaps it would in truth be unlikely since Excellent is craven, is one who jockeys for power when others have their backs turned . . .

Instead, Mken merely asked, “What is this ‘something' you want of me?”

“We merely want you to lead a covert team to Janjur Qom. Where you will obtain a certain object . . . and genetically healthy females for breeding purposes.”

Mken was stunned. “You cannot be serious. I told you what I thought of that heinous plan when you first proposed it!”

“Yes. I recall it clearly. You quite humiliated me in front of the Hierarchs.”

“Oh. I see. And now this is repayment, revenge for that embarrassment?”

“Perhaps there
is
an element of, as you say, repayment.” R'Noh's nostrils flared again. His eyes narrowed. “But—I will tell you that plans of forced abduction have been discarded. It has been decided we will take only those females who will freely come to High Charity. We have sent Eyes to the homeworld, and we have found a settlement where we believe we will obtain willing prospects. A place called Crellum. A holographic message was shown to certain females. And there is something else—nearby is a place called the grotto of the Great Transition, in which we may find the Purifying Vision of the Holy Path itself. And with it—a Luminary.”

Mken snorted. “There is no proof that the Purifying Vision actually exists. There are many tales of such a holy artifact—but none has been found.”

“Nonetheless, the records of those who served on the Dreadnought before it departed mention the possibility of the relic in a certain place on Janjur Qom—they apparently received a sacred sign through the ship's Luminary. If the relic is indeed there, it will provide additional gravitas—holy affirmation much needed in this time of spiritual turmoil so soon after the Writ of Union.”

Doubtless much of that speech about the time of turmoil was R'Noh paraphrasing Excellent Redolence. R'Noh spent no appreciable moments contemplating anything spiritual.

“Very well, send your expedition. But there's no need to involve me.”

“Oh, but there is—there are actually two reasons. First we have need of your learning with respect to the homeworld.”

“I am unlikely to have practical information about anything that could apply to such an expedition—”

“But you
do
have what we need!” R'Noh's interruption was an outrageous breach of protocol. He went on blandly. “You have studied the area in question, O Prophet of Inner Conviction. You know a good deal about the southeastern edge of Reskolah.”

“Reskolah?” Mken's heart thudded at the storied name. An area rumored to contain many undiscovered relics. It was almost tempting. But absurd. “I've studied topographical maps—the most recent data I could unearth. But . . . there is much I do not know.”

“You are still best suited—and the one chosen by Excellent Redolence—to lead the Appropriation Party.”

“So that is what you call it? What a clumsy euphemism for raiding. We may have to kill San'Shyuum to make good our seizing of relics and this supposed recruitment . . .”

“Kill
San'Shyuum
, Inner Conviction? Why, those are
Stoics
you are referring to! Heretics! They're fortunate to be losing only a few of their females and a relic—and we simply must reproduce. The Roll of Celibates, the rarity of fertility cycles—our population shrinks. If the Sangheili were to take note of our low population count, it might embolden them to rethink their loyalty.”

“Then why not simply relax the Roll of Celibates?”

“It was created for a reason. It is necessary to keep our genetics from drifting into degenerency, Inner Conviction. We have reason to believe the Stoics, at least, are genetically sound. They are more numerous—not likely to be challenged with inbreeding. And again, the Purifying Vision of the Holy Path is valuable beyond calculation. We need to make sure the Sangheili are truly loyal, truly converted—the shine of such a holy relic will erase all doubt and inevitably unite them behind us!”

“And if I am killed? Do you suppose, R'Noh, that the Stoic San'Shyuum of our homeworld will not detect us? Will stand
cheerfully by while we snatch up their females and make off with them?”

“I suppose nothing of the sort. We hope to avoid battle—to avoid detection entirely. But . . . we cannot be sure of it. You have studied Janjur Qom, at a remove. And you are not without military experience. You will go in clandestinely and escape with equal stealth. You will
probably
not be killed. If you are, I doubt if his eminence the Prophet of Excellent Redolence will be greatly saddened.”

“I'm touched,” said Mken dryly.

“. . . And he will then find someone else to send. The plan
will
move forward, however. Now, Prophet of Inner Conviction, you should prepare yourself to leave for Janjur Qom with all speed . . .”

The Refuge: An Uncharted Forerunner Shield World

850 BCE

The Age of Reconciliation

S
ooln, you look concerned. Unhappy. What has the Flying Voice told you?”