Ninth Age of Reclamation

34th Cycle, 16 Units (Covenant Battle Calendar)

Fleet of Inexorable Obedience, Assault Carrier Pious Rampage

Low Polar Orbit, Planet E’gini, Illa System

It seemed a cruel way to set the unworthy on the Path of Oblivion, this rain of fire that devoured all it touched, that burned bone and boiled stone and turned dirt to glass. Yet so glorious was the bombardment, so magnificent the white lances blossoming upon the nomadic villages below, and so sublime the scarlet rings dilating across the smudges of green pasture, that Nizat ‘Kvarosee could not turn from the sight. He was Master of the Fleet of Inexorable Obedience, and this terrible beauty was his doing.

The annihilation of the contemptibles was his gift to the gods of the Covenant, the tithe he offered to be deemed worthy of one day joining the ancient Forerunners in divine transcendence. To turn his back on the splendor of his weapons was to abandon the Great Journey itself, to declare himself a traitor to his people and his faith.

And that he would never do, no matter the growing darkness within. To a Sangheili warrior, one’s word was all, and when Nizat had become Master of the Fleet of Inexorable Obedience, he had sworn to execute the will of the Prophets as if it were his own.

The strike ended, leaving nothing in its wake but a white glowing circle the size of his palm. He nodded approvingly and turned to the frail figure floating in the antigravity chair next to him. With his serpentine neck and the fur-covered wattle dangling beneath his chin, the San’Shyuum would appear repulsively weak to most Sangheili; yet Nizat was careful to address him in a tone just shy of veneration.

“That was the last village on this meridian, Your Grace. I will give the order to move on to the next.”

The San’Shyuum—the Minor Minister of Artifact Survey—waved a tri-fingered hand.

“Yes, yes, Fleetmaster. As you wish.” The Minor Minister—whom Nizat often simply called “Survey” in his own mind—tipped his chair forward to peer out of the blister. “How much longer, do you think?”

“Not overlong,” Nizat said. “E’gini is thinly populated. There are barely more than a hundred thousand settlements on the entire world.”

“A hundred thousand?” Survey exhaled heavily. “And how many do you think we have destroyed?”

Nizat checked the datatab integrated into the forearm of his shipboard armor. “That makes forty-seven thousand, nine-hundred and twelve.”

The San’Shyuum’s head sank forward. “So few? At this rate, we’ll be here another full cycle.”

Nizat tried to hide his revulsion. Like most San’Shyuum who traveled with Covenant battle fleets, the Minor Minister was a ceremonial magistrate rather than a military commander—and Survey, in particular, seemed ill-suited to the rigors of attending a planet-cleansing operation.

“If the Minor Minister is growing weary, he should feel free to return to his compartments. There is no need to remain here.”

Survey’s head whipped up. “No need, Fleetmaster? Perhaps you believe that all the Hierarchs require of us is to kill humans?”

“Not at all, Your Grace,” Nizat said. “The eradication must be consecrated, I know. But I was not aware you had to observe the entire operation personally.”

“You are being ridiculous,” Survey retorted. “That would be impossible, even for a San’Shyuum.”

“Then I am—” Nizat stopped himself. He’d almost said he was afraid he didn’t understand, but that would have been wrong. He was not afraid, and one did not lie to a San’Shyuum . . . not even to one as unimpressive as Survey. “Forgive me. I do not understand.”

“It is a matter of bearing witness.” Survey’s gaze grew distant, and he held his long neck a little more erect. “The Hierarchs must know that the humans are paying for their transgressions, and I must be able to report how they are suffering.”

“Ah . . . now I understand.”

And indeed, that was the truth. Nizat’s orders had said nothing about making humans suffer, only to kill them as quickly as possible, and to survey their worlds and capture those that contained Forerunner relics, and to render uninhabitable those that did not.

But the San’Shyuum were a political species who fought for status the way Sangheili did for honor, and it was clear that Survey intended to win favor among the Hierarchs by describing in detail how the humans were dying in anguish beneath the plasma beams of the Fleet of Inexorable Obedience. It was nothing to Nizat, and in fact the reports were only likely to enhance his reputation with the Prophets who were his superiors and Survey’s, so there was no reason to make the Minor Minister’s life any harder than it had to be.

“But if I may, Your Grace, the destruction of one village is usually the same as another. Nothing of interest is likely to occur while you are attending to other matters—and if it does, I will, of course, send for you at once.”

Survey considered the proposal for only a moment before inclining his elongated head. “As you wish, Fleetmaster. But two cycles is a long time to waste on a mudhole such as this. Is there nothing you can do to complete your work more quickly?”

Nizat hesitated, for he had pondered the subject earlier and concluded that it was feasible. Unfortunately, the method was not as certain as plasma bombardment to sterilize the world—and if it succeeded, it would prove immeasurably crueler. It was not something he was eager to try, but he had been directly asked by a Minor Minister, and it would be blasphemy to lie.

“Did you not hear my question, Fleetmaster?”

“I did,” Nizat replied. “I hesitate because the technique has never been tried before. But this world is so primitive that it could work here.”

“I hope you do not expect me to guess.”

“Not at all,” Nizat said. “But there are risks.”

“Are we not at war? There are always risks—even when fighting the humans.”

“Then your guidance will be most appreciated,” Nizat said. “E’gini is unique in two ways that serve our purpose. First, there is a shield volcano on the equator so enormous that we can see it venting ash and steam even from orbit.”

“And a plasma bombardment might trigger an eruption,” Survey said. “But would that be enough?”

“On any other world, no,” Nizat said. “But there is only one spaceport on the entire planet, and it has already been glassed.”

“So there can be no evacuation if the volcano erupts.”

“It would require a rescue fleet of at least a thousand large transports,” Nizat said. “And what is the likelihood of that while the Fleet of Inexorable Obedience is nearby?”

“No more than zero,” Survey replied. “But even an erupting shield volcano would blanket only a small part of the planet. It wouldn’t kill everything.”

“Not quickly. But if there is enough ash in the sky?” Nizat waited until he saw Survey’s eyes widen, then added, “It would be a slow and anguishing death, Your Grace.”

The Minor Minister’s head bobbed. “Perfect.”

“But uncertain,” Nizat said. He did not enjoy the prospect of inflicting said slow and anguishing death on so many—even if Survey did. “There may not be enough ash to cool the planet, and humans are nothing if not resourceful.”

“It matters not.” Survey gave his fingers a dismissive flutter. “Even if they survive, where can they go? When we return—”

The San’Shyuum was interrupted by the warning rattle of mandibles in the Fleetmaster’s Planning Compartment, and Nizat turned to find his steward leading a warrior in indigo assault armor toward the observation blister. His blood ran cold, for the armor was the uniform of the Silent Shadow, a premier hunter-killer force that the Hierarchs often dispatched when they wished to remove a high-ranking commander from his post. Unlike most warriors who came before the fleetmaster, the Shadow had not removed his helmet, for his sect forbade him to show his face to a superior he might one day be ordered to kill.

Happily, this Shadow had left the hilt of his plasma sword in its holster, and he was using both hands to carry a plate-size disk about the thickness of his arm. For an instant, Nizat thought it might be some kind of strange Forerunner artifact—the recovery of such relics was one of the Covenant’s objectives in attacking the humans, after all. But as the warrior drew closer, Nizat saw the obvious control buttons and a lens of primitive silicate, and he realized the thing had to be a human device.

Nizat looked to his steward, then pointed to the device and demanded, “Why do you allow that abomination into my presence?”

The steward, a young major named Tam ‘Lakosee, stopped three paces away. Like all Sangheili warriors, he was an imposing figure with an arrow-shaped head, beady eyes, and a mouth with four mandibles lined by short, curved fangs. Dressed in a sleeveless tabard rather than armor, he had a heavily muscled frame, long sinewy arms that ended in four-fingered hands, and huge legs supported by long, powerful tarses that resulted in a springy digitigrade gait.

He touched his fingers to his brow. “Fleetmaster, all will grow clear in a moment. Until then, I beg your indulgence.”

“You have it—for now.”

“I will be quick.” ‘Lakosee gestured at the Silent Shadow beside him. “First Blade Tel ‘Szatulai recovered the abomination on the world that humans call Amasa, in their Grenadi sector.”

Amasa, known to the Fleet of Inexorable Obedience as Alay’oso, was the tenth target in line to be attacked under Nizat’s current invasion plan, so he knew that ‘Szatulai’s unit would have been there to take the measure of its defenses. Even more importantly, the patrol would have been scouting for any hint that the world had once been occupied by the holy Forerunners, who had held dominion over the galaxy before their ascent to divinity.

Nizat clacked his mandibles horizontally to indicate that he knew of the world, and ‘Lakosee continued his explanation.

“The device was left in front of ‘Szatulai’s reconnaissance squad—deliberately.”

“Deliberately?” Survey echoed. He floated his chair close to ‘Szatulai and leaned forward so that his wattled face was within a finger’s length of the warrior’s red visor. “A first blade of the Silent Shadow allowed himself to be seen? On a world not yet under attack?”

‘Szatulai regarded Survey and did not reply. For five long breaths, Nizat wondered whether the warrior was too much of a coward to speak directly to a San’Shyuum . . . or such a fool that he believed he needed his fleetmaster’s permission to reply to a Minor Minister.

Then ‘Szatulai spoke, and Nizat realized he was neither.

“That is so, Your Grace.” There was just enough loathing in the first blade’s tone to indicate that he did not appreciate having his field performance disparaged by a member of the audience. “I made a mistake.”

Red circles broke out around Survey’s eyes, and the San’Shyuum turned to Nizat, the curl of his prehensile lips making clear that he expected such insubordination to be dealt with harshly. But Nizat had developed a sudden fondness for this Shadow, and anyway, first blades were too valuable to sacrifice to the petulance of a Minor Minister.

Nizat flipped a hand in indifference. “It is nothing to worry about, Your Grace. The infidels are not feebleminded. They already know that we are going to attack Alay’oso.”

“That is not my concern,” Survey hissed.

“I am glad we are in agreement.” Nizat turned to ‘Szatulai. “You have ensured that this device is not a trap?”

The first blade’s helmet swung upward and to the right, a sign of confirmation. “We captured the courier and forced her to demonstrate its use before she died. It brought harm to none of us.”

“Well done,” Nizat said. “Then tell me, why is this device worthy of my attention?”

“Because it contains a message from a faction of humans who wish to help us.”

“A trick,” Survey said. “Why would any human help destroy their own species?”

“I will let the message explain. It is . . . complicated.” ‘Szatulai placed the disk on Nizat’s writing stand, then asked, “Do you understand the human language, Fleetmaster?”

“The one they call English and a few others,” Nizat said. “There are so many.”

“English is a common tongue, much as Sangheili is ours,” ‘Szatulai said. “It is used for the message.”

“What about me?” Survey asked.

“You did not honor my decree that the Vicars of the Fleet learn the language of our enemy?” Nizat did not hide his surprise, for he had always found the Minor Minister more ambitious than determined, and ‘Szatulai’s example had emboldened him to let his disapproval show. “Truly?”

The wattle beneath Survey’s chin reddened. “My other duties have demanded my attention.”

“Of course. ‘Lakosee will bring a translation disk for you.” Nizat used a hand gesture to signal the steward to take his time returning, for he wanted an opportunity to digest the message on his own before enduring the Minor Minister’s advice. He turned back to ‘Szatulai. “Let us begin.”

“Before I am ready?” Survey was indignant.

“I am certain we will listen to it more than once.”

Nizat had barely spoken the words before ‘Szatulai touched a button. The hologram of a human head appeared above the glass lens. Like nearly all human heads, it was quite unattractive, with a gaunt face, oddly placed skin folds, and a tiny oval mouth set beneath a nose too skinny for its length.

The head probably belonged to a male, but Nizat could not be sure. There was no hair on the chin, lips, or cheeks, which was usually a female trait. Yet the hair atop the head was worn so short that it was almost not there, and Nizat had been told that it was rare for a female to go bald on the crown of her head.

But it hardly mattered. Humans seemed as uncertain of their own sexual stations as the Unggoy. Nizat had even heard that it was common for human males to manage the family keep and for females to fight as foot soldiers. It was little wonder that the Hierarchs had judged the species unworthy of the Great Journey. With such confusion about their places even in their own society, they would have brought only chaos to the Covenant.

After it had coalesced, the face in the hologram spoke.

“Greetings.” Its voice was deep and gravelly, a trait that Nizat associated with size—and therefore maleness. “I am General Harper Garvin of the United Rebel Front, and I have a proposal for the leadership of the Covenant.

“The United Nations Space Command, upon whom you are currently making war, is a vast colonial empire that oppresses hundreds of worlds—”

Nizat signaled ‘Szatulai to stop the message, then asked, “What is this word, colonial?”

“It means those worlds are ruled by a military authority,” ‘Szatulai explained. As a commander of the Silent Shadow, he had spent many cycles on human worlds and no doubt understood their customs far better than did Nizat. “Sometimes it is called the Colonial Military Authority, and sometimes it is called the United Nations Space Command. I am uncertain of the difference, but it matters not. The vessels of both forces are as the flesh of a captive keifra before our knives.”

“And humans do not wish to be ruled by their own military?”

‘Szatulai’s helmet tipped forward and to the left, signaling negation. “It is very strange, Fleetmaster,” he said. “But many humans view this colonial rule as enslavement.”

“I agree,” said Survey. ‘Lakosee still had not returned with the translation disk, so the Minor Minister was responding only to the short exchange between Nizat and ‘Szatulai. “It should be their prophets who rule their worlds.”

‘Szatulai’s visor swung toward the Minor Minister and remained fixed there for a time; then he finally deigned to speak. “The infidels follow too many faiths to be ruled by any of them,” he said. “And a vast number of humans follow no faith at all.”

“Which is undoubtedly why the Hierarchs consider their species unworthy of the Great Journey,” Survey said. “You would do well to keep that in your thoughts, First Blade.”

“As I do, Your Grace,” ‘Szatulai said. “My faith stands as the pillar of my obedience.”

Which could mean, Nizat reflected, that it was only ‘Szatulai’s faith in the Great Journey that kept him from snapping the Minor Minister’s snaky little neck. On occasion, Nizat had pondered the same murderous blasphemy himself—but it was better to avoid dwelling on that now. He signaled ‘Szatulai to resume, and the first blade touched the device again.

“—yearning to breathe free,” the head—Garvin—continued. “And on many of those worlds, desperate groups of resistance fighters have organized themselves into insurrectionist armies who are determined to throw off the yoke of imperialism.”

Nizat decided not to inquire about the meaning of imperialism. No doubt it had something to do with being oppressed, and what did he care about the oppression of humans? They would all be free soon enough, right after he killed them.

The thought had barely passed from his mind before it became a pang of guilt that he felt like a dagger through one of his hearts. He put the pain aside and returned his focus to the hologram.

“. . . suggest an alliance with the Covenant,” Garvin was saying. “And to prove our value in such a bargain, we offer you this intelligence as a gift: recently, you lost a vessel at Netherop under mysterious circumstances. That vessel was destroyed by the same unit that did the same to your ship at Chi Ceti IV a few months ago.”

Nizat’s interest was already spiking as the hologram changed from an image of General Garvin to a human-shaped figure in bulky armor. The engagement at the world the humans called Chi Ceti IV had been the subject of much speculation among his staff officers. A dispatch sent during a lull in the battle had expressed the confidence of the Unrelenting’s shipmaster that, after a fierce initial engagement, the Unrelenting would emerge victorious and seek repairs at Zhoist, a supply world and staging area just beyond human space that had once been home to ten ancient Forerunner cities.

But the Unrelenting had never arrived, and at Netherop, the Radiant Arrow had simply vanished. If the human traitors were willing to tell Nizat what had befallen the two Covenant vessels, he was certainly willing to listen. He might even allow them to believe that it would save their own worlds . . . at least for a time.

The armored figure in the hologram spun slowly around, allowing Nizat and his companions an opportunity to inspect it from all angles, and then Garvin’s voice continued.

“This is an elite special operations soldier known as a Spartan. Everything concerning Spartans—their origin, capabilities, number—is classified ultra-secret, so there’s a lot we don’t know about them. What we do know, however, is that they are what happened to your vessels at Netherop and Chi Ceti IV.

“And they’re going to do the same thing to you at Biko—to the entire Covenant fleet.”

The image changed back to Garvin’s face.

“If you care to learn more, we’ll be waiting in the abandoned ice quarry on Biko’s third moon, Seoba. Send someone who can strike a deal. We have a little project we’d like your help with.”

The image contracted into nothingness. Nizat absentmindedly began to spread and close his mandibles.

After a moment, he said, “I am uncertain that I understand.”

“Understand what?” Survey said. “I should have made you wait for the translation disk.”

Nizat glowered at him, then said, “That was not your decision to make.”

Survey smacked his lips in outrage, but Nizat ignored him and turned back to ‘Szatulai.

“Does this traitor—this General Garvin—does he truly expect us to perform a service for him?”

“I believe he hopes to strike a bargain,” ‘Szatulai said. “He warned us about these Spartans, and now he hopes we will feel obligated to provide something in return.”

“Other than our favor?” Nizat asked.

‘Szatulai turned his palms down, a gesture of bewilderment. “It is the way humans are,” he said. “They have no understanding of the natural order of dominion.”

“No, it is something else,” Survey said. “You are underestimating him . . . the one you call General Garvin.”

‘Szatulai’s helmet tipped sideways in a gesture of irritation, and Nizat feared the Minor Minister had finally grown too bold in his arrogance. How could he presume to know what the humans were thinking, when he did not even understand their words?

“Your Grace,” Nizat said, “First Blade ‘Szatulai has spent many cycles hiding on human worlds, learning their ways and studying their weaknesses. He understands how their minds work.”

“And I understand the art of intrigue,” Survey countered. “This General Garvin is using a classic ploy, saying he wants one thing when he is seeking another.”

Nizat was doubtful. “What he wants is survival for his faction, and he is willing to betray the rest of his species to win it. That is what cowards do.”

“And yet he made a point of showing you that armored soldier,” Survey said. “Was that one of the Spartans the first blade mentioned?”

“It was.” Nizat did not see where Survey’s questions were leading, but the Minor Minister was right about this much: no one understood the art of intrigue better than the San’Shyuum. “You find that significant, Your Grace?”

“In a negotiation, everything is significant,” Survey said. “First Blade ‘Szatulai said this General Garvin ‘warned’ you about the Spartans. Am I to take it they are a danger to us?”

“So he claims.” Nizat would have to revisit his evaluation of the Minor Minister; clearly, the San’Shyuum was shrewder than he seemed. “General Garvin says that the Spartans destroyed our ships at Chelav and Neska—the worlds they call Chi Ceti IV and Netherop.”

Survey’s eyes bulged. “Did they?”

Nizat thought for a moment, considering whether two of his vessels could have been destroyed by some more conventional method, perhaps by being surprised and vanquished so quickly there had been no time to dispatch an action report. He decided not. If the humans had ships that capable, they would not be holding them back from battle.

Finally Nizat said, “It seems the most likely explanation.”

“Humans against ships?” Survey remained aghast. “How is that possible?”

“By sneaking aboard and planting a bomb,” ‘Szatulai said. “That is how the Silent Shadow would do it.”

“Perilous, but possible,” Nizat said. “But would it work against a fleet?”

‘Szatulai thought for a moment, then said, “The Silent Shadow would never attempt such a thing. It would be impossible to infiltrate an entire fleet undetected. Too much can go wrong.”

“Fleet?” Survey asked. “What is this talk of fleets?”

“General Garvin says the Spartans will be waiting for us at the human world Biko,”

“I do not know this Biko,” Survey asked.

“We call it Borodan,” Nizat said. “But the name is less important than what General Garvin claims the Spartans will do: attack the Fleet of Inexorable Obedience.”

“Ah.” Survey calmed and settled back in his chair, steepling his hands before his chin wattles. “Now I see.”

Nizat glanced at ‘Szatulai, but the first blade showed no sign that he understood either, and together they waited for the Minor Minister to enlighten them.

At last, Survey lowered his hands. “General Garvin is trying to motivate you. He wants you to kill the Spartans, so he claims they are a danger to the fleet.”

“That is a sound motivation,” Nizat said.

“If he is telling the truth, yes,” said ‘Szatulai. “But boarding an entire fleet? They would have to be mad.”

“They have succeeded twice before,” Nizat said. “Perhaps they were testing a new device—a personal cloak or a shield-lance—and now they are ready to deploy it on a larger scale.”

‘Szatulai offered a small bow. “I had not thought of that.”

“It is only a possibility,” Nizat said. “But one we must consider. You will assemble a kai’d of the fleet’s best warriors to hunt down these Spartans, then go to the third moon—this Seoba—and learn how General Garvin and his traitors can help.”

“And after I speak with them?”

Knowing that his answer would depend more on doctrine than strategy, Nizat turned to the Minor Minister.

“Do you remember what I showed you on the kelguid?” Nizat was referring to a holographic star chart, developed from technology reverse-engineered from the Forerunner equivalent. “The importance of establishing a forward operating base, so we can press our attack with speed?”

Survey nodded. “Of course,” he said. “You are thinking that Borodan is the place?”

“Yes, provided we can capture it without a prolonged fight,” Nizat said. “And if General Garvin wants to meet our representative there for the reason I believe, then perhaps he can make that possible.”

“Indeed,” Survey said. He turned to ‘Szatulai. “For now, the fate of General Garvin and his traitors is yours to decide. Spare them for as long as it serves our cause.”

“As you command,” ‘Szatulai said. “And when it does not?”

“They are human,” Survey said. “You know what to do with them.”