Halo: Glasslands

Someone leaned forward from the tier above and behind him to tap his shoulder. “So what are we going to do for a High Council now we’ve kicked out the San’Shyuum, Jul? An assembly of kaidons? We don’t even have a global capital to meet in. The keeps wil argue about that until I grow a damn beak.”

It was Forze, another shipmaster without a ship. “Do we even need a council?” Jul asked. “Al we need to worry about is holding an army and a fleet together. We can manage that.”

“Of course we need a council. The only reason we didn’t have one was because the San’Shyuum told us what to do, the—”

He was interrupted by a growing rumble of murmurs as the doors on the lower level opened. Jul looked down from his second-tier seat to see Levu usher in the Arbiter, Thel ‘Vadam.

I wonder if he’s missing his pet humans. Why does he think any of them are worth sparing?

‘Vadam wasn’t quite as tal as Jul had imagined. Somehow Jul had expected someone iconic, unreal, as befitted a fleet commander, but ‘Vadam simply held himself as if he were much bigger. He seemed to have slipped automatical y into the role of pul ing Sanghelios together whether it wanted him to or not.

“Brothers, it’s time to listen to what Thel ‘Vadam has to say to us,” Levu said. “So let’s be gracious while he speaks.”

“Has the human Admiral given you permission to talk to us, then?” someone jeered. “How generous of him.”

The Arbiter ignored the jibe, looking around the chamber as if he was settling on a target, but Levu brought his fist down on the balustrade with a crack. “Courtesy, brothers. Hear the Arbiter out. He has the floor.”

‘Vadam took a few circling, slow strides, picking his moment. “Arbiter is a title I would prefer to forget,” he said. “I’m simply a kaidon again. As such, I’ve come to appeal for unity. I know there are … misgivings about my recent cooperation with humankind, and strong opinions on both sides.

But this is not the time for another civil war. We have to rediscover what unites us. And we have to repair the fabric that the San’Shyuum have left in tatters. We must learn to be an independent people again for the first time in mil ennia.”

It was hard to object to any of that. ‘Vadam was talking like a politician, bland and conciliatory, switching back and forth between the formal language of authority and a comradely, I’m-one-of-you informality. Jul waited. He was itching to make his chal enge, but he also wanted to see if the elders from the larger, more powerful keeps would reveal their positions first.

A voice drifted down from one of the upper tiers. “Now, Kaidon ‘Vadam, tel us something we don’t know.”

“We think we’ve lost the gods, but we haven’t,” ‘Vadam said. “We’ve lost ourselves. Mil ions of our finest, our young males, have been kil ed— not fighting humans, but in the Great Schism. Are we insane? Our bloodlines have been weakened and our ships have been lost in a civil war, al because we were deceived into loyalty to the San’Shyuum. Brothers, we must consolidate what we have, whether flesh and blood or machine, before we can decide on a common purpose. But it wil be our purpose. Not another empire’s.”

“Perhaps our purpose is just to survive without being exploited by false prophets,” Levu said.

The Arbiter made sense. There had been a time when the San’Shyuum had made sense, too. Jul wondered if he could actual y speak up now, but the words formed and suddenly he could hear his own voice fil ing the chamber.

“What do you plan to do about the humans?” he asked. “Gods or no gods, they’l return to their colonies and rebuild them, and they won’t forget what we did to them and how much they loathe us.”

“We’l consider that if and when it happens.”

“Instead of finishing them off before they regain strength?” There. It was out in the open now. “We should regroup now, while their guard’s down, and exterminate the threat once and for al . Unless you’re too fond of them as pets, that is.”

The chamber was horribly silent now. Jul could suddenly hear the slow shuffling of boots as elders squirmed. He expected Thel ‘Vadam to round on him, but the Arbiter just snapped his jaws together a couple of times in amusement as if there was something he should have told Jul but chose not to.

“The humans say that a fool does the same thing twice and expects things to turn out differently.” ‘Vadam lowered his voice. “It might have escaped your notice that we never managed to defeat them, and we’re in worse shape now than we were a year ago.” Then his expression changed, as if he was steeling himself to break bad news. “We’ve stopped fighting. We need to stop because we can’t rebuild without stability.

Therefore I plan to reach a peace agreement with the humans, to formalize what has already taken place. Both sides have final y run out of blood to shed, brother.”

“But you can’t do deals with humans. Have you forgotten already?” Jul was appal ed. Not pressing home Sangheili superiority was one thing, but wil ingly giving in? That was close to treason. “They’re liars and thieves. Al of them.”

‘Vadam walked over to the balustrade that separated the floor of the chamber from the first tier of seats to look up at Jul. It wasn’t a threatening gesture. It seemed more like curiosity to see what this upstart, this young elder of a smal keep, looked like at closer quarters.

“There are honorable humans,” ‘Vadam said, resting his hands on the balustrade. “I’ve fought alongside them. None of us would be alive now if there weren’t. But I plan to agree to a treaty, not because I have any fondness for humans but because I love Sanghelios.” He pushed away from the balustrade and walked back into the center of the chamber, suddenly the charismatic leader again, the hero of the fleet. “The law is clear. If anyone disagrees, you have a remedy. You may attempt to assassinate me. That is your legal right.”

Jul sat there for some minutes after the address ended. The rest of the elders filed out and he found himself staring at the empty chamber floor with just Forze behind him. He could hear him fidgeting with his holster.

“I think we’re going to live to regret that,” Forze said.

We? Jul had felt like the lone voice of reason. “Chal enging him? He seemed amused.”

“No. We’l regret letting the humans off the hook.”

“So … are you with me, then?”

As soon as Jul said it, he realized he wasn’t even sure what with me meant. He just knew that whatever dismissive things he’d said about his enemy, humans were not al the same, Thel ‘Vadam’s honorable pets were the exception, and the rest would go back to doing what they’d always done as soon as they recovered their breath. Jul had to galvanize the Sangheili into stopping humankind while they stil could.

“Yes, I’m with you,” said Forze. “What now?”

Jul got up and wondered how he would explain this to Raia.

“I’l think of something,” he said.

THREAT ANALYSIS WING, BRAVO-6, SYDNEY: JANUARY 26, 2553.

Mal Geffen had never liked corridors, especialy dimly lit ones.

It was a weird phobia for a man who was happy to freefal into the pitch-black unknown or drop from low orbit behind enemy lines in a glorified coffin. He’d given up trying to fathom it out. He just knew that he didn’t like what he could see, or couldn’t see in this case. The double doors at the end of the passage were picked out by emergency lighting, the kind you had to fol ow in the event of a fire.

“You stil with me, Vaz?”

Vaz’s parade boots clicked behind him on the tiles. “I warned you that it’d make you go deaf.…”

“It’s the Wendy House.”

“What is?”

“This is where the fleet brass used to war-game and run tabletop exercises.” Mal’s voice echoed. He dropped to a whisper as they came to a halt in front of the doors. “Wendy House. You know. Where kids play at being grown-ups.”

They stared at the security panel. Vaz shrugged, stil miserable as sin. It was going to take Mal some time to make him forget that useless tart who dumped him. He’d keep trying. The kid needed to get out more.

“Cheer up, it might be a stripper in a cake,” Mal said. He stil had no idea why they were here. It wasn’t going to be a celebration, that was for sure. “Surprise party for the conquering heroes.”

Vaz put his palm on the entry panel, unmoved. “Yes. I tripped over al the rose petals on the red carpet.”

The security doors opened and Mal took a pace inside. The smel of cleaning fluid and musty carpet hit him. The room looked like it hadn’t been used in years, its wal s lined with old chart display panels showing trouble spots that hadn’t been active for decades: Earth colonies in a dozen systems, human-on-human violence. War had been a lot simpler then, or so his grandad had told him. He walked around tables pushed together into a rectangle, wiping his finger across the unconvincing oak-effect surface but finding no dust at al .

“Are you here for the free sandwiches? ’Cause there aren’t any.”

It was a woman’s voice. Mal guessed Canada, northeast. She emerged from behind one of the tote boards where make-believe generals had once tal ied imaginary KIAs in counterinsurgency battles that never happened; about thirty, Asian, and wearing a flight suit with a pilot’s brevet and sergeant’s stripes.

And an ODST 10th Battalion badge. One of us. Well, that’s something.

Her name tab said DEVEREAUX L. Either she hadn’t been told this was a number-threes occasion or she’d come straight from a sortie.

“You’re not a stripper,” Mal said.

“No. Are you? Because if you are, I want my money back.”

“We better keep our clothes on, then.” Mal held out his hand for shaking, seeing as formalities had fal en by the wayside. “Mal Geffen. And this is Vaz. Vasily Beloi. He isn’t a stripper either. Any idea why we’re here, Sergeant?”

“Lian Devereaux.” She looked Vaz over. Mal hoped she was just checking him out, because Mal was always ready to dive in and ask what the hel was so interesting. Civvies stared at scars. ODSTs knew better, and Vaz didn’t need reminding that he didn’t look as good as he used to. “No,”

she said. “Not a clue.”

Mal stood there in silence for a moment, just looking around and evaluating the environment. It’s some psych test, isn’t it? Some study into how damaged we are and how they can save money putting us right. It didn’t take long for the bean counters to crawl out of their holes once the shooting was over.

Devereaux tilted her head on one side and gave Vaz a mock-wary look. Maybe she hadn’t even noticed the scar. “Weren’t you the guys who hijacked a Spirit to exfil from Imber?”

“The hinge-heads left the keys in the ignition,” Vaz said. “So we took it for a burn.”

“But where is it now?”

Mal winked. “That’s for us to know and the Corps to find out.”

The doors opened and cut short any more bragging about the Covenant dropship. That was the problem with most of the meeting rooms and offices in Bravo-6. They were soundproofed, and nobody could hear anyone coming until it was too late. The tal est, scariest woman Mal had ever seen stalked into the room.

Even without Mjolnir armor, it was obvious what she was. Mal had never seen a Spartan in the flesh before. She looked more unreal in her UNSCN uniform than she would have in armor, he decided. He cast an eye over her sleeve.

“Morning, Petty Officer.” He outranked her but he stil had to tilt his head back to look her in the eye. Christ, she had to be over two meters tal , easy. “Good to see the Navy’s managed to drag itself out of its bunk before lunch.”

Mal expected to get a bit of abusive but friendly banter back from her. That was the way of interservice diplomacy, the custom of centuries. But the Spartan just looked down at him, unmoved. He couldn’t work out if she was very blond or completely gray.

“Naomi-Zero-One-Zero, Staff,” she said. “I believe we’re waiting for Admiral Parangosky.”

“That’s the idea.” Mal couldn’t read her at al . She’s a bloody Valkyrie. She really is. “Yeah, we are.”

Mal edged away to the tote boards and feigned intense interest in the list of unit acronyms scribbled beside actions on the incident timeline. Vaz and Devereaux sidled up to him. The three of them had already closed ranks without even thinking about it.

“Here we go,” Mal murmured. “They’re going to inject us ful of crap and put bolts through our necks. Frankentroopers.”

“Ah, that’s just stories,” Devereaux said. She didn’t sound convinced, though. “But if it’s not, I’m sure as hel not volunteering.”

Naomi the Valkyrie interrupted. “Officer on deck.”

Mal turned and snapped to attention, the reflex of fifteen years, slipping instantly behind the facade of the stony-faced, unreadable ODST. He decided his guess about a psych test was right.

So this was Parangosky.

Admirals never retired, technical y speaking, but Mal was sure nobody real y expected the old salts to front up and earn it for real once they were past seventy. Parangosky walked in slowly with a cane for support, somehow managing to be both frail and terrifying at the same time, the crazy old woman who scared al the kids in the neighborhood. But she obviously wasn’t crazy. Mal met her eyes for a disturbing second and ful y believed the rumors that she could erase anyone stupid enough to cross her.

“Stand easy,” she said. “My apologies for the location, but Strength through Paranoia is my motto. Meet Captain Osman and Professor Phil ips.

They already know al about you. Take a seat.”