Broken Circle (40 page)

The advance patrollers stepped cautiously, the group going to
the doorway of the Hall of Godminds—and were promptly met by weapons fire. Projectiles and burning, handmade grenades, steel bolts, and energy blasts all came their way.

Zo and his companions took cover behind the sculptures. An image of a floatfighter hero took several sizzling charges for Zo, and then the rocket launchers fired twice in response, with coughing sounds. The shells detonated to screams and cries of agonized rage.

“Cease fire here!” commanded Enduring Bias, in a voice suddenly taking on an unprecedented deep-toned authority. “You will damage the machinery! Leave this resolution to me!”

The intelligence construct glided through the door, its repellent field turning several missiles in midflight. Then it began its own offense, the heat beam choosing targets with exact analytical precision, so as not to damage the mechanisms underlying the forms of colored light that hummed in the Hall of Godminds.

There were short, abortive shrieks, then several voices pleading for mercy. “We did not know you!”

“Forgive me . . . forgive us!”

“Lay down your arms and surrender, and perhaps Bal'Tol will give you amnesty,” said Enduring Bias. “I shall recommend it. The decision, however, is solely his.”

But two unrepentants rushed out, howling, their faces riddled with pulsing networks of scarlet.

Enduring Bias exterminated them in less than a second.

“Now,” Enduring Bias said, as those who had surrendered filed out. “I suspect there will be little resistance hereafter. We must proceed to the protein synthesizer. I know what must be done there. Tul, I request that you go back to the shuttle, with appropriate protectors, and fetch the Huragok. It should be safe for the Engineer now. We will need its full assistance.”

The Refuge, the Ussan Colony

Primary Section

2553 CE

The Age of Reclamation

Some time had passed since the sections had been systematically cleared of the few remaining followers of ‘Kinsa. Not much resistance had been found after Section Five. The holographic blow-by-blow from the messenger of the gods had made the outcome clear for any who resisted.

Bal'Tol now stood at the dais, where Enduring Bias had silently lain dormant for centuries. The transparent case had been taken away and the intelligence now floated at Bal'Tol's right, as if in benediction. To Bal'Tol's left stood Xelq, V'ornik, and C'tenz. V'ornik had never looked so proud.

Bal'Tol glanced around, saw that the plaza held as many Sangheili as could crowd in. Others watched via remote access. Virtually the entire colony was watching, listening.

Also present was the San'Shyuum, Zo Resken, who stood a little apart with those Sangheili who claimed to have once been a part of the Covenant, and who had brought the San'Shyuum here. And there was also D'ero ‘S'bud, watching from the
Journey's Sustenance
by way of a transmission from Enduring Bias.

“Clansfolk of the Refuge!” Bal'Tol called out. “Heed me!” He could hear his own voice echoing to other chambers through remote address grids. “A new era has dawned for us all! A time of revelation and epiphany approaches . . . and has come upon us this very day! We have all heard the news—how the dishonorable regime of the Covenant has fallen. How those who believed as we did have triumphed at last!”

There was a mass clicking of mandibles and a chorus of cheers at this.

Bal'Tol raised his hands for silence, and went on. “Earlier, I sat in meditation, and saw again order emerging from chaos. So it will always be: the endless dance between the two. I witnessed something more in that vision: a unity, a closing of the circle. I have been told that we are known as a lost tribe of Sanghelios. That some on Sanghelios still remember the people of Ussa ‘Xellus, who traveled away and hid among the stars rather than surrender to the will of the Covenant. But at long last, it is time for us to reunite with our people on Sanghelios! Some of us may choose to remain, others will choose to travel to the homeworld. I assure you that a place is being made there for us. A new home, safe under an open sky!”

There were gasps and the shuffling of feet at that. Fearful murmurs.

“No one will be forced to go to Sanghelios. If you are not ready, you may remain here. And we are in the process of making this a safer colony to live in than ever before. The rumors are true—thanks to Enduring Bias and the Forerunners' Engineer, we have found a cure for the Blood Sickness. It was the protein synthesizer all along, which has been subtly malfunctioning for many cycles now. We have supplemented all meats and eco-level foods with synthetic protein for some time. Enduring Bias, working with the Engineer, located the source of the toxin—a viral subprotoid in the synthesis tubes. Once ingested, the toxin spawned the Blood Sickness. Some were more susceptible than others.”

He paused, thinking of Limtee.
A cure. Too late for her. Too late . . .

His voice ragged, Bal'Tol went on. “Now those we have isolated have begun to recover. The protein synthesizer has been repaired, and is safe. And under Enduring Bias's guidance, Qerspa ‘Tel is
even now refining an antitoxin that should cure the Blood Sick among us for all time.”

Another rousing series of cheers.

Once more he held up his hands for silence. “And now . . . everyone proceed to your assigned stability stations. Enduring Bias will show you something miraculous. The colony is about to be transformed—exactly what Forerunner Sun and Forerunner Moon intended. Watch and wonder—we live in glorious times!”

Seats had extruded from the floor, unfolding, with straps, in the Primary Section's control room. Bal'Tol sat in the center of the small room; to his right and left were Zo Resken and C'tenz. V'ornik was there, behind him, beside Qerspa ‘Tel, Xelq, G'torik, and Tul. Above them floated Enduring Bias.

“I am almost ready,” said the construct. “Completing calculations.”

“Zo—what will you do?” G'torik asked. “I mean, after this is completed?”

Bal'Tol glanced over his shoulder, curious. He had almost grown used to this strange, alien creature—this San'Shyuum.

“Ah,” said Zo Resken. “What will I do? I have no real home. But what do I have here? A treasure trove, a glorious repository of scarcely understood Forerunner history. Who knows what other secrets wait here to be unfolded? If it is permitted to me, I will remain. I submit to the will of the kaidon.”

“It is permitted,” said Bal'Tol. “You brought our salvation to us. It would be an honor to have you remain here.”

“What are we hoping to see, Kaidon?” asked C'tenz. He had mostly recovered from the severe punishment at the hands of ‘Kinsa, but still appeared a bit bleary.

“Observe,” Bal'Tol said.

A hologram appeared above them, projected by Enduring Bias. It showed the Primary Section of the colony moving through space. The image was broadcast from a scout-eye viewpoint, sent some distance out from the colony.

A jolt went through the room around them, the colony section itself seeming to creak and grumble. A great rumbling sound emanated from the walls . . . and the hologram showed the Primary Section moving, with repulsors glowing on one end.

Another section appeared, evading asteroids, yet coming inexorably toward Primary.

“Kaidon!” V'ornik blurted. “They're going to collide!”

“Have faith in the messenger of the gods,” Bal'Tol said. But he had some private anxiety himself. Would this truly work, after so much time had passed?

This could all be a terrible mistake, a catastrophe in the making . . .

Then they saw Section Seven connect itself with Primary Section—it seemed to lock on with a precise wrist action from some giant invisible hand, and the colony around them vibrated, reverberating with the interface.

Bal'Tol remembered to breathe again.

Another section came into view . . .

Each one was a risk. If one of them was askew, disaster would follow. Why hadn't he left well enough alone?

He'd been clouded by success, by the promises of the new era. But now . . .

Another section clicked neatly home.

It happened again, and again. And an overall shape was emerging. A curve, a segment of a circle.

It took time. Bal'Tol's head injury, not fully healed, was beginning to throb by the time the final section connected.

But it was all there, as the Forerunners had intended.

It was a complete circle, the various sections united into one circular structure. The parts that had made it into a full sphere were long gone, shattered.

But the broken circle was whole once more. Ussans could move easily from one section to another, through a stabilized colony, one more alive in its unity.

“By the Great Ones,” Zo Resken muttered, gazing at the holographic image of the united sections. “It looks like . . .”

“It does,” said G'torik.

“It's smaller,” said Zo. “It's not the same but . . . now, with the parts connected . . . it looks almost like one of the Sacred Rings.”

Bal'Tol was both exuberant and saddened. All this time, he had been assuming he would be returning to the homeworld as well, that he would be going back to Sanghelios. He had dreamed that he, too, could complete that circle, a descendant of the legendary Ussa ‘Xellus, returning to Sanghelios in triumph.

But he was the kaidon. If his people chose to remain—and a good many would—he must remain here, for their sakes. After all, sacrifice was expected of a leader.

Sacrifice was honorable.

Perhaps one day he would visit Sanghelios. But for now, he would stay in the place of his father and forefathers.

He could almost hear Ussa ‘Xellus's voice.
Take care of my people, Bal'Tol. You are my blood. You, too, are ‘Xellus
.

Bal'Tol sighed. Here, in the unbroken circle of the Refuge, he would remain, probably forever.

Sanghelios

2553 CE

The Mountains North of Zolam

Another Age as Yet Unnamed

D
'ero ‘S'bud, for once, looked almost cheerful.

“And there, Xerq—do you see that? That is the Temple of the Sundered Sky. One of many Forerunner structures still standing in Zolam.”

In truth, Xerq could see only the faintest gleam in the distance, below the mountains. But he had heard of Zolam, many times, from D'ero, who hailed from its outskirts. “Will you show me Zolam sometime, D'ero?”

“Yes. If . . .” He spread his mandibles in a Sangheili version of a scowl. “I should say—
when
. When it is safe for us to visit. There is still tension there, and danger of war. There are those still arguing for their madness, muttering of the glorious Great Journey. Foolishness still seems to be in abundance here. But then again, fools are found in every species on every world.”

G'torik and C'tenz joined them on the ancient cupola built out upon the cliff side. In silence they gazed for a long moment at what they could see of Sanghelios. It was so unthinkably vast to
Xerq. It had never occurred to him before coming here how small the Refuge truly was.

But then he had always turned his thoughts outward, to space, the stars. The endless possibilities. And one had come to fruition—to be here, on the homeworld.

He stretched his arms, luxuriating in the sublime blend of strangeness and familiarity. He had at last adjusted to the gravity, the air sweeter than anything he had ever breathed.

And there was something about the sky—hints of yellow and blue with roseate touches, red at the horizon—that spoke to his very soul. He recognized this place, though he had never been here.

Ussa ‘Xellus had led his ancestors away from this blessed place—and now, at last, millennia later, their descendants had returned. And to Xerq, it felt as if his forebears were here, too, along with Ussa ‘Xellus, invisible but present, at his side, gazing out at the mountains, the plains, the golden sky, the distant cities . . .

Of Sanghelios itself.

And it was good, it was right to be here. As Bal'Tol had stated: order hidden within chaos, eventually emerging to reaffirm itself.

Another circle was completed with this return to the homeworld. A broken circle reconnected, just as the orbit of Sanghelios after a cycle's travel around the sun; as its two moons, Suban and Qikost, revolved around the planet, confirming, always, that this was the true homeworld of Sangheili.

“We have returned, Ussa ‘Xellus . . .” C'tenz murmured, as if he'd been reading Xerq's thoughts. “Just as you had once said we would. We have returned at long last.”

JOHN SHIRLEY

Special thanks to Ed Schlesinger at Gallery Books, Jeremy Patenaude and everyone at 343 Industries, and my wife, Micky.