Hood wasn’t joking when he said this was the back door. Osman stepped out of the shuttle with Vaz and found herself in a cold, deserted landing bay that reminded her more of a parking garage at two A.M. She fought an urge to look over her shoulder for muggers. A Brute security guard at the entrance indicated with a jabbed finger that they should get their puny human asses through the doors. Osman watched Vaz slowly clench one fist, but he kept his arms at his side. The corridor that they walked into was completely straight with no doors to either side. There was no way they were going to get lost looking for the bathroom.
“Chin up,” Hood said, striding forward. “At least they haven’t asked us to check our weapons at the door.”
Hood certainly had the walk. Osman was proud of the old bastard. He was a meter shorter than any of the Sangheili standing guard along the corridor and the size of the architecture completely dwarfed him, but he strode down that marble passage as if he was on the bridge of his flagship, Admiral of the Fleet, nominally the most powerful man on Earth. He came from a line of men who knew how to take responsibility and how to stand up to the enemy. Osman suspected he was afraid, but the things he feared were probably very different to the ones that plagued her.
He had a lot in common with Jul ‘Mdama.
The doors at the end of the passage opened silently, sending a shaft of light down the hall. Osman wondered whether it was a psychological trick, the equivalent of shining a bright light in a prisoner’s face, or maybe they’d just opened the doors to let him in, no more and no less. It was easy to become too paranoid in ONI. Hood didn’t break his stride and walked through the doors with Osman, Vaz, and Phillips behind him.
She’d expected the Sangheili to pack the audience chamber with as many intimidating hinge-heads as they could dredge up, to make a spectacle of the humans coming cap in hand to talk terms. But the room was smaller than she expected, and deserted except for a massive figure in full Sangheili armor standing silhouetted against the light of one of the long, narrow windows.
The Arbiter turned as if he hadn’t been expecting Hood so soon.
Instead of waiting for Hood to come to him, though, he took a few steps forward to close the gap. Maybe that meant something entirely different in Sangheili etiquette, but if the Arbiter had been a human, he would have been opening with a polite concession.
“Admiral Lord Hood.” The empty, echoing room made him sound like a faulty public address system. “I would offer you refreshment, but I suspect our menu wouldn’t be to your taste.”
And he actually held out his hand for shaking. Phillips sucked in a breath. Osman couldn’t work out if that was surprise or warning, but there was nothing she could do about it either way.
Hood took the Arbiter’s hand as if it was just another UNSC cocktail reception. The real history of the world took place out of the gaze of the media and without ceremony. Osman knew historians would argue about this event in years to come because there were so few witnesses, at least three of whom would probably never say what actually happened. It felt more like first contact than the end of a long war.
Osman was struck by how small Hood’s hand looked in the Arbiter’s grip and found herself thinking that it was just as well there was no Waypoint crew here to capture that image. It just made Hood look unnecessarily small, especially as he had to crane his neck to look the Sangheili in the eye.
“I have no complex terms for you, Arbiter,” Hood said. “We’ve stopped fighting and I’d simply like to keep it that way. We both have our own problems to deal with now, and whatever started this war has now been eradicated.”
The Arbiter looked past Hood at Osman and the others. “You bring bodyguards.”
“Advisers. Captain Osman and Corporal Beloi, and Dr. Phillips, who has a great scholarly interest in your people.”
The Arbiter beckoned them to step forward and seemed quite taken with Phillips. He loomed over the professor. “Why are we of interest to you?”
“Because you’re an ancient and fascinating culture, sir.” Phillips looked like he’d met a boyhood hero. Osman bristled as she realized how insulated Earth had been against the reality of hinge-heads. “And the better we understand one another, the less likely we are to clash again.”
The Arbiter’s nostrils flared slightly. Phillips was a terrific actor, but he was genuinely thrilled to find himself in the heart of the culture he’d studied for so long, face-to-face with one of its greatest public figures, and the Arbiter could obviously smell that. Osman bet her pension fund that he’d never come across a human before who actually wanted to be in his company.
Nobody’s immune to a little sincere flattery. Not even a hinge-head. Keep it up, Evan.…
“You must return one day to visit our historical sites,” the Arbiter said. That was an astonishing offer. Even Hood blinked. Sanghelios didn’t welcome tourists: it just blew them out of orbit. “If the cease-fire holds.”
“So we have a cease-fire, do we?” Hood asked.
“There is dissent on Sanghelios, but as far as the forces I command are concerned, hostilities are over. I cannot guarantee that dissident factions will obey me and the situation in our colonies is equally unsettled, but nobody’s interest is served by continuing this war when we have so many other problems.”
“We have our dissidents too, Arbiter. But if you wish to formalize this arrangement, I’ll honor it.”
It was such a small conversation to end a twenty-eight-year war. Osman wanted them to rerun it, to repeat that conversation so that it had the majesty and weight the moment demanded, but she’d blinked and missed it. Thirty seconds earlier, Earth and Sanghelios were technically still at war. Now they were not. The line between disaster and success was paper-thin.
“I learned to greatly respect some of your people,” the Arbiter said. “Perhaps we will all learn to respect one another.”
“We plan to commemorate those who died. You’ll be welcome to attend the ceremony and pay your respects to the Master Chief’s memory.”
Hood looked at the Arbiter expectantly, as if he’d just pushed his luck too far and had been too familiar in extending the invitation, but the Sangheili glanced out of the window for a moment as if he was considering it.
“I would like the opportunity,” he said. “But I am not exactly welcome on your world.”
Hood nodded. “Nevertheless, I will welcome you, Arbiter.” But then there was a long and awkward silence, and all the things that Osman would have expected when two human delegations met simply weren’t there; no small talk, no aides rushing in to take the delegates on sightseeing tours of the city, nothing. Hood had asked for an audience with the Arbiter, he’d received one, and the business had been done. There was nothing more to be said. Perhaps there needed to be more, but the Arbiter seemed as lost for something to add as Hood was.
They’d said the most important thing they possibly could. The war really was over now. Osman tried to grasp the sense of finality.
But there isn’t one. If a handshake is all it takes to put everything right, we’d scrap this mission right now.
She wondered if she was telling herself that this was a meaningless exchange simply to justify what ONI was doing. If the Arbiter really could deliver peace, then she was doing everything in her power to stoke a revolt that would remove him. But she couldn’t gamble Earth’s future on the goodwill of one individual. What was that line that Parangosky never let her forget?
It’s not the enemy’s intentions that you have to consider. It’s their capability.
Osman was going to have those damn words tattooed on her arm one day.
“I’ll take my leave of you then, Arbiter,” Hood said, half turning to the door. “One thing before I go, though. If you still hold any human prisoners of war, I wonder if you would be willing to release them. They’re no use to you now.”
The Arbiter walked with him to the door, leaving Osman, Vaz, and Phillips to trail after them. “If we hold any, I will order them to be f
reed. I doubt you hold any of our people, but I’m confident you would do the same for us.”
“That I would,” Hood said.
The Arbiter paused to hold out his hand to Phillips, but not to Osman or Vaz. Phillips just glowed. There was no other word for it. He shook the Arbiter’s hand as if he was a rock star, and then the meeting was over. Osman found herself walking back down that long, highly polished corridor toward the exit, partly amazed and partly disappointed at the sense of a pivotal moment wrapped in an anticlimax. The guard at the end of the corridor didn’t even look at them. They stepped straight out to the landing pad and into the shuttle.
A thought kept crossing Osman’s mind and wouldn’t go away. How would she insert forces here? The place was locked down tight. And mingling unnoticed with the locals wasn’t an option. Deploying a team here would be like dropping them into the waste disposal.
“Sanghelios doesn’t welcome careful drivers, then,” Devereaux muttered over the intercom. The flight controller seemed anxious to get them out of Sangheili airspace as fast as he could and they were escorted well out of orbit by two fighter craft, just in case anyone changed their mind. “Miserable bastards.”
“Did we pull it off, Captain Osman?” Hood asked.
“I think you did, sir.”
He laughed to himself. Vaz just sat there on the bench seat opposite them, rifle resting on his knees, and stared down at the floor between his boots. Osman knew him well enough by now to see that he wasn’t going to be celebrating tonight.
“We don’t have any Sangheili prisoners, do we?” Hood asked absently, removing his cap and resting his head against the small viewscreen beside his seat. “I can’t recall ever taking one. But who knows what Margaret collected over the years?”
“I don’t envy anyone trying to handcuff one of those things.” Osman dodged a direct answer and wondered if she was simply practicing deniability until she perfected it, or if she just couldn’t bear to tell an outright lie to an honorable man. “Don’t get your hopes up about our prisoners, though. They don’t tend to keep them long.”
There was nothing much to pick over in terms of analysis. Phillips had his arms tightly folded across his chest, gazing in defocus at the bulkhead, so maybe he’d seen more with his trained eye for hinge-heads than she had. When they docked with Iceni, there was already a message waiting for them, handed over on a datapad by a rating whose expression suggested she wasn’t yet ready for Sangheili guests either.
The Arbiter’s minion wanted to make arrangements for the memorial ceremony and also to extend an invitation to Professor Phillips—and only Professor Phillips, no escort—to visit Vadam and see more of Sanghelios. Hood looked over the signal and raised an eyebrow.
“Oh, I say, the Arbiter really likes you,” he said quietly. “Are you inclined to accept that invitation, Professor? It would be very useful if you did, I think. It’s not without its risks, of course, but I suspect it’s the only way we’re ever going to get past the door stewards in that club.”
Yes, it was one hell of a break. Osman needed someone on the ground, but Phillips, whatever his natural talent for espionage, wasn’t trained. And it was about more than understanding opsec procedures. She simply didn’t know if he could cope with the worst that might happen—being held hostage, being interrogated or tortured, and compromising the mission. Phillips would be down there totally on his own and she couldn’t even give him BB for backup. She couldn’t risk letting the core matrix of an AI fall into what was still effectively enemy hands.
She found herself thinking about what she might be able to do with a fragment of BB, though. And BB could also make sure Phillips revealed nothing if push came to shove.
But I like Evan. He’s one of ours now. See how easy it is to think the unthinkable, though?
ONI paranoia plunged her back into the infinite Byzantine layers of move and countermove. Hood might have been keen to put Phillips on Sanghelios for his own purposes, or perhaps he was simply being social, or, as the admiral was no fool, he was wary of Parangosky and seeking somehow to block whatever scam he thought she was pulling. There was a spiral of speculation that didn’t stop until you’d made a conscious effort to surface above water and taken a good, deep breath of common sense.
“I need to talk to the captain about that,” Phillips said, suitably humble. “I’m supposed to be doing interpretation work for her.”
“We’ll discuss it,” Osman said.
Hood cocked his head on one side. “If anyone would like a drink, we have a very well-stocked wardroom. You too, Corporal.”
Osman headed that off at the pass. “That’s very kind of you, sir, so perhaps we can take a rain check on that. I have some maintenance issues in Stanley.”
“I expect you at the memorial service, then,” Hood said, not looking convinced. “And I think we should talk more often.”
Osman saluted, then shook Hood’s hand and wondered about the wisdom of turning down a drink with the Admiral of the Fleet. But that was weakness. She had priorities. Closing the shuttle hatch behind her felt like blissful relief and she allowed herself to exhale properly for the first time in hours.
“Maintenance,” Vaz said. “Well, if you end up in Hinge-Head Town, Evan, and things go wrong, at least we’ll have a hostage to exchange for you.”
“I’m up for it if you are,” Phillips said.
Osman found herself working out how long it might take to give Phillips a crash course in resisting interrogation and sending covert transmissions. It wouldn’t be long enough, but it wasn’t every day that the Arbiter of Sanghelios opened his doors.
“Game on,” she said.
CHAPTER
FIFTEEN
I DON’T DELUDE MYSELF THAT THERE ARE MORAL AMBIGUITIES IN MY JOB. THE THINGS WE DID WEREN’T AMBIGUOUS, NOT AT ALL. I KNOW I’VE DONE THEM AND HOW BAD THEY WERE, AND IF THERE’S A HELL, I’LL PROBABLY BURN IN IT BEFORE TOO LONG. BUT THAT’S THE KIND OF THING YOU CAN FACE WHEN YOU’RE NINETY-TWO. I’M PREPARED TO DO THE VERY WORST, AND BECAUSE I AM, MORE PEOPLE SURVIVE THAN GET KILLED. BUT I’LL TAKE WHAT’S COMING TO ME—AND I’LL MAKE NO EXCUSES.
(ADMIRAL MARGARET O. PARANGOSKY, CINCONI, DRAFTING HER EVIDENCE TO THE UEG SELECT DEFENSE COMMITTEE)
FORERUNNER DYSON SPHERE, ONYX: LOCAL DATE NOVEMBER 2552.
Halsey stood at the comms panel, waiting for Parangosky to rip into her about how and why she’d gone to Onyx.
It was only one minute since she’d heard the Admiral’s voice for the first time, but nearly twenty minutes had elapsed at the other end of the conversation. She tried to take account of that, wondering what the woman was doing in the meantime. She doubted that Parangosky was hanging out bunting to celebrate her safe return. Halsey had crossed her once too often. But she was irreplaceable, and so she knew she’d get away with it every time. It was the only thing that had saved her from being posted to a planet directly in the path of the Covenant onslaught or disappearing without trace like others who’d transgressed.
I’ve really pushed my luck this time. But I’m not coming back empty-handed, am I? She needs me to incorporate the new technology into the fleet.
“Fred, we might be some time,” Halsey said. She didn’t like the idea of having a fight with Parangosky in front of the Spartans. It was bad enough having a knock-down-drag-out with Mendez with an audience. And was it even possible for anyone to have a row when one side had to wait twenty minutes to get their riposte in? “Do you want to take the others and—”
“It’s okay, ma’am,” Fred said firmly. “I think it’s better that we’re on hand if you need us.”
He might have had her welfare at heart, of course. Perhaps he thought she was going to start it again with Mendez. She shoved her hands in her pockets and found something fascinating on the console to stare at, aware of eyes boring into her.
“Admiral, you’ve probably worked out we’re in a slipspace bubble, so we have a time differential—perhaps a factor of eighteen or twenty. What�
�s happening outside?”
Parangosky’s whole tone had changed, but then she’d been waiting a long time for Halsey’s reply. “The Flood’s been eradicated and the replacement Halo was neutralized.” Halsey twitched. What did Parangosky mean, replacement? But the time differential meant that she couldn’t interrupt her. “The most important thing is that we effectively have a cease-fire with what’s left of the Covenant.”
Mendez let out a breath, but nobody else reacted to the news. Perhaps they didn’t believe it.
Halsey waited for the click to indicate the transmission was finished and that it was her turn to send. She had to concentrate on getting the vital information over first in case she lost contact. “We have good news here, too. Technology. This is a Forerunner bunker. It’s going to take months or even years to assess this place thoroughly, but one breakthrough’s immediately available to us. We now have access to technology that can make slipspace insertion and de-insertion absolutely accurate. And we have a Huragok crew left here by the Forerunners. We need to get a technical assessment team in here right away.”
There was only a two-second delay at Halsey’s end, but Parangosky sounded slightly different yet again.
“That confirms a theory, at least. We have ships standing by. How do we get access?”
Ah, so you did know there was something special down here.… “The Huragok need to be convinced that it’s safe to bring the sphere back into realspace.”
Click. One, two …
“We have a Huragok that can communicate with them.”
“That’s a stroke of luck.” Halsey didn’t trust Parangosky as far as she could spit against a gale. She knew the feeling was mutual. “I’d recommend your ships stand off by two point five AUs before the mechanism’s activated. And I don’t know how we factor Zeta Doradus into this. Onyx’s old sun is in an awkward place, so to speak.”
Halo: Glasslands Page 35
