Shadows of Reach: A Master Chief Story

by Troy Denning

Castor took the hint and waved a finger over the scanning socket, instructing the holopad to keep a record of all that passed between him and Escharum. If ‘Gadogai did the same, he did not see it. Perhaps the Sangheili knew Escharum so well that he would have no need to return to the conversation to look for nuances of gesture and tone that might clarify his meaning. Or perhaps he would simply remember it all without any need for such practical measures.

  “We are listening,” Castor said. “There will be no need to repeat yourself.”

  “I have received a transmission from Atriox,” Escharum said. “It was a single message. And a command. He has found the remnants of the slipspace crystal the prophets of the Covenant so desperately sought.”

  “You are speaking of the Holy Light?” Castor asked. “Atriox has found the Holy Light?”

  “Call it what you will,” Escharum replied. “It belongs to Atriox and the Banished now.”

  Castor huffed in surprise, and ‘Gadogai let his mandibles open. It was an astonishing revelation that Atriox somehow had in his possession such a powerful Forerunner treasure, capable of deftly manipulating slipspace and allowing passage to locations far too distant for conventional travel. The Covenant had searched for the Holy Light during their war with the humans, hoping that it would grant them access to one of the Sacred Rings, so that they could at last begin the Great Journey and ascend to divinity alongside the Forerunners. But when they finally located the resting place of the crystal on the human world of Reach, it had already been stolen by the infidels and was eventually destroyed during a running battle in the Eridanus system.

  “How can that be?” Castor finally asked.

  “Not all of the Holy Light was destroyed at Eridanus Secundus,” ‘Gadogai said. “After the battle, Tartarus sent eight squadrons to search for any remains. He recovered three shards and presented them to the Prophet of Truth in the Inner Sanctum at High Charity.”

  Tartarus had been the leading chieftain during the final days of the Covenant, a bold Jiralhanae who had single-handedly wrested military control from the Sangheili in an event that had since been called the Great Schism. The recovery of what remained of the Holy Light was doubtless one of many ways that Tartarus had acted as the right hand of the High Prophet of Truth before he perished. Castor started to ask how ‘Gadogai could know about the recovery and the fate of the shards, then restrained himself. Even in the short time they had known each other, he had learned enough of the blademaster’s history to realize that he was not prone to exaggeration. He had probably witnessed the event in the Inner Sanctum with his own eyes.

  “And now Atriox has all three shards,” Escharum said.

  “All three?” ‘Gadogai asked. “Tell me he did not find them in High Charity.”

  “And if he had?”

  “You know the answer,” ‘Gadogai said. An immense space station that had been the mobile capital city for the entire Covenant, High Charity had been overrun by the Flood in the final days of the war and destroyed in a desperate attempt to prevent the unholy parasite from spreading. If High Charity had survived, it would mean that so had the Flood—a possibility too terrible for Castor to contemplate.

  “No,” Escharum said. “It was not High Charity. He found them within Truth’s ship.”

  ‘Gadogai tipped his head first one way, then the other, and finally asked, “The Forerunner Dreadnought is still there?”

  “Is that not what I just said?” Escharum growled. “Now, hear me well. I do not have much time.”

  “I am listening,” ‘Gadogai said.

  “As am I.”

  Castor had no idea where the there was that was being spoken of, but he was not going to waste the war chief’s time inquiring when he could check with ‘Gadogai later. Wherever Atriox had traveled, Castor knew that he had taken the formidable assault carrier Enduring Conviction and a vast array of Banished forces and materiel, which told him one thing: the warmaster was deadly serious about whatever he was after.

  “Good.” Escharum looked away from his holopad, but continued to speak. “Atriox is summoning the clans of the Banished to join him in the war he has been waging, but the only way for us to reach him is to activate the Forerunner slipspace portal hidden on the human world of Reach. We must find this portal and activate it. When he sees that the portal is ready, he will use what remains of the slipspace crystal to open it from his end. Then he will come to us and provide us transport to his location.”

  “You are certain that is the only way, War Chief?” Castor asked. “The Keepers have used slipspace portals before, and—”

  Escharum looked back into the holopad. “Those portals do not lead to the Ark, Dokab.”

  “The Ark?” Castor felt his heart climb for his throat. Like the Holy Light, the Ark was legendary. It was an immense installation far removed from the galactic border, the foundry of the Sacred Rings—and a blessed place to begin the Great Journey. Stanza 212 of the Psalm of the Journey described a communications array on the Ark that was capable of activating all Sacred Rings simultaneously, a hallowed act that would achieve in a single instant what the Covenant had been trying to do over its entire existence—join the ancient Forerunners in divine transcendence by finding and firing their network of Halo rings. All Infidels and Unbelievers would be condemned to Oblivion, and the Faithful would be elevated to the One Freedom of eternal existence beyond life. In an instant.

  If Truth had actually made it to the Ark, it meant that the rumors had been accurate. The prophet must have been close to activating the array, and yet, the mere fact that Castor and everyone else were still trapped in their wretched lives was proof enough that he had failed. Now Castor’s old war-brother Atriox was calling him to do battle on the sacred Ark.

  Had Castor failed to see the Oracle’s plan in that, he would not have been a Believer.

  Once he had recovered from his shock, Castor met Escharum’s gaze in the holograph. “As Atriox commands,” he said. “The Keepers are happy to answer his summons.”

  Escharum’s grim mouth seemed to rise at the corners, though just for a moment. “I have no doubt,” he said. “But first, you must find the portal.”

  “I fail to understand,” Castor said. “Did you not say it was on the human world of Reach?”

  “Reach is a large planet, Dokab,” Escharum said. “And there are countless places where the portal gateway might be hidden. Its location would have no doubt been lost forever, had Atriox not also found a record of Tartarus referring to the ‘Portal under the Mountain.’ This is our portal.”

  “There are sure to be many mountains on Reach,” Castor said. “Can you tell us no more?”

  Escharum’s eyes flared. “No. Only that you must go to Reach and find it.” He lowered his voice, then continued. “I know only what Atriox put in the transmission, and I have no way to reply or ask questions. Had he known more of the portal’s location, we can be certain that he would have included it.”

  “And when we find this Portal under the Mountain?” Castor asked. Escharum had implied that the Keepers would be sent to the Ark… but an implication was not a promise. “The Keepers will travel to the Ark, to do battle at Atriox’s side?”

  “Along with the Legion of the Corpse-Moon and the Ravaged Tusks, yes.” Escharum must have leaned closer to his holopad’s scanning socket, because his image suddenly seemed nothing but heavy brows and determined eyes. “Together, your clans will search for the Portal under the Mountain. And when you find it, you will report it to me first. I will meet you there, and together we shall all have the honor of joining Atriox and the Banished on the Ark.”

  * * *

  That conversation had taken place more than three months ago, and Castor had not heard from Escharum since. Of course, he was certain that ‘Gadogai was reporting their lack of progress to the war chief on a weekly basis, but that hardly mattered—Castor was being less than honest when he told Krelis that Atriox always made his commands clear. For all he and ‘Gadogai knew, the warmas
ter may have already perished in whatever battle he was conducting on the Ark.

  It was impossible to know, and the only way to learn the truth was to locate the Portal under the Mountain on the planet Reach. Castor was not done searching—and that was all that Krelis, or any other Keeper, needed to know. He started down the ramp toward the crater, forcing Krelis to retreat backward.

  “Be aware, Dokab, that the infidels have longshooters.” Though careful to avoid suggesting that Castor should be fearful, Krelis was clearly worried about allowing him to get killed. It was almost touching. “And your armor may not be a defense. Their rounds penetrated the shields of two Seraphs.”

  “Have you set a perimeter?”

  “Yes,” Krelis replied. “But I have only pilots, and they have no dark-vision equipment outside their craft.”

  There was no question of returning to the troop bay. Castor could not allow himself to appear intimidated by the mere possibility of an attack—but more importantly, it was imperative that he personally inspect the crash site. With the probable exception of the Sangheili ‘Gadogai, no one else had the experience to interpret the inevitable spoor of a firefight, and he needed to know how much of a threat these humans posed to his quest for the portal. He stopped halfway down the ramp, where his head and torso would be hidden from a sniper on the ridge, then looked back into the troop bay.

  “Feodruz, send the Unggoy to sweep the ridge crest,” he called. “Have the Kig-Yar search for debris from the interlopers. There will be a reward for anything they find.”

  A stocky Jiralhanae in full shielded armor appeared in the mouth of the troop bay to acknowledge the order, then began to bark commands into the red dimness behind him. A moment later, ten thigh-high Unggoy in armor and methane tanks charged down the ramp, chirping and hooting into their masks as they squeezed by Castor.

  He roared encouragement and waved them on, knowing the gesture would embolden them as they ascended to the ridge crest and swept it for snipers. Because of their small size and lack of physical strength, Unggoy were often treated as no better than slaves by those they served. But Castor had discovered that a little respect earned their unwavering loyalty, and he knew that they would gladly charge a nest of human chatter guns for him. He had seen them do it on several occasions.

  A column of five Kig-Yar followed, tapping their breast armor in a show of obedience as they slipped past. With them, Castor remained aloof, merely reminding them that he would pay only for debris from a human craft. The thin-snouted saurians had no faith or honor, but they were clever and resourceful, and they could be counted on to remain loyal as long as they were well rewarded—and knew the consequences of betrayal.

  Once the Unggoy had vanished into the darkness and the Kig-Yar had begun to search the slope above the crater, Castor motioned Feodruz to follow, then descended the ramp ahead of him with ‘Gadogai at his side. Even if the swarm of Unggoy had not persuaded the human sniper to abandon the nest, it would appear that Castor and ‘Gadogai were the escorts and Feodruz was in command.

  It was a deception that disoriented even Krelis. He glanced toward Feodruz and started to fall in at Castor’s side, then seemed to grasp the ploy and went to Feodruz’s side instead. He even took care to place himself on the flank toward the ridge, as though trying to shield his superior from a possible attack.

  Castor led the small group down into the crater, speaking over his shoulder as he moved. “Show me what you have found so far, Krelis.”

  “Little that tells us anything,” Krelis said. “Only some fused sand and a hole five meters deep. The only thing we know with certainty is that they want us to know nothing about them.”

  “Which tells us something,” Castor said. “What have you found outside the crater? There must be tracks and shell casings.”

  “No shell casings,” Krelis said. “And the tracks are difficult to read. I fear the ground has been too churned by our strafing.”

  “Then there must be blood,” ‘Gadogai said. “And body parts.”

  “None that we have found,” Krelis said. “But we did find a ramp.”

  They were in the bottom of the crater now, and it was exactly as Castor had expected, a thin crust of fused silica crunching beneath his boots, a smudgy blanket of soot and ash that betrayed only the tracks of the beings now walking on it. “Show me.”

  Krelis took the lead and guided them out of the basin into a long trough filled with tracks that were as impossible to read as the young pilot had said. It certainly seemed plausible that there were interloper boot prints in the sand and crushed glass, but if so, they were lost beneath the tracks of Castor’s own forces.

  But the trough itself was more informative. It was clearly the furrow where the vessel had come down, and even Castor recognized the talent it had taken to land it. A less skilled pilot, and the furrow would have been an impact crater instead.

  “How many strikes did the interloper take?” he asked.

  “None,” Krelis replied. “As reported, we continued to believe it might be a fireball until our first pilots found the crash site. We never fired on it in the air.”

  “And yet…” Castor stopped and looked along the furrow in both directions. Behind them, it ended at the well-lit blast crater. Ahead of him, it vanished into the darkness beyond the range of their lamps. “This was not a safe landing.”

  “Most likely an equipment failure,” ‘Gadogai said. “It can happen.”

  Castor had his doubts. “Did it ever happen to you?”

  “Of course not. I was Silent Shadow.”

  “Then why assume it happened to the humans’ ONI?” Castor motioned Krelis forward again. “Something strange occurred, for them to crash here.”

  “Forgive me, Dokab,” Krelis said. “But do we care? We know where the humans are going.”

  “We do?” ‘Gadogai asked. “Now, this I must hear.”

  “It is not complicated,” Krelis said. “They have come to defend the human resettlement colony that Deukalion and Ballas are fighting over. The fools have jeopardized the entire portal search.”

  “Perhaps,” Castor said. “Or it may be that fate is finally turning in our favor.”

  “Always the optimist,” ‘Gadogai said. “It is no wonder Atriox tolerates your insufferable zeal.”

  “It is not optimism,” Castor said. It saddened him to hear ‘Gadogai mocking his faith in such a manner, for it meant that when the Great Journey began, the blademaster would not be one of those walking the Path with him. “It is plain sense. If the interlopers are here to protect their resettlement colony, we have no need to concern ourselves with them. They will not interfere with our search.”

  “True,” ‘Gadogai said.

  “And the Old Packs will be so battered by fighting the humans that once we have found the portal, they will be too weak to attempt seizing it from us.”

  “True again,” ‘Gadogai said.

  Castor paused, troubled by the reticence he heard in the blademaster’s voice. “But you do not seem pleased about it.”

  “I am only thinking of the Apparition,” ‘Gadogai said, “and how long it will take her Guardian force to arrive when the fighting grows fierce enough to draw her notice.”

  Castor’s heart clenched. He hadn’t thought about the Apparition. Once her Guardians arrived, finding the portal would no longer be possible or important. There would be nothing to do but flee.

  After a moment, Krelis asked, “How large can the battle grow? The infidels brought only one insertion craft.”

  “That we know of, Captain-Deacon.” It was Feodruz, speaking from behind Castor, who said this. “How many slipped past without being noticed?”

  It was a good question, and one that Castor pondered as Krelis led them another thirty paces into the darkness. At last he veered toward the crash furrow’s uphill wall and stopped, then shined his lamp into a small channel that had been cut through the sandstone bedrock and its meter-thick cap of lechatelierite. It was about two paces
wide and shoulder-high at the deepest point of the cut, and its bed ascended at a fairly gentle angle onto the glassy slope of the ridge.

  “This is the ramp?” Castor asked.

  “It is.” Krelis stooped and directed his handlamp onto its surface, where the loose ground had been pressed into a long, flat ribbon. About two hands in width, it was crossed at frequent intervals by a zigzagging pattern of divots. “These tire tracks were made by their Sky Slicer as it climbed toward the ridge. They are probably transporting it to their resettlement colonists to use against Deukalion and Ballas.”

  “It seems a safe assumption,” Castor replied. He took the handlamp from Krelis and moved its beam back and forth across the ramp, examining what looked like claw marks in the sandstone bedrock. “But how did they cut the ramp so quickly?”

  “Our pilots saw two separate vehicles on their thermal screens,” Krelis said. “Perhaps the second vehicle is some sort of support machine, used to dig emplacements for the—”

  A tremendous clatter sounded from the top of the ramp. Instantly they all drew their weapons and whipped their gazes up to find a wide-eyed Kig-Yar shining his own handlamp at the underside of his narrow snout.

  “Don’t burn! No burn!” The clatter stopped, and the Kig-Yar ran the lamp beam along the length of a long metal arm with a pair of ball-hinges spaced about a meter apart. “You want debris from humans, yes?”

  “Yes.”

  Castor returned his mauler to its carrying mount, then led ‘Gadogai and the others up the ramp. He shined his lamp along the metal arm, staring briefly at the melted stub where a plasma round had sheared it off, then moved the beam along the steel sleeve over the two ball joints, and finally came to a meter-long head that looked like some form of human-manufactured plasma cannon.

  “The gods will be pleased,” Castor said. “As am I.”

  “Then I will have reward?” asked the Kig-Yar.

  “A fine one. Your deacon will see to it when we return to the enclave.” Castor glanced toward Feodruz to make certain that his intentions were clear, then said to ‘Gadogai, “Do you recognize this? It is not like any anti-aircraft weapon I have ever seen before.”