Halo: The Thursday War

“Not if you’re the Arbiter.”



“Okay, I’m going to try jumping to Ontom air traffic control as soon as you make contact, so I can find me. Then I can trace Phil ips.”



Vaz couldn’t see any of the viewscreens from where he was sitting even if he’d had his eyes open. Mental y, he was now back in his drop pod, a powered coffin of a machine that would dump him on a planet with the minimum of ceremony and spit him out at the feet of the enemy. The ODST life wasn’t for the claustrophobic. But this was how he prepped for landing and it was a hard habit to break. He could convince himself that he didn’t have a few inches of clearance in front of his face. He could tel himself that it was just his eyelids, and he had al the space in the world. His body was tel ing him to fight, coiling his spring more tightly.



No. Calm. Nonconfrontational. Don’t stare them out. Hide the hate.



The vibration changed to a faint shudder. Tart-Cart had entered the atmosphere. They would land in a civilized fashion, and everyone would leave the diplomacy to Mal, backed up by BB’s linguistic support. Vaz was dying to see how the hinge-heads reacted when Naomi stepped out and looked them in the eye, though.



“We’re coming in very high,” Devereaux said. “He’s worried about ground fire.”



“What, specifical y at us, or general anti-Arbiter mayhem?” Mal asked.



“I’l assume both.”



“Has he told you where you’re parking?”



“No—wait, here we go. I’m turning for Ontom.”



Vaz activated the chart display in his HUD before opening his eyes. Now he was looking through the delicate blue mesh of BB’s fly-through, fol owing the contours as Tart-Cart nearly nose-dived down through clouds to pul up in a shal ow but very short approach to the shoreline.



“Never thought I’d be landing here with permission,” Naomi murmured.



It took Devereaux several minutes to crack the airlock seals once the dropship settled on its dampers. It was only then that Vaz heard sporadic cracking sounds, al too familiar. It was a firefight.



“Probably just a little local misunderstanding,” BB said. “The good news is that my chart’s spot on.”



Naomi shouldered her way through the hatch first and Mal scrambled out behind her. Tart-Cart had landed in what looked to Vaz like a factory parking lot on a Sunday, a big expanse of nothing scattered with an odd assortment of Phantoms, Spirits, Revenants, and smal , scruffy Spectres and Wraiths. The Arbiter’s pilot was walking toward them and the cracking noise continued, but he didn’t seem bothered by it. He looked much more interested in Naomi.



She stopped almost nose to nose with him. She was nearly tal enough to do that. The chances of him ever seeing a Spartan before must have been zero, but it was clear he’d heard al about them.



“You must make your own way now, demon,” he said. It was an oddly quaint thing to cal her, and if he meant it as an insult he was going to have to try a lot harder than that. “The temple is through that archway.”



“I can hear energy weapons,” Mal said. “You want to brief us on anything?”



“Stil some skirmishing,” the pilot said, matter-of-fact, and began walking back to his vessel. “Brutes. Feel free to shoot the traitors. We would have wiped them out sooner, but Ontom is sentimental about its precious buildings.”



“Wait, are you leaving us here?”



The pilot shrugged without turning around. “I must return to defend Vadam.”



Mal watched him go, checked his MA5C, and cal ed Devereaux on the radio. “Dev, did you hear that? You stand by and make bloody sure we can bang out fast.”



The radio clicked. “I heard, Staff. Good luck.”



“Cal us if you get any trouble.”



Vaz headed for the archway. Hinge-heads couldn’t make up their minds. One minute they didn’t want humans going anywhere on their own, and the next they didn’t seem remotely interested, not even with a Spartan present. He couldn’t tel whether the Arbiter trusted the squad, thought they were too puny to be trouble, or hadn’t actual y been told about Naomi.



The view through the archway was a big, open space that might have been a plaza or an Elite-sized boulevard. It was definitely a mess, though.



Short bolts of light spat one way across the plaza and then the other. Mal knelt slowly on one knee in the opening and sighted up.



“Wel , if this is Florence,” he said, “someone’s trashed the Uffizi gal ery.”



Vaz stared across the big, open plaza. It was a bomb site. Rubble was scattered everywhere. Then something hit the stonework about fifty meters from him and a smal cloud of dust plumed in the air. Energy bolts shot out again from a position opposite.



This was what Vaz was used to. No smiling, no politics, no diplomacy. He hefted his rifle, much happier now. “They never said we’d have to fight our way in.”



Mal looked around, shrugged, and pointed to the first wal that would give them cover.



“Details, mate,” he said. Then he sprinted. “Just poxy details.”



ONIRF TREVELYAN Dr. Magnusson kept her word, an unusual thing for a human.



Jul let the guard unlock the hatch and slide the tray into the opening. He made a point of standing at the other side of the room or sitting on his bunk at mealtimes so that he didn’t appear to be waiting to be fed like some anxious animal. When the outer door of the hatch snapped shut, he counted to ten before wandering slowly across the cel and sliding the inner hatch open.



On the ledge, two bowls on a metal tray smel ed of home.



Rather than distressing him with the memories it brought back, it simply made him more determined to escape. He took the tray and carried it over to the table. One bowl contained irukan grain and the other stewed meat, probably the one named mutton; unlike the anemic, stringy, white flesh they cal ed chicken, it was closer in flavor to the meat he ate at home, he could digest it without problems, and—so Magnusson had said—it had more of the specific fats that Sangheili appeared to need. But when he scooped a spoonful into his mouth, his life was transformed.



It was colo meat. It was farmed across Sanghelios. It was delicious.



And it had to be a trick. Why else would the humans go to so much trouble to keep a prisoner happy?



Jul hadn’t found a surveil ance device in his cel yet, but there had to be one.



“I am impressed,” he said aloud to whoever might be monitoring him. “The Kig-Yar real y wil trade anything, won’t they?” He cleared the bowl of meat before he even glanced at the grain. “And let me tel you that this certainly does not taste like chicken.”



A good meal—a good portion of protein—always boosted his mental processes as wel as his morale, and Jul found himself working out how to turn the metal tray into an implement or a weapon. Perhaps that was too obvious. They would know it was missing. What he had to do was escape from his cel , destroy the Huragok before they gave the humans too great a technical advantage, and then escape from this world. The last was least important even if it was what he wanted most.



He picked up the bowl of irukan and wandered around the cel while he ate it, looking over every panel, every conduit, and every seal. They would be expecting him to try to batter his way out. Osman would have told them how he raged and punched the bulkheads in her ship, and how it took two of their troops and a Spartan to subdue him. Perhaps the best strategy was to gradual y give in and find a subtler way to get at the Huragok.



Where would they be, anyway? How many of them were there? He needed to know these things. He had to destroy al of them, because the creatures were artificial, just like this world, and they could build more of their own kind. But he didn’t know how much time he had. For al he knew it could already be too late.



How can I ask about the Huragok without arousing Magnusson’s suspicion?



The irukan was real y very good. The humans had actual y managed to cook it correctly without turning it into gruel. Each grain burst on his tongue just the way it was supposed to.



They know they can’t beat me into submission. They’re trying to play on my isolation and convince me they mean me no harm. Why? What could I possibly give them?



He stood at the window watching the activity outside. More prefabricated buildings had sprung up in the last day. This was humanity’s enduring pattern of behavior, to move into new territory that wasn’t theirs, to fil it to overflowing with their buildings, and to strip whatever they could from it.



What would make them give him access to a Huragok?



We used to have teams of them. We never took much notice of them. They simply worked, and so did everything they touched.



Eventual y there was a knock at the door. The daily ritual had begun.



“May I come in, Jul?”



“Please do, Dr. Magnusson.”



She entered with her guard and took a few cautious steps inside, clutching her cattle prod, clearly stil not convinced that he wouldn’t lash out at her. He stayed at the window, adopting the same casual stance that humans seemed to when they were relaxed. It seemed to work. She glanced at the empty bowls on the table as she passed.



“And how was the meal?”



“Excel ent. I see you managed to acquire everything.”



Magnusson smiled without baring her teeth. “Yes, the Kig-Yar can be obliging for the right price. Let me know if the grain upsets your stomach.”



“I’ve never had il effects from irukan.” Jul carried on with the polite, less confrontational approach. This ONI group believed they could break anyone and probably thought he was equal y susceptible. So he would use that human arrogance against them. “What’s happening on Sanghelios?”



“More fighting. The revolution has begun. Again.”



“That’s what you wanted. You wanted the Arbiter overthrown.”



Magnusson raised her shoulders and dropped them. Jul found that shrugging gesture confusing, because it could mean too many things. “We thought ‘Telcam was more likely to stay away from humanity. But now that’s irrelevant. Capability matters more than intent. I think I might have said that before.”



“Is there word from my wife?”



“No. Or at least not that I’m aware of. I can inquire, but we have very limited information from Sanghelios.” She stood beside him and gazed out of the window as if she were searching for the same thing that he was. “We’ve just landed a special forces squad on Sanghelios so perhaps we’l be getting better intel igence from now on.”



“That’s impossible.” She had to be lying. This was very crude, amateurish maneuvering. “You could never breach our defenses.”



“I didn’t say we did. The Arbiter gave permission, just as he did for Professor Phil ips.”



Jul’s heart sank. The Arbiter was even more of a threat to his own kind than he’d imagined. Why did he have this foolish tolerance for these creatures? “Why?”



“Because we asked nicely. Imagine, a Spartan and some ODSTs wandering around your world.”



“Spartan. ”



“Naomi. You’ve met. I hear she knocked you down and throttled you.”



Jul resisted the taunt. Yes, the Spartan had captured him, single-handed and unarmed. The shame was painful. “The Spartans are artificial. Like the Huragok.”



“You’re a sore loser, Jul. Yes, we enhanced humans to make Spartans. But they’re stil human.”



“Even a squad of them can’t achieve much on Sanghelios.”



“Ah, that’s your problem. You see us as maggots. You do, don’t you? You used the word nishum a lot when you were cussing, according to the AI. Wel , maggots might be smal and soft, but they can strip flesh from bone eventual y, given time.” Magnusson’s tone was almost friendly, simply tel ing him the way things were. “Look, I’l ask the squad to see what they can find out about your wife. Maybe the fighting hasn’t reached your home yet. What’s her name?”



“Raia,” Jul said, without even thinking. Somehow he felt he had handed Magnusson a great deal of power that he now regretted.



“We’re in touch with ‘Telcam, so perhaps he knows.”



That scared Jul even more. “‘Telcam is a naive fool.”



“Because he believes in the gods?”



“Because he believes in you.”



“We’l see.” She looked him up and down. The guard was stil in Jul’s peripheral vision. “We’re generating our own crop of irukan, so that we don’t have to keep running to the Kig-Yar every time we need groceries for you.”



“That wil take a season.”



“No, not at al . We clone plants and accelerate their growth to days. We can engineer them to survive in any condition, to suppress weeds and pests, to produce specific compounds, to be any color. So we can easily grow some dinner for you. Who knows? We might make it suitable for humans, and then ONI can patent it and generate some revenue from it.” She closed one eye in a quick, strange gesture. “We even imported some colos to breed. They’re not exactly appealing, but at least you get fresh meat now.”



Jul struggled with the idea of this generosity. “Why go to al this trouble?”



“I’m operating in a rapidly changing environment, Jul. You saw too much, so we had to stop you from warning the Arbiter, but then we weren’t sure what to do with you. First you’re a potential source of intel igence—but then we find the Huragok more than answered al our questions. Now you’re a potential prisoner exchange. One day, we might need to swap you for one of our people. Or maybe the Arbiter wil fal sooner than we think, and ‘Telcam wil take over, and you can go home. So why would we kil you until we know for certain that you’re no use to us?”



“I could become a very embittered enemy.”



“True, but if we shoot you now, I might regret it later. And I real y don’t get any thril s from mistreating prisoners. I’m not a sadist. I’m objective- driven. I do things solely to get results. Right now, understanding the Sangheili better is enough of a goal for me.”