Chapter Three – Through The Looking Glass

1740 Hours, November 2, 2642 (Unified Earth Calendar)/

ONI Fletcher Research Facility, X-912, (CLASSIFIED LOCATION)

"Would you kindly allow me to access your inter-team communication protocols? I could relay relevant tactical information, and my sensors possess a greater range than those of your suits."

Atlas accompanied the team by means of a black sphere, suspended by anti-gravity technology. It had been one of ONI's many innovations, allowing AIs to accompany ground forces without MJOLNIR armor and its capabilities, like a lesser version of a Forerunner Monitor. The black probe that currently played host to Atlas contained numerous upgrades, including electro-magnetic hardening and a weapon tube for limited fire support.

Dane nodded, and allowed Atlas into the secure channel that Tracker Team used for combat coordination.

The elevator that was transporting the team made no sound as it moved. If the blinking counter that displayed the current depth and level of the platform hadn't been there, Alan would hardly have known that he was moving. Having access to an unfeasibly high amount of funds was probably one of the perks of being a top-level secret ONI facility, Alan reflected.

The atmosphere around the team was charged with subtle excitement. Scaldman, the civilian scientist, mumbled under his breath as he rummaged through his pack, organizing and reorganizing his tools. Alan had noticed him scribbling feverishly in an archaic notebook as he worked, obviously passionate about his work.

Embers, on the other hand, remained coldly calm, as would have been expected of a veteran ONI operative. She had smiled slightly at Scaldman's antics, tight-lipped and brief, but otherwise her only reactions to the unfolding events were to load her sidearm and pick up additional ammo. Alan suspected that she had already been to Fletcher Base before, and as such, the facility held no surprises for her.

Tracker Team displayed an air of professionalism and confidence, angling themselves around their unarmored charges subtly, ready to spring into action at any time. A good security detail would be always present, yet unseen, and other from SPARTANs, Venator operatives were the best of the best. Alan himself stood to the back of the group and slightly to the right, able to provide covering fire and tackle the VIPs if they froze in a firefight. Though one could never have known their thoughts from their stoic behavior, their inter-team chatter painted a different picture.

"In short, what we're doing here amounts to us entering an unknown area to do recon, facing an unknown amount of possible hostiles, whose theoretical capabilities are unknown, with no support other from one AI, an ONI spook, and one helpless civilian that we have to protect? Interesting mission, this."

"We'll be fine, Jin," Dane said in a slightly exasperated tone, "I'm sure ONI know more than they're letting on, as usual."

"Maybe," Jin snorted, "Doesn't mean that this mission is a completely unknown and we have next to no intel. They're pretty much throwing us out blindfolded with instructions saying "try to not get killed", no?"

"We can handle ourselves," Alan cut in, amused, "We've been in tougher situations before. Remember that time on Tantalus IV? Somehow, I doubt whatever we're going to go up against will be worse than ten thousand Brute berserkers charging us, screaming for blood."

"Yeah," Alan could hear Jin's reluctant smile over the chat, "But I'm a little doubtful we're going to have the advantage of orbital bombardment this time."

"We're here, people," Dane's voice had switched tone, less friendly and calmly professional, "Game faces on. Keep current escort positions, report any possible contacts."

The elevator doors slid smoothly open as the rest of Tracker Team flashed their confirmations through their helmets. Calson led the team out into the cavern, nodding to passing ONI personnel. The site was well lit with multiple floodlights and softer lamps were used for personal illumination, but the sharp contrast between the light and the shadows cast by equipment gave off a rather oppressive air, as if the shadows were pressing in on the lights, besieging them and waiting for them to fall before reclaiming their domain. Alan didn't like it – this was the sort of environment that encouraged ambushes, and would have made for an extremely difficult firefight against intelligent enemies.

Strange items and artifacts which Alan supposed was of Precursor origin lay stacked near the walls of the cavern. They were alien, even by Forerunner standards. Unlike the geometrically monolithic architecture of the Forerunners or the smooth organic curve of technology expected from Covenant heritage, Precursor work had a distinct style. Alan observed many cascading patterns and branching spirals that seemed to be the rule among Precursor artifacts. Many items had a segmented look to them; Alan could see a team of ONI scientists examining a unknown device that vaguely reminded him of a human spinal cord with long spikes sticking out from either side.

Calson led the team wordlessly towards what seemed to roughly be the center of the cavern. From afar, Alan saw the structure that was the focus of their mission. A great cube sat in the cavern, away from the other Precursor artifacts, colored a mixture of creamy yellow and black. As they neared the structure, Alan's enhanced eyesight started picking out details on the surface of the cuboid. Swirling symbols and runes were etched into the walls, each wall containing many thousands of interconnecting characters. Strangely, they looked rough, as if they had been inscribed by hand, unlike Alan's previous experience with ancient alien technology. None of the symbols were familiar to Alan, and some of them hurt his head if he focused on them. For his own peace of mind, Alan wrenched his attention away from the alien script, slightly alarmed at how he could not remember any of the runes once he had diverted his focus elsewhere.

Instead, he examined the Anomaly. Calson's earlier description had been apt – there was simply nothing, in place of one of the Cube's sides. Staring into it, Alan could not shake away a feeling of mingled awe and discomfort. His mind struggled to understand that what he was seeing was an absolute lack of everything, even emptier than the void of space.

A gaggle of researchers and ONI operatives stood around the Cube, some taking notes while others watched the insertion team approach with measuring gazes and calculating looks, as if debating their chances of survival. Alan did not like Intelligence spooks, even though he worked for them.

Arriving in front of the Cube, Tracker Team did one last check on their weapons as a pair of ONI operatives approached Embers and conversed with her quietly, silently enough that not even the Venators' augmented hearing could pick up their words. Alan loaded his weapons, and ran a quick diagnosis on his armor systems. Satisfied, he waited for the go-ahead from Embers.

Nodding quickly at the words of the other ONI personnel, the operative waved at Dane, signaling him to proceed. Dane pointed to Jin, himself, and the Anomaly, indicating that they two would go in first as an advance guard to confirm whether it was possible for humans to enter the field safely. Confirmation lights flashed, the Venators staying silent.

Cautiously, the two armored soldiers approached the field of darkness, their feet moving firmly but silently. They reacted to the unknown situation as they would to a combat scenario, their weapons drawn and ready to fire. As the two advanced, their weapons touched the void nearly simultaneously.

Before Alan could blink, they were gone. No sign was left of his teammates – as soon as their weapons had encountered the vacuum, they had vanished without a trace. Scaldman drew in a deep breath, eyes wide, while the two remaining Venators stood stock-still, silently hoping for the best. Embers narrowed her eyes, and Calson had no reaction at all.

The seconds that trickled by were thick with tension, like drops of some syrup slowly trickling down a wall. No one spoke or made any sound, waiting to see if the experiment would succeed. Alan had often heard the saying "the seconds felt like years", but never before had it felt so true. While he undoubtedly experienced time normally, his mind felt sluggish, heavy with anticipation.

And all of a sudden, the tension was broken as Jin appeared out of thin air, seemingly intact. She staggered, then straightened up.

"The way is clear," she said through her helmet speakers, voice a little shaky.

ONI scientists looked triumphant and congratulated each other, a few even going as far as to shake hands, while the operatives looked as impassive as ever, though Alan noticed that Embers had broken into a slight smile. Michael said nothing, but Alan knew he was privately relieved. Working with the rest of the team had made them rather attached to each other.

"The… process is rather uncomfortable," Jin informed the team as the researchers took notes, "I'm not sure how to describe it, but I don't like it."

Calson nodded, and turned to Embers, "Phase four is a go."

"Sir," Embers acknowledged, then waved the rest of the team forward.

Alan approached the Anomaly, and touched the tip of his rifle to the field. What happened next was hard to explain, but he was suddenly surrounded by complete darkness, yet it was light. His mind flashed, shocking him. One moment he was clad in armor, and the other, he was naked. His eyes were closed, but he had no memory of closing them. He felt as he were falling and spinning at the same time.

And suddenly, he was whole again. His head ached and he felt as if an icy cyclone was raging within his head, but he could feel the ground beneath his two feet and his augmented body was fighting to restore him to full combat capacity, nanites in his bloodstream working to counter the effect of extreme disorientation.

After a second or two, he unclenched his fists, glad that Venator weapons were reinforced, as otherwise he would have left dents in the smooth metal. Headache receding, he quickly assessed the situation.

The team had appeared in a large cavern not unlike the one that they had just left, but there were no artifacts in evidence. A strange ambient light bathed the entire scene in a dim green. Behind him was an exact duplicate of the Cube; he suspected that even the hand-carved symbols were the same. Tracker Team was alert, four green lights indicating a ready status. Dane stood ready with his rifle, standing watch over the disoriented team. Atlas' probe floated amidst them, apparently undamaged. The two unaugmented members of the expedition, however, were worse off.

Scaldman groaned as he knelt on the floor, one hand lightly kneading his forehead. His eyes were closed, but he kept a neutral expression, obviously fighting off the pain. Humans in the twenty-seventh century all received light augmentations on birth, heightening reaction-times, strength, and enhancing the human body's natural healing abilities, but these upgrades could only go so far. Alan could only imagine what agony their more vulnerable charges were going through.

Surprisingly, Scaldman recovered first, shaking his head slowly. He slowly stood up and brushed himself off, frowning slightly. Patting his pack, he pulled out his notebook and scribbled.

Embers was prone on the floor, curled in a fetal position. It seemed that the transition had affected her more than it had the others, as her pale face attested to. Her face was screwed together in a grimace.

When she finally managed to recover, the operative looked up with surprise as Scaldman extended a hand to her. Taking it, she stood unsteadily.

"Thank you," she whispered, to which the doctor replied with a nod and a warm smile.

Being an ONI operative was hardly a life where one received much help from others, even allies.

"Sir," Dane broadcast over his speakers, "What is your status?"

"I'm fine, operative," Embers confirmed, "Mission is still go. Atlas, please conduct a scan and see if you can tell us more about where we are."

"Already on it," the AI said. Machinery hummed softly as sensors came to life and began to gather information.

While the sensors worked, Alan noticed the fallen hull of an information probe. It was almost certain that it had been the one used in the previous experiment Calson had mentioned. The probe looked damaged from the fall it had sustained when its power had failed, and lay a little away from the Cube, but it was untouched. Hopefully, that meant that this unknown environment was uninhabited.

"We are currently two hundred, sixty-seven point nine-six meters underground," Atlas spoke up, having concluded his scans, "Sonic indicates an extensive series of catacombs through that tunnel, beyond which is a slope which will lead us to the surface. I would recommend recon and exploration of the area – my sensors are not picking up any possible hostiles."

"Team, move out," Embers ordered, "Atlas, have you found anything that might seem like a control center or some important installation, of any kind?"

"Possibly. There is a central chamber within the catacombs which my sensors failed to penetrate. Other such areas exist, but are peripheral and smaller in scale, indicating lesser importance."

A navigation point appeared on the Venator team's HUDs, the eyepieces that the two unarmored team members wore mimicking them. The six moved out, accompanied by the bobbing sphere of Atlas's probe, heading for the only tunnel that led out of the cave containing the Cube.

Tracker Team immediately took their positions as escorts again, one Venator to each direction. Jin, as the squad's close combat specialist and demolitions specialist, took point, while Dane and Alan took right and left, respectively. Michael brought up the rear with his sniper rifle ready.

The team proceeded through the dimly-lit hole, emerging into an obviously artificial segment of the cave. Unlike the Precursor constructs from before, the architecture was a mix of Forerunner and an unknown alien technology. The base architecture seemed to utilize relatively familiar Forerunner shapes, but here and there were strangely organic forms, bulbous pods and carapace-like creations clinging onto the Forerunner artifacts like a parasite. Alan was vaguely reminded of a beehive. The brown of the alien technology merged or clashed with Forerunner grey. The lighting was even dimmer here, and illumination was sparse. Many corridors in the ancient installation were dark, the alien workings obviously having failed in ages past.

While there were no obvious threats, Alan felt a tingle down the back of his neck. He was instinctively aware of how the shadows seemed to move, though his sensors told him there was nothing there. The primal part of his human mind spoke to him, telling him that there was something lurking out of sight, but while his systems told a different story, he'd been trained to trust his instincts. Technology, however advanced, could always fail. Alan gripped his rifle tightly, flashing his muzzle-mounted light into the shadows, determined to flush out the source of his anxiety.

Atlas guided the way for the others, monitoring information from his sensors and feeding relevant data to the team. Without the AI, Alan doubted that they would have found their way through the winding maze-like catacombs. There were no identifying features on the walls, and the doors that they had passed so far were all sealed. The team stayed silent, subconsciously unwilling to disturb the stifling silence, lest they disturb the dead air that seemed to hang lifelessly in the musty corridors.

Eventually, Atlas stopped before a set of doors that were larger than the others that they had passed, previously. It stood as high as the walls of the passage it stood in, approximately three meters high and four wide. The AI began to interface with a digital lock that had suddenly popped up in the middle of the slit that indicated the center of the door, inserting digital lines of code in an attempt to access the door's security systems.

The team took positions around the working AI. Scaldman stood beside the probe and examined the surrounding architecture with an expression of interest, notebook once again in hand. Tracker Team stood two per side, weapons raised. Embers had drawn her pistol and was holding it steadily. Apparently, not even ONI spooks were immune to the slight claustrophobia the alien surroundings had induced upon the team.

The light that seemed to permeate random areas of the catacombs was present in the strip where the team stood, but petered out before it could reach the end of either side of the corridor. This made for a slightly unsettling effect as the team stared into the shadows, cold beads of sweat forming unnoticed on the back of their necks.

"Impressive. This system is extremely complex," Atlas said, his Irish voice falling heavily into the air, "It will take me a few more minutes to crack the code."

The sudden sound of the AI's speech did not travel far, but sounded startling loud in the silence.

"He shouldn't have said anything," Jin whispered over the com, voice slightly hoarse.

"Quiet, Tracker Two," Dane admonished quietly, "Use this channel only for tactical reports."

The team was silent for several nerve-racking minutes, as their skin began to crawl and their unease continued to grow. The corridor was too wide for their flashlights to fully illuminate, leaving patches of dark however they angled themselves. Scaldman began to look slightly nervous, anxiety overcoming his professional interest.

"Does anyone else hear that noise?" the doctor asked in a carrying whisper.

Alan immediately refocused himself, paying attention to his auditory senses. He noticed a strange buzzing noise, faint but growing. It was just present, resonating both within his hearing and his mind.

"Contact," Michael suddenly spoke for the first time since they had deployed, his voice cold and collected.

The sniper fired, finger tightening around the trigger of his sniper rifle. The weapon hummed and there was a hiss of vaporizing flesh from within the darkness.

For a moment, everything was still.

Then, as some might say, all hell broke loose.

A screech of pain laced with alien anger came from within the shadows, just as Alan adjusted his aim and fired a burst of charged hard-light at whatever target Michael had spotted. A series of unearthly wails rent the air, causing both Dane and Jin to call out their engagement with the unknown contacts. The muted roar of automatic fire filled the previously silent air, sending charged bolts of hard-light slicing through the dark corridors. Michael fired his sniper rifle into the dark with uncanny accuracy, each invisible shot from his L-12 Farcaster laser sniper-rifle reporting success with flashes of incinerated organic matter.

"Not picking up any possible hostiles, my ass," Jin muttered over the team channel, "Anybody else notice that these bastards aren't showing up on our motion detectors?"

As he fired, Alan was strangely calm. This was what he knew best, pulling on a trigger and engaging enemies in combat with a reliable comrade by his side. Subconsciously, he noted the strange appearance of their attackers.

The hostiles were undoubtedly alien. They were insectoid, seeming to be bipedal anthropods. Most were humanoid, possessing humanlike dimensions along with two pairs of limbs. Two pairs of blue eyes lay underneath the ridge of their extended, domed heads, and their bodies were covered with a protective exoskeleton. Incoherent screeches issued from their mouths, shrill and devoid of any intelligence. Long metallic-looking tubes bulged and snaked through their shells, like cybernetic implants gone horribly wrong. They charged at the ONI team, brandishing wicked-looking claws and flailing tentacles, gurgling and howling.

Tracker Team spat fire back at them, casting the monstrous aliens down and burning through their ranks with cleansing light. A fresh sort of illumination lit the corridor as lines of hard-light rounds cut through the musty air, reminiscent of tracer ammunition, burning flesh and punching through the carapaces of the attackers. Michael stowed his Farcaster aside after his first clip of ammunition was exhausted, and opened fire with his custom sidearm, a powerful submachine-gun that sent superheated bullets sizzling through the thick shells of the aliens as Michael downed the hostiles one by one with well-placed headshots.

"Atlas, you had better get that door open fast!" Embers screamed over the noise of firing weapons and screeching aliens even as she pumped shots into approaching hostiles, "We're going to run out of ammo sooner or later!"

"One more minute, just one more minute," the AI muttered, sounding harried, "How did I not see this coming? I'm supposed to be an intelligence, for Mathematics' sake."

As Alan cut down a couple of the monsters rushing him, he saw a large figure loom up behind the fallen aliens. It was a hideously distorted combination of three separate individual aliens, merged horrifically into one great abomination that stood nearly as high as the ceiling. All three heads swerved together and stared straight at him, twelve blue eyes seeming to glow as it started barging towards him.

Alan fired a sustained burst from his rifle, but the rounds only chipped away at the monstrosity's overlapping carapace, melded together from the three original creatures' armor and infused with lines of what seemed to be glowing circuitry. Sweeping a club-like appendage through the air, it smashed down upon the spot where Alan had been standing half a moment before. Rolling aside, Alan growled, and pulled out a grenade. The explosion might cause friendly damage to his teammates, but he could hardly allow this giant monster to continue its rampage.

Quickly deciding on a course of action, he trained his weapon on the abomination one-handed and sustained a steady stream of fire on a spot on its torso, where two armored plates ended at a thin gap. The creature roared as the hard-light rounds punched a hole through its abdomen, and charged again.

This time, Alan ran forward to meet it, grenade in hand. Activating the circular explosive at the last moment, he jumped aside even as he threw a punch at the monster. His armored fist smashed through the weakened armor and deposited the grenade within the abomination, before a glancing blow from the creature's arm threw all one thousand pounds of armored Venator aside like a ragged doll.

Dazed, Alan struggled to his feet even as the abomination staggered to a halt and exploded from the inside, flame bursting through the hole in its carapace and incinerating its internal organs. The creature screeched one final time before fire billowed through its mouth and it fell slowly down, dead.

The other aliens seemed undeterred, continuing to throw themselves into the fire-lanes of the ONI team with primitive aggression. Alan limped, an ankle twisted by the awkward landing from the blow that the abomination had dealt him, firing his rifle and making up for his momentary lapse. He slowly made his way next to Scaldman, the civilian looking slightly panicky and his eyes broadcasting terror. The man was obviously extremely scared, but was doing his best to keep it together even though he was defenseless. Alan felt his regard for the man go up a notch, and fired bursts one-handed as he pulled out his sidearm, a projectile-based magnum weapon.

"Take it," he shouted to make himself heard as he handed the weapon to Scaldman grip-first, "Shoot some of the bastards and make yourself useful!"

The scientist nodded bravely, and after fumbling around with the trigger for a few seconds, figured out the pistol's workings and started shooting into the darkness. An alien crumpled with a bullet in its head, sent there more by accident than design, but the civilian looked thrilled and continued to fire, encouraged.

"Atlas! Hurry-", Embers urged as she reloaded.

"It's done," the AI interrupted, "Into the door, I shall lock it once we are within."

The door groaned as they opened, age-old mechanisms prying the door open. Tracker Team held as Embers and Scaldman all but ran into the room, figuring that anywhere was safer than out in a corridor with hordes of vicious, deformed aliens. Backing through the door, the Venator operatives continued to mow down the oncoming crowd of hostiles. Jin, the last one through the door, threw a charge that stuck to the wall on the opposite side of the corridor.

"Atlas, close it now!" she urged, blasting another alien back with her shotgun.

The AI complied, and the doors grinded close. One of the aliens stuck an arm through the quickly closing gap, only to have it crushed by doors with a loud crunch, the appendage jerking in involuntary spasms before finally stilling at the sound of a muffled explosion on the other side of the door.

Before the others could react, Arthur Scaldman ran forward, and with one shot, blew the alien limb apart.

He turned to the rest of the team, pale-faced, and asked, "How did I do?"

"You did fine, Doc, even if that last shot was slightly unnecessary" Alan said, slightly worried for the man, and took the weapon back with an outstretched hands. The doctor did not resist.

Stowing the weapon, he turned to join the rest of the team, who were staring out into the center of the chamber.

The chamber was over fifty meters wide on each of its eight sides, forming a perfect octagon. The room was dark, but for the galaxy swirling through the room, the center precisely aligned with the center of the chamber. Uncountable multitudes of glowing dots, each representing an individual star, floated lazily through the air. Alan stretched a hand out, and was mildly surprised when the stars went straight through his fingers and came out the other side without stopping.

"What is this place?" Scaldman asked, eyes wide with awe, his previous combat shock already forgotten.

"That," Atlas informed them, "Is the Milky Way. From the star-patterns, this map is approximately five hundred years out of date."

1146 Hours, November 4, 2642 (Unified Earth Calendar)/

CAS-Class Assault Cruiser Unyielding Countenance, Sangheili Fleet of Disillusioned Retribution, Orbit over Sanghelios

Kvas stood as straight as he could, wearing his prized suit of ceremonial armor, carved with lines of intricate script. The polished silver plate would have made him stand out as a target on the battlefield, and was indeed impractical, but it was not meant for combat. While it possessed energy shielding and could take quite a few hits from most weapons, its true purpose was simply to make the Sangheili wearing it look good.

Kvas did not think of himself as vain. It was true that he enjoyed amenities as much as the next warrior, but he did not revel in them. However, he did take great pride in his possession and maintenance of this particular set of armor. It had been passed down through his keep for many generations, and had seen many historical events in its time.

And hopefully, it would experience another important moment this day. Important to Kvas, at least.

The Last Arbiter himself was arriving to debrief him.

Every youngling born of Sangheili heritage over the last hundred years had grown up knowing the name of Thel 'Vadam, mighty warrior and wise councilor. It had been he who had forged bonds of friendship with the humans, helping to lay the foundations for rebuilding the mighty nation of Sanghelios. It had been he who had fought alongside the SPARTANs of old, they who were said to have been so ferocious upon the field of battle that they had been mistaken for demons, and of whom tales were still whispered among veterans of the Great War. It had been he who had led the charge against the Covenant Remnant, breaking the back of the San 'Shyuum resistance and personally slaying the Jiralhanae Chieftain Marcabras, who had acted as the Supreme Commander of the False Prophets' dwindling forces. The old warrior was a hero, a living legend. The fact that he was known as an extremely accomplished swordsman had only served to boost Kvas' already lofty opinion of his reputation. Without him, Kvas doubted that the Sangheili race would be half as proud as they currently were, and would most likely still be scrabbling with what remained of the Prophets' forces for what little remained of the old Covenant territories. To say that he admired the old warrior was a gross understatement.

Kvas had heard that the Arbiter was nearing three hundred in human years, old even for the Sangheili. Despite this, the Kaidon refused to retire to a more administrative role, continuing to wear his battle armor proudly and personally overseeing military actions, even if age had restrained him from entering direct combat.

Kvas had seen the Arbiter with his own eyes two times before. Once was when he had newly joined the military, wearing the blue of a Minor along with countless thousands of others. The Arbiter had spoken to them, and told them of the truth of the world. The Covenant had been newly dissolved, and the shock had been still wearing in for some of the warriors, who had grown up listening to the lies of the Prophets. The Arbiter had spoken to them then, reassuring them and reminding them that they had a purpose; to serve the Sangheili people and their allies. By throwing off the chains that the San 'Shyuum had cast upon them, the Sangheili had freed themselves for the first time in thousands of years. Unlimited potential awaited their race, the chance to finally develop and find their own destiny. Kvas had listened attentively, quietly inspired by experienced warrior's confidence and conviction.

The second time he had seen the Arbiter was after he had joined the Special Operations branch. The Arbiter himself had led the assault on the major Prophet stronghold-world of Navokas Minor. Kvas had gazed upon the Arbiter at work from afar, butchering Loyalists in a display of elegant savagery. The bladework he had seen that day had haunted his dreams for many nights after, dancing within his mind, and even to his day, he was unsure if he could hold his own against the skill that the Arbiter had displayed. After all, one did not reach the rank of Supreme Commander by being idle.

And now, the Arbiter was coming to speak to him, face-to-face. Of course, a large part of the reason for this might have had to do with the fact that Laros 'Vadam, the troublesome young Minor, had been accompanying his task force.

Kvas clicked his mandibles in slight annoyance as he thought of the brash warrior. While by no means inexperienced, the Arbiter's son lacked discipline and restraint, a trait common to many warriors that were unfamiliar with the reality of battle. From what he knew, Laros 'Vadam had secretly learned his heritage of being the Arbiter's son when he had listened in upon a conversation between his mother and maternal uncle. Ever since, the youngling had been confident to the point of arrogance, secure in the knowledge that he was a skilled warrior with an extremely famous forebear. Laros 'Vadam had joined the military later than most, preferring to spend his early adulthood learning the arts of combat and dueling other warriors. Kvas could not deny that the warrior was skilled; it was his attitude that he disapproved of.

Kvas was brought out of his musings as the door to the room slid silently upwards, revealing the armored form behind it.

The Arbiter strode slowly into the room, his steps measured and firm. He wore a battle suit of gold and silver, as befitting a warrior of his status. However, the plated surface of the armor was pitted and worn, obviously having been used in combat many times. The elder Sangheili's skin was starting to become wrinkled and hardened, showing the warrior's age, but his eyes were bright and alert.

Kvas took the initiative, saluting the elder Sangheili, "Councilor. It is an honor to have you aboard this ship. I have long heard of your exploits."

"Commander," the Arbiter greeted him in a gravelly voice, "The honor is mine. It is good to walk in the halls of a well-ordered battleship once more. Come, we have much to discuss. I have heard your reports of Transcendence's… madness."

"Yes, Councilor," Kvas bent his neck and bowed his head in respect.

The Arbiter strode next to the central table, upon which a hologram displayed details of the Forty-Second Cohort's engagement with the Loyalist forces, and examined the glowing runes.

"First, tell me of your experience in the Prophet's sanctum," the Councilor said, absently stroking his bottom-right mandible as he spoke, "You said that Transcendence had destroyed all the Forerunner artifacts that he had hoarded within his room?"

"Yes, Councilor," Kvas said, and flicked his hand, switching the hologram display to show the destroyed remains of the Loyalist citadel, "The chamber that Transcendence, or Doom as he renamed himself as, had been filled with Forerunner technology."

Kvas paused here, then continued, "The artifacts had been smeared with blood. Scans from our ships in orbit indicate that the explosion that had destroyed the fortress originated from within Doom's chamber. We could not recover any of them, for the explosion had destroyed them beyond all recognition."

"Thank you, Commander," the Arbiter said, "This gives me much to ponder upon. You must understand, The San 'Shyuum revere the technology of the Old Ones to the point of obsession, and even those that are not devout followers of the Covenant faith would rather die than suffer damage to Forerunner artifacts under their care simply for the immense worth of the technology contained within. Doom must have known the explosion would destroy the items he had collected. For he to destroy them so callously is… disturbing."

"I understand," Kvas nodded, "But to understand the winding thoughts of the enemy is not my duty. I find it strange, but the mind of aliens are unknowable."

The elder Sangheili chuckled, "Not strictly true, Commander. While other races doubtlessly think differently from us, it is very possible to understand their motives. The Yig-Yar fight for profit, the Jiralhanae do so because they enjoy war. However, It is evident from the reports that Doom was insane. We know not how this came to be; the evidence that the humans had given us but a year earlier indicated that Transcendence possessed a healthy mind and strong religious beliefs. Much has changed since then."

The Arbiter continued to question Kvas about the mission, including his opinions of what had happened. Kvas, to his surprise, found that the Councilor was incredibly easy to speak to. Despite his formidable reputation, the Arbiter showed no sign of the arrogance that his son had displayed, and spoke to Kvas with the instinctive ease of soldiers discussing a battle.

"Thank you, Commander," the Arbiter said after Kvas had explained his thoughts on the mission, "I have gleaned much knowledge and insight from this talk."

"As I have said, Councilor, it is an honor indeed," Kvas replied, "My warriors and I have known of your deeds for all of our lives."

"Judge one not by their reputation, Commander," the Arbiter arranged his mandibles in a smile, "Judge them by their actions."

Kvas nodded, respectfully accepting the elder's wisdom.

"There is one more matter I wish to discuss with you before we conclude," the Arbiter continued, "I suspect you may not enjoy this, but I have a request to make."

"Anything, Arbiter," Kvas slowly replied, privately wondering what manner of dangerous mission the Councilor would present him with. He would do his duty, of course, but he had harbored hopes of returning to his keep and visiting his family during the time he spent back on Sanghelios.

"I am putting my son forward as a candidate for the Special Operations branch," the old warrior said, sighing, "And I am hoping that you may accept him into your cohort."

Kvas was stunned. The Arbiter was asking him to take his son into his Cohort?

"If I may ask, Arbiter," he said hesitantly, "Why would you wish this?"

"The young one is headstrong, and I am displeased at how he willfully disobeys orders without thought. He lacks understanding and self-control. Within the body of the normal military, there is little doubt that one day some Fleetmaster would run out of patience and have him discharged. Despite his flaws and the fact that he should not have learnt the identity of his father so young, Laros is my son. I believe he would be able to adapt better to Special Operations, where more flexibility is encouraged. In truth, I have been observing the performance of your Cohort for some time, and after this interview, I am of the opinion that you are a capable leader and warrior. I would be glad to entrust the guidance of my son to an able commander such as you."

Kvas thought about the Arbiter's proposal for a moment. He understood the older Sangheili's concerns and reasoning, and could find no fault with it.

"I hope I do not regret it, but I do accept this honor, Arbiter. If Laros' name is put forward, I shall claim him for the Forty-Second Cohort."

"It soothes my heart to hear this, Commander," The Arbiter said, once again smiling, "Thank you."

And with a swirl of his cape, the old warrior left.

Kvas looked after him, hoping that he had not just made a mistake.