PART II

VENI VIDI VICI

I am Ozymandias, king of kings. Look upon my works, ye mighty, and despair.

Percy Bysshe Shelley

Chapter 12: Other Worlds Than These

September 27th, 2558 (Military Calendar) UNSC Flagship Infinity, In Orbit Above Sangheilios

He had been up for well over twenty-four hours, and Romanov was beginning to feel its affects. Even the simple action of walking was stiff and robotic, his mind covered by a thin plastic film which served to distort his senses, causing everything to be delayed and slightly muted. He needed sleep, they all did. Purposely driving yourself and your men to exhaustion served no purpose other than to ensure defeat. The only time when it was excusable is when a force found itself in a situation of upmost emergency, and even then for a commander to allow himself to be put in that situation was itself inexcusable. That is how Romanov chose to see it.

A group of marines passed by, the stubble from on their chins drawing long shadows. They saluted him as Romanov walked by and he returned it. He could feel the stubble on his own chin, the collar of his uniform irritating it. He need a shave, a shower, and sleep, but that would not come just yet. There were a few more things he needed to accomplish before he could indulge in such luxuries.

He made it to his office, a hand absentmindedly rubbing the surface of his plastic desk. Laskey's desk was made of wood. Cherry if Romanov remembered correctly. It would be his soon enough, but for now he was content with allowing the men to mourn their loss. He turned his attention to the screen on his desk, tapping in several commands and leaning back into his chair.

Black One soon appeared, her helmet off. She had short brown hair, her face pockmarked with small scars. One of her eyes was missing, a silver patch in its place, the one remaining eye a deep almost chocolate brown. She nodded towards Romanov. "Sir."

He allowed himself to smile at her. Despite her less than womanly appearance and demeanor, he had always found she possessed a unique type of beauty. "I know your mission was successful, but is there anything else that needs to be reported?"

"One minor casualty," One said. "Three got into a tight spot and was slashed with an energy sword along his abdomen. The cut wasn't deep, so he should make a full recovery."

"Good," Romanov said. "Send my best wishes to him."

"Certainly sir."

Romanov nodded. The pleasantries were out of the way, now to the real reason why he was having this conversation. "Do you have it?"

One hesitated. Someone who was not familiar with Spartans would not have noticed the reluctance, but Romanov did. Her lip twitched, her eye blinking twice rapidly. "Yes, sir."

"Let me see it," Romanov said, leaning forward in his seat. One bent down, and when she appeared back on the screen she was holding the Arbiter's head. His eyes had rolled back up into their sockets, his mandibles hanging open as if he had a permanent grin, freezing his face in the moment of his last roar of defiance before Black Four killed him. There was no blood, as typical with energy swords, the stump of his neck having by cauterized. Romanov looked deep into those white sockets, trying to find the Elite he had seen over twenty-seven years ago. If Romanov did find him in the decapitated head of the Arbiter, I can't tell you.

Romanov leaned back again, looking away. "Thank you, Amy. Without Black Team I would never have been able to do this."

"Your welcome sir," Black One said. She opened her mouth as if she was about to say something else, but decided against it. There was a click and the screen went dark.

Romanov brought a trembling hand up to his face, and when he opened his eyes his vision had blurred. He felt moisture on his cheeks, and he looked around quickly, suddenly paranoid that someone would see the display of weakness.

There was only Joyeuse.

Joyeuse, her avatar a few centimeters above his desk, smiling at him the best she could. Romanov placed his arm on the desk, his black eyes filled with shame as the small AI walked over to him. Joyeuse could understand. Romanov hated weakness, especially in himself.

She reached out, placing a hand on his, and Romanov felt pressure. "Hard light," he muttered.

He extended three of his fingers outward and Joyeuse wrapped her arms around him, hugging them. "You don't have to be strong in front of me," she said quietly.

He breathed deeply as he looked down at his AI, and Joyeuse smiled as she saw his eyes dry up and his shoulders relax. "My Spartan did well today," she said.

Romanov nodded.

"Better than I expected."

"Sounds like you have little faith in him."

Joyeuse shook her head. "I have faith, but I also try to be realistic. Many things could have gone wrong today."

Romanov nodded again. "How is the Master Chief?"

"I ordered him to go to sleep. He needs it." Romanov raised an eyebrow and Joyeuse added, "Well, I made a strong suggestion that he get some sleep."

"Sounds more plausible," Romanov said. "There is one more thing I have to do. One more evil." He let his fingers slip from Joyeuse's hands, standing up. "Perhaps after this, I won't be required to do anymore."

"We both know that's not true, Victor," Joyeuse said sadly. "All revolutions are bloody."

"Not all," Romanov replied. "And if exterminating an innocent life gives me a better chance of saving millions more, than that is what I will do."

…

Palmer felt like stone, her body rooted to the hospital bed as firmly as a piece of bedrock is rooted to the earth. She tried to move one of her fingers, but only managed to make one of them tremble. Her body was broken, unable to even speak due to the feeding tube that had been placed in her throat. The only thing she was consciously aware of having any control over was moving and blinking her eyes.

"You're awake," a voice said, and Palmer's eyes moved left, seeing Romanov standing next to her. "I wasn't expecting you to be awake," he said, placing both hands on the side of her bed. "But perhaps it is better this way. You deserve to know why I'm doing this."

He sighed as Palmer glared at him, hatred and fear fully evident. "It's unlikely that you will survive this, and even then you will probably never return to active duty. Still, I learned long ago not to trust in luck. If by some miracle you fully recovered, and you held suspicions that I was involved in Laskey's death, then you would become a powerful enemy, and that is not something I am willing to allow. Not when I can dispose of you and easily rid myself of any possible future threats."

The fear was still there, but rage was slowly overcoming it. Romanov was sure that if she had been able to Palmer would have sat up and tried to break his neck.

"It wasn't Osman who ordered the hit," Romanov explained. "Within the context of her situation, what she decided to do was rather intelligent. Marcus was to gather evidence that would prove that Laskey disobeyed the order to kill Halsey. Once he had proof, he was to plant evidence that Laskey was having a sexual affair with one of his subordinates. Namely you. He would have been court martialed for conduct unbecoming a UNSC officer and would have left the navy in disgrace."

Palmer's eyebrows furrowed deeply, her fingers twitching wildly.

"I see by your reaction, that accusation would not have been entirely false." He stepped away from her, turning his back to Palmer. "I, however, could not wait for the slow wheel of justice to turn in order to take command of Infinity. Laskey's death was unfortunate, but take some comfort in the knowledge that he gave his life for a cause much greater than himself. Of course, there was also you to consider. In truth your fate was sealed during the Second Battle of Requiem, when you tried to kill Dr. Halsey. You were all too willing to execute the order, and seeing as how Halsey is the lynchpin holding all my plans together I cannot afford to tolerate anyone who would threaten her life."

Romanov turned back around, and in his hand was a long empty syringe. He pulled the plunger on it, filling it with air, and it was with terror that Palmer realized what he was about to do. "Men should either be treated generously or destroyed," he said softly. "I have lived my life by that motto. I doubt my ability to destroy the Master Chief, therefore I must treat him generously. Make him an ally. You, on the other hand. I not only can destroy you easily, but I have much more to gain from it than I would having you as my friend. It is the only logical conclusion." He reached over and grabbed one of the tubes stretching out from Palmer's shattered body. It was the one feeding blood into her veins, keeping her alive. It would also be the thing that killed her. Romanov plunged the syringe into the plastic tube and pressed the plunger. A large bubble of air snaked its way towards Palmer's body, her eyes growing as she watched it. "It is a soldier's duty to die. I do not waste lives, and yours has been spent well. That I promise you." He waited until the bubble of air entered her vein. "Goodbye Sarah," he said, and exited the room.

Commander Spartan Sarah Palmer died on August 27th 2558 of a massive heart attack. An official autopsy would latter determine that it was a direct result of the wounds she sustained during the Battle of Sangheilios. Captain Victor Romanov would later recommend her for the Distinguished Service Cross for her actions during the battle. She was awarded it posthumously several months later.

…

John did sleep, just as Joyeuse asked him to, and as he slept he began to dream.

He dreamt of Cortana, and of where he could find her.

He dreamt of another world.

…

Cortana was soaring, her consciousness moving through the cloudless sky like a falcon, heedless of any falconer that might try and control her. She was immaterial, as shapeless and formless as the blue void that surrounded her. She was soaring westward, towards the setting sun, the faint purple outlines of mountains in the distance, standing like a few misplaced streaks of watercolor paint. She looked below her, and saw the desert.

It was the apotheosis of all deserts, standing from horizon to horizon. As monumental as it was impassible, Cortana could almost feel the heat rising off of it. It was white, blinding, and waterless. Occasionally wind would sweep over the hardpan, sending up clouds of choking dust and sand. There was no life, other than the occasional weed which sprouted in defiance of the desolate land, brown and wilted underneath the oppression of the desert sun.

Yet, as she passed over the desert, Cortana saw movement. She saw a cloak blowing in the wind. A man moving across the desert. Fleeing across the desert. There was also something else.

Blue bombardier eyes. Eyes she had seen so many times before, and Cortana knew of only one man who could possibly posses them.

John, Cortana thought, wanting to go down with him. To be with him, but before she could of even think of a way down her consciousness soared past him, towards the mountains. The foothills of the mountains began the grand announcement of their existence with jagged boulders jutting up through the ground like forgotten tombstones.

What would John find once he reached the mountains?

The answer came quickly.

The Oracle. He would find the Oracle, and ply it with questions.

But what comes after? She thought as she flew over the jagged peaks. Suddenly she was filled with horrible dread. Cortana twisted herself around in the sky, trying everything in her power to get back to John, to tell him not to continue. To tell him that he could not venture further, could not cross into the passage way that led into the dark underbelly of the mountain range.

There were monsters underneath the mountains.

Just as she was about to reach the highest point of desperation, a voice spoke to her. (Don't be afraid)

Cortana stopped struggling. She could feel the consciousness that the voice belong to. It was male, and quite young. Perhaps in his twenties, and in some ways it reminded her of John's voice. But this being was anything but John. Anything but human. The mind that this voice belonged to was massive, far larger than even the Gravemind. Both omniscient and omnipresent. The sheer size of this being's intelligence was enough to awe her. (You will see him again)

How? She asked. How can you possibly promise me that?

Cortana felt warm hands wrap around her being. Comforting hands, and instantly all her fears were alleviated. (My word is law)

The mountains had given way to a vast ocean now, and Cortana's consciousness followed the coastline. The sun had a set, and from out of the water, their bodies half concealed by the crashing waves, large monstrous forms began slouching towards the shore. They had the appearance of giant lobsters, their mouths filled with razor sharp teeth, their claws pointing up to the stars. They looked at her and began asking questions.

Dad-a-chum?

Dad-a-chee?

Before Cortana was able to answer them, she felt herself being pulled sharply in the other direction. Towards the east, the rising sun coming up to greet her. The land had turned flat, rolling parries with grass as thick as a carpet. In the distance was a city, its architecture undeniably human, concrete and asphalt roads leading to it, box shaped buildings stretching upwards towards the sky. On the other side of the city a massive wall had been constructed, and Cortana looked in horror at what was on the other side.

The land dropped several hundreds of meters downwards, the land below having been burned until it was nothing but glass. In these wastelands, in these glasslands, she could see the movement of avian and reptile bodies, slithering around and consuming one another, the horrifying spectacle serving to mar the reflection of her passage. Whatever had happened here, it had been no nuclear war.

(No, not a nuclear war) This was not the first voice that spoke. While the other voice had been warm and comforting, this one was cold, mechanical, logical, artificial, and above all else completely and utterly rampant. (This was something worse. Something far worse)

Who are you? Cortana asked, and the mechanical voice laughed. It was a synthesized laugh that nevertheless failed to hide the utter insanity of its owner.

(Don't ask me silly questions. I don't play silly games)

Cortana was about to ask again, when the first voice stopped her. (Don't listen to him. He lies)

Cortana was silent, seeing that once again the land had changed underneath her. She was flying towards a river now, and she could not help but be reminded of the River Styx. Perhaps this was her afterlife. After all, she should be dead.

The world was barren after she crossed the river. The world had moved on. It was not a desert, but it was poisonous, the water smelling of radiation and the cloud cover thick and grey. There was another set of mountains, a crimson light, the color of rampancy, shining on the other side. Cortana tensed herself, preparing her mind for whatever terrors might greet her.

On the other side of the range was a castle. The stones were dark black, the bodies of both man and beast littering the streets, people crucified with their feet and hands dripping blood. Up in the highest parapet Cortana found the source of the light.

Sticking out one of the windows was a crimson red hand. The fingers were long and slender, and on the tips of each one what looked like spider webs had sprouted out. Cortana followed the webs, realizing they were being used as string. Four figures were attached to each finger by the string. She saw the Prophet of Truth, the Didact, the Gravemind, and one man whom she had never seen before. A man wearing a UNSC navy uniform with the rank of captain, with black eyes and black hair. The fingers of the crimson hand twitched, and the four figures began to move, controlled by the hand as if they were no more than puppets.

Cortana was grateful when she passed the castle, and out of the site of whatever malevolent primordial force the hand belonged to, until she saw another red glow in the distance, peaking up just at the horizon. She felt another wave of fear, but received a wave of comfort from the consciousness that had guided her.

It was a field of roses, each one perfect and symmetrical, their stems devoid of any thorns. There was also some black tower in the distance. Some sort of pylon, but Cortana did not pay it any attention. The roses were far too beautiful. They began to bloom, the flowers opening up, and Cortana saw the faces of those who had long been dead. She saw Jacob and Miranda Keyes. She saw Johnson, John's Spartans, Carter, Emile, and Noble Six. She saw the faces of the hundreds of soldiers and marines she had seen die during the war. She also saw Thomas Laskey and Sarah Palmer, and even the Arbiter. They were all looking at her as she sank down into the field of blood red roses. Maybe this was what the voice had been talking about, for Cortana was sure that if she stayed here long enough John would eventually come.

One rose caught her attention in particular. Inside of its petals was not a face, but a sun. A glowing yellow sun whose warmth tempted her. Cortana reached out her hands, and sank into it.

…

I'm home. That was her first thought as she looked around the sparse barracks room on board the Infinity. She was home, and sure enough John was there, laying on a bed, his armor still on but his helmet off. His eyes were closed, and by the rising and falling of his chest Cortana could tell he was fast asleep. She went to him, nearly ran, but as she went to touch him her hands slipped right through.

Cortana looked at her hands which were little more than faint ghost like outlines. She was neither a human nor a hologram, and Cortana knew that if John woke up he would not be able to see her. Why was she brought here? Why was she brought to her Spartan if she could not be with him?

(A choice) the voice whispered. (You have a choice)

Cortana looked back down at John, letting a hand hover just above where his heart would be. She could feel pain, and immeasurable amount of sadness that he refused to let out. She could also sense that he was in danger. Threatened by an enemy that he was unprepared to fight. An enemy that would use his sense of duty and honor against him. If she decided to leave, to go back to the field of roses, her and John would eventually be together.

But he needed her now, and if she stayed Cortana knew that she would be thrust back into a world of pain and misery.

She did not pause in making her decision. Any amount of suffering was acceptable if it meant keeping him safe. Cortana felt her consciousness melting away, being dragged from Infinity and towards her final destination. She leaned over John's body, and whispered a single word. The word that would let her Spartan know where he could find her.

Alesia.