Halo 07: The System

"You're fucking insane."

"No, I'm not. I'm just brilliant."

"Brilliant, hardly. Lucky as hell, maybe. You're still fucking insane for taking this junk."

"I am not one to pass up a good opportunity. A safe life is a sterile life. Any life worth living contains some risk."

"Like bringing a potential bomb into the dorm room?"

"Mig, it's not going to explode. It would have done that the first time I dropped it. Hey, can you read those instructions to me?"

Migel sighed and unfolded the laminated, multicolor page that had been found inserted into a slitlike orifice in the largest box of Dalet's newfound mechanism and squinted at the English typed in rows next to colored pictures of contraption parts and wires fitting together with the aid of large arrows. The common language was a blessing, dead and archaic in Gaea but required in the Zaibach education system, and surprisingly used as instructions for seemingly modern-day contraptions from what Dalet claimed to be another planet.

Whatever. At least I can read this shit. Oh man…

"Uh…" Migel recalled what little English he had used in his classes extending beyond references to arcane ideas. Half of the words he had never encountered. "Insert the chords for the speakers in their corresponding slots in the back of the subwoofer."

"The who in the what?"

"Does it look like I have a fucking clue?"

"You're supposed to be the smart one."

"Well, I'm not."

Migel sighed and handed the spread to Dalet, the latter of whom began to decipher pictures and hook wires in what he believed were the right spots, feeling mostly by corresponding plug sizes and colors.

At least this system is well-organized. So many wires, though. What the fuck IS this thing?

Migel had silently followed Dilandau to the hangar to monitor his treatment of Dalet, had silently watched Dilandau torture Dalet—clenching his fists until the metal gauntlets cut through the leather seams of his gloves and drew blood—knowing from experience that his interference would only make any punishment worse on his lover, and then had run down to Dalet's aid as soon as their master was out of earshot. Dalet's usual recovery from trauma was quick enough to allow time for cleaning of his guymelef and then to convince Migel to help carry all the parts of this contraption back to their dorm before the end of dinner. They had mercifully avoided any interrogation or detection. Somewhere along the way Dalet had rambled about extraterrestrial beings in pink spaceships and a tin robot, nonsense that usually preceded the revelation of the far more mundane truth. Dalet's world was animated by his mind, and only after his animations could the less important 'real world' take priority.

And what has all of this nonsense earned me? An empty stomach and a time bomb in my dorm room. It's about time for Dalet to get bored with this alien nonsense and spill the truth.

"You do know that if we get caught with this we're busted."

"Oh, no worries. Nobody ever comes in here."

"Oh, yeah? Our roommate?"

"Nah, Chess'll keep silent. We'll show him and tell him to keep a lid on this if he knows what's good for him. Besides, it's hidden."

Migel looked around skeptically. They were edged against the furthest corner alongside the same wall as the door. A table had been wheeled into the corner to hold the contraption – Migel guessed it was the 'system' to which was referred in the layout, which was a very generic name for something, but the sort of title that came with a capital S to emphasize its status as the grand archetype of something – with a bookshelf pushed against the end opposite the door's wall. The contraption would be shielded from view by the opened door itself.

It would only work if somebody did not visit long enough to close the door.

"You are SO fucking insane."

"You've said that about three times now. Ah." Dalet sat back on his heels. "I think we're done."

Migel looked the System over. There was a monitor, something with which he was at least familiar, a keyboard, and speakers, but the other components remained unfamiliar—odd antennae and boxes, a small domelike contraption with a flat bottom that seemed shaped to fill one's palm. They were definitely machinery, but with unknown purpose.

The black monitor stared back at him.

"…now what?"

"Well… I assume we turn it on or something."

Dalet looked over the leaflet and pressed the large button on the frontside of the largest box, the one called the 'CPU' and the object to which most of the wires connected.

That has to be the central operating system for all of this nonsense.

Nothing happened.

Dalet pressed the button several more times. There was no reaction.

Migel stared at the blank screen. "Have you considered adding a power source?"

"I was just about to get to that, yes. Hm." Dalet picked up a black chord with a polygonal end from which three metal prongs protruded in a triangular formation. "I think this is the power source. It must be some sort of plug."

"It won't fit into any of our power sources."

"We'll just have to make an adaptor. You know, shoot some electricity through it. It's metal, isn't it?"

Migel buried his head in his hand. "Dalet…"

"No, come on, it'll be easy. One end's gotta be positive, one negative, like in lab, you know? I don't know which one is which."

"The last time you didn't know which one was which, you caused an explosion. And as far as that is concerned, how do you know this whole thing won't blow up as soon as we run a current through it?"

"We'll stand really far back."

"DALET."

"Lighten up. I'll figure this out. Get some wire or something."

Migel sighed heavily and stood up, wondering why the hell he was going through with this insanity, and rummaged through his desk drawer. He sifted through a mixture of papers, socks, odd pencil shavings collecting at the edges of the box, and tools, until he found a spool of wire and a screwdriver.

The HELL am I doing? This is—oh, that paper, huh; it's probably worth nothing now—this is lunacy. We're going to die, the place is going to explode, Lord Dilandau is going to kill us, Chesta is going to narc, Dalet's going to kill himself—US—I'm going to start a fire with a wire, where the hell did Dalet get that thing—

"Dalet?"

"Nn?"

"Where did you really get that thing?"

"I thought I told you this. Did you find that wire?"

Migel held the wire behind his back and stood over Dalet. "I'm serious, Dalet."

"Yeah, and so am I. Come on, give me the wire."

Dalet leaned forward, motioning with a waiting palm.

The door burst open, whacking Dalet square in the forehead.

Migel's stomach dropped. His eyes momentarily blanked out from the roots, obscuring his vision with white pain borne from panic.

Ohshitohshitohshitohshitohshit—

"OW!"

"Oh, Dalet! I'm sorry—what are you doing back—"

Chesta stopped and looked around to where Dalet was sitting amid a run of wires, holding his forehead.  Migel pushed the door closed and waved his hands for silence. The chatter and sound of walking outside muffled. It seemed excruciatingly loud and close.

Chesta blinked at the mess before him while automatically helping Dalet to his feet, looking over his shoulder at Migel in confusion and then looking back at the System. He opened his mouth.

"—new System." Chesta closed his mouth. Dalet patted his shoulder thankfully. "Just don't say a word about this to anybody, no matter what. Keep it on the down-low. I'll explain everything in a moment. Eh—well, thanks for helping me up, but I'm going to sit back down."

Dalet crossed his legs under him and sat once again amid the wires, stared at the plug, and remembered his current task.

"Mig? Where's that wire?"

"Are you all right, Dalet?" asked Chesta weakly.

"Fine, fine. Wire?"

"Hell no."

Dalet turned around and crossed his arms angrily. "What the fuck is your problem?"

"My problem is that we're all going to DIE, Dalet."

"For goodness' sake, it's not going to explode!—"

"I don't care about that! I mean—look, you want to run a live current through naked wires; that's just stupid! You'll short out the breakers. You'll cause a fire. You WILL make something explode."

"Um, guys…" began Chesta.

"No, I won't! I'll be careful! Come on!"

"Not until I find an insulator. I'm going to the storeroom. The wire is going with me."

Dalet gaped at Migel and shook his head. "You are so not—"

"You're damn lucky I am going through with this at all!"

Dalet tried to think of a response and fumbled through half-though protests. Migel walked out of the dorm room and slammed the door.

WHY is he so fucking spastic? ARGH—

The hallway crowd had thinned. Migel half-expected the few slayers remaining in the hallway to round on him, sense his apprehension and guilt, and tear the wire from his hands, immediately deducing that he had an alien System in his room and that his insane boyfriend was going to use it as a bomb.

Of course, that's ridiculous. They'll assume you're fixing a—I don't know—a lamp or something. Calm down. Dalet's just blowing off steam. He'll come around when I get back.

This is so insanely stupid.

---------------------

"What is that thing?"

Dalet continued to turn the odd plug over and over in his hands and shrugged, humming in thought. Chesta sighed and shrugged off his heavy overcoat, relieved that the weight of the metal and leather was finally alleviated until tomorrow morning. Dalet was already stripped to his violet undershirt and black pants.

He must have been in here a while. He wasn't at dinner after all…

"Hey. Dalet."

"Yeah?"

"Did Lord Dilandau give you a lot of hell for this afternoon?"

"What? Nah." Dalet flicked one of the more flattened prongs on the plug. "He just made me lick my Alseides and my insides ended up all over the paint job he loves so much, but nothing else."

"Ew."

Well, at least I have some idea of why he skipped dinner. At least it's not because he's too mutilated to move. Hell, he looks horrible. Jaw's turning purple and black. But at least he's cruising along. Dalet, the invincible hyperactive slayer, good as always.

If he was in the hospital he wouldn't be doing crazy shit like this, at least…

"What is this thing?"

"I already told you. The System."

"Um… I can sort of see that. System of what?" Chesta leaned down to examine Dalet's work. "It looks like some of the technology in the command rooms."

"Or in the capital, yeah. Heavy shit. Isn't it great?"

"Great? Well, yeah, but where the hell did you get this?"

Dalet threw the plug into the corner and leaned back on his arms, looking up through a sparse curtain of wires at the steep faces of the boxes on the table.

"Aliens, extraterrestrial beings from another world. In exchange for my silence."

"Right. I assume they were pink."

"No, one green, one made of tin—something bionic. The little green one stood to my knee."

"Oh, and I'm sure he was here to conquer us all and give us anal probes."

"No, though he did make some ungentlemanly comments about my balls."

"…excuse me?"

"You heard me. And the green one was Lord Zim of the Irken Empire. When he returns to this planet to conquer, in exchange for my silence, he will reward me."

"…" Chesta nodded. "I see."

"You don't believe me, do you?"

"Of course not. That's a load of shit."

"You have such a very limited imagination."

"I'm just not insane, Dalet." Chesta straddled the back of a chair and rested his chin on folded arms atop the headrest. "Seriously, where did you get this? Did you steal it?"

"I'm not insane enough to do that, fucknook. That's high treason. I'm in the army. I'd be court marshaled if Lord Dilandau didn't flay me alive first. Besides, all of the stuff on this rock is locked up. Lord Folken is the only one with any access."

"I don't know. Maybe you're sleeping with him for this stuff."

"Hah."  Dalet started laughing and waved his hand. "I wouldn't mind if he didn't scare the living fuck out of me. He's hot. Wouldn't happen, though. Fucking him is probably like fucking a robot. Besides, Migel would go on a bloody rampage of revenge and kill us both. It would be like a bad B-flick or something."

"Not just a B-flick, a bad B-flick."

"Yeah, hyperactive pretty boy thaws the frozen heart of a beautiful man, then the boy's former lover kills them both in a bloody rampage that ends in the ship crashing and a bad cover title song playing over the end credits about everlasting love. Something like that."

Chesta started laughing. Dalet's laugh dissolved into the giggles and he leaned back further, looking up at his forest of machinery. All his. All his.

"It could be cooling the heart of Lord Dilandau," said Chesta.

"That I would not mind in the least bit."

"Yes, I know. Trust me, I know. God, he's perfect." Perfect in every way. Gorgeous. Beautiful.

"But seriously, this came from outer space," said Dalet.

"But seriously, you're whacked, Mr. Hyperactive Pretty Boy."

"I think I need to be whacked. Right across the ass."

"Yeah, do it to yourself."

"You're cruel, Mr. Ralven."

"I know." There was a pause. "Dalet…"

"Hn?"

"Seriously, this could get us into a lot of trouble. Somebody could mistake this for stolen technology. Lord Dilandau doesn't like to ask questions. The Sorcerers are on the ship right now, they might… you know… think it's theirs. Even if it's not, who says they won't say it is to get it themselves?"

"Now you're just being paranoid."

"I'm being practical. And I know how Lord Dilandau works."

"He won't touch us without reason. We're his elite."

"He didn't need much of a reason to beat you today."

"I was late."

"You're late all the time, Dalet. And that was, you know, a minor offence. This is near conspiracy."

"Why? We're not hurting anybody." Dalet sat up. "When are you going to stop being Lord Dilandau's absolute bitch?"

Chesta was offended.

"Because—" Chesta gripped the back of the chair. "—because he's our lord. He gave us our guymelefs, he makes us who we are, he's part of us. He's Dilandau." Lord Dilandau. Isn't that enough, Dalet?

Dalet's eyes clouded over. He was staring at the ceiling, mouth pulled into a firm line, serious with rare occasion. When the need arose, he could hide his thoughts with ease beneath a mask of faux anger.

Maybe even that mask of a smile. I don't know. Dalet isn't the depressive type. You never know these days. Damn it, doesn't he realize his place?

"I think you've been forgetting your place little by little, Dalet."

"What does that mean?"

"I mean…" Chesta stammered. Entering dangerous waters, part one. "Ever since you and Mig hooked up, you two have been getting a little… I don't know… independent. No, bad word choice." (Dalet's mouth thinned.) "A little… rebellious. I mean, yeah, you guys still obey, but your attitude…eh…"

"Sorry that I don't see myself as somebody's absolute and total bitch anymore."

"Dalet!"

Dalet glared at Chesta. "Migel and I are still loyal to Lord Dilandau to the very end."

"I—I never said that you weren't! Dalet—"

"Just because we don't worship the very ground he walks on, just because we see that other people can be as grand, just because we see that you don't have to be a goddamned god to demand any respect or love from anybody—we disagree with his methods. Hell, I fucking hate his methods, treating us like shit, and I'm still fucking loyal to him, Chesta. That's getting a fuck of a lot out of me, all right?"

"I…" Chesta swallowed. That went terribly. Oh shit, he's mad at me now. My roommate is pissed. Shit. Shit. Nice job, Chesta. You really fucked that over.

"Dalet, I'm sorry. I just—…" Chesta was hoping that Dalet would cut in before he had to say what he 'just', but Dalet was staring at him. Chesta swallowed. "I just… eh…"

"No, I understand, Chesta. Chesta Ralven, Dilandau's perfect little pet. Dilandau's favorite. Dilandau's little bitch."

"I am not!"

"I bet you're fucking with him, aren't you? Letting him abuse your body for whatever the hell he wants? He owns you that much?"

"I—" Chesta went red. "I most certainly am not! I have more self-respect than that!" And I'm not worthy. God, I'm not worthy for that.

"Do you? Do you really? Think for a moment, Chess. If Dilandau asked you to impale yourself with a burning stake and jump off the bridge over the Mystic Valley, you'd do it."

"Well… no, but wouldn't you for a good reason?"

Dalet gaped. "…you're fucking unbelievable."

"I'm not saying that I would, I'm just saying… well, in theory… if, say, it had to be done for some crazy reason for some mission or something—DALET!"

Dalet stood up and strode out of the room, slamming the door. The reverberations along the wood-over-stone walls numbed after time, spreading along the length and breadth of the room in a smooth wave. The System remained stable.

Chesta sighed heavily and rested his forehead on his folded arms. Oh Gods, now you've done it. Fucknook, indeed. He'll be back. Sooner or later, he has to be back. He always cools down. Fights like that don't resolve easily. At least he's quick to cool down.

Chesta was loathe to admit that his feelings had been sorely hurt, partially because he was aware of how close to the truth Dalet had ventured in assessing Chesta's self worth. It was near nil when association with Lord Dilandau was not factored into the equation, though Chesta was well aware of his deficit in self-confidence and spent considerable time trying to psyche himself into accumulating a greater degree. Dalet just had the courtesy to touch some very sore nerves.

It's all true, though. You know damn well it's true. You'd ford the ocean for him. You'd move mountains. You'd gladly surrender your body—stop that nonsense. This isn't the time for it. Calm down, man. Oh, but I'd love it. I'd love it so very much. It'll never happen, so you might as well jack off about it, you sick little freak.

The door opened.

Chesta looked up as the door closed, half-terrified that the newcomer could immediately see his thoughts written all over his face, etched into his burning cheeks. Guilt—arousal—shame—small degrees of self-disgust—

"Chesta? Where's Dalet?" asked Migel.

"Ah…" Chesta sat up and took a deep breath. Time to present yourself, soldier. "He—we had a spat, so he walked out in a huff. He should be back soon."

"Oh." Migel sighed and shook his head. "What about?"

"Typical stuff. I think he's a bloody crazy liar, things like that." And you're a bloody liar. Liar. Liar. Stop that. This is none of Migel's business, even though you indirectly talked about him. Liar.

"Wow, what a coincidence. I think he is too." Migel set the spool of wire and insulating tubing on the desk next to the System. "And I also think it's rather unlike him to get offended because we think one of his little fantasies is a bold-faced lie."

"Urm…"

Migel was staring straight at Chesta, trying to pry a confession of the true passing of events. Chesta swallowed and averted his eyes.

"I'll tell you later." Coward.