Chapter Two

September 14

In orbit around Jupiter

This damned hum would drive him insane, sooner or later.

The Exceptional Truth was a magnificent vessel, yes, and he was privileged beyond words to command it, but the engines were loud, louder than the corvettes and cruisers he was used to, and he hadn't been here long enough to tune it out. He felt embarrassed with himself for his lack of appreciation. At his age, for Shipmaster Rtyro 'Madacam to be entrusted with a supercarrier was almost unheard of. His career had been meteoric – that was the way with runts, an elder had said. They either fall or they soar. There is no in-between. Get it right, he knew, and his bloodline would be secured for generations. But 'getting it right' would start by not stumbling in this, the most important exchange of words he was ever about to engage in.

'Madacam had donned his ceremonial armour, brightest and most glorious white, entirely sealing his body. He was glad of this – since birth, he had been burdened by deformity, lacking a mandible, and he couldn't possibly bear this imperfection now. Not when a Holy Prophet was about to grace his communications room. What they had found here, fruit of a series of blind jumps by the Fleet of Brilliant Providence intended to test the Exceptional Truth's newly repaired slipspace drive, demanded their attention – he had dared to say as much, to insist on the news being passed up the chain of authority until it reached High Charity's throne room, and to his eternal relief they had listened. Now, he waited for the honour of being in the Presence.

Having been kneeling for several minutes, waiting and waiting for his esteemed guest's hologram to flicker into view, all 'Madacam had in this intensely private place were his own thoughts. Impatience, born of a belief that turning up on time was a basic expectation even of a Prophet, intruded in his mind, and he tried to push it away. Whatever a Prophet did, no matter what it was, was good. They were the mouths and tongues and hearts of the Gods. What would he say, he wondered, when he arrived? 'Madacam had news which he hadn't quite believed – that, in this uncharted system, which they had come across completely at random, lay a world positively brimming with relics of the Gods. And he, Rtyro 'Madacam, whom all had written off, whom all thought unworthy of his post, who had even begun to doubt his own position, had found it. Well, no, an anonymous squad of Unggoy operating the scanners had technically found it, but that was quite irrelevant.

Finally, there came a flash of blue light, and 'Madacam closed his eyes, bowing his head as deeply as it could go, ready and waiting. Despite all he knew of doctrine, he couldn't help but open his eyes again, safely hidden by his helmet, and watch as a hologram swished and shifted into a form. And then, quite suddenly, made up of brightest blue-white light, was his guest, splendour personified in robes and throne, bulbous head, slender, serpentine neck, gangly and frail but with the most piercing and wise of eyes. In those eyes, though 'Madacam, lived all he knowledge of the universe.

"Holy Prophet of Grief," said 'Madacam, his voice deepened and amplified by his helmet, for, unlike in Sangheili culture, it was proper to speak first when addressing a Prophet. It didn't feel right. "I am honoured by your presence. I am unworthy."
"You may stand, Shipmaster." He could have shivered – the voice of a Prophet passing through his body somehow felt different from any other voice he had felt. He obeyed, reminding himself that too much humility only became humiliation. He was still a Shipmaster – and, more importantly, of Sangheilios. His brothers would never let him forget showing weakness – not even in front of a Prophet – and he ought never permit it. Weakness was not how he came to command a supercarrier.. "I have been made aware of your discovery. It is quite a find."
"Yes, Noble Hierarch." Unsure of whether to extrapolate, he chose to play it safe. One wrong word, one moment out of turn, and it was a lifetime fishing for swampcray for him. If he was lucky.
"How did you come to find this place?" The Prophet's voice was so slow, so calculated, as if considering his every word. "We have scoured the galaxy for generations. We would be lucky to find one relic over the course of a lifetime. Now, you claim to have found a world itself
"Luck, Noble Hierarch." Grief seemed amused by that candour. "I do not claim any skills beyond my station."
"Nor should you, Shipmaster, but, clearly, your luck is a blessing for us all. Or so it would seem."
"Your grace?"
"I'm sure you thought your discovery would be a watershed for our Covenant – and you were right. But these past few days, I have learned things which could spell doom for us all. This pale little world holds things far beyond our comprehension." 'Madacam felt a growing sense of nerves. "Listen carefully, Shipmaster. Your discovery must remain a secret."
"But…" 'Madacam froze. That mere word, said in reply to a Prophet, was heresy. And yet he pushed onwards. "...what of the other Hierarchs?"
"Not even they can know what you have found."
"I don't understand, Noble Hierarch. What you say is…" No. He couldn't say that – no matter how true it might be. But a Prophet could.
"Heresy?" The word was an explosion in the room. 'Madacam couldn't speak. Horror was bubbling inside him. He sensed that he was becoming a pawn in a game beyond his comprehension. How could they do this with such a discovery? This wasn't the will of the Gods. But who was he to interpret their will? "Yes, Shipmaster, yes. I speak heresy. But I have learned a terrible truth. One which none in our Covenant are ready to confront. Not even my fellow Prophets."
"Noble Hierarch," replied 'Madacam, his voice building, almost to a confrontational pitch, "I cannot conceal this discovery. To do so would be the highest treason. It is of too great value-"
"No." Grief interrupted him, coldly and with total authority. 'Madacam fell silent. "You cannot know what I have learned, Shipmaster, but you must not doubt me. The very survival of our faith is in the balance."
"I was never led to believe that our faith's survival was a matter of concern," said 'Madacam. "It is eternal and endless."
"Only with the efforts of the faithful," replied Grief.
"Yes, Noble Hierarch… yes." 'Madacam felt a terrible coldness all around him.
"This world must be searched and every relic found and retrieved. When you are done, you must leave, and that planet turned to glass. None can ever know what was here."
"There are indigenous inhabitants present on the planet, holy prophet."
"I am aware, Shipmaster. Do you balk at violence? I would have expected better from such an esteemed warrior."
"Of course not, your grace." He bristled at the accusation. "I only wish to point out that I cannot be certain I have the necessary forces to subdue them. They may present an obstacle to our reclamations."

"Not at all," said Grief with certainty. "Your fleet is a match for some pre-industrial tribes."
"I believe they have advanced beyond that stage," 'Madacam said.
"Irrelevant," Grief snapped. "Whatever these beings are, they are inferior to your forces, yes?" It was not a 'yes?' you could say no to.
"Yes, noble hierarch." He ought to add more, nonetheless. Be assertive in the face of this Prophet refusing to act like one. "They do not even appear to have made landfall on their neighbouring planets. Their technology cannot withstand us."
"Good. Then we need not concern ourselves with these primitives, do we, Shipmaster?"
"No, your grace."
"Then excavation of any holy relics can begin immediately. I entrust you, Shipmaster, to see the task done. Do as I command and your place on the Great Journey will be assured. But if not…" He dawdled on the words, as if savouring them. "I can only promise you darkness."
"Yes, holy prophet." Grief's hologram flickered and vanished.

Though the Prophet was gone, still 'Madacam stood there, rooted to the spot, considering all which had just transpired. Like it or not, he was now party to a conspiracy – things were taking place in High Charity of which he had no knowledge, and they would manipulate him and use him and he would never know for certain how and why. It was better to submit to this new reality, he supposed, but still the stubbornness which had risen him so high refused to calm.

'Madacam thought for a moment. His fleet could deploy, all told, approximately three hundred thousand troops. His resources were finite. Any more could only come with reinforcements – and, were he to send for them, he would surely reveal this world's existence to the wider Covenant. Grief had forbidden that. Even in normal circumstances, to call for help would be taken as an admission that he had failed. Even to claim that he miscalculated, that the mission simply required more than he had, would be an unacceptable loss of face. 'Madacam felt himself trapped in a situation where he couldn't succeed – only by doing as he was told, by reverting to the basic instincts of the Covenant and trusting on faith, might he feel comfortable. But what comfort was to be found in going against the Prophets? It was a basic tenet of the faith that you obeyed them – and now obeying all had become an impossibility. Some would have to be deceived. He could refuse Grief's orders, return to High Charity, even reveal those orders – but what fate waited for him and his bloodline, then, were that to prove a miscalculation?

Slowly, 'Madacam returned to the bridge, taking his seat, aware of his crew's watchful eyes and too distracted to order them to focus on their duties.
"Bring the fleet to full readiness," he said, at last. "Prepare to deploy. We will make for the third world at the soonest possibility. The time has come, brothers." He wondered if they heard the doubt in his voice. They'd never dare question him – only in their minds, where the wildest fires could burn, where he questioned a Holy Prophet, now. Doubt could not co-exist with faith. 'Madacam knew he would have to choose one or the other; but, deep down, in the pits of his soul, he knew that, really, one of them would choose him. And he already knew which.

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