Chapter 27: Interrogations and Posturing
The interrogation room was clean and well lit. There were no chains, no bloodied instruments, and certainly no screams of other prisoners being tortured.
Security Chief Mahlo 'Turagg could tell that his prisoner was still confused by this. The diminutive unggoy doubtless expected a painful torture followed by an even more painful execution. Instead, he had been calmly and peacefully arrested, detained in a cell as clean and neat as the room he now sat in, and then brought to his current location to be questioned. He had been treated politely and non-violently by the guards that had escorted him. He had received decent food, a heated room, and timely replacement methane tanks. It was quite a contrast to the way prisoners were treated in the Covenant.
The security feed showed the unggoy, Ma-sam, fidgeting in his seat and glancing around the empty room nervously. 'Turagg decided that he had waited long enough. He left the security room and joined his prisoner. Ma-sam jumped as he entered the room. However, he calmed as he recognized 'Turagg from his previous visits.
The sangheili Security Chief grinned internally. He had his prey right where he wanted him.
"Hello again, Worker Ma-sam," he began in a polite, conversational tone. "Let's get those restraints off, yes?" 'Turagg removed the shackles from Ma-sam's wrists. The circles of contained energy blinked out of existence, leaving only a small emitter device which fell into 'Turagg's palm.
"Are you hungry? I understand it has been some time since you have eaten," the Security Chief continued. He sat down across the small, plain table from his prisoner. Even sitting down, he towered over the meter-tall sapient. He made sure that his posture and gestures were as non-threatening as possible to reduce the intimidation factor.
Ma-sam looked about to shake his head and decline food once again, but unlike in their previous visits he checked himself. He spoke hesitantly, quietly, as if afraid to incur the wrath of a whip. "If-if it is not burdensome, Master, I-I would like some nu-nutrient paste."
'Turagg grinned slightly and waved away his concerns. "It is no trouble at all, my friend," he said, taking out a communicator and signaling for some of the unggoy's usual feed. It arrived promptly. After a moments hesitation, and a nod of assent from 'Turagg, Ma-sam extended an emergency induction tube from his face mask and consumed his meal in a matter of seconds. Unggoy were accustomed to having their meals interrupted, by battle or fresh demands from their masters, and they had learned to eat swiftly to avoid empty bellies. The Security Chief waited patiently for him to finish before continuing. "I am happy to see your condition improving, Ma-sam. Perhaps now we should discuss your situation, yes?" Ma-sam froze. His eyes widened, seeming to extend down to the breath mask that covered his mouth and nose. The methane breather seemed about ready to hyperventilate in his respirator. 'Turagg held up a 4-fingered hand. "Peace, Ma-sam," he said in a calming tone. "If I intended you harm, rest assured you would have already received it. I simply wish to discuss your situation...And how you might go about improving it."
The unggoy stared at him still, but his breathing seemed to calm, at least. The Security Chief waited patiently for his subject to respond. It would not do for this interaction to be one-sided.
At last, after what seemed like an eternity, Ma-sam responded. "W-what is it that you want, Master?"
'Turagg spread his mandibles in another grin. He didn't make it too wide, though. He didn't want the diminutive creature to get too good a look at his sharp teeth.
"Please, Ma-sam, call me 'Chief 'Turagg'," he said, still using that calming tone. "You are a free unggoy now, remember? There are no slaves in the Arbiter's new nation." Wonder and disbelief filled the unggoy's eyes. Even after days of gentle treatment, he still clearly had a hard time shaking generations of conditioned fear and subservience. 'Turagg continued, "However, with your freedom comes responsibilities. Which you have recently broken."
The unggoy prisoner swallowed and paid nervous attention as the Security Chief laid out the facts. "You served in the capital, correct? As part of the Sanitation Guild?" Ma-sam nodded. "Recently, the Arbiter ventured into the wilderness to investigate a historical site of great significance. You knew of this journey, correct? It is no use denying it, friend. We intercepted the transmission you sent out. We know." Again with the trembling. "What we do not know, is why? Why would you betray the leader who has been so kind to you? He, who has given you so much? Hmm?" Silence.
Again, 'Turagg let out his practiced sigh. "You are being charged with high treason, Ma-sam. You know what penalty awaits you, correct?" More trembling. "I will take that as a yes. The question now is, what are you going to do moving forward?"
Ma-sam perked up at this. His eyes betrayed the faintest kindling of hope. He seemed unable to believe that there was anything he could do to avoid his fate, but there was clearly a part of him that was desperate to do so.
"Do not mistake me, friend," 'Turagg continued, "there will be no going back for you. Order must be maintained and treason must be punished. But..." he drew out the sentence, opening up a set of files on his pocket scribe, "there are still things you could accomplish. You have a number of pod-brothers, correct?" He was referring to the most common social group within unggoy society. The unggoy breathed methane, a rare feature within the Covenant and the Swords, necessitating the diminutive race to wear respirator's nearly everywhere they went. The only places they were free of them were the relatively small living areas, or 'pods', that were assigned to them. They were typically divided into units that housed roughly 20 individuals in order to avoid losing too many if there was an environmental systems failure.
The unggoy froze when 'Turagg mentioned the only family he had had since he came of age. He was clearly about to desperately plead for their lives when the Security Chief cut him off with the last thing he expected.
"Would you like them to be educated?" 'Turagg asked, to the unggoy's stunned disbelief. "I can see to it that they receive education in a craft. Many of them have been unable to acquire any significant instruction, correct? I imagine you were hoping to spread your knowledge to them when you returned."
There was a significant, pregnant pause.
"Yes, Ma—Chief 'Turagg. I was."
It took a significant amount of convincing, several more hours in fact, but Ma-sam finally came to believe that 'Turagg's offer was genuine. The flicker of hope in his eyes grew into a bright light. At last, they came to an agreement, and Ma-sam answered all questions posed to him.
Security Officer 'Turagg grinned internally. The interrogators of the Covenant would have applied horrific tortures to this unggoy in order to gain the information they sought. They would have wrenched their answers from screaming lips and then executed the subject anyway.
They would have failed.
'Turagg knew that torture was a horrendously ineffective means of gaining information. The subject would spout any nonsense, or agree to any prompts, that they thought would make the pain stop. This had been demonstrated time and again during his time in the Covenant, before the Great Schism and the formation of the Swords of Sanghelios. So many false answers, so much wasted time and spent lives. No. The gentle touch, the subtle manipulation, was far more effective.
Not that he was lying to the unggoy, of course. Ma-sam's pod-brothers would indeed receive an education. It would actually be part of an initiative that the Arbiter had been planning for some time. The official story would be that the unggoy in question had simply been randomly selected. This would prevent the spread of any notion that deals from Swords interrogators were not to be trusted while still allowing plausible deniability. Telling the truth would be far more appealing than trying to hold back or even lie.
This approach was less satisfying, admittedly, but it had proven undoubtedly more effective.
This was why the Swords of Sanghelios were winning, 'Turagg believed. They were capable of truly adapting—of recognizing the faults of the past and moving beyond them. The tactical cunning of the Storm Covenant was the equivalent of rearranging the living arrangements on a vessel venting atmosphere.
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"Halt, Neto 'Vadam!" Security Chief 'Turagg spoke. The sangheili he had addressed paused in the halls of the Arbiter's capital. He looked at the squad of elite warriors approaching him with disinterest.
"Greetings, Chief 'Turagg," he said with obvious condescension. "What is it that leads you to greet me so?"
'Turagg's mandibles clenched tightly to his face at the arrogance of this traitor. "You are charged with high treason against the Arbiter. You will submit yourself to arrest and stand immediate trial for your crimes." The unggoy Ma-sam had been good to his word. On his advice, 'Turagg had investigated Neto 'Vadam and found that the sangheili noble had ordered the unggoy to send a message to the Storm informing them of the Arbiter's voyage.
Revolution. That was the only possible objective. Neto, one of the Arbiter's few surviving blood relations, had planned on seizing control of the Swords of Sanghelios for himself. 'Turagg had dismissed him as a threat due to his lack of popularity amongst the warriors and the short list of allies he could rely upon.
What 'Turagg had not anticipated was Neto intercepting a message from the humans requesting permission to send a team of their own warriors to Sanghelios. Neto doubtless planned to recruit the humans assistance and use his new allies to maintain his hold on power. It was an utterly idiotic plan, of course. The sangheili would never accept one as Kaidon who had to rely upon the aid of outsiders to cement his rule.
Needless to say, Neto had never been quite as cunning as he thought he was. About the only competent part of this plan was how he had managed to conceal the humans' travels until they actually arrived on Sanghelios.
This had been entirely too close. The Arbiter was too proud to admit it, but he had very nearly died on his visit to the ancient and fabled Hall of the Elders. When the archeological expedition had sent back word of their discovery, 'Turagg had cautioned the Arbiter to delay his personal inspection. They couldn't spare the warriors to properly secure the site. His words, alas, had been in vain. His leader was insistent upon viewing a find of this significance at once. It was a symbol of everything they were trying to reclaim and everything they were trying to build anew.
All of these dreams had nearly been squashed by the idiot noble that was currently being shackled in front of him. Neto 'Vadam had a smug grin on his face as he submitted to arrest. "I assure you, this is a grave error," he said. "I am blood to the Arbiter himself. These ridiculous charges will never stand." Neto was referring to the long-standing taboo against a Kaidon prosecuting one of his own kin. No matter how obvious the crime, it always had to be the fault of someone other than the ruling family, preferably someone outside of the keep altogether. It was part of the highly elitist and sectarian nature of their society that had allowed the san 'shyuum to so effectively play them off of each other for so long. Neto was supremely confident in his immunity to punishment. "You will all pay for this."
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The assembled crowd cheered as the traitor Neto 'Vadam was decapitated. The Arbiter himself had swung the blade that ended the life of his own cousin. He turned and addressed the hovering drones that were broadcasting the public execution to all corners of his nation.
"Let this serve as a lesson to all: None are beyond the law. From the lowest of workers to my own kin, yay, even to my own person. All are subject to justice. All are accountable. For Sanghelios! For our future!"
The Arbiter raised his energy sword high into the air. Again, the people cheered, both those at the execution and those watching via viewscreen.
Mahkee 'Chava was among them. She was in the feeding hall, watching with the rest of her fellow prisoners. The guards had been instructed to allow all prisoners to view the execution and the Arbiter's brief speech. To see their leader declare that justice was for all, not merely the elite, was a powerful moment even for the condemned. It showed how unique the Arbiter was, how irreplaceable. No other leader would have had the courage and the honor to take such a stand.
The cheer turned into a chant. "Arbiter! Arbiter! Arbiter!" The combined voices drowned out all other noise.
This was the only reason Mahkee did not hear the prisoner sneaking up on her until he had snaked his arms under her armpits and locked his hands around the back of her neck. He dragged her toward the back of the room, flanked on either side by several of his comrades. The chanting of the other prisoners drowned out any roars of protest she may have uttered.
The enemy that was restraining her sniffed at her neck and growled hungrily. She doubted they would be brazen enough to violate her here, but there were other...indignities they could inflict. Mahkee waited until she could see, with her peripheral vision, that they had backed up to the wall. Another prisoner moved to stand in front of her.
Mahkee used the restraining hold as a lever to lift her legs off the floor and deliver a kick to the enemy in front of her.
Her powerful digitigrade legs shoved her enemy 2 meters back into one of the feed tables. Trays and food pellets went flying as he crashed over the table surface.
The kick also had the opposite reaction of pushing her captor back into the wall. He grunted as the air was forced from his lungs. His grip weakened. Mahkee threw her head back, hitting him directly on the snout. She could smell his blood spill out of his nostrils. His grip weakened further.
Mahkee broke free.
Another assailant attempted to grapple her from the side. Mahkee pivoted, delivering several vicious body strikes as she maneuvered around his grab. Her enemy collapsed to one knee. Mahkee pivoted again and delivered a quick chop to his neck. He fully collapsed to the floor.
By this point, the rest of the room had taken note of the combat that had broken out in their midst. A ring of spectators had formed around them. Mahkee could hear some of them betting on the outcome.
"Ten shells against the bitch"
"Three shells on no-egg. She's got a lot of pent up energy to throw around, you understand?"
"Five shells on Nevo. He's been waiting to teach that uppity wench her place for cycles."
Always the same, Mahkee growled silently.
What was left of her attackers moved into position. Fine. They wanted to see what a female warrior could do, she would show them.
A siren pierced the air within the feeding hall. Every sangheili present fell silent and stood at attention.
Well, all those that were still capable of it. Mahkee grinned in satisfaction.
A zealot marched into the crowd, flanked by a pair of guards. He examined those at the heart of the brawl. He lingered particularly on the one who had grabbed Mahkee, mostly because of the blood that continued to leak from his nostril slits. His eyes then zeroed in on Mahkee. She stood tall, refusing to buckle under his stare.
"Who, pray tell, decided to interrupt the Arbiter's transmission with petty squabbles?"
No one spoke. Least of all Mahkee. The other members of her profession may treat her with disdain, but she was no informant. Besides, finger pointing would only make people less willing to respect her.
The zealot waited several moments for an answer. Eventually, he clicked his lower mandibles in a shrug, and ordered all present to return to their quarters.
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"Pilot Mahkee 'Chava," a voice called from outside Mahkee's cell. It was a zealot. The same one from the brawl earlier in the week, in fact, once again accompanied by a pair of guards. Mahkee got up from her bunk and looked at the superior officer through the shimmering energy barrier. The barrier abruptly disappeared."You are summoned. Follow me." The zealot's words were as free of emotion as they were of room to debate. Mahkee nodded and followed the him out of the room. She hoped that now she would be able to find out just what was going on, and whether she would be allowed to return to duty. Her spirit ached at the thought that all of her labors would come to nothing due to some infraction.
Unexpectedly, they stopped next to a bathroom. The zealot nodded to his subordinate, who removed a small parcel from his pack. He handed it to Mahkee. Upon opening it, she found...sanitary wipes and face paint.
"You will take these supplies and make yourself presentable," the officer said. He grimaced as he examined her disheveled appearance. "Move swiftly. He who has summoned you is not one to be kept waiting."
Mahkee suppressed a scowl. She nodded once more and entered the bathroom, moving toward the mirror on the far side. She used the sanitary wipes to clean her face as well as possible. She sighed as she opened the container of face paint. She dipped her fingers in and began the laborious process of applying the appropriate markings to her facial features. She needed to spend an obscene amount of time every day preparing her physical appearance. She reflected on the fact that none of the male warriors were required to do any such thing.
Nearly two-quarters of an hour later, Mahkee's appearance was what current society would deem 'presentable'. She closed the container and left the bathroom. The zealot examined her for a moment before nodding. Good enough. She was careful not to allow her annoyance to show on her face as they moved out once more. She had learned early on in her career that such displays would only worsen her situation.
The journey to the interrogation room was uneventful. The corridors were bare and entirely empty. It occurred to her that this was strange. There should have been at least some people moving about the place. She noticed that the guards outside what she took to be the door to her interrogation room were unusually heavily armed and armored. She was thoroughly searched prior to being ushered into the room. To her relief, the guards were at least professional enough not to grope her as they did so. She entered the room.
The door closed behind her and Mahkee was alone with her interrogator. For a moment, she didn't recognize him. Not because she didn't know who he was. Rather, because her mind could not accept that she was alone in a room with him. Her hero. Her leader.
The Arbiter.
The supreme leader of the Swords of Sanghelios examined her closely. "I take it you are Mahkee 'Chava?"
Abruptly, Mahkee remembered herself. She snapped to attention and pressed her fist to her chest in a salute, bowing her head so deeply that she actually lost sight of her idol. She was in such a rush to show her leader appropriate respect that she effectively punched herself with her salute. She would doubtless have quite a bruise.
It was nothing less than she deserved. She could feel her scales discolor slightly as she imagined the wide-eyed, slack-jawed, idiotic expression that must have been on her face.
The Arbiter returned her salute. "Please, have a seat," the Arbiter said. She nodded enthusiastically and sat on the firm padding across the low table from her host. She could scarcely believe it. She was having a conversation with the Arbiter himself! She couldn't wait to tell her friends.
"It is my understanding that you are responsible for the...unusual reinforcements that came to my aid," the Arbiter said after they had both sat down. Mahkee grew nervous.
"Yes, Arbiter," she replied hesitantly. "I knew that there were no other units in range. I apologize if the presence of the outlanders was offensive in any way."
"That remains to be seen," the Arbiter began. "What concerns me for the moment is the fact that you received the distress call at all. It was on a highly ranked channel. Only those far above your station are permitted to monitor it." He looked directly into her eyes. "I examined your record. Those who have commended your skills are among my greatest and most trusted trainers. You are an accomplished and loyal warrior, clearly qualified beyond your current rank. I wonder why you broke protocol in such a way."
Mahkee's blood ran cold. She resisted the urge to swallow.
"Arbiter, I know that my actions were in violation," she replied in an apologetic tone. "I found the orders from my superior, Neto, to be...strange. I knew him to be a cowardly and ambitious man," she spat, "and I feared that he may have been plotting some treachery. I knew that it would do no good to voice my concerns without proof, so I monitored the frequency that he had expressly forbidden me to listen to."
The Arbiter studied her for a moment. Mahkee began to sweat. "I believe that you saw his disloyalty," he said, "but I detect something else behind your words. There is some other aspect of his nature that you found offensive, no?"
There was a moment of silence. Mahkee knew better than to voice her complaints. However, she knew that it would be far more foolish to try to deceive the Arbiter. She chastised herself once again, this time for thinking she could conceal something from the greatest of the sangheili.
"Yes, Arbiter," she said hesitantly. "Neto was...a poor superior. He took offense at females being allowed to occupy the positions of warriors. He would often mock and belittle me, and encourage others in his service to do the same. He routinely gave me duties beneath my station. I believe he also held me back from advancement in the ranks for no reason other than my sex."
There. It was said.
The Arbiter examined her once again. Mahkee could feel her pulse pounding as she awaited his response. Would he believe her? Would he dismiss her as a liar, as so many others had done? Would he punish her all the more severely for her accusations?
The moments dragged on as the Arbiter continued to examine her. Mahkee felt as if he were probing every corner of her soul, looking for deception of any kind. When he finally spoke it was slowly, cautiously. "Perhaps you speak the truth," he began. "However, your violation of protocol and rank cannot go unpunished. I am hereby restricting your access to recreation and docking you a month's salary. However, I am also reinstating you to active service and assigning you to be the chief escort of the Spartans that you brought here. They will remain on Sanghelios until I decide to permit them to leave."
At first, Mahkee was devastated. She would have to look after humans?This seemed like yet another menial assignment inflicted upon her. After a moment's reflection, however, she realized the great duty she was being entrusted with. These were the first sapient beings outside of the sangheili government to be permitted upon Sanghelios in millenia. She would be responsible both for their protection and the protection of all they may harm or offend. The 'punishment' was merely a pretense to give her the chance to truly prove herself. She forced her face into a solemn expression.
"I understand, Arbiter. I accept my punishment with gratitude for your mercy."
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Massive double doors opened in front of Spartan Locke. He walked into the long room, flanked on both sides by the most heavily armed and armored sangheili he had ever seen. The doors shut behind them. He knew that they were silent, but he could swear he heard them slam shut with the finality of a coffin's lid.
Really wish I hadn't agreed to meet the Arbiter alone, Locke thought with unease. The rest of Osiris was waiting in the military base they had been sequestered in while their squad leader was escorted to the Arbiter's palace.
The party moved toward the front of the long room. Ornate tapestries adorned the walls. Significant moments in the history of the sangheili species were depicted in luxurious detail. The great deeds of Arbiters past were a common topic. Burgundy was, naturally, the predominant color, but the entire spectrum seemed to be represented, with particular attention to gold, silver, and purple.
The final tapestry depicted the last major battle of the so-called 'Great Schism'. The Arbiter stood proudly, sword in hand, above the slain corpse of the Prophet of Truth. The leader of the san 'shyuum religious species, and the architect of the attempted extermination of the sangheili race, had indeed been killed by the Arbiter himself. However, there was a rather glaring omission: the presence of the Master Chief.
The legendary Spartan had fought alongside the Arbiter in that final battle. It was entirely correct to say that the sangheili would have lost without human assistance. It didn't surprise Locke that they would choose to leave out that little detail.
Ungrateful pricks, Locke thought.
The architecture was similarly ornate. There were arches of curved stone and a high ceiling covered in artistry. The room was lit by large windows on one side, giving a natural quality to the ostentatious style. There was no mistaking it: this was a room meant to impress.
However, Locke could see the emitters for the energy barriers that would block the windows in case of an emergency. It seemed that they were not so invincible, after all. Locke grinned internally. He couldn't afford to show his pleasure with his helmet currently attached to his utility belt.
They made it to the front of the room at last. Before him was a raised portion of the floor. On top of it was a throne. Unlike the rest of the room, the throne was fairly utilitarian. It featured a simple, un-cushioned seat of gray metal, with a similarly bare back. The chair looked strong enough to take a hit from a rocket launcher without scratching. It seemed that the ornamentation of the throne room did not extend to the ruler himself. Locke wondered what that was meant to signify.
Atop the throne was the Arbiter.
The sangheili head of state sat with an upright posture. His hands lay restlessly on the armrests of his throne. Sunlight reflected off of the silver plates of his traditional armor. His deactivated energy sword rested within easy reach on the right armrest. He watched Locke expectantly.
The Spartan stood straight and placed his fist against his chest in a salute. Had he been a member of the Swords of Sanghelios, he would have knelt to the floor. In fact, the rules of sangheili propriety probably demanded he do that anyway.
Locke didn't care.
There was no way in hell he would bow to any sangheili. Ever.
Thankfully, the Arbiter seemed satisfied with Locke's show of respect. He nodded and Locke took that as permission to drop the salute. "Greetings, Spartan," the Arbiter said. He rose out of his chair and placed his energy sword on his hip. "Come with me," he said, moving toward a high table in a small alcove on the side of the room.
Locke followed, more uneasy than ever. They both took up positions on opposite sides of the table. On it was projected a map of Sanghelios. The burgundy colored portion representing Swords territory was larger than the purple representing the Storm by several orders of magnitude. It seemed the sangheili civil war was just about over.
Good, Locke thought. He may dislike the sangheili in general, but the Storm were a special brand of scum. He'd lost people to those monsters. People who had lived through the darkest days of the War only to get offed by the bastard offspring of the Covenant. Locke forced himself to focus on the present.
The Arbiter spoke first. "Tell me, Spartan, what do you think of my people's homeworld?"
Honesty was out of the question. Locke was sorely tempted to respond, 'It would be lovely if it weren't for all the split-lipped freaks,' but his own catharsis would not be worth the damage.
"It's beautiful. A true gem of the stars," he said. That seemed to be the safest option.
The Arbiter examined him for a moment, seeming somehow unsatisfied with the response. "I must confess, the path your life has taken is an...interesting one, Spartan Locke."
That was not something he had expected. Was the sangheili saying that he had heard of Locke, specifically? "What do you know of my life, Arbiter?"
"I know that you once advocated for my assassination," the sangheili responded. "I also know that, had the War not ended when it did, you would have been the one sent to accomplish it."
Silence.
"If I asked how you knew that," Locke replied after several seconds, "would I receive an honest answer?"
"Honest, yes," the Arbiter replied, grinning, "Complete, no. Suffice it to say that my spy ring is more extensive than you may realize. Agent Locke."
Another silence. Locke stared with a stone face, careful to give nothing away. The sangheili couldn't possibly know of his true allegiance. There was just no way. This had to be a bluff; a shot in the dark meant to trick him into revealing something.
The part about Locke advocating the Arbiter's assassination back in the Human-Covenant War was true, though. As was the part about him being the likely candidate to carry it out. He had pushed for the privilege, actually.
Locke recognized the game the Arbiter was playing. The throne room showed that the Swords of Sanghelios had wealth. The guards, armor, and map showed they had military might. Now, the Arbiter was showing that ONI, an organization that prided itself on Intelligence ans secrecy, had somehow let slip very...uncomfortable information.
"Fair enough," Locke replied, deciding not to pursue an avenue of discussion in which he had a disadvantage. "But it's Spartan Locke, now." It wouldn't do to confirm his true allegiance. "Will my past in regard to you prove a hindrance to our cooperation, Arbiter?"
To his surprise, the Arbiter laughed. A sangheili laugh was a loud, guttural thing, half roar and half snort. It was rather unpleasant, in Locke's opinion.
"Not at all!" the sangheili said. "In fact, I like you better for it. Assassinating an enemy commander in wartime is simply good strategy. Besides, I would be lying if I said that I am not flattered to have been considered formidable enough a foe to warrant direct targeting. You showed admirable perception, Spartan Locke."
This pissed Locke off more than anything else he'd experienced since he got there.
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"So we get to stay?" Vale asked in an irritatingly hopeful tone. She and the rest of Osiris were being briefed on what Locke and the Arbiter had decided upon in their meeting.
"That is correct, Spartan Vale," Locke replied with a sigh. She really was getting on his nerves with that enthusiasm of hers. "Pilot Mahkee 'Chava will be will be our escort and guide for the duration," he said, gesturing to the female sangheili standing beside him.
"You have been assigned quarters in one of the smaller, ancillary barracks," she said, gesturing to a corner of the extensive permanent military base they were currently standing in. "You will remain there until you are cleared to search for your missing warriors."
The news that Guardians were activating had been kept secret. The Guardians had been incorporated into sangheili mythology as harbingers of the apocalypse and it had been decided that notifying the public of their presence might destabilize things just when they were getting settled. Locke had also sold the Arbiter the cover story that a renegade group of Spartans, whom Locke had left anonymous, was attempting to harness the Guardians for their own purposes. It was the hunt for these errant warriors that served as the official explanation for their presence. That would be the stated reason for why Osiris was accompanying survey teams heading out and scanning the planet. The rank and file would think they were looking for humans, while they were also scanning for the Guardian.
Mahkee continued to instruct Osiris on the current situation. "You may settle yourselves into your quarters now. I will contact you over you comms when it is time to depart on the first search. Know, however, that you will be watched." Locke nodded in confirmation. Mahkee moved to take her leave.
"Pilot 'Chava, wait," Vale said. The sangheili paused. "I wondered if I might converse with you. There is much I wish to know about your world and your life."
Mahkee stared at her, nonplussed. "...I suppose that would be acceptable. It must be later, though, as I have duties to which I must attend." Vale nodded in agreement. Mahkee finally left.
"See somethin' you like?" Buck joked. Vale punched him on the shoulder.
"Oh, hush," she said. "You get ahead in life by making friends, Buck, not enemies."
Agree to disagree on that one, Locke thought with a mental snort.
The members of Fireteam Osiris then carried their gear, including food and personal hygiene tools, to their new quarters.
"I'm impressed the Arbiter has females in his ranks," Vale prattled on. "War has traditionally been a male's role amongst the sangheili."
"We know, Vale," Tanaka replied, rolling her eyes. "We've read the files, too, remember?"
Vale blushed a bit behind her visor. "Right. Sorry. Just a little excited, is all."
"Remind me not to let you drink any coffee while we're here, okay?" Buck joked. Now it was Vale that rolled her eyes. Locke wondered if their humor was an attempt to mask their unease about being amongst the sangheili, or if they really were this stupid.
Fireteam Osiris arrived to find their barracks still under construction. Patches of the walls and floors had been torn up and piping was lying about in stacks. From what he could tell, the workers were installing some kind of plumbing system into what were obviously showers and a latrine.
What surprised Locke, almost to the point of being speechless, were the workers themselves. A half-dozen sangheili workers were hard at work...under the direction of an unggoy supervisor.
"No, no, not there!" the unggoy all but shouted in the high-pitched tone common to his kind. "The 5-cm piping goes to the right!" Rather than crush the impertinent pip-squeak as Locke would expect, the sangheili worker apologized and moved to follow the unggoy's direction. Locke had known that some unggoy were helping in job retraining programs to advance sangheili independence, but he hadn't quite believed it until now.
A pang of annoyance shot through Locke as he realized they had been assigned a half-complete room. This had to be an intentional insult.
The unggoy looked at some kind of device attached to his wrist. "Alright, guys, time for the mid-day meal. I expect you all back here in 1 hour, understood?" The sangheili workers responded in the affirmative.
"Excuse me," Locke moved forward and addressed the unggoy. He had no interest in waiting for these people to finish up and get the hell out of his quarters. If the diminutive, meter-tall alien was intimidated by Locke's size or surprised by his species, he didn't show it. "We're Fireteam Osiris. These are supposed to be our quarters."
"Yeah, I heard about you guys," he responded. "Name's Sub-Coordinator Drab-Lim. Sorry for the delay, but Guild rules dictate a mandatory break at least once every 6 hours. We'll get back to work as soon as mid-day meal is over. Should only take a couple hours once we're back on it."
Definitely an intentional insult.
"There isn't any way to speed things up?" Locke growled out. Once again, if the unggoy noticed anything out of the ordinary, he didn't show it.
"Sorry, bud, but rules are rules," he replied.
"I'm sure your people can make an exception for visiting dignitaries," Locke ground out. He moved closer so that he was staring down at the pip-squeak. He was not going to be humiliated by an unggoy.
Drab-Lim seemed to swallow under his breathing mask. For a moment, it looked like he was going to cave. Then, he rallied and stared Locke dead in the eyes. "We're moving as fast as we can, sir. You can only push a worker for so long before the quality of their work starts to suffer. We'll get right back to work—after we rest up."
This was unbelievable. Locke was about to cut the little alien down to size when a typed message appeared on his visor. His display identified it as coming from Vale.
Sir, this is probably a test. If we treat the Arbiter's people unfairly we'll probably be penalized, Sir.
Locke grit his teeth. She was right. It probably was a test. He couldn't just let this go, though. This little prick needed to be put in his place.
There was a long, drawn out silence as Locke and Drab-Lim stared at each other.
"So, um, Sub-Coordinator Drab-Lim," Vale spoke up. Both Locke and the 'Sub-Coordinator' turned to look at her. She continued, "I noticed that all of this piping looks new. If I may ask, why wasn't there any plumbing earlier?
The unggoy seemed to recognize this as an attempt to break the stalemate peacefully. He shook his head and began an explanation, pointedly not looking in Locke's direction the entire time. "You should have seen this place when I first got here. It was mostly constructed back in the early days, right after the Great Schism ended. The big bosses were still trying to get the huragok to do all the planning. They gave the smart gas-bags a fairly detailed description of what they needed. Problem was, nobody mentioned a plumbing or sanitation system. Those military types just...didn't think of it." He shook his head. "You believe they'd built almost this entire fortress before anybody noticed they hadn't installed any toilets or showers? The place was a mess. Literally. They had to have runners transporting containers of waste and dumping it in big ditch outside the perimeter. I tell ya, the huragok are brilliant engineers, but they've got no minds for planning. Tell 'em to build ya something, they can give ya a perfect example of whatever ya want. Tell 'em to design something for ya, you've got nothing but a mess."
"This is all fascinating, really," Locke interjected sarcastically, "but just what are we supposed to do while we wait?"
The 'Sub-Coordinator' seemed to think for a minute. "There's a bare patch of ground over that way that the warriors use for exercises. Maybe you could go there, do whatever it is you warrior types do to stay sharp?" Locke considered stepping on him. He decided not to, but only because of Vale's words. "Look, I'd love to talk, but I've got to go on break, too. Be back soon." The unggoy then turned his back on them and waddled away. Locke considered punting him like a football, but decided that his white outfit would make the bootprint too obvious.
Locke wondered how long it would take to find the Guardian and, thus, the Spartans IIs. However long it turned out to be, it wouldn't be soon enough for him.
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
"Found it."
The other members of Blue Team paused.
"Say that again," the Master Chief ordered.
"We found the Guardian," Fred repeated. He had been the one the Chief placed in charge of the task of locating the Guardian, as he had the most expertise in technological matters. "The Arbiter's people intercepted some Storm transmissions that make clear reference to it. They used that to narrow down the search area and then cross-referenced that with our readings. We know where the Guardian is."
"So what's stopping you from just telling us?" Linda spoke up. The Chief got the impression that he wasn't going to like this.
"It's in Sunaion," Fred clarified. "the new capital of the Storm Covenant."
Note: In the game, the Arbiter seems pissed that Locke wanted to assassinate him during the War. This doesn't make any sense to me. Assassination is a time honored tradition is sangheili culture. Plus, they were in the middle of a War. Would the Arbiter really feel broken up about his enemy wanting to kill him?
Note: The bit about Fred being a technical expert wasn't set up well. This is one of the drawbacks of posting a fanfiction as I write rather than as one solid piece. If this were a regular novel I could go back and change stuff; as it is, I kind of just have to plop it in here out of nowhere. I originally had Linda fulfilling this role, but then I realized I was making her an expert sniper AND a master spy AND a computer genius. Spartan or not, that's just too many things for one person to be.
Thanks for reading. Love you guys.
Slipspace Anomaly