Halo: Contact Harvest (15 page)

The case involved a complaint by an Unggoy distillers’ union that faulty atmospheric controls aboard Kig-Yar merchant vessels had tainted multiple batches of infusions—recreational narcotics Unggoy added to their portable methane supplies. At first glance the dispute seemed trivial, which was undoubtedly why it ended up on Fortitude’s docket. But as he delved deeper, he discovered the contamination had resulted in widespread Unggoy sterility.

At the time of the case, the Covenant had passed many peaceful ages, and a growing Unggoy population had put pressure on the habitats they shared with Kig-Yar. Strained at the best of times, relations between the two species took a turn for the worst as female Kig-Yar were displaced from their nests—relocations that stressed incubation cycles and caused a spike in Kig-Yar infant mortality. Fortitude advised his superiors that the tainting of infusions was bold vigilantism—an attempt by radical Kig-Yar Shipmasters who believed Unggoy births were causing Kig-Yar deaths to mete out their own justice.

Much to Fortitude’s surprise, the Minister of Concert chose not to impose any of his recommended stiff penalties. Fines were assessed and damages paid, but the guilty Shipmasters avoided imprisonment. Indeed, after making repairs to their vessels and proving they were safe, the Ministry allowed them back in service.

Fortitude held no special place in his heart for Unggoy. But a strong sense that justice had not been served led him to lodge a formal complaint. His superiors rebuffed him, arguing that a few thousand impotent Unggoy wasn’t worth doing anything that might enflame the Kig-Yar’s endemic autonomous urge.
The Unggoy would soon recoup their losses,
Fortitude’s superiors had concluded,
and in the meantime, any junior who cared about the progress of his career would be wise to shut his lips.

No one had known that the Infusion Incident, as it came to be known, was the most important of many small grievances that precipitated the Unggoy Rebellion, a civil war that ushered in the Covenant’s 39th Age of Conflict, and brought about a radical restructuring of the Covenant armed forces.

In the short but nasty fight that resulted in the near-razing of the Unggoy home world, the creatures proved that properly motivated, they were vicious fighters. Honoring a tradition of welcoming the best of their defeated foes into their ranks, the same Sangheili commanders that crushed the rebellion were quick to forgive the surviving Unggoy fighters. They gave them better training and weapons and integrated them into formerly all-Sangheili units—actions that elevated the methane-breathers from cannon fodder to competent infantry.

Some San ’Shyuum had lingering doubts about the Unggoy’s loyalty. But the Writ of Union was very clear:
security matters were the Sangheili’s responsibility.
And if the Prophets had learned anything about keeping their prideful protectors happy, it was the importance of letting them preserve as many of their pre-Covenant traditions as possible. Even in his youth, Fortitude had understood that while something like the Unggoy Rebellion might temporarily destabilize the Covenant, a Sangheili revolt would shatter it.

A vertical line of triangular holographic symbols flashed above one of Fortitude’s armrests, jarring him from his thoughts. The symbols were letters from the Covenant’s common written language, and he immediately recognized the name they announced. “Whatever you must say, Vice Minister.” Fortitude pressed one of his throne’s switches to accept the incoming signal. “Endeavor to keep your voice low.”

The symbols dispersed, and in their place a San’Shyuum appeared in miniature. Even in holographic form it was easy to see that the Vice Minister of Tranquility was many ages Fortitude’s junior. His skin was darker—more brown than tan—and his wattle wasn’t heavy enough to have sagged all the way to his chin. Two of the fleshy balls hung from the corners of his mouth. These were pierced with golden loops—a rakish affectation popular with male San’Shyuum who had not yet committed to a single mate.

“Is it too early?” The Vice Minister sat far forward in his cushionless chair, his fingers wrapped tightly around its dull metal armrests. “I would have called last evening, were it not for the conclave.” Tranquility paused, his large, glassy eyes almost bursting from his head. Then, in a jumbled failure of propriety: “I wonder if this morning—
now,
in fact—it would be possible to meet and discuss something of vital—”

Fortitude cut the Vice Minister off with an impatient wave. “I haven’t checked my schedule. But I’m sure it is quite full.”

“I will be brief, you have my word,” Tranquility persisted. “In fact it’s not so much what I have to
say
as what I have to
show
you.” His fingers drummed against his chair’s armrests and his image was suddenly replaced by a single Forerunner glyph—a Lumination, Fortitude realized, his slumped shoulders stiffening with shock.

Unlike the triangular symbols, the sacred glyphs weren’t used in everyday discourse. Indeed, some were so hallowed—the concepts they represented so powerful—that their usage was strictly proscribed.
And the one this
idiot
had just flashed for all to see,
Fortitude cursed,
was the most sacred and dangerous of all!

“In my chambers! Immediately!” Fortitude slammed his palm onto his chair, blanking the glyph and ending the conversation. He resisted the urge to max his chair’s acceleration, knowing this would only draw more attention. Massaging his throbbing head, he continued his steady, counterclockwise ascent to his Ministry’s tower, arriving a short while later at a broad vestibule in an upper floor.

Fortitude wasn’t in the habit of socializing with his staff, and now he paid them even less consideration than usual. That didn’t stop their shows of deference, however, and Fortitude had to carve his way through his kowtowing juniors’ feeble chairs, expending what little patience he had on common courtesy.

The vestibule channeled into a large gallery lined with hallways leading off to the staffers’ work clusters. In between these exits floated slightly more than life-size statues of Fortitude’s predecessors. These were carved from stones quarried from High Charity’s rocky base and “dressed” in holographic robes that scrolled with symbolic histories of their wearers’ many notable accomplishments.

On the far side of the gallery was a vertical shaft guarded by two Sangheili in the distinctive bright-white armor of one of their most elite combat units, the Lights of Sanghelios; Helios, for short—a reference to the globular cluster of stars near the species’ home system. Fortitude could hear the Helios’ energy staves crackle as he neared the shaft. But the guards didn’t so much as twitch their four jagged mandibles as the Minister glided between them. Peering out from the visors of their swept-back helmets, the Helios’ dark eyes remained locked on the vestibule, the most likely avenue of attack. The Minister wasn’t offended. He hadn’t chosen the Helios for their manners, and despite their stone-faced demeanor he knew they would gladly give their lives for his.

The shaft quickly tapered such that a few levels above the gallery there was barely room for Fortitude’s single chair. This was partly for additional security, but also an architectural metaphor for Fortitude’s status:
at the top, there was only room for one.

“Admit the Vice Minister of Tranquility as soon as he arrives,” Fortitude snapped to a hologram of a staff member waiting at the top of the shaft. “I don’t care what that does to the rest of my schedule.” The junior dispersed, and Fortitude brought his chair to an abrupt halt in the center of his receiving room. His heart was racing, and his skin was clammy beneath his robes.
Calm yourself,
he thought,
Under no circumstances can this upstart know he has upset you!

And so, when the Vice Minister emerged from the shaft a short while later, he found Fortitude reclining calmly in his chair, a steaming ball of medicinal tea floating in a stasis-field above his lap.

“Busy
and
ill,” Tranquility simpered. “I apologize, Minister, for adding further burden to your day.”

Fortitude leaned forward, pressed his lips against the field, and took a draught. The field shimmered and shrunk as the tea drained into the Minister’s gullet. “Who else have you told?”

“Holiness, you are the only one I thought to tell.”

So far, the youth was showing exceptional deference.
How long will that last?
Fortitude wondered, sucking more tea through his lips.

The Vice Minister was famously scrappy—vocal and determined. On the occasions he had substituted for his Minister in sessions of the Covenant High Council (a decision-making body comprised of San’Shyuum Ministers and Sangheili Commanders), he had shown no reluctance to participate in debate, going chair-to-chair with councilors many ages his senior on a number of contentious issues.

Fortitude suspected this decidedly un-San’Shyuum behavior had much to do with the Vice Minister’s work. The Ministry of Tranquility managed the Covenant’s vast relic-hunting fleet and spent a great deal of time outside High Charity, dealing directly with Sangheili Shipmasters. In the process, he had adopted some of their more aggressive demeanor.

“How many instances?” Fortitude asked, tapping a finger against his throne. The glyph in question appeared between the two San’Shyuum’s chairs—the brightest object in the Minister’s sparsely decorated chambers.

To the untrained eye, the Lumination was just a pair of concentric circles; the smaller circle hung low inside the larger, suspended by a straight line that connected to a surrounding lattice of interlocking curves. But Fortitude knew what the glyph meant—the Forerunner word it represented:
Reclamation,
or the recovery of previously unknown relics.

“The Luminary was on a very remote ship. Its transmission was somewhat garbled.” Tranquility struggled to restrain a triumphant smile. “But it detected thousands of
unique
instances.”

A shudder ran the length of Fortitude’s spine. If the Vice Minister was to be believed, it was an unprecedented find. “Why not bring this discovery to your own Minister?” Fortitude asked, managing to keep his voice calm. “Were he to discover your disloyalty, dismissal will be the least of your concerns.”

“A risk worth taking.” The Vice Minister leaned forward in his chair and added in a conspiratorial whisper, “For
both
of us.”

Fortitude chuckled into his tea. There was something oddly endearing about the young San’Shyuum’s impudence. But he presumed too much, Fortitude decided, extending a finger toward the switch on his throne that would bring the Helios hurtling up the shaft… .

“The High Council grows restless!” the Vice Minister blurted, then continued at a breathless pace: “The Hierarchs are impotent—the dilemmas on which they made their ascent well settled. This is no longer an Age of Doubt, Minister, and those with any sense know this is
your
doing above all others!”

Fortitude stayed his hand. The youth had made a valid point. Ages of Doubt such as the present were about dealing with the fallout of previous chaotic periods, in this case the thirty-ninth Age of Conflict—that which had encompassed the Unggoy rebellion and seen Fortitude’s promotion to Minister. His efforts to properly redistribute technology in the wake of that crisis had indeed done much to defuse new grievances. And while Fortitude was largely immune to flattery, he was again impressed by the Vice Minister’s nerve.

Tranquility had just ranked Fortitude’s achievements above the Hierarchs’—the three San’Shyuum elected to lead the High Council. These were the most powerful creatures in the Covenant, and calling them weak and worthless was a dangerous proclamation. Fortitude pulled back his finger, suddenly fascinated by what the Vice Minister might next propose. Though, in retrospect, he should have known.

“We find ourselves at the dawning of a new Age of Reclamation.” The Vice Minister coaxed his chair around the glyph. “You are the one to lead us through it, and I—by merit of my current discretion and pledge of steadfast devotion hence forth—humbly request to sit by your side.” Tranquility stopped his chair directly before the Minister’s, bowed deeply at the waist, and spread wide his arms. “To assume with you the mantle of Hierarch.”

And there it was,
Fortitude thought, absolutely stunned.
Ambition laid bare.

It would not be easy to unseat the Hierarchs. To keep their exalted thrones, they would resist the declaration of a new age with all the influence at their disposal. Fortitude would need to spend tremendous political capital—call in all favors owed for them to have a chance, and even then….

Fortitude caught himself.
Was he
seriously
considering the Vice Minister’s proposal? Had he gone mad?

“Before we do anything,” he cautioned, his tongue moving of its own accord, “we must be
sure
the Luminations are valid.”

“I have a warship standing by, awaiting your approval to—”

Fortitude pulled back as if stung. “You have brought the
Sangheili
into this?!” His head began to throb, beating with panicked pain. //
the Sangheili took possession of the reliquary, who knew how that might upset the status quo!
Again his finger shot toward his throne’s alarm.