Halo: Divine Wind

Book : Halo

by Troy Denning

Genres: Media Tie-In; Sci-fi Action & Adventure; Military Sci-Fi

Synopsis

An original novel set in the Halo universe—based on the New York Times bestselling video game series!

October 2559. With the galaxy in the suffocating grip of a renegade artificial intelligence, another perilous threat has quietly emerged in the shadows: the Keepers of the One Freedom, a fanatical and merciless Covenant splinter group, has made its way beyond the borders of the galaxy to an ancient Forerunner installation known as the Ark. Led by an infamous Brute named Castor, the Keepers intend to achieve what the Covenant, in all its might, failed to: activate Halo and take the last steps on the path of the Great Journey into transcendence.

But unknown to Castor and his new, unexpected ally on the Ark, there are traitors to the cause in their midst—namely the Ferrets, composed of Office of Naval Intelligence operative Veta Lopis and her young team of Spartan-IIIs, who have been infiltrating the Keepers to lay the groundwork for Castor’s assassination. But with ONI’s field operations now splintered and cut off by the Guardian threat, Veta’s original mission has suddenly and dramatically escalated in scope. There’s simply no choice or fallback plan—either the Ferrets somehow stop the Keepers or the galaxy faces an extinction-level event….

Release date: October 19, 2021

Publisher: Gallery Books

Print pages: 464

Sample

ONE

2205 hours, October 12, 2559 (military calendar)

Banished Lich Pegoras

Translocation Interstice, Reach/Ark Slipspace Portal

A sliver of flame creased the darkness ahead. It did not roil or roll or swell in front of the viewport. It merely hung in the black opalescence of slipspace as though it had always been there, a long red ember trapped in the folds between space and time.

Castor had never seen such a thing, not in a thousand transits. Slipspace was a collection of nonspatial dimensions, where complex matter existed only inside carefully tuned quantum fields. Battles were impossible because location was indeterminate and weapons could not be targeted, and because energy radiated back into the spatial dimensions the instant it was released.

But he knew a plasma strike when he saw one.

“Disappointing.” The comment came from the blademaster Inslaan ‘Gadogai, who was standing with Castor near the back of the open flight deck. A sinewy Sangheili with a gray-blond hide and gangly limbs, he was tall enough to peer over the shoulder of the pilot standing at the control plinth. “I had not expected to die until after we reached the Ark.”

“We will not die,” Castor said.

He and forty of his followers—the Keepers of the One Freedom—were aboard a Lich transport craft stolen from the Banished warmaster Atriox, transiting a slipspace portal that connected the human planet Reach to Installation 00—also known as the Ark. Like most beings in the galaxy, Castor had never been there. But he knew from the Psalm of the Journey that, with a surface area many times the size of most inhabited worlds, it was the largest and most sacred of the remaining structures left behind by the holy Forerunners. “It is too soon.”

“A dokab commands many things,” ‘Gadogai replied. “Fate is not one of them.”

“Fate favors the worthy,” Castor said. “As do the Ancients. They will not let us fail, so long as we do not fail ourselves.”

“What a clever way of saying we are on our own,” ‘Gadogai said. “Have you ever considered that the Forerunners are simply gone? That the only remnants of them are the constructs and antiquities they left behind?”

“Never. Their presence is the fire in my heart. It burns within me now more fiercely than ever.”

And so it did. They were mere days from doing what the Covenant had failed to do in nearly three and a half millennia: initiate the Great Journey by lighting the Sacred Rings that had been arrayed across the galaxy by the ancient Forerunners.

The very prospect seemed enrapturing to Castor, and the grace of the gods permeated his entire being. His massive frame felt swollen with divine might, his perceptions sharper and his reason more piercing than at any time in his life.

“The Faithful of the galaxy will soon know Divine Transcendence,” he continued. “And we are the Chosen who will deliver it to them.”

“Slayers of the infidel quadrillions,” ‘Gadogai said dryly. “What an honor.”

Castor bared a tusk. “Do not mourn the unbelievers.” He had seen ‘Gadogai taunt death often enough to know he had no fear of it, so the Sangheili’s only concern had to be the untold number of heretics who would perish when the Halo Array was activated. “They must die so the worthy may ascend.”

“Yes. ‘The galaxy will be cleansed by a Divine Wind,’ ” ‘Gadogai noted, quoting from the Psalm of the Journey. “I do remember the teachings of my youth.”

“Then you must embrace them,” Castor replied. It had long troubled him that ‘Gadogai did not honor the Forerunner gods of the Covenant. Instead, the blademaster placed his faith in the mysterious power that he claimed all beings carried inside themselves—and extolled it as the source of his incredible fighting prowess. “There is still time to turn from the Path of Oblivion.”

“I wish that were so.” ‘Gadogai turned his gaze forward again. “But here in slipspace, there is no time.”

Castor started to demand an explanation, then realized what ‘Gadogai was looking at. The plasma strike had changed from a sliver to an oval, not growing any larger or brighter, just rounder. The flames remained as still as mountains, their ragged edges now silhouetted against a royal-blue crescent on top and a dirt-brown crescent on the bottom.

Sky and ground.

“We are about to emerge from the portal,” Castor said, “straight into the fire.”

“And I was afraid you hadn’t noticed,” ‘Gadogai said.

“What?” The question came from Feodruz, who was standing on the right side of the viewport. Wearing blue-and-gold power armor, the stocky Jiralhanae was commander of Castor’s personal escort and one of the Keepers’ most ferocious warriors. He was also one of Castor’s oldest surviving war-brothers, having fought at his side for more than a decade during the War of Annihilation. “We are flying into a plasma strike?”

“Obviously,” ‘Gadogai said. “That is what we’re looking at.”

“I mean… how?” Feodruz asked. “Who could do such a thing? Who would dare?”

“The Banished, of course,” ‘Gadogai said. The multi-species confederation of raiding clans and pirate bands had counted the Keepers among their number until just a few hours earlier, when Castor and his dwindling group of followers had stolen Atriox’s Lich and fled into the portal. “The warmaster did warn us that we would find only death on the Ark.”

“I have not forgotten.” Feodruz gestured out the viewport. “But how could they know we were coming? Or when?”

“Atriox alerted them,” Castor said. “That can be the only answer.”

“It is certainly the likeliest answer,” ‘Gadogai allowed.

As remote as it was sacred, the Ark was located more than a hundred thousand light-years beyond the galactic edge. Swift communications across such far-reaching distances were not normally possible, but only three months earlier, Atriox had somehow contacted his former mentor—whom he had left in charge of Banished forces still inside the galaxy—and ordered him to open the slipspace portal on Reach.

Could Atriox have discovered something on the Ark that allowed him to transmit messages across such a vast distance almost instantaneously? It would hardly be the first time someone had unearthed a sacred Forerunner artifact capable of doing what mortals deemed impossible.

After a moment, ‘Gadogai added, “Death is the price of betrayal in the Banished.”

“And it was Atriox who betrayed us. Never forget that,” Castor said. He had been promised that after the slipspace portal on Reach was found, the Keepers of the One Freedom would join two other clans in using it to travel to the Ark. But when the moment of truth came, Atriox had… a different plan. “He betrayed the gods. It was my sacred duty to defy him.”

“Oh, it was your duty,” ‘Gadogai replied. “That will be a great comfort as the plasma burns the flesh from our bones.”

“That will never happen,” Feodruz said. “We are a great distance from the plasma strike. By the time we arrive, it will have dwindled to nothing.”

“We have already arrived,” said the Lich’s pilot, a young captain-deacon named Krelis. He had the same mottled gray fur and curled tusks as his father, Castor’s lost war-brother Orsun. Fearless and talented, Krelis had commanded one of the Keepers’ Seraph squadrons against the UNSC infidels on Reach. “We arrived the moment we left the planet.”

“Then why have we been transiting slipspace for”—Feodruz paused while he checked the integrated chronometer on his left vambrace—“over three hours?”

“Because our Lich is inside a quantum bubble,” Krelis said. “The hours you have been counting since departing Reach exist only inside this place. Outside, there is no time, because there is no space.”

Feodruz cocked his head sideways, scowling. “Then what is there?”

“Eleven nonspatial dimensions of… nothing,” Krelis said. “At least nothing we can perceive.”

“Then what are we moving through?”

“Nothing,” Krelis repeated. “In truth, it is wrong to think of us as moving at all.”

“What is wrong is for you to think that you can bait me with such nonsense.” Feodruz turned his glower forward again, where the plasma blossom continued to grow rounder without becoming larger. “I know what I see. We are a long way from that strike.”

“And yet, we are not,” Castor said.

Astronavigation was difficult for the uninitiated to understand—it required an observer to embrace an apparent contradiction: that vast distances could be crossed without actually travelingvast distances. Humans enjoyed explaining the paradox by speaking of curved space and gravity wells and shortcuts through nonspatial dimensions.

Castor thought of it in a holier way—namely, what he had seen aboard the Sacred Wheel of Erudition at Ulumari. A slipspace transition was a compression of space, one that collapsed distance into nonspatial nothingness. The more energy applied, the quicker and more complete the collapse. To an observer watching from normal space, a transiting vessel simply vanished from its origination point and reemerged at its destination. There would be an apparent delay, but only because time was relative; it passed at different rates for different celestial bodies, depending on how fast they were moving in relation to the galactic core.

To the observer in normal space, the difference between the rate at the origination point and at the destination point was experienced as a delay between disappearance and reappearance. To a passenger aboard a transiting vessel, it was as passing hours and days. But the time the vessel actually spent in slipspace did not exist—slipspace was nonspatial, and time could not exist without space.

Castor’s understanding of slipspace was imperfect, of course, for the minds of mere mortals could not perceive the hidden truths of the universe. Once he activated Halo and joined the Forerunners in divine transsentience, such secrets would be revealed to him in perfect clarity. But until then, he would have to place his faith in what he had seen at Ulumari.

“Krelis is right,” Castor said. “We will exit the portal into the plasma strike. We already have.”

Feodruz peered back at Castor, his irritation with Krelis warring with deference to his dokab. Finally, he nodded acceptance, then asked, “Can we evade?”

Castor looked to Krelis, not giving the answer he already knew himself. After the heavy losses on the planet Reach, young Krelis was the best pilot the Keepers still had, and it was important that Feodruz learn to trust him.

“We can try,” Krelis replied. “Once we have completed our transit.”

“Then that is what we will do,” Castor said. If they attempted to maneuver before completing the transit, they would leave slipspace prematurely—and since Liches did not have slipspace drives, that would leave them marooned many light-years short of the Ark. “There is room around the edges. You can find a way through.”

“The Ancients will guide your hands,” ‘Gadogai remarked. “As long as you believe in that sort of thing.”

Krelis caught ‘Gadogai’s eye in the viewport reflection. “Now is a bad time to mock the gods, Blademaster. Our fate is theirs to decide.”

“Who is mocking?” ‘Gadogai said. “I hope their fire burns in your heart as fiercely as it burns in the dokab’s. It can only improve our chances.”

Krelis gnashed his tusks, and Castor realized that ‘Gadogai’s “encouragement” was not helping. He turned to the Sangheili. “And the guile of an unbeliever can only diminish them. I need you to descend to the lower deck and secure yourself in a crash harness. Tell the others to do the same.”

‘Gadogai remained where he stood. “I prefer to die here, where I can see it coming.”

“Which you surely will, if you continue to distract our pilot,” Castor said. “You are a Keeper now.” The unspoken part—and I am your dokab—hung in the air between them. “Do not shame yourself by disobeying my command.”

‘Gadogai turned his long head so that he could study Castor with both oblong eyes, then finally snicked his mandibles.

“As you wish.” He retreated to the rear of the flight deck, but paused before circling around the partition to descend the ramp. “I will keep watch on your humans. Someone should.”

“They are not my humans,” Castor said. ‘Gadogai had certainly never been fond of humans, but his hatred of them had grown more pronounced over the last three months—to the point that Castor was reluctant to trust the Sangheili with them alone. “They are Keepers of the One Freedom, just as we are. And we will have need of them on the Ark.”

“Have no fear,” ‘Gadogai said, speaking over his shoulder. “If any humans die before we reach the Ark, it will be your gods’ doing… not mine.”

He stepped around the partition, leaving Castor alone on the flight deck with Feodruz and Krelis.

“At last,” Feodruz said, sighing. “Dokab, I am… uncomfortable. His blasphemies offend the gods.”

“They offend us all,” Castor replied. Noting that the plasma blossom had nearly unfolded into a full circle, he retreated to the partition at the back of the flight deck, then extracted a crash chair and secured his own harness. “But it is better to have him with us than against us.”

“I am not convinced,” Krelis said. “If the inchal was willing to betray Atriox, he will betray us. He has no loyalty.”

“It is not his loyalty I value,” Castor said. “It is his wisdom.”

---

The blademaster emerged from the well at the bottom of the ramp and paused at the forward end of the hold, his saurian gaze scanning the crowded transport deck of the stolen Lich. A menacing Sangheili with large oval eyes and slender mandibles, he carried no weapon and wore no protection but a fine sateel tabard belted at his narrow waist. Still, Inslaan ‘Gadogai was a former member of the Covenant’s Silent Shadow and the most feared warrior aboard this vessel, and Veta Lopis wondered if it had been a mistake not to order his death when she had the chance.

“Secure your crash harnesses.” ‘Gadogai addressed them in Old Sangheili, an irreverent conceit to species pride that brought growls of umbrage from the twenty pseudo-ursine Jiralhanae scattered through the bay. Most Keepers of the One Freedom could converse in a variety of Sangheili dialects and other species’ languages, but they tended to shun Old Sangheili to avoid inflaming the still-smoldering tensions over the interspecies civil war that had destroyed the Covenant several years ago. That the blademaster could issue orders in it without drawing an immediate challenge from resentful Jiralhanae was a testament to his fierce reputation. “The dokabcommands it.”

The hold filled with the clank and clatter of partition walls being extended and crash chairs extracted, followed by the jangle and crackle of different kinds of hardware being latched and tightened. The Keeper assemblage consisted of various species, and the air was rank with their odors—furry Jiralhanae musk and ashy Sangheili tang, the musty funk of the Kig-Yar and the acrid zest of the little Unggoy, even a whiff of human brine.

Rather than retreating back onto the flight deck once the command had been relayed, ‘Gadogai crossed to a partition wall on Veta’s side of the hold and stopped in front of an occupied passenger saddle.

“You must hurry to your own seat.” ‘Gadogai motioned the occupant, a young Sangheili in blue-and-gold combat harness, to leave. “We do not have long.”

The warrior dipped his oblong helmet in acknowledgment, then palmed the quick-release in the center of his restraint cage and rushed aft to find a new seat. ‘Gadogai straddled the saddle and latched the two halves of the cage in front of his chest, then pressed his back against the partition as the curved bars drew tight against his torso. His choice of seat put him across from Veta at a diagonal, three meters away and at the focus of a perpendicular cross fire formed by herself and the three members of her undercover Ferret team.

It was a taunt. Had to be.

‘Gadogai was too cunning to place himself in such a vulnerable position by accident. He wanted Veta to know he was not intimidated by what she had done a few hours earlier on Reach.

It had happened on the landing terrace of a Forerunner transport installation, where a small company of Keepers—including Veta and her Ferret team—was quietly boarding the Lich that had just carried the warmaster Atriox through the slipspace portal. ‘Gadogai had observed what was happening and tried to talk Castor out of hijacking the craft, but the dokab was determined to go to the Ark and activate the Halo Array. The matter had come to a boil when Atriox noticed the confrontation and ordered the blademaster to bring him the head of his old war-brother.

But Castor had been prepared for trouble, and he had had Veta’s brood covering him from inside the Lich. As Atriox departed, a trio of red targeting dots had appeared on ‘Gadogai’s breast, leaving him to choose between obedience and a chestful of steel-jacketed rounds. Knowing that the penalty for disobeying Atriox was also death, the blademaster had realized that his only hope of survival was to drop his plasma sword and join the Keepers.

Or so he claimed. Veta knew better than to trust anyone who had ever been part of the Silent Shadow.

After Veta and ‘Gadogai had been staring daggers at each other for a moment, she spoke to him in standard Sangheili. “You’re a faithless coward. I should have had you killed when I had the chance.”

‘Gadogai swung his mandibles up to one side, the Sangheili equivalent of a shrug. “Your mistake, human.”

“That was obedience, not a mistake. Feodruz feared you would kill the dokab before our bullets killed you. He was wrong, but a Keeper submits.”

In truth, Veta had been tempted to ignore the order and hope Feodruz was right about the blademaster’s speed. But it would have taken more than Castor’s death to prevent the remaining Keepers from flying the Lich through the portal. The dokab’s followers were just as fanatic as he was, and Feodruz had nearly forty warriors at his disposal—and little tolerance for disobedience. Her only real choice had been to obey Feodruz and stay alive, so her team could look for a chance to destroy the Keepers later.

‘Gadogai continued to glare at Veta, his mandibles open just far enough to display multiple rows of sharp teeth. His hostility was going to complicate her team’s mission, and she could not escape the feeling he was aware of their duplicity.

It was a feeling she and her team knew well. The Ferrets had penetrated the Keepers more than two years earlier, through an allied doomsday cult calling themselves Humans of the Joyous Journey, then spent the next eight months gathering intelligence for the Office of Naval Intelligence. When the UNSC finally launched a massive eradication campaign, Castor had surprised everyone by seeking refuge with the Banished. Hoping to get lucky and take out Atriox himself, ONI had ordered the Ferrets to extend their undercover mission and lay the groundwork for an assassination attempt.

No such luck. Shortly after the Keepers joined the faction, Atriox and his flagship, Enduring Conviction, had vanished. Then, in a move no one saw coming, a human AI named Cortana suddenly rose to power, seeking to subjugate the entire Orion Arm of the galaxy, using a host of Forerunner Guardians and an army of human AIs to turn interstellar civilization into a nightmarish surveillance state.

The biggest problem for Veta and her Ferret team as a result was the complete decimation of ONI and its field operations. Their undercover support prowler disappeared, which also meant the clandestine comm station to which they delivered their intelligence—along with the Owl kept on standby in case they needed emergency extraction. Most critically, the covert restocking runs stopped, leaving her Spartan-III subordinates with a fast-dwindling supply of the specialized meds they needed to stay healthy and effective.

Veta began to look for a good way out, but escaping from a vast organization was difficult—especially when it required hijacking a slipspace-capable vessel filled with hundreds of warriors. Their first decent opportunity had come just a couple of months earlier, when a surprise message from Atriox sent the Keepers to Reach, of all places.

The Ferrets had begun preparations to self-extract, intending to disappear into the planet’s glasslands after they learned what Atriox was planning. Instead, their eavesdropping intercepts caught Castor plotting to go to the Ark so he could initiate the Great Journey.

Self-extraction stopped being an option.

Veta didn’t know a great deal about the Ark, but what ONI had told her scared her stiff. One of the largest Forerunner installations yet discovered, it served as a sort of biological repository for an untold number of galactic life-forms—a vast library of creatures and the genetic material necessary to remake them. While the hubris of holding countless species in some sort of zoological archive was disturbing enough, it was the Forerunners’ reason for establishing their cosmic menagerie that she found truly horrifying. According to ONI, the Ark also served as a control facility that could trigger the simultaneous, galaxy-wide destruction of all sentient life.

And that was exactly why Castor wanted to go there.

The “Great Journey” was zealot-speak for “the End of Everything,” which was what would happen if Veta’s Ferret team allowed the Keepers to find the Ark’s control room and activate Halo. Overlapping bursts of supermassive, cross-phased neutrinos would roll across the entire Milky Way galaxy and destroy every sentient creature.

Like the Covenant before them, the Keepers believed this “sacred act of destruction” would elevate all worthy believers to divine transsentience alongside the Forerunners themselves. But the truth was nothing so rapturous. The UNSC had learned years ago that the Halo Array—seven enormous ringworlds forming a network of neutrino-blasting weapons scattered throughout the galaxy—was a defense of last resort against the Flood, a particularly virulent parasite that reproduced by infecting the minds of intelligent species. Firing the array would starve the Flood by destroying the beings upon which it preyed—and that was all it would do. Kill just about everything.

So Veta had made the hard choice to continue undercover with her team until the Keepers were destroyed. For a time, it had appeared she would be able to make that happen on Reach, after the Spartan Blue Team arrived on the planet, pursuing a mission of their own. But it had proven impossible to make contact until the portal to the Ark was already open, and by then it had been too late for Blue Team or the UNSC to stop the Keepers from going.

Before leaving, Veta had managed to slip a message outlining the situation to Spartan Fred-104. That brief meeting had probably been both her greatest joy in the last two years and her saddest moment. She and Fred had developed a close relationship while working together since the Ferret team’s inception. Seeing him again while undercover and unable to properly say good-bye had been one of the hardest things about leaving the galaxy, second only to the knowledge of what her decision would probably mean for her Gammas. But she had had no choice, and there was no fallback plan. Either her Ferret team stopped the Keepers, or everything but the sponges and placozoa went extinct.

‘Gadogai finally closed his mandibles and glanced up and forward, his head rocking slightly as he looked toward the flight deck. Sangheili mannerisms were hard to read, but Veta’s training in nonverbal alien cues suggested anticipation. Something was about to happen, and the Sangheili had been sent down to make sure the situation on the lower deck remained under control.

“The dokab seems rather fond of you,” Veta said. She needed to figure out what Castor was worried about… and in turn whether ‘Gadogai’s choice of seat was something she needed to worry about. “Apologize for your blasphemies, and perhaps he’ll let you ride up above again.”

‘Gadogai’s attention snapped back to her. “How do you know what passes on the flight deck?”

“I don’t.” Veta hid her alarm behind an air of smugness. Her taunt was more on-target than she realized, but she knew how to deflect. She’d been trained in it. “I know you. Every third thing you say is blasphemy. You just can’t help yourself.”

“True enough.” ‘Gadogai glanced around, his gaze lingering just a moment on each of the Ferrets. “But there is a reason I chose to sit here, among your brood.”

Veta cocked her head slightly. “I’m sure you expect me to ask why.”

“There is no need to ask.” ‘Gadogai lifted his mandibles, then fixed a single oval eye on Veta’s face. “I am here to watch you die. All of you.”

Realizing her team would already have their hands on their sidearms, Veta didn’t bother to reach for her own. She was just a typical human, a well-prepared ONI operative, albeit a bit on the small side and not even enhanced for speed and strength. But her three team members—Ash-G099, Mark-G313, and Olivia-G291—were fully augmented Spartan-III super-soldiers, trained from childhood to fight, kill, and prevail. An ex–Silent Shadow warrior would make short work of Veta, and might even be a match for any one of her Ferrets. But against all three, working together and under her command?

“That’s not going to happen.”

An almost imperceptible pulse ran through the ship, and ‘Gadogai’s gaze drifted forward again.

“Oh, I think it is.”

Veta rose into the shoulders of her crash harness and found herself straining against the torso restraints, which meant that the Lich had rolled into a steep dive.

Which meant it had returned to normal space, which meant they had reached their destination and would soon be landing on the Ark.

So why were ‘Gadogai’s mandibles parted in delight, why were his eyes fixed on her, why was he pulling forward against the g-forces to—

—there was no impact, just fingers of flash fire reaching into the hold and shards of foreign black fuselage spraying like shrapnel… and what looked like a pilot’s seat-assembly tumbling aft, trailing screams and smoke and the smell of charred flesh. A fissure opened in the deck between Veta and ‘Gadogai, its molten edges dripping into the service bay below. Another rift melted into the overhead. And yet, neither breach extended all the way through to the exterior hull.

It seemed the Lich was still intact.

The passengers, not so much. Kig-Yar screeched in agony as severed limbs tumbled away, Unggoy chests jetted flame from erupting methane tanks, a human Keeper was impaled by a canopy fragment. A Jiralhanae head bounced aft and disappeared into the rupture between Veta and ‘Gadogai.

But the Lich was still in flight.

Which was too bad. A catastrophic disintegration would have been the surest way to stop Castor and the Keepers, and it wasn’t like Veta and her Ferrets expected to survive the mission anyway. Even if they did, they would almost certainly be marooned on the Ark for the rest of their lives—lives that promised to be hellish and short for Ash, Mark, and Olivia.

As Gamma Company Spartan-IIIs, they had undergone an additional round of biological augmentations to elevate their pain tolerance and shock resistance. The extra enhancements improved their chances of surviving when wounded, but the trade-off was a rigid protocol of pharmaceutical “smoothers” to keep their brain chemistry stable. Without those meds, Gamma Company Spartans quickly sank into a paranoid psychosis that divorced them from reality.

The team was down to three smoother doses between them—enough to get them through one more day. Veta estimated they had just over a day before her Ferrets’ mental states began to deteriorate.