'Telcam looked at them more as if he was deciding which of them would be the biggest troublemaker.

"Where is this place of yours?" Jul asked.

"I promised my suppliers that I would keep our rendezvous point to myself," 'Telcam said. "It's not a matter of individual trust. We've now seen what the Kig-Yar can do with a little help from humans when they put their minds to it. What nobody else knows cannot be accidentally discovered."

Did he just insult us? Jul wasn't sure. He hesitated to call a devout servant a liar, however eccentric he thought 'Telcam's religious views were, and he'd come to admire the monk's hardheaded warrior instinct. He'd risen to the rank of field master; he understood humans exceptionally well from his service as an interpreter. If anyone grasped the idea that humans would never stop spreading and would always be a threat, it was 'Telcam. But something in Jul's instinct told him that a little too much was being kept from him, considering the risk he was taking.

"I would like to come with you and assess this place," Jul said. "There's no reason why I can't accompany you, is there?"

'Telcam hesitated for just a fraction of a second too long. "My suppliers are very nervous, as you'll appreciate. I think they would be a little worried to see more Sangheili at the rendezvous point, especially ones they haven't learned to trust."

"Who are they?"

"Who do you think?"

"Tell me you're not trading with Kig-Yar. None of them can be trusted. Many of them are in league with humans, and the last thing we want is for humans to know how divided our people are."

'Telcam just looked at him, mildly disapproving. "I realize the incident with Piety has disturbed us, brother, but we've always known that Kig-Yar are unreliable, undisciplined, and without honor. Why this should unsettle you so much now I have no idea."

"This has already cost us a Huragok we sorely needed," Jul said, feeling a little childish for his retaliation. "I trust nobody these days."

'Telcam nodded politely. "Indeed. I understand."

Forze and Jul finished unloading the warhead, and 'Telcam got back into the shuttle. As the Contrition lifted off, Buran turned to Jul.

"He really doesn't want anyone else there when the handover takes place," Buran said. "I wonder if he trusts us. Or perhaps he thinks we're losing our nerve."

Jul made an instant decision-not a rash one, a rapid one-and turned to head back to the keep. "There's something I must do. I'll talk with you later."

"Jul, wait, we must talk-"

"Later."

Once he was out of sight of the quarry, Jul broke into a run and made for the growing assortment of small vessels that had started to assemble at Bekan. Jul had to know where 'Telcam was going and who he was meeting, if only to have a fallback position if anything went wrong and 'Telcam failed to return one day.

The kind of creatures who would sell the monk weapons would just as easily betray him to someone else for a higher price. Jul fired up his shuttle's drive and took the routine flight path out of Mdama. If he was lucky, 'Telcam wouldn't be looking for vessels on his trail, and Jul could hang behind him at a discreet distance and perhaps even work out his destination without needing to land.

He set his shuttle to maintain a fixed distance behind the Contrition and sat back to study the sensor screens. After six hours, Jul decided 'Telcam was heading for the Narumad system, scattered with planets that humans referred to as glasslands. That was their disrespectful term for worlds that had felt the cleansing fire of a plasma bombardment sanctioned by the San'Shyuum.

As good a place as any to have an unnoticed rendezvous. And to hide warships, of course.

'Telcam's Contrition began to follow a more specific course two hours later. He was on a trajectory for a world that appeared on Jul's charts as Laqil, but that the humans had renamed New Llanelli. The colonists had managed to establish only a handful of sprawling settlements and it hadn't needed much attention to restore it to its prehuman state. Jul kept out of 'Telcam's visual range, tracking him on his screen, and landed in the lee of a hill about a kilometer from where the shuttle had touched down.

So now we'll see your shy associates....

He moved from cover to cover and eventually caught sight of it, skylined by the glaring silver reflection of the vitrified plain beyond: a human dropship, sitting about a hundred meters from 'Telcam's vessel. So it was Kig-Yar, then. The vermin were pillaging everything they could find.

The human vessel was a cut above the average fruit of Kig-Yar looting, though. It bristled with electronics masts that extended from a pod on top of the hull, which was a soft dark gray material so matte that it seemed more like fabric than metal.

They're getting very ambitious, our Kig-Yar friends. A rather expensive toy for them. Like the Huragok.

Jul shifted position and knelt among the scrubby bushes like a sly human. Even at this distance, he could hear 'Telcam's voice but he couldn't make out the words. He edged forward a meter at a time until he had a clear view of the commandeered human ship.

Now ... I wasn't expecting that....

A human pilot was sitting in the cockpit, a female with black hair and delicate features, fiddling with controls above the viewscreen. It confirmed his worst fears that the Kig-Yar and scattered human colonists had now found common cause in the aftermath of the Covenant's destruction. They were kindred spirits in too many ways. 'Telcam should have known better than to do business with them.

Jul was rehearsing how he would broach this error of judgment with the monk and still struggling with his disbelief about such crass naivete when he saw someone get out of the dropship. It was another human female, but this was no opportunist from the civilian colonists. She walked with the confident authority of someone used to command. And she was wearing a UNSC uniform.

Was this official? Was this how the UNSC fought wars?

She might just be a corrupt officer lining her pockets. The war's over and nobody's checking the armory too closely.

Jul could hear them talking. He knew little of human languages, but 'Telcam-inevitably-was completely fluent in the one the UNSC used most frequently: English. Jul recognized the sounds even if the words meant nothing.

"I hear your Admiral Hood plans to visit the Arbiter," 'Telcam said. Whatever he was saying, he was a little uneasy with her. Jul could hear the lower note in his voice. "Would you like me to kill him for you, Captain?"

The female officer, one hand on her hip and the other on the holster of her sidearm, shook her head. "That's not how we do things, Field Master. It wouldn't serve either of our purposes."

"Your government is most subtle, Captain, but subtlety may well be the undoing of you...."

Jul didn't hear the rest of the sentence. Something huge and heavy smashed into him from the side like a missile and knocked him flat on his back, winding him.

His helmet went flying. He struggled to get up, thinking there was some wild animal that he'd failed to take account of on this miserable planet, and then he found himself looking into the gold-mirrored face of a creature that wasn't quite as big as he'd thought it was.

It was one of the human demons, the soldiers they called Spartans.

Not only had it managed to ambush and bring him to the ground, but it also had him pinned down. He hesitated for a fraction of a second, giving it a moment to bring its fist down into his face.

The Spartan was many times heavier than any human Jul had ever swatted aside with the back of his hand. The powerful downward blow broke his teeth. He tried to yell a warning, but he couldn't, choking on tooth fragments and blood and struggling to dig his claws into impossibly hard armor.

The Spartan punched him a few more times as he tried to keep a grip on its throat. Then boots appeared on the ground around his head and something smashed into his skull once, twice, three times. Stunned, he still tried to pull free. But he was now pinned by several armored troops and he couldn't hang on to the Spartan any longer. Its knee was right across his throat. It could have crushed his windpipe, but it seemed to be waiting. Maybe it wanted to watch him choke to death as some vengeance for all the comrades it had lost to the Covenant. If that was the case, Jul wouldn't give it the satisfaction of reacting.

But how could I let this happen? How could humans possibly ambush me? Jul was close to asphyxiating. I will die like a warrior. I will not let it see me give in.

His arms were pinned. Although he was certain he was kicking furiously, he didn't seem to be connecting with anything. Were his legs obeying him? All he could do was gasp while his throat was filling up with blood and spittle.

"Spying on the Bishop. Tut tut." The voice came from one of the others, not the Spartan, and it was male. "Hey, somebody get his helmet."

Jul knew he was losing consciousness when he found himself suddenly just interested in the faceless creature choking the life out of him. He'd never seen a Spartan in the flesh. The more gullible shipmasters said Spartans were brought back from the dead, repaired and resuscitated to fight again, and he'd always thought those wild exaggerations were cowards' excuses for losing battles. But this one was everything the rumors had said.

It took me down. Not a shot fired. And now it's killing me at its leisure.

Why don't they just kill me outright? Perhaps they can't.

He should have called out for help from 'Telcam, but it was too late. And 'Telcam was in league with them.

Jul had never thought he would be afraid to die. He'd faced death so many times that he was used to it, familiar with the flood of terrified excitement, certain that if the end came then his clan would know that he met his end with honor. But he'd never planned to face the great transcendence helpless and struggling, unable even to inflict damage in his dying moments. It was the worst possible disgrace. And disgrace terrified him far more than death.

The Spartan still had its knee on his throat, staring into his face. He could see his own reflection in its visor as the other soldiers bound him and one put a boot on his face to hold him down.

And if they shoot me, 'Telcam will hear....

He had no idea of how long he lay there, but he fought to stay conscious. He had to escape. He had to stop 'Telcam.

The humans are manipulating you, 'Telcam. Whatever they've promised-they won't keep their word. What kind of fool are you? You think you can handle them? Fool. Idiot. Traitor.

But he heard the distant rumble of a ship starting its drives, a ship he could identify, the Contrition class transport, and then the sound peaked and faded. 'Telcam was gone. The Spartan put a pistol to his head. He could feel the cool metal resting between his eyes.

Jul made one last effort to get up and scream defiance, but he couldn't move and his only sound was a gurgle. He waited for the shot to come and put an end to his shame.

Only then did he think of Raia, who had no idea where he was. What would become of her?

The female shipmaster appeared, looking down at him. "Wait one, Naomi. Let me just check with the boss."

He had no idea what that meant. The Spartan pulled off its helmet with its free hand, and that was when he realized it was a woman, as bloodless and translucent as a hologram, her hair as pale as her skin-yes, a corpse brought back from the dead. He'd been taken down by females.

The shipmaster walked away. Jul, still struggling to breathe, couldn't hear what she was saying but she came back a short time later and stood over him. He could see her boots next to his head as she shifted her weight from one foot to the other. Her whole stance seemed casual, as if she had plenty of time to decide his fate and linger over his humiliation.

"Sorry, Staff, the Admiral says she'd really like a live prisoner for a change," she said. "Let's get him into the dropship. Then find his transport, rip what you can from it, and destroy it."

"This is like the voyage of the bloody Beagle, ma'am," said one of the male soldiers. "Another specimen for the menagerie."

The Spartan withdrew her pistol and shoved it in her belt before hauling him off like an animal, dragging him through the dirt with her two comrades.

Jul 'Mdama realized he had suddenly ceased to exist. He'd allowed himself to be taken by the enemy through his own stupidity, and as the humans hauled him toward the dropship, grunting and complaining about his weight, he understood that he was alone, and lost, and that nobody would ever come for him.

FORERUNNER DYSON SPHERE, ONYX: LOCAL DATE NOVEMBER 2552.

In an empty world the size of a solar system, all you could do was look and keep looking.

Mendez would have dismissed Halsey's suggestion to look for a garage as too vague to be useful, but he was prepared to try any damn thing if it helped them find Lucy.

Hell, it's not as if we've got anything better to do with our time, is it?

Fred had reminded him just once that the mission was to acquire Forerunner technology for the UNSC. He knew damn well that however sensible a plan that was, it was only to keep them occupied-and if they found some handy gizmo, then they still had to work out how to call home and get it collected. Courier services were a little hard to come by in a dimensional bubble.

And there was no mission more important than finding a missing Spartan.

"Goddamn it, we will find her," Mendez said, as if anyone had suggested otherwise. It was his mantra to make sure it happened. The whole squad trailed down the road behind him in silence on yet another fruitless recon. "She's only been gone four days. She's a survivor. She knows we won't stop looking for her."

Mendez knew that no matter how disciplined troops were, their morale would take a hammering if they didn't stay busy. The Spartans had gone from what HIGHCOM described in its mealy-mouthed way as "high tempo" operations-fighting pretty well every damn day, every week, every year-to a dead, silent stop. Basic survival was going to mop up a lot of their energy, but all they could do was stay alive for as long as possible until they worked out this place for themselves or until someone came along and found them.

Mendez needed to keep them busy.

Halsey might have been convinced the Earth had lost the war already and that they were the only sentient life left in the galaxy, but Mendez wasn't buying any of it. He'd believe that he'd lost when he heard the first clod of soil hit his coffin.

When they got back to the camp, Halsey was still in the lobby of the tower, going over the Forerunner symbols with her fingertips. "I'm wondering if there are more slipspace bubbles in this structure," she said absently. "You have to admit they're very effective shields for containing pathogens."

She seemed to be waiting for an answer, because she turned around and looked at him with a slight frown as if she expected some scholarly debate about transdimensional physics.

"Well, Doctor, we managed to get through one, so maybe we can get through another one as well," he said. "I'm just not sure where the goddamn door is."

Halsey spent a few more minutes messing around with the symbols, then hugged her datapad to her chest and walked out into the sunlight. Mendez stood with his arms folded, staring at the symbols, not giving a damn what they said and just wanting to be left alone for a while. Fred stayed behind with him.

"Sorry, Lieutenant," Mendez said. "I realize I'm a piss-poor example of leadership for you. But I need some bastard to shoot."

"That's what makes you so lovable, Chief," Fred said. "When you're killing something, we know you're happy."

Mendez turned around, about to tell Fred some of the things that were really troubling him, but he found himself looking past the Spartan and into the gloom of the corridor behind him. Fred had turned around too.

"Yeah, I heard it as well," Fred said.

He checked his rifle and edged into the darkness. Mendez switched on his tactical lamp and followed.

"Goddamn-"

He stared at the pale highlights of a small face apparently bobbing along without any sign of a body. It took his brain a second to register that it was Lucy minus her helmet, and that her reactive camo was trying to match the shadows in the tunnel. Then he saw the constellation of blue and violet lights behind her.

"Hey, Lucy, who's your new boyfriend?" Fred asked.

Lucy walked out of the darkness like a ghost with a Covenant Engineer trailing behind her. Well, that explained what she'd been chasing. As intruders went, an Engineer was a pretty useful one. Mendez savored the relief.

"Damn it, Lucy, we were worried sick about you." He reached out and pulled her to him one-handed to give her a reassuring hug, then took a step back to check her over for injury. "Are you okay, kid?"

She stared up into his face and nodded, wide-eyed and still looking like a teenager. Then she put out her arm and beckoned to the Engineer. It floated up beside her and gave Mendez and Fred a thorough inspection, head tilting back and forth.

The realization began to dawn on Mendez. If the Dyson sphere had been sealed since before the first human landing on Onyx, then this guy probably wasn't with the Covenant. He had to be descended from the Foreunner originals. Hell, given the weird way time worked in here, maybe he was an original Huragok left here.

"I think I'm going to break this to Dr. Halsey very, very quietly," Fred said. He gave Lucy several pats on the back. "Good to have you back, Lucy. We searched everywhere for you."

The poor kid really looked bewildered. It was going to be a challenge debriefing a Spartan who couldn't talk and an alien life-form that only used sign language. But that was what Halsey was for, and Mendez knew that she'd go crazy when Fred told her they had an Engineer in tow. It would keep her occupied and out of his face.

Yeah, that's for the best. It really is.

Fred went on ahead, calling out to the others. "Hey, we found her. It's okay, Lucy's back. Panic over."

Mendez wasn't entirely convinced that Lucy was okay. He couldn't see any injuries, but he knew that look in her eyes. Something had shaken her.

"Halsey's going to check you over, if you're okay with that," he said. "Then we better get you something to eat and drink. You've been away for days."

Lucy shook her head and pulled her water canteen from her belt to shake it. Mendez could hear the water slopping around inside: no, she had plenty left, so she wasn't dehydrated. When they got to the entrance, Halsey bore down on them like a missile. She was walking at a breakneck pace, swinging her arms, and then she broke into a jog.

At least she had the good grace to try to look more interested in Lucy than the Engineer. "Any injuries, Lucy?" she asked. "Well, you're probably dehydrated."

Lucy shook the water canteen again to make the point and held out her hand for Halsey's datapad. For a moment, Mendez thought that she was going to break the habit of years and actually write a message. Lucy wasn't like someone who'd just lost their voice. She'd stopped communicating almost completely, and that included writing anything more than map coordinates or the most basic information-no discussion, no explanation, and no complex questions. He waited for some breakthrough, for something amazing to appear on the datapad, but all she did was indicate the date displayed on it and shake her head, baffled.

The Engineer flicked out a tentacle and took the datapad from her. It appeared to be tapping out a message. Well, the robotic Sentinels they'd run into on the surface could work out some English, so maybe this Engineer was going to surprise them too.