The Philologist wasn’t feigning ignorance. For secrecy’s sake, Fortitude hadn’t told the priesthis purpose, knowing that his Ministerial rank was sufficient to gain an audience. But while thePhilologist’s words were cordial, their meaning had been clear: State your business and let’s get on
with it. I have much more important work to do.
Fortitude was happy to oblige.
“Confirmation,” the Minister said, keying one of his chair’s holo-switches. A wafer of circuitry
not much bigger than one of his fingernails poked up beside the switch. “And a blessing.” He pulled
the wafer free and extended it to the Philologist.
“Two favors then.” The Philologist smiled, exposing gums split with lines of serrated bone. He
moved his stone chair forward and took the wafer. “This must be very important.”
Fortitude managed a friendly grimace. “One of the Vice Minister’s ships has discovered a
reliquary of quite impressive size.”
“Ah,” the Philologist said, squinting one eye to better scrutinize the wafer.
“And if the Luminations are to be believed,” Fortitude continued, “an Oracle as well.”
The Philologist’s eyes widened. “An Oracle, you say?”
Fortitude nodded. “Truly shocking and wondrous news.”
With more speed than the Minister would have guessed, the Philologist rotated his chair and
floated to a phalanx of shadowed machinery in the center of the room. As he drew close,
holographies flicked on high above, revealing a cluster of onyx obelisks—powerful processing
towers linked together—and before these: the Dreadnought’s Oracle.
Even though Fortitude had seen many representations of the holy object, it was smaller than he
had expected. Locked inside an armature that kept it head-height above the floor, the Oracle was
tethered to the obelisks with strands of neatly plaited wire. These circuits connected to small, golden
pads affixed to the Oracle’s casing: a teardrop of silver alloy not much longer than the Minister’s
neck.
The casing’s tapered end faced the obelisks. Its round end angled toward the floor and held a
dark glass lens. There was a gap around the lens and the casing, and through this, Fortitude could
see pinpoints of light—circuits running at low power. These were the Oracle’s only signs of life.
“This is all the data?” the Philologist asked, slotting the wafer into one of the obelisks.
134
“From the ship’s Luminary as well as its sensors.” Fortitude edged closer to the Oracle. For
some reason, he was overwhelmed with a desire to reach up and touch it. As old as the object was,
its casing was absolutely smooth—had no dents or scratches. Fortitude gazed deep into the Oracle’s
lens. “There are reports of a new species on the planet that holds the relics, but they appear to be
primitives—a tier-four species. I don’t expect they shall—”
Suddenly, the Oracle’s circuits blazed. The lens refracted the light, sending forth a blinding
beam. Not a lens. Fortitude gasped. An eye! He raised a sleeve before his face as the Oracle tilted
toward him in its armature.
< FOR EONS I HAVE WATCHED > The Oracle’s deep voice reverberated inside its casing. Its
eye-beam flickered with the cadence of its words as it pronounced in the San’Shyuum tongue. <
LISTENED TO YOU MISINTERPRET >
Hearing the Oracle speak was, for any faithful member of the Covenant, like listening to the
Forerunners’ own voice. Fortitude was appropriately humbled, but not just because the Oracle had
finally spoken after Ages of silence. In truth, he was just as surprised to learn that the Philologist
was not (as he had always suspected) an utter fraud.
Fortitude had made this appointment for formality’s sake. Luminations presented as evidence
before the High Council required the Oracle’s blessing, which for Ages had meant convincing the
current Philologist to affirm on its behalf. But these holy hermits were just as political as any other
powerful San’Shyuum—equally susceptible to bribes and blackmail. Fortitude had expected he
would have to make some sort of “donation” to the Philologist (a small share of the reliquary,
perhaps) in order to get the blessing he required.
But if the old charlatan is putting me on, Fortitude watched as the Philologist stepped from his
chair and dropped feebly to his knees before the Oracle, he’s certainly giving it his all.
“Blessed Herald of the Journey!” the Philologist wailed, neck low and arms spread wide. “Tell
us the error of our ways!”
The Oracle’s eye dimmed. For a moment it looked as though it might resume its long silence.
But then it blazed anew, projecting a hologram of the reclamation glyph recorded by Rapid
Conversion’s Luminary.
< THIS IS NOT RECLAMATION > the Oracle boomed. < THIS IS RECLAIMER >
Slowly the glyph turned upside down, and its central shapes—the concentric circles, one low
inside the other, connected by a thin line—took on a different aspect. The shapes’
previous arrangement had resembled the pendulum of a clock. Inverted, the glyph now looked
like a creature with two curved arms locked above its head. The glyph shrunk in size as the
hologram zoomed out to show the entire alien world, covered with thousands of these newly
oriented Luminations.
< AND THOSE IT REPRESENTS ARE MY MAKERS >
Now it was Fortitude’s turn to feel weak in the knees. He grasped the arms of his throne and
tried to come to terms with an impossible revelation: each glyph represented a Reclaimer, not a
relic, and each Reclaimer was one of the planet’s aliens—which could only mean one thing.
“The Forerunners,” the Minister whispered. “Some were left behind.”
“Impossible!” Tranquility spat, no longer able to keep his peace. “Heresy!”
“From an Oracle?”
“From this meddler!” Tranquility leveled a finger at the Philologist. “Who knows what the old
fool has done to this divine machinery? The perversions he’s accomplished with all his worms and
sacks!”
“How dare you accuse me,” gasped the Philologist. “In this most sacred vault!”
The Vice Minister drew back in his chair. “I will do all that and more—”
135
Just then, the abbey began to shudder. Many decks below, the Dreadnought’s mighty engines
sprang to life, shaking free of the limiters that kept them generating the comparatively meager
energy High Charity required. Soon the engines would build to full capacity, and then…
“Disconnect the Oracle!” Fortitude shouted, knuckles white upon his chair. “Before the
Dreadnought launches and destroys the city!”
But the Philologist paid him no heed. “The sacred vessel breaks its shackles!” The elderly
San’Shyuum’s arms were trembling. He no longer seemed afraid—he seemed inspired. “The Gods’
will be done!”
The hologram of the alien world disappeared, and once more the Oracle’s eye shone forth. < I
WILL REJECT MY BIAS AND WILL MAKE AMENDS >
The vault’s dark walls began to glow as their veinlike pathways brightened inside them. The
ancient circuits surged with light that raced into the obelisks behind the Oracle. The banded red and
brown rocks began to crack, venting plumes of chalky vapor.
Suddenly, the Vice Minister sprung from his chair, plasma-pistol drawn. “Shut it off!” he
screamed, leveling his weapon at the Philologist. The pistol’s tip shone brilliant green as it built up
an overcharge bolt. “Or I will burn you where you stand!”
But at that moment, the Oracle’s lens became so bright—began to flash with such feverishfrequency—that it threatened to blind all three San’Shyuum. Tranquility screamed and brought the long sleeves of his robes up before his eyes.
< MY MAKERS ARE MY MASTERS > The Oracle’s teardrop casing rattled inside its
armature as if it were trying to take flight with its ship. < I WILL BRING THEM SAFELY TO THE
ARK >
Suddenly, there was a mighty snap and the abbey plunged into darkness, as if the Dreadnought
had blown a fuse. High-pitched squeals echoed around the vault. His eyes filled with stinging tears,
Fortitude looked up and saw hundreds of fiery spouts—what looked like extrusions of molten
metal—cascading from the walls. As his vision cleared, Fortitude realized these were in fact burning
Lekgolo, slithering from the walls. The dying worms plummeted to the floor, where they burst apart
in great orange splatters, or curled in writhing crisps.
The next thing Fortitude knew, the Mgalekgolo bonded pair he’d seen guarding the entrance to
the hangar was thundering up the ramp into the abbey, assault cannons fully charged.
“Hold your fire!” Fortitude yelled. But the armored giants continued to stride forward—hunched
behind their shield, spines erect and quivering. “Drop your weapon!” he shouted at the Vice
Minister. “Do it now, you fool!”
Still dazed by the Oracle’s light, Tranquility let his pistol clatter to the floor.
One of the Mgalekgolo said something to the Philologist, its voice like grinding stone.
“An accident,” the aged hermit replied. He looked around sadly at the smoldering corpses of his
worms—the ruined remains of his grand investigation—then waved the sentries away. “There is
nothing to be done…”
The Mgalekgolo held their ground as their colony communed. Then the green light in the bores
of their cannons dimmed, and they clanked back to their post. The abbey was dark once more.
“What should we believe?” Tranquility asked, his voice quiet in the dark.
But the Minister was at a loss for words.
He could honestly say that he had spent his entire life without experiencing a single moment of
spiritual crisis. He had accepted the Forerunners’ existence because their relics were there to find.
He believed in the Forerunners’ divination because in all their Ages of searching, the San’Shyuum
had found no bones or other remains. He knew the Covenant’s core promise that all would walk The
Path and follow in the Forerunners’ footsteps was critical to the union’s stability.
And he was certain that if anyone learned they might be left behind, the Covenant was doomed.
Presently, the holographic shards above the obelisks flickered back to life, filling the room with
dim blue light. The blackened Lekgolo looked like etchings in the floor—a macabre and twisted
glyph.
“We must take no chances with these… Reclaimers.” Fortitude could not bring himself to say “Forerunners.” He grabbed his wattle and gave it a steady tug. “They must be expunged. Before anyone else knows of their existence.”
The Vice Minister’s lower lip quavered. “Are you serious?”
“Quite.”
“Exterminate them? But what if—”
“If the Oracle speaks the truth, than all we believe is a lie.” Fortitude’s voice filled with sudden
strength. “If the masses knew this, they would revolt. And I will not let that come to pass.”
The Vice Minister slowly nodded his assent. “What about him?” Tranquility whispered,
glancing at the Philologist. The aged hermit was now staring up at the Oracle. The device was
slacked in its armature, thin smoke twisting from the gap around its lens. “Can we trust him to keep
this secret?”
“I hope so.” Fortitude released his wattle. “Or he will make a very poor third Hierarch.”