Broken Circle Read Free Page B

‘Xellus. Mken was aware that to other San’Shyuum, the Sangheili were just impediments—but Mken was also a San’Shyuum of vision.
    If the Sangheili were not entirely exterminated, then perhaps, on some faraway day . . .
    And as for the Sangheili known as Ussa . . .
    If this Ussa is not annihilated, he and I will meet again.
    I can feel it . . .

PART ONE
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A Place of Refuge

CHAPTER 1
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    Dreadnought Keyship
    Conference Deck
    The Age of Reconciliation
    D espite his current status as Minister of Relic Safety, High Lord Mken ‘Scre’ah’ben—the Prophet of Inner Conviction—was always a bit intimidated by the Chamber of Decision. Those he was expected to worship had presumably sat here, at this long, sweeping translucent table within the Dreadnought. The San’Shyuum used their own chairs, but the rest of the room remained just as the Forerunners had left it. The table itself seemed imbued with fractals, animated nesting scrolls that moved into and out of larger forms: three-dimensional, then two-dimensional, then three again. The area faced not a window so much as simply a transparent wall. The hub of the spiral galaxy itself glowed effulgently blue, in places streamed with scarlet and purple nebulae, wheeling with unspeakable immensity, ever transforming, chaotic yet appearing to be an eternal fixed shape.
    Who were the San’Shyuum to be here in this vessel, Mken wondered, who were the San’Shyuum to roost here like a flock ofthe bony-winged rakscraja that dwelled in the vine-choked trees of ancient Janjur Qom?
    But here they were, full of officious self-importance, as they awaited the Sangheili treaty commission.
    With Mken at the table were Qurlom, the San’Shyuum Minister of Relative Reconciliation, and GuJo’n, the Minister of Kindly Subjection. War had given GuJo’n, the chief diplomat, little to do until recently—his job had been only a sinecure, purely theoretical. Now as he unconsciously braided the tufts on one of his wattles, he seemed puffed with an exaggerated sense of his renewed status. His new scarlet robe was splendidly sewn in golden thread to represent interlinked star systems. Rather a pretentious garment, in Mken’s opinion. But he rippled his three-fingered hand in the traditional sign of Esteemed colleagues, let us begin , and GuJo’n returned the gesture with a magisterial accent.
    Qurlom, the elderly former Hierarch, was more pragmatic, and simply began with “The inscription on the Writ of Union is not quite dry, and already the naysayers, the doubters, the heretics begin to arise.” Qurlom was quite serious about the Great Journey; indeed, he was such a true believer that he didn’t waste effort on any ritual, like the social sort, that wasn’t religious in nature. He always launched into the work at hand. “Something must be done.” Qurlom wore a white robe with a platinum five-spiked fluted mantle; his robe bore a simple design: seven circles interlinked in circular chain—the seven Holy Rings.
    â€œI’ve heard such rumors of sedition,” Mken admitted. “There are Sangheili who resist our new Covenant. But it is predictable—a flutter here and there, soon gone in all probability . . . once we make a few examples.”
    â€œNo!” Qurlom writhed his long, wrinkled neck for emphasis.His wattles shook angrily and his antigrav chair wobbled. “Do not make light of this heresy, Inner Conviction!”
    â€œI would certainly never make light of heresy,” Mken said calmly.
    â€œPerhaps these doubters among the Sangheili do not regard it as a religious matter, but as a cultural one,” suggested GuJo’n smoothly, making an elaborate gesture that meant I do not contradict you.
    Qurlom snorted. “Ah, but you do contradict me, GuJo’n. There is no doubt they are heretics.”
    â€œMy understanding,” said