“I can. Females have served in ships and even been weapons masters.”

“Very, very rarely.”

“There’s no law preventing me, and I shall come with you.” The ships were on her land. If ‘Telcam wanted them, he’d get her as wel , or he’d get nothing. “Or else I’l order my brothers and sisters to destroy those ships right now.”

“You can’t do that.”

“I can. I’m returning home now to leave instructions for my sisters in my absence, and I’l be waiting with the ships.”

Raia turned and left as fast as she could, mainly to stop herself from changing her mind. If anything happened to her, the keep might fal into chaos. She had to leave someone with clear orders. Uncle Naxan could have the elder’s authority. Umira was the most sensible of her sisters, and she could manage the farm and the accounts until Raia got back. Under the Covenant, they’d never had to worry about food supplies. Now, without San’Shyuum support and alien labor, they had to fend for themselves and learn to run their own lives again.

And we will.

Back at Bekan keep, she packed a bag. She couldn’t recal the last time she’d done that. She’d never needed to travel, to be away from home, and it felt strange and unsettling. Dural watched her from the door, clutching his practice weapon—a wooden staff—as if he were on sentry duty.

“What are you doing, Mother?”

“I’m going to look for Uncle Jul,” she said. Lying to children made them weak and confused. They had to know that the world was a dangerous place, and preparing them for it meant withholding nothing that might distress them. By watching her deal with difficult things, Dural would learn to be decisive and unafraid. “He should have come home by now.”

“Is he dead?”

It was a perfectly normal question in a society where almost every male who was physical y capable expected to be a warrior and where so many had died in battle. But this was Jul’s son, not that the youngster realized that, and Raia was far more fragile about the prospect of losing her husband than she’d realized. The word dead wounded her. She tried to look calm.

“Jul’s a survivor,” she said. “Wherever he is, he’l return to us. But I want to know why he’s been delayed, and by whom. Now, be obedient while I’m away. Do as Naxan and Umira tel you. I’l know if you don’t.”

Dural watched her in silence for a little longer. It was only when she put on her belt with its unfamiliar holster that he parted his jaws, pleased. She was armed. He knew that was a good thing, a sensible thing, and that his mother would be al right. It seemed to satisfy him and he walked off.

Carrying a pistol felt odd, but Raia was ful y trained to use it wel . Al children were taught to fight and defend themselves; adult females rarely served on the front line, but they were expected to fight to defend their keep if it came under attack. And that was how she felt right then. Her husband was in danger, she was sure of it, and her duty was to go to his aid. Some would tut and disapprove of her leaving the keep and the family in the hands of others, but she didn’t care.

‘Telcam was the one who needed to worry. If he’d harmed Jul, she would kil him. That, too, was her duty.

As she headed for the field where the vessels were laid up, wading through long grass that plucked at her legs, a little nervous voice at the back of her mind asked her if she was mad, and if she even understood what she was doing. She slapped it down—yes, she understood, of course she understood. When she reached the warship cal ed Unflinching Resolve and gazed up at the massive curve of its hul , she admitted to herself that she was terrified, but that was irrelevant. It was far more frightening to sit and wait in the keep, weak and dependent.

I bore warriors. Therefore I can become one, too.

She could hear a Revenant approaching. She waited with one hand on her holster until it came into view, flattening the grass with its thrust, and as it slowed to a halt she fixed the pilot with her best do-not-toy-with-me stare.

Forze got out of the Revenant and looked at her with his head on one side, eyes on the weapon.

“Now you really frighten me,” he said. “I hope you don’t expect to pilot a ship, too.”

“No,” she said. “Not yet.”

TEMPLE OF THE ABIDING TRUTH, ONTOM: TWO HOURS AFTER THE INITIAL EXPLOSION Phil ips held his breath, listening for the noise of energy bolts and trying to work out how long it would take him to sprint to the temple gates when the shooting stopped.

He glanced at ‘Telcam. From the length of his stride, Phil ips calculated that the Sangheili would outrun him as fast as a dad chasing after a wil ful toddler. He’d never make it to the end of the passage. Damn, al he had to do was get outside and grab the first Sangheili he saw—anyone at al — to ask them to make contact with Cadan or the Arbiter’s office. Then he could get a message to Osman and be out of here.

“Hey, ‘Telcam,” he said. He found himself switching between English and Sangheili in the same sentence now, just as ‘Telcam did. “Let’s be clear about this. While I appreciate your concern for my safety, are you holding me prisoner? Can I leave if I’m wil ing to take the risk?”

‘Telcam was poring over a chart with the others. There were about thirty Sangheili in ful armor crammed into the chamber fifty meters inside the doors, trying to find space between the crates of munitions and muttering about a ship cal ed Unflinching Resolve. Then he heard the name ‘Mdama.

They were discussing Jul, speculating about his disappearance. He had vessels laid up at his keep, and they were going to have to move them in a matter of hours. It alarmed them.

“Do you think he was always ‘Vadam’s agent?” one of them asked. “Has he maneuvered us into a trap?”

“His friend keeps cal ing to ask if he’s with us. There’s something very wrong.”

Perhaps ‘Telcam had just been asking Phil ips what he knew of Jul simply because he was asking everyone, and ONI were as likely as anyone else to have heard if he’d run into trouble.

From the conversations Phil ips could overhear, some of the rebels were religious types like ‘Telcam, and some were just regular hinge-heads who’d never known anything else but serving as San’Shyuum cannon fodder and hadn’t yet found a civilian role to keep them busy. It was al in the language. The monkish ones used archaic tenses and weird Dickensian phrases—if Dickens had been Sangheili—like ere we presume to know the mind of our betters. The ones who’d been soldiers had a much less fril y and more immediate turn of phrase. In translation, a couple of them reminded him of Mal.

But none of them seemed to share the Arbiter’s vision of a galaxy where human and Sangheili could one day cooperate, once both sides had forgotten they’d been trying to out-genocide each other for thirty years. None of this bunch liked or trusted humans. He could hear what they cal ed him.

“I know what nishum means, by the way,” he said, in his most col oquial Sangheili. ‘Telcam stil hadn’t answered him, but he must have heard the question. “You stop cal ing me nishum, and I won’t cal you hinge-heads.”

He could tel which of them spoke some English from the number who turned to glare at him. Intestinal parasite. Tapeworm. It wasn’t friendly military abuse of the kind Mal cal ed slagging, either.

‘Telcam was the last to straighten up and look around.

“The first that many Sangheili saw of humans were men in armor,” he said. “On first glance they thought you were arthropods with exoskeletons.

Instead they found there were smal , soft, vulnerable, pink creatures inside. Or brown ones. I hope you can understand the analogy, even if it’s not flattering.”

“That’s okay,” Phil ips said. He was happy to play the harmlessly clever child for most Sangheili, dazzling them with his skil s at unlocking an arum, but he felt he’d survive better with these ones by showing a bit of fight. “I expect you’ve worked out hinge-heads. I’ve heard chuck-heads, too.

You know what a chuck is? It’s a little gripping piece on a dril that holds the bit. It opens up just like your damned mouths.”

Maybe it offended them and maybe it didn’t. Phil ips realized he was starting to feel like a Sangheili when he spoke the language now, not just consciously switching into trying to think like them. There was always an undercurrent of defensive aggression about them. Their anatomy didn’t help, because the way their heads were permanently thrust forward automatical y triggered a subconscious reaction in humans that they were spoiling for a fight, but it was more than just bad luck in the skeletal lottery. They real y did throw down chal enges and tel you where their boundaries were. Phil ips had mul ed over al kinds of stuff about the origin of their species and their territorial approach to life, but now he found he’d stopped rationalizing and was just snarling back like any other Sangheili marking his personal space among the boys.

‘Telcam gave him a long, cold look. So did the others, even the ones who Phil ips knew didn’t understand more than two words of English.

“Fascinating,” ‘Telcam said. “And to answer your original question, no, you may not leave. You’l be questioned by the Arbiter about where you’ve been. I have little confidence in your ability to withstand that if he were to ask awkward questions now that the coup has begun. Apart from which—I want to be sure that your shipmaster honors her agreements. Having you here reassures me of that.”

You bastard. So I’m a hostage. I should have seen that coming.

Phil ips felt his pulse speeding up but he wasn’t actual y scared any longer. It was a strange feeling. “She doesn’t even know I’m stil alive. I can’t call her. You think that’s going to guarantee your arms supplies?”

That seemed to focus ‘Telcam. “You came here with no communications?”

“No. I’ve got a radio, but it’s been damaged.” He pul ed the device off his jacket and held it up, suddenly remembering that there was a needle mounted inside that was prepped to give him a fatal dose of fast-acting nerve agent if BB judged he was in too tight a spot for everyone’s safety.

Jesus, what’ll set this thing off now? He wasn’t sure if he should wear it in case it malfunctioned. “You could always contact Osman. Why not give it a try now?”

‘Telcam wandered over to him and peered at the radio. Phil ips held on to it, trying to look casual and pissed off. He didn’t dare let go of it. He didn’t know if BB’s fragment was stil recoverable and could fal into the wrong hands, and if the nerve agent was ejected, a dead ‘Telcam wouldn’t help matters. He wasn’t sure if Sangheili were susceptible to the same toxins as humans, but he wasn’t taking the risk.

“Look,” he said. “Damn shrapnel or something. I suppose it saved me from worse, though.”

‘Telcam stared at it. Another Sangheili, the shipmaster they cal ed Buran, ambled across and took a close look at it, too. It seemed to fascinate them.

“You’re very lucky, worm-boy,” Buran said. “What were the chances of that saving you?”

‘Telcam looked riveted. “Philliss, I believe the gods particularly want you to live. Al the more reason for keeping you at my side.”

Phil ips took it as another smartass remark, but then he looked ‘Telcam in the eye and saw that light, that weird otherness. Damn, he real y meant it. It was al too easy to see him as the pragmatic field master and forget that he had only one motive for overthrowing the Arbiter: religion. He wasn’t too fussy about who ran things as long as they did it for the gods. This was a holy war. Phil ips bit back his automatic retort that the gods probably wanted him to cal home, too, and looked for a way to work this to his advantage.

“I have to let Osman know where I am,” he said.

“Very wel .” ‘Telcam reached into his belt and took out a device designed for huge four-fingered hands. That was one of the things that stil came as a daily surprise for Phil ips, that Sangheili could manipulate anything sophisticated with hands like that. “I shal cal the ship and let you talk with her.”

‘Telcam tapped a complicated sequence of symbols on the comms unit and waited. Phil ips had often been on the receiving end of those signals, but he’d never heard what it sounded like when the cal didn’t connect. Now he knew. It was a quiet continuous stream of random clicks like hot metal cooling down.

“The ship must be in slipspace,” ‘Telcam said. “We wil attempt to cal Osman later.”

Please let her be on her way. She has to know I’m here. I was transmitting.

“Okay.” Phil ips made a conscious effort to relax and look irritated rather than concerned. “So what happens now? How long are you going to keep me here? I haven’t even got a change of clothes.”

“Is that your most pressing concern?”

“Unless you’ve got something else to keep me busy.”

“By nightfal , our brothers in cities across Sanghelios wil be taking arms against kaidons who support the Arbiter, and I shal lead the direct assault on Vadam. We have ships and we have sufficient arms. We may not prevail immediately, but we shal take control within the month. How do you see yourself fitting into that battle plan?”

“Okay,” Phil ips said. “I’l make the coffee. Maybe play with an arum. ”

‘Telcam snorted like a horse and stalked back to the table. Everyone seemed to be using one of those communicators now, having the same conversation with their opposite numbers in other keeps. They seemed to have a number of ships, but it just didn’t seem enough to take over a whole world, not even with the hardware that ONI had supplied.

But they’re still floundering. It’s been less than a year—a few months, that’s all—since the Covenant fell apart. They’re still relearning how to organize themselves without the San’Shyuum calling the shots.