Three: The Omen

Midmorning, Forerunner World Soraceon III, estimated April 108312 BCE.

"What has you looking so haggard, Didact-cáno?"

The Forerunner rubbed his temple, barely sparing a glance at the other soldier. "Politics," he said, making the word sound like an obscenity, "Even with the Flood-based portions of your RNA before them, the Council refuses to see sense, at least until they see your more sinister kindred in action." He sighed, rubbing still more vigorously. "And my wife is causing me no end of headaches. She has already begun indexing the local species because we do not know how much time we have."

"She's moving without the approval of the Forerunner Council?"

"And the Galactic Council, a farce though it is." He nodded his thanks when the Spartan poured them both drinks from an elegant decanter. Though neither had any real need to eat or drink with the life-support systems of their armor sustaining them, they enjoyed doing it. John sat across from the Promethean, shifting slightly when his armor rearranged itself to make his position more comfortable. He had been actively wearing and using Forerunner armor instead of his MJOLNIR for a local year now, but it took more than that to wipe away the ease of thirty years with UNSC gear.

"She's already requisitioning materials for the Ark, or so your niece tells me. Three of them."

"'Three?!'" The Forerunner's eyes snapped to the Spartan. "Isn't one enough?"

"Considering the fact that the – 'Origin Ark' – got hit point-blank by a Halo ring misfiring, I'm going to trust her judgment and say 'no.'"

"By the Tower…" He leaned back against the headrest of his chair. "My wife brings new meaning to the human term 'crazy prepared.'"

"One can never be too careful." John finished his drink and stood.

"This coming from the human who is never careful."

"I am, with some things." And just like that, his mind went to Cortana. He wondered how she was fairing without him. Part of him seemed concerned with how easily he wrote off his brothers and sisters – the strong live and the weak die – but the vast majority of him was worried for his little AI instead. He knew that UNSC AI didn't live much longer than seven years.

He wondered how much time she had left. If she would have any time left when he returned to her.

He clenched his jaw, the only outward sign of his distress. And what about humanity and the former Covenant? Were they still fighting, or had they attained some form of peace? Privately, he doubted it. Humans and Sangheili were more similar than they appeared; there were bound to be rebels on both sides – some "Elites" who still followed the Prophets' teachings, some humans who refused to let the past go. He wouldn't put it past either side to try and one-up the other.

(Another, more human part of him frowned at how simple it seemed for him to consider himself something "other" now, neither human nor Forerunner. How easy it was for him to recognize himself as Flood. He wondered if it was permanent.)

"You are troubled, Spartan."

Gramlek, the Didact's weapons master. "I'm worried about Cortana," he said, glancing around. His feet had carried him to the Promethean firing range near the Forerunner's home, to stand before the weapons wall. He began perusing the guns.

"Your ancilla?"

"Yes, in a manner of speaking." He chose a lightrifle and picked up some ammunition for it. "She's not supposed to live forever like a Forerunner AI – ancilla. I'm hoping she's still alive when I return."

If he didn't notice that he referred to Cortana as a living being rather than a functioning one, or that he said "when I return" rather than "if I return," the Promethean certainly did. "If what you say is true," he said carefully, "I'm sure she will be. She's stubborn." He moved to set up some targets for the human.

But his statement caused still more doubts to rise in the hybrid's mind. Was the Origin even real? Was he even the real SPARTAN-117? Was such a Spartan a real person? He knew for a fact that the UNSC could transfer memories to flash clones – what if "Epheria and Selenica" had done the same? What if the Spartan program was just a false reality constructed by the two sinister goddesses to hurt him?

A collection of lies, that's all I am; stolen thoughts and memories…

John let out a subsensory growl and lifted the lightrifle, taking out one of the Promethean Knight targets with a single shot. The doubts filling his mind were decreasing his efficiency on the battlefield. He wasn't even sure if the world around him was real, or if it was just a dream created by his sleeping mind. If it was a dream, it was a hyper realistic one. So real that he wasn't sure he wanted to risk dying for real in order to have a chance at waking up.

One shot after another, the Knights fell before the power of the mutant Spartan, attempting to score hits of their own before dying spectacular deaths. He was aware of the weapons master watching him move – more a hunched, stalking predator than the straight-backed, driven Spartan he was supposed to be – and eventually noticed that the twins were there as well. When all of his targets had crumbled away, he lowered his gun.

"The Librarian would like you to meet her on Charum Hakkor," Kenera said, tilting her head in acknowledgment of his skill, "The Didact will not be joining us."

The Spartan frowned internally. The moment he heard the planet's name, a rill of pleasure and destructive instinct escaped the box he'd forced it into. Kin, it said, Imprisoned kin. Need to free. Two armies better than one.

"What's on Charum Hakkor?"

"Precursor artifacts," Venera replied, and her twin followed with, "Relics of the human empire."

'But that's not all there is.'

Another shiver ran down his spine. "I don't think this is a good idea, but I'll go." The part of him that was still entirely human said that it was a VERY Bad Idea. "It's not what it seems," he said to himself, fingers tightening around his weapon, "My mouth speaks at another's behest…"

But neither Gramlek nor the twins heard him.

-------------------------------------------

Once, John had thought it was impossible to top the alien beauty of the various Forerunner constructs across the galaxy. Their symmetry and mathematical precision took is breath away, now that he was actually able to appreciate their works.

The Precursor structures of Charum Hakkor proved him wrong. The orbital arches stretching skyward overhead looked like they were made of light and diamond, glittering in the high noon sun. The buildings were much the same, albeit built over by human hands. Currents of light, akin to ley lines, traced seemingly nonsensical patterns over every surface after dark, their glow dimming during the day – the Spartan could only imagine what the place looked like at night, especially from the air. If it was anything like what he glimpsed of the Portal Generator while it was active, it would be amazing. This might have been where the Forerunners received inspiration for the design.

The Librarian – softer, gentler than her Promethean husband – was clearly amused at his thinly-veiled wonder. She was small for a Forerunner, for the moment at least; a full head shorter than him. He had been somewhat surprised to find that the twins would be the only ones accompanying them, even though they did not expect any trouble.

There was absolutely no one on the planet. There were completely alone – could kill them and no one would know until it was too late - he harshly bit his tongue, using the pain to force the voices away.

But they weren't alone. Now that he was actively looking for something, someone to deter his instincts, he could sense other life forms nearby. It felt akin to a type of motion tracker. He could sense… what… what the hell was he sensing? He could detect what he thought was movement, but even when the "movement" stopped, he could still feel something there, like someone was using a dimmer switch.

He frowned and stopped. "Are we meeting someone here, Librarian?" he asked softly, barely loud enough for the others to hear him. He didn't use the COM system.

She frowned for a second, then took on an "aha!" expression. "Ferial," she called, "I thought our visits were not going to overlap."

"Indeed they weren't," was the reply in growling, lightly accented Forerunner, "but I believed the Dark One would find it easier to control himself if there were more people present."

Six – there was no other word for it – dragons moved out onto the highway to greet the Librarian. The one who had spoken, Ferial, was one of the three smaller dragons, with a more whiplike tail than the larger dragons and horns that curved back over her head rather than curling out away from her temples. She and the Librarian embraced, the other dragons looking on in amusement at the display of interspecies camaraderie. A few of them nodded to the Spartan and the twins, before the one called Ferial turned to look at him. They were about the same height, the hybrid noted, but he had several kilos of mass on her.

Ferial recoiled slightly in shock. "A human! I thought he was a Forerunner."

"Apparently not."

"My apologies, Dark One," the dragoness said to him, "Even my abilities are not infallible. My people have methods of predicting the future, you see," she explained before he could ask, "I thought you a Forerunner and left you a message in the Domain to let you know we would be joining you, in hopes that you would not be alarmed when we arrived. Had I known otherwise, I would have sent it through – erm…" She frowned, eyes distant. "Gastropod correspondence?"

"Gastro – ah. Snail mail."

"Yes, that." She nodded. Her general head shape reminded him of a Sangheili. "Though you might be a notable exception, humans cannot directly access the Domain."

They continued on as a group. The Spartan's instincts assessed the newcomers as enough of a threat to retreat back into the dark corners of his mind. There it sulked. It seemed to believe that it could defeat them, but not without taking unacceptable losses.

"Ferial is the Primas Uperbia," the Librarian was saying, "that is, the First Among the Gultanr."

He snorted softly. At their questioning glances, he elaborated. "Change that title a little bit, and you get 'First' or 'Greatest Pride' – as in vanity – in a human language called Latin."

The prophetic dragon preened with exaggerated arrogance, provoking a smile from the Lifeworker and unladylike snorts from the twins and her companions. "We're here," said the Forerunner.

"Here" was a cavernous building off the main thoroughfare, enormous even compared to the Forerunners' considerable construction scale. It reminded him of the old grain silos on Earth, only exponentially larger. It was hosing something all right, but not food for life… Though he wanted nothing more than to continued forward, break open our brother's prison, assault these insects who dare to imprison our kindred – John stopped again and breathed deeply, fighting to get himself back under control.

It was incredibly frustrating to know that he would never again be as efficient, as restrained on the battlefield. He would always feel the urge to infect his opponents - victims John don't kid yourself –

Who are you?

The Spartan opened his eyes. He was no longer in front of the Giants' Armory.

He was on High Charity. And before him…

"You're no longer a true Precursor, Gravemind," he growled at it, shoring up his mental defenses against it, "so don't you dare take that shape in front of me. If that's even what a real Precursor looks like."

It laughed softly, sinisterly, reminding him of when Cortana had been in its grasp. So wise, for one so young, it breathed, it's form wavering and taking on the shape he remembered from Delta Halo's Library. And so rebellious, too. Why do you persist in viewing these lesser beings as allies, comrades? They all die in the end. We alone are eternal.

"My ass we are. Halo took you out quickly enough."

And yet still I persisted.

"Because the Forerunners let you."

A life grudgingly given is still a life. You would begrudge your AI – your belovedCortana – the same opportunity after she goes rampant?

John refused to let his anger show, pulling his shields even tighter. "She will be capable of restraining herself, unlike you. If not for her own sake, then for mine."

Will she?

"Absolutely."

Such confidence in a faulty piece of software…

:mate companion she will not deny us we will not deny her :

'For once we agree on something.' As one, they lashed out at the Gravemind, ripping enormous holes in its psyche due to the suddenness of their attack. It had not expected them to actually hurt it, and so had not been ready to defend itself. "She is ours!" they snarled at it, "You will not touch her!"

It hissed and withdrew, High Charity bleeding away to the Giants' Armory. Though the Librarian appeared not to have noticed his lapse, Ferial, Venera, and Kenera had. The dragoness lightly touched one of his shoulder pauldrons. "Your companion does not need your concern right now," she said quietly, "Focus on yourself. Focus on making it back to her with your sanity intact."

He nodded and followed her into the prison.