“That can’t happen,” I said. “Precursor artifacts are eternal. They are with us as reminders of our littleness, forever.”

“Apparently not,” the Didact said. He seemed to be formulating a theory. Then he clapped his hands—massive, booming slams of armor and flesh—and pointed one arm up. The command center complied and began to search and magnify the sky across a broad spectrum.

“You’ve studied the basic principles of Precursor technology, what little we know?”

the Didact asked.

“What little we think we know. No one has ever seen Precursor technology in action.”

“I have,” the Didact said, and gave me a look from the corner of his dark, slitted eyes. “Once. Tel me what you know, what’s changed in our understanding in the last thousand years … and I’l judge whether you might be of use to me.”

“The basic principle was cal ed neural physics,” I said. “Precursors felt the Mantle extended to the entire universe, energy and matter as wel as living creatures … some say. The universe lives, but not as we do.”

“Some say. Since my exile, have we cracked their techniques, acquired their learning?”

“No. That is why I seek the Organon.”

“Wel , it doesn’t exist,” the Didact said. “Not as such.”

Another layer of disappointment fel over my thoughts. “I suppose I knew that,” I said. “But the quest is the joy of it.”

“Aya. Ever so. The quest, the fight—never the finding or the victory.”

I looked up at the Didact, surprised.

The voyager’s sensors scanned heat and other radiation signatures in the sky, latencies in cosmic ray patterns from the inner galaxy and outer reaches of the spiral arm.

“Our humans should feel right at home here,” he said. “Once, they knew these worlds better than Forerunners. They fought and died here, surrounded by Precursor ruins…” He slowly turned, the displays silently precessing with him. Then he pointed out a void in the system’s magnetic flux. “There was recently a huge construct nearby, no more than three hundred mil ion kilometers from here.”

“Precursor?” I asked.

“No. Forerunner—but big enough. The size and mass were sufficient to create a persistent distortion in the system’s field. See that—it even leaves a mark in the stel ar winds.”

“How recently?”

“Judging by the diffusion of its magnetic shadow, four or five decades ago. Portal technology has grown enormously more powerful, but to move such an object, they must be slowing other traffic throughout the galaxy.”

He swept out his hands like a sculptor and tugged down virtual charts, diagrams, simulations based on the sensor’s measurements. What they revealed was a circular gap in the interstel ar medium, and a drawn-out loop in the star’s vast, slowly wobbling magnetic field, its patterns smearing outward for hundreds of mil ions of kilometers.

“This world was recently used as a test subject,” the Didact said. “I can guess by whom.”

“Test for what?”

“They transported a great, sinful weapon into the system—and fired it. Then they left and took it with them. The Builders are going ahead with their plan—complete neural destruction. When I entered my exile, the designs had not been finalized.

Apparently, that’s changed. This time, they tried it on a limited scale. However … there has been an unfortunate side effect, one I hope they did not anticipate. We must act quickly.”

The displays quivered and vanished. “The Librarian heard about the test. Knowing she would try to alert me, the Builders set up surveil ance to watch her. She could not come to release me herself, but she had made other arrangements by using what she loves most … our more problematic brethren.” He glanced at the humans.

“Ultimately, they helped save me from being captured. They are her servants, whether they know it or not.”

“They know,” I said.

“And whether I like it or not, she knew they must become my al ies,” the Didact said. “You as wel . We are going down to the planet. Al of us. You’l require armor.

The ship wil outfit you.”

ELEVEN

THE ARMOR TOOK an hour to grow up around me, with numerous half-visible engineering units, smal and large, flitting from the bulkheads to adjust and connect the necessary parts, then to activate—and then cut me and my fresh armor lose.

At first, the humans refused, but after being chased around the command cabin by rippling bands, they were final y cornered—and forced to submit. Chakas seemed more wil ing than Riser, even curious, but the poor Florian was mortified, growling to himself and trembling. The Didact tried to reassure him with a finger- stroke across his cheek. Riser bit him.

The Didact withdrew, then waited impatiently.

As there was nothing else to do except wince at some minor pinching, I observed my Promethean kidnapper with what I hoped was more discernment and sophistication, based on the experience I had gained in the last few pentads.

I had never met anyone like the Didact.

Warrior-Servants as a rule kept to themselves, except to respond to commands from political leaders, most often Builders. A few Warriors, among them Prometheans, had once served on various councils but only in an advisory capacity. Skil at war, however necessary at times, has always seemed shameful y contradictory to the basic principles of the Mantle. Stil , Forerunners had used Warriors many times and likely would again.

Hypocrisy is its own col apsing mineshaft, my swap-father was fond of saying.

The Didact walked around me, punching my shoulder and torso ribbons, poking a darkly shielded finger into the interstitial at my neck, and general y putting my armor through a series of forceful tests, none of which I felt was strictly necessary. My armor—smoothly curved and silvery gray, helmet edges sweeping back from my facial features, with trim-lines of white and green—was already sufficiently functional to provide me with lists of command structures, such as would be made available to Manipulars. But here, on this ship, access seemed to be expanded— as if I were tapping into the Didact’s own stores.

And then I heard a familiar voice.

The little blue feminine shape reappeared in the back of my head. I felt subtle tendrils establish the necessary connections with memory and thought. My ancil a … “I am here, Manipular,” she said. “I cannot establish a connection with your previous ancil a. Until that connection is made, may I serve you to the best of my ability?”

“You’re from the Librarian’s staff,” I said.

“That seems to be the case.”

“An ancil a like you got me into this situation. Are you here to serve me, or the Librarian?”

“Are you disappointed by your present circumstances?”

That took me aback. I looked across the command center. The humans were clumsily adjusting to their outfits. Riser was much tal er than he was used to, walking stiffly on long legs that put him on a level with Chakas.

The Didact was deep in study of the system’s trace in the photonic realm of the Glow, which might reveal even more evidence of what had happened here.

“I’m in way over my head,” I said to the ancil a. “I don’t like being twisted around and held against my wil —even to compensate for my foolishness.”

“Do you feel foolish?” the voice asked.

Chakas approached. “I also have a woman in my clothes,” he said with a wry twist of his mouth. “She says she wil help me. She’s blue. Where is she, real y?”

“She doesn’t exist except in your armor and your head … and wherever she gets her information from, perhaps the ship.”

“Can I sleep with her? Marry her?” Chakas asked.

“I’d like to see you try.”

Chakas was not much enlightened by this answer. “What kind of help do I need?”

he asked.

Riser walked about with increasing confidence and joined us, eyes darting as if he were being shown things only he could see. “Doesn’t itch. Pretty in here, but I can’t see my family—only her. She looks like ha manush, but she is not part of my family.”

I found it interesting that the ancil a would adopt Riser’s physical form.

Chakas turned to me. “Ha manush live with ancestors in their heads. Cha manush do not.”

“She wil answer your questions,” I said, “both of you, if you figure out what to ask.”

Riser nodded. “Perhaps she is somebody’s ancestor.” And he closed his eyes.

The Didact broke from his study and approached us. “They look sil y,” he said of the humans. “You look … What’s wrong?”

“My ancil a was programmed by the Librarian.”

“So is mine,” the Didact said. “We’re here at her request, to fulfil a mission we set for ourselves a thousand years ago. It’s not starting at al wel .”

“I don’t feel free to ask what I need to ask, or study what I need to study,” I said.

“You are certainly not free, if by that, you mean free to act like a selfish Manipular.”

“You mean, suck it up,” I said.

“Exactly.” He drew down more displays. “From orbit, I can’t make the necessary inspection. We’re going down to the surface. Al of us.”

“The humans are just animals—they’re not ready for this,” I said.

“I fought those animals once,” the Didact said. “Believe me, they’re capable of surprising you. Make sure they’re prepared. This wil not be an easy landing.”

Chakas put on a statue-like expression of calm disdain as I passed along this information. “There’s a barren planet below,” I said. “We’re going to land.”

“What’s he want with us?” Chakas asked.

“I’d sel him for a bag of fruit,” Riser said.

I was dismayed by how much sympathy I felt for these two inferiors. Animals, perhaps—but not fools. What then was my excuse?

Atmosphere sang against the hul . The ship shuddered at the new strains on its fresh construction. It hadn’t yet integrated—hadn’t tested itself under al conditions, especial y planetfal .

“The Librarian protects you,” I told them. “But the Librarian looks after him, too.

Something big happened here—something other Forerunners have kept secret.”

I returned to the Didact. He was lost in research, his armor connecting with the ship to take on new volumes of knowledge. Somewhat to my surprise, my ancil a synced with his, and I accessed an intricately stepped and footnoted chart of relationships concerning the Didact himself.

He wanted me to know more about him.

Ten thousand years ago … The Librarian and the Didact had first met on Charum Hakkor, the political center of the human-San’Shyuum empire. The final battle of Charum Hakkor had broken the human-San’Shyuum al iance and destroyed the last reserves of human resistance. That battle had been notorious, a great victory—but from the point of view of Mantle orthodoxy, of course, supremely disgraceful.

Victory did not bring joy for the Didact.

The limb of the barren gray planet expanded. Our ship took on an aerodynamic configuration, bowing out at the sides, altering its propulsion, growing huge landing pads and radiating fluxor shields against blowback.

We were about to land on a dead world in a dead system. The horizon was rugged in the extreme.

“Below … This is Charum Hakkor, isn’t it?” I asked.

The Didact did not answer, but I sensed the truth.

“The fools,” he murmured. He looked at me with a deep sadness. The contrast between his face and mine—the depth of experience, sorrow, character … “And they claim that Warriors violate the Mantle.”

Slowly, we descended through the last few kilometers of atmosphere. Our armor locked itself to the deck. Behind me, Riser chirruped bitterly about being unable to move.

The command center shifted its bulkheads and opened a direct view port to the surface. We were landing in darkness.

“Humans made Charum Hakkor the center of their empire to be close to one of the greatest col ections of Precursor structures,” the Didact said. “They believed they were the true inheritors of the Mantle.”

“Heresy—right?” I asked.

“It was one cause of our war,” the Didact said. “Not the primary cause, however.

Humans resented Forerunner expansion outward. For fifty years, scattered through the galactic arm, humans probed our settlements and positions. Then they al ied with the San’Shyuum, combined their knowledge, and created weapons against which my warriors had little defense.”

“Settlements? I thought Forerunners didn’t need new planets—that we’d achieved maximum growth.”

The Didact sighed. “There are many things Builders do not teach to their young,”

he said. “Earlier displacements around Orion and in toward galactic center forced us to move native populations from their home regions to new, outer systems. The Librarian and her staff cataloged and searched for the most appropriate matches, those stars most like native suns…”

“You shuffled planets?”

“Yes,” the Didact said. “Humans are natural y purists. They resent having to live with other species. In fact, they’re among the most contentious, bigoted, self- centered…” He looked back at Riser and Chakas. “I never understood how my wife tolerated them.”

“Forerunners don’t like living with other species, either,” I observed.

“Yes, but for good reason,” the Didact said. “We enforce the Mantle. We must focus and protect and preserve al life—including ourselves.”

I had been taught this principle often enough, yet now it rang incredibly hol ow.