He looks back to the commanders. “But if we fail here, know that another Ark has already been created,” he says, “and from it more efficient, smaller Halos. They form a weapon array far more powerful than even this ring.” He points to the lone holographic Halo. “When these newer Halos are spread throughout the galaxy, they will form a network capable of purging all sentient life. These are our last defense. Without them, the galaxy will be dominated by the Flood. But we must not let it come to this.”

His look seems to cut the air. “A few of you have been Warrior-Servants. Brave, honorable, and yet the heirs of those who committed the unspeakable crime that began this madness. A crime against our creators. Remember that in your long dreams, when you confront the Domain.”

Suddenly, Faber’s armor slumps; his energy seems to dissipate. “But know this. The original Didact was impressed by a Gravemind to serve as messenger. The Gravemind was aware of my activities, purging infected Forerunner vessels and restoring them to service. It sent the Didact my way … deliberately, with a message.”

“What message?” Bitterness asks.

“My family, my wives and children, went into their own exile. They relocated on a system in Path Kural, now part of a Burn. All have been gathered by the Flood. All have been made part of a Gravemind.” His face contorts. He shouts around the circle, “My wives! My children! Addressing me from within a Gravemind, taunting me, accusing me! Through my enemy! If we carry out our designs, they say all will die, and nothing of value will be left to me. The Didact actually took pleasure in delivering this message. ‘This,’ he says, ‘is what you have done, with your Halos.’”

Bitterness bows not in submission, but in joined grief, before the Master Builder. “Our sorrow is with you,” she whispers.

“All sorrow is with you,” the Examiner affirms.

I stand my ground, but this is the support Faber sought, the support he needs. He looks up. “Who better to understand our task, then? I would give anything to have been wrong, I would give everything not to be a Forerunner in these times. As I live and breathe, I am sickened by the truth—sick at my core. Yet by order of the remaining Council, sadly reduced, I have resumed command. The galaxy is ours to lose.

“Let’s put an end to our hideous mistakes. But when we’ve survived, when we’re finished with our awful task, forced on us by the iniquity of Warriors ten million years ago—who among us will ever be able to face the Domain?”

None of the others meet his haunted eyes. Deliberately, I avert mine as well.

“Who, Forerunners?” he cries, then pushes through and departs the Cartographer.

The commanders stand in respectful silence, then turn, as one, toward me.