The scale and brilliance of the Didact’s strategic plan now appears more like the tomb of all hope—certainly of all my hopes. A dream we had both shared is little more than a repository for a Promethean long since chewed up and cast aside by history, by force of his enemies, human and Forerunner—and by the dire influence of the Flood.

And yet, this enormous construct, nothing less than a completely artificial world, this bastion designed for endless war, still impresses in a way that a Halo cannot. Coming around the starlit curve, I see brilliant beacons stab up to illuminate seven captured ice-coated planetoids, waiting to be broken down and deliver their essential components—hydrogen, deuterium, oxygen, nitrogen, carbon, silicon, aluminum, nickel-iron, rare earths—enough to last for millions of years.

As the reflective orb rotates beneath my ship, I see also the outstretched, feather-like plumes of vacuum energy pylons, drawing in the potential of an infinity of alternate realities … aborting untold numbers of nascent universes to supply Requiem’s power. Strange that these cosmic deaths have never before struck me as cruel and futile. All of Forerunner technology has been made possible by drawing down vacuum energy. My own life, all that I know, arises out of cosmic predation.

Requiem’s capabilities are for the most part unknown to me—secrets not meant for Lifeworkers. When the Shield Worlds were designed, the far-scattered assembly of their component parts was planned to discourage a complete understanding of armaments and capabilities even among Builders. Only the Warrior-Servants who would serve in these redoubts—the Didact’s beloved fellow Prometheans—would be apprised of their final configurations.

I wonder if all the remaining Prometheans have gathered in Requiem. So many have died in attempting to quell the Flood. A small number still maintain their conversions to Builder Security. But all, to my knowledge, still bear a tremendous loyalty to the Didact. Are they here, finally, to join with my husband?

Audacity is wrapped in a buffer that nullifies all ancillas and other internal processes. The Didact cannot afford to have a potentially infected ship enter his place of final refuge, for however long it may take to fulfill his cruel vision.

The vision of an endless future war.

What does he plan for my composed humans? Will he hold them for ransom, threaten to torture them?

What game does he think he’s playing?

Already I am working to repair the damage he has done. The humans on the greater Ark and then the Omega Halo were the most diverse of their kind in the galaxy—and the last, with the exception of those few Chakas managed to save, and the populations left behind on Erde-Tyrene. And what if Erde-Tyrene is now in the middle of a Burn? It may have long since been overcome by the Flood.