Worse, in asking me to design these sanctuaries, a request I could not refuse, I was perceived as working with the Master Builder, against the wishes of my husband.

The Master Builder, sensing a winning strategy, now volunteered that the great extragalactic factory used to manufacture Halos, known as the Ark, would also safely carry protected populations—at tremendous expense and great profit for Builders. Builders heartily approved.

And he suggested that a second Ark be constructed, in secret, to expand that role. More species could be saved, more Halos could be made. Additionally, all of the problems now apparent with the first Ark could be addressed.

The choices my husband and I faced were narrowing. Politically, our paths would soon diverge.

* * *

Life roils with competition, death, and replacement, from the tide pool borders of our natal ocean to the farthest stars. Its cruelty and creativity are interwoven.

And yet this was a time—far from the first time—when Forerunner defiance of the dictates of the Mantle pushed us perilously close to tyranny, desecration, and—I use the oldest of our words here—outrage.

We had the excuse that Lifeworkers and Warrior-Servants were not in supreme power, that the Old Council was being managed by Builders, that even the Juridicals were under their sway … And that the Flood might again place the entire galaxy in peril.

But was even all of that justification enough?

* * *

The Builders made the first Ark and the earliest Halo installations … large revolving rings, thirty thousand kilometers in diameter, capable of sustaining millions if not billions of organisms on their inner surfaces. Paradises for research, in one way—but designed ultimately to destroy all life for hundreds of thousands of light-years around.

The Old Council had the wisdom at least to delay construction of the second Ark. No need to make the Builders too powerful to be controlled.

The last physically intact humans arrived on Erde-Tyrene. They were very few, much fewer than I had planned. Almost immediately, I began my program of rebuilding their populations—away from the critical eye of the Master Builder, the Council, and even the Didact.

In this familiar environment, my humans thrived. In fact, they demonstrated an astonishing, almost supernatural resilience. To the shock of my Lifeworkers, the reverted humans bred to more and more advanced forms over just a thousand years, diverging into distinct varieties like a bush blooming with a thousand brilliant flowers. Their numbers grew as well, from thousands to hundreds of thousands to millions.

I could not explain this effect. I sought for it in their genetics, and found nothing. Was there something else at work here—something that had somehow remained hidden from us?

My humans soon gathered into bands, tribes, villages. Tilled the soil and raised crops. Took wolves and goats and sheep, cattle, birds, and charmed them into domestication. Made many tools, developed crude trade and industry.

Within a thousand years, some of them reminded me of the Lord of Admirals.