Catalog’s connection with the Juridical network had broken off before the holographic data could be completely assembled. Catalog did its best to interpret what he could of my wife’s interrupted testimony.

“After she put you in a Cryptum, and stored the Cryptum on Erde-Tyrene, she commissioned a special ship, assembled a crew, and made a visit to Path Kethona. This was about nine hundred and fifty years ago.”

“Why?”

“To trace the origin of the Flood.”

“And what did she find?”

“All I can assemble from incomplete strings of data is that she found a lost settlement of Forerunners, met an old woman, was bitten, began to understand their ancient language, and visited a valley between giant stone walls covered with crawling mosses.”

“That’s it?”

“I can hypothesize a little more based on the patterns—but am not allowed to do so. The testimony is faulty at best. I violate my vows by telling you this much.”

Outside the ship, the huge double bow structures parted and slid around us, like a pair of long, curved walls. The walls then fanned out into two parabolic dishes, with a huge dark circle at the center.

The dark circle glowed brightly around its edge.

“Do you know what that is?” Catalog asked.

“Not a clue,” I said.

“Is it interested in us, or just making a show?”

The star roads had become extremely malleable. Between these parabolic dishes, three medium-sized Forerunner ships—all Dreadnought-class—veered onto intersecting courses that would bring them upon us in just a few minutes.

“Is everyone secure below?” I asked the ship.

“As secure as possible,” the ship responded in its broken voice.

“We’re about to be boarded,” I said. “What can you do to put off the inevitable—and as soon as we are captured, destroy yourself?”

“Some capabilities remain,” the ship said. “Not many. If exercised, they will delay capture by a few minutes at most.” The voice seemed to acquire strength and tone. “That will be sufficient for a directed explosion of our drives to knock the stasis bubbles in my hold outward through the gap between those objects, along with sufficiently large scraps to serve as camouflage. But you must be gone before that happens.”

“They’ve taken an interest in us,” I said. “Whoever they may be. I think we’ll be removed soon.”

“How will they remove us?” Catalog asked. No answer was possible. “Just asking to pass the time,” it added.

The illuminated edge of the giant black circle grew long, brilliant threads.

The old ship made its preparations.

Those threads reached out, enclosed the ship, and drew us into the black center. Catalog seemed to fade. I hoped this was a trick of my eyes. It was not.