Cross Blades

Cross Blades

Chapter the Third: Officer’s Duty


Time Setting: Halo 3, level “Crow’s Nest”

TO: SpecOps Commander Rtas ‘Vadum
FROM: Blademaster Usze ‘Taham
RE: Minor Domo N’tho ‘Sraom

Most esteemed Commander:

I wish to express some concerns regarding your subordinate, who is currently assigned to the Arbiter’s honour guard.

Minor Domo N’tho ‘Sraom’s conduct does not reflect the professionalism, dignity and self-discipline of an accomplished Sangheili warrior. I understand that his promotion to his current position was based on immediate need, but when time allows I suggest a stronger candidate be selected to replace him, as he makes a poor envoy for our species.

I have not voiced my concerns to the Arbiter as I believe it is important to maintain a unified front in the presence of the Humans. I have been unable to speak with the Arbiter privately due to the pace of current military operations. If you have the opportunity to pass on my concerns to the Arbiter, please feel free to do so. In the interim, ‘Sraom’s combat skills are strong and he will suffice for the present.

It is my recommendation that Minor Domo ‘Sraom be recalled to his prior duties and the Honour Guard position filled by a more senior Sangheili.

For the glory of Sanghelios,
Usze ‘Taham
Blademaster

*

TO: SpecOps Commander Rtas ‘Vadum
FROM: Minor Domo N’tho ‘Sraom
RE: Blademaster Usze ‘Taham

Your Excellency:

I regret to inform you that Blademaster ‘Taham is complicating our efforts to build an alliance with the Humans.

I respect the fact that the Blademaster is a decorated warrior and that it’s his job to evaluate, criticize, and teach, but in my opinion, his holier-than-thou posturing and judgmental attitude are not the best way to interact with the Human species. Maybe you could suggest that the Blademaster be replaced with a more open-minded and sociable person.

I haven’t discussed this with the Arbiter yet because we’re too busy in battle and I don’t want to say anything in front of the Humans. Maybe you could let the Arbiter know if you have a chance. Until then, Blademaster ‘Taham is great at fighting; it’s when he’s not fighting that we have problems.

At the very least could you please tell him to get rid of that helmet? It creeps the Humans out when they can’t see his face. This is some kind of cultural thing for them, and it’s hard get them to cooperate with us when the Blademaster is upsetting them all the time.

In your service,
N’tho Sraom
Minor Domo

P.S. You’ll owe Fil a favour if you ask her to send him a Combat helmet because I am pretty sure she hates his guts.

*

Usze had just settled into his bunk in the Crow’s Nest base wearing only his jumpsuit, weapons newly cleaned and belly newly filled, when there was a knock on his door. Grumbling, Usze didn’t bother putting on the rest of his armour, but he did drop his helmet over his head for the sake of appearances before he opened his door.

Sergeant Johnson stood there, tapping his foot. “You need to come down to the bar and retrieve your little buddy.”

‘Taham didn’t have the patience for humans that N’tho did. He struggled to keep his temper. They were at war; even now, the Arbiter was meeting with the Human Commander Miranda Keyes. Usze was almost as certain that the forthcoming weeks would be full of rampaging Brutes, grenade-happy Grunts, cranky Jackal snipers, homicidal alien robot sentinels, and bloodthirsty undead. With that to look forward to, Usze had decided that the Perfect Warrior would use his brain and clean his weapons, eat some decent food, and finish up by getting all the sleep he could, because who knew when he’d get a chance again?

“Little buddy?” Usze asked, measuring the words carefully.

“Yeah. Nitro.”

Usze felt his temper fray farther. “What has ‘Sraom done this time?”

“This time?” Sergeant Johnson raised an eyebrow. “A bunch of the guys built a bar in one of the unused storerooms. A few hours ago the off duty personnel went down for some drinks. Everything was fine until Doyle, this Newfie, pulls out a couple bottles of home-brewed screech and says he can drink anybody in the room under the table. Nitro took him up on the challenge and downed the whole bottle.”

‘Taham didn’t grasp the entirety of what Johnson had said, but he was fairly certain he got the gist of it. “So ‘Sraom has consumed a large quantity of an…intoxicating beverage.”

“You got it, and I’m not having a drunk Elite charging around my base, breaking things and scaring my personnel. Your Arbiter’s busy with Commander Keyes, so that makes Nitro your problem.”

Oh, N’tho, you fool, Usze thought. ‘Taham himself never consumed intoxicants. A Perfect Warrior had to be ready to do battle at any time; why deliberately cripple oneself with chemicals?

Johnson pressed his lips together. “Plus, I wanna make sure he’s not gonna die or something, because the last thing I need is your boss pissed off at me.”

“What is in this intoxicant?”

“Ethanol.” Johnson pulled out a datapad, performed a search, displayed a file and showed it to ‘Taham. Usze examined it.

“This substance is known to us. It will not harm him…but it will give him a terrible intestinal ache tomorrow morning.” Usze pressed his mandibles together. “A fitting punishment for his stupidity.” The Sangheili shook his head, embarrassed. “Permission to ask a question.”

Johnson looked back at him, then nodded. “Shoot.”

“Do you think it wise to allow your warriors to consume intoxicants when the Brutes are on the rampage not far away?”

Johnson sighed. “We’re all stressed here. We’re tired, and frightened, and wound-up. They’re only allowed to drink when they’re off-duty, and only ten percent of the base is off-duty at one time. Any risk we run by having some of our force under the influence is counterbalanced by the fact that if we don’t give them some way to cope with the tension they’re under, they’ll crack and be useless to us all the time. Sometimes you just…need a break.”

Usze shook his head disapprovingly. He did not require intoxicants to cope. But he was a stronger species, not fragile-minded like these humans.

Or, he thought as Johnson opened the door to the room that served as a bar, like N’tho ‘Sraom.

‘Sraom was not about to be charging around the base any time soon. The blue-armoured Elite was sound asleep in the middle of the floor. Two of the Humans were standing over him, looking concerned; the others clustered on chairs around the room. Usze’s sensitive nose wrinkled at the strong aroma of alcohol.

‘Taham crossed the room and kicked N’tho in the ribs.

N’tho let out a little oof, rolled to his side, and continued to sleep.

Usze kicked him again, rolling him right over onto his back. Nitro’s head slammed into a chair leg. He blinked once, twice, and moaned.

“Get up,” ‘Taham snapped.

N’tho used the chair to slowly pull himself to his hooves; he was none too steady on his feet, and his eyes were only half-open and out of focus. But he greeted Usze and Johnson with a big fangy smile and announced proudly, “I’m the liquor champion of a hundred galaxies!”

Johnson made a strange noise. Usze looked over his shoulder.

The sergeant was laughing.

Usze, absolutely disgusted, grabbed N’tho by the nape of his neck. “Two choices…come along quietly or I bite you and haul you out of here like a hatchling.”

“Bite? Does this mean we finally get to see you without the helmet?” N’tho replied. Usze became aware of the fact that the Humans were intently observing this scene. N’tho did not seem to care. “Or maybe you just want to bite me…well maybe you should do that somewhere private…unless you’d get off by having all these Humans watching us…”

‘Taham tightened his grip until N’tho squealed in pain. “March,” Usze hissed.

N’tho marched.

Once they were out of earshot of Johnson and the other Humans, Usze growled, “I will not have you making inappropriate sexual comments to a superior officer in the presence of lower life forms. This behaviour will have consequences beyond the pain you will be in tomorrow morning—rest assured of that. In the meantime, where are your quarters?”

“I don’t know, sir,” N’tho slurred.

“What?”

“I dunno…how to get there…from here…”

N’tho was too drunk to find his own chestplate, let alone his room in this warren of hallways and identical doors.

He should let ‘Sraom sleep it off in the hall. Better yet, he should put ‘Sraom somewhere unpleasant, like the meat locker, or the sewage room, to teach him a lesson.

But a nagging voice was telling him the Perfect Warrior took responsibility for his subordinates. And even though N’tho was technically not his direct subordinate, Johnson had asked him to take care of the other Elite. He could not shirk this duty, could he?

Usze sighed. When had his life become one disaster after another?

‘Taham shoved ‘Sraom ahead of him until they stood before a simple green door. Usze fumbled with the primitive human key.

“This ain’t my room,” N’tho slurred.

“No. It’s mine.”

N’tho beamed. “Aw, Usze, I didn’t know you liked me.”

“I don’t.” He shoved the other Elite through the doorway. “In.”

‘Sraom staggered across the threshold and sat heavily in the middle of the mattress Usze had so recently vacated. He shut his eyes and purred. “Warm.” Then the blue-armoured Elite reached up, took off his helmet, dropped it on the floor, turned his back to Usze and bent his head in submission. “You still wanna bite me, Uzi?”

‘Taham just stared, having no idea how to react to this offer.

Biting an Elite on the back of the neck, on the infamous sweet spot, caused the limbs and body to go limp. The reaction had evolved as a means for mothers to transport infants in their jaws without fear of the child injuring itself on its mother’s teeth when it writhed in her grip. Civilization had caused the bite to become a mark of social dominance, until the coming of the Prophets had changed things, and now the bite was something taboo, done only in private between lovers…

N’tho tilted his head, waiting.

Usze fidgeted uncomfortably. “Be quiet and go to sleep.”

“But I’m in full armour,” N’tho wheedled.

Ascetics often slept in full armour, and he was tempted to tell ‘Sraom to make do, but as he watched the drunken Sangheili fumble hopelessly with his plates, Usze realized that if he was going to get any sleep at all tonight, he would have to help.

He walked over, hauled N’tho to his feet and brusquely stripped N’tho down to his jumpsuit, with ‘Sraom grinning all the while and leaning his head on Usze’s arm. The other Elite smelled of alcohol, which made ‘Taham wrinkle his muzzle in disgust.

“There. Now lie down and sleep.”

Instead, N’tho dropped to his knees, bent over Usze’s bunk. “When you gonna bite me?” N’tho smiled up at him hopefully.

Usze’s last shred of patience snapped. He grabbed the other Sangheili by the throat, causing N’tho to whimper. “You are drunk, and out of order, soldier. You will hold your tongue and sleep or I will rip it out of your head!” He shook N’tho roughly and then released him, practically throwing him into the bunk.

N’tho dropped his gaze, shamed. “Yes sir.” He pulled the blankets over him, wound himself up into a ball, and lay still.

‘Taham sighed. He sat down against the wall, still fully armoured, and folded his arms over his chest for warmth. N’tho, the prating fool, did not deserve the bed.

But Usze ‘Taham was an Ascetic and he would persevere.

Usze watched N’tho’s chest rhythmically rising and falling. Slowly, he pulled out his data unit and connected to the Covenant BattleNet. As he ran a search on “N’tho ‘Sraom, up came the usual personnel files, school records, list of units, missions, awards…a file of disciplinary actions as well…and something else.

Usze clicked on it. His mouth went dry.

Page after page of images, descriptions—by the Rings, video—of N’tho ‘Sraom in what by all rights should be private situations. Usze stared. His reaction ranged from sick fascination to disgust as he flicked through the list. ‘Sraom, on his knees in the barracks, being mounted by a Sangheili who still wore his flight helmet. ‘Sraom, bent over the bar in the mess. Over a weapons rack. Over the hood of a Wraith. N’tho in chains before the command console of a ship…and that video featured N’tho ‘Sraom with three other warriors…

Sickened, Usze turned off the comm unit. His head turned to the sleeping figure in his bunk. He didn’t even want N’tho on his sheets right about now. It seemed as though N’tho had stooped for most of his old unit and a good number of other personnel as well. And N’tho was always the one being mounted, and he was always silent, as though he had no desires save to grovel before others. Despicable. Revolting.

But then Usze remembered how it had felt to stare that Brute in the face and know he was looking at his own death, until N’tho had burst out of nowhere with his grenades. Or N’tho slicing Jiralhanae on Delta Halo, his blade an arc of blue fire. Or N’tho building bridges with the Humans, who still looked askance at Usze and the Arbiter.

N’tho was a warrior. A bold one, a skilled one. Why would he want to be the fleet’s sexual plaything?

Usze watched the sleeping Minor Domo. N’tho was still in a ball, whimpering softly in his sleep. Usze watched him for a long, long time.

And suddenly a thought crossed his mind.

Why did all those movies and photos have Sangheili military surveillance codes on them?

*

N’tho woke up with an ache in his belly, wrapped up in sheets that smelled of another’s scent.

Oh, by the Forerunners, not again.

His vision was blurry. He blinked a few times; his left eye cleared, his right one did not. He began to get a sinking feeling that the shrapnel burst back on Delta Halo might have actually done some damage.

Where was he? He rolled over and found himself alone in the bed.

The bastard hadn’t even left a note, whoever he had been.

N’tho wracked his brain, but most of his memories from last night were absent without leave. He only remembered scoffing at Doyle’s insistence that his screech was strong stuff; everything after that was a haze. The Human had not been exaggerating. His homebrew had been more than enough to drop a Sangheili.

Who had he slept with?

Oh, by the Rings, please, not a Human.

‘Sraom looked around the room. The quarters were almost bare, but against the wall was something unidentifiable—large, purple…

He blinked again, making certain his eyes weren’t deceiving him.

Usze ‘Taham leaned against the wall, head tilted back, arms folded.

N’tho let a smile grace his mandibles. That bastard must have been smooth—despite the pain in his guts and the ache in his legs, he wasn’t sore at all in the usual ways.

The other Sangheili’s helmet turned in his direction. “Ah. I see you’re awake. And how are you feeling?”

N’tho thought about it. His muscles ached, and by the Forerunners, his belly throbbed. “Well, I’ve got a bit of a stomach-ache...”

“Which you soundly deserved. Limit your consumption of ethanol or I will have no choice but to deem you unworthy of the blade you carry.”

N’tho shut his eyes, waiting for the ache to subside. “If you come over here, I can show you again just how worthy I am.”

Usze stood up and walked closer, but as N’tho stretched, he realized that ‘Taham was not joining him in bed. He felt a sinking sensation inside that was not caused by alcohol. He flipped over, looking up. ‘Taham towered over the bed, his arms folded disapprovingly.

“One more suggestive comment from you, ‘Sraom, and that sword is history,” the Blademaster growled.

N’tho sat up straight, gulping, almost forgetting the way his insides turned over in the fear that gripped his throat. “But sir, didn’t we…”

“We most certainly did not.” The scowl in his voice was audible.

‘Sraom could not make sense of it. “Sir, I don’t understand why I’m in your bed, then.”

“Because you were too drunk to find your own, you fool!”

N’tho shook his head. “But you could’ve left me where I was. Or anywhere, really.” He paused. “Or on your floor.”

“I didn’t. Be grateful.”

“If I show you my gratitude you’ll take my sword away.”

“Are you mad? What in all the Ancestors’ holy names possesses you to say such things? By the Rings, ‘Sraom, I thought you hated me.”

“You’re not that bad.” He gave Usze a guilty smile. “And you’re the only game in town.”

Usze did not appear impressed. “Why don’t you go ask the Arbiter? I hear he’d appreciate that sort of offer.”

The SpecOps warrior scowled. “Where have you been? Haven’t you noticed how the Arbiter and Commander ‘Vadum look at each other? Yeah, I really want to get in the middle of that. Or do you want ‘Vadum to beat the crap out of me?” He climbed to his feet. Part of him was sorry to leave Usze’s bed behind—it was warm, and smelled nice, and the fact that the Blademaster had looked after him while he was intoxicated made him feel strange inside. Was it possible ‘Taham did not hate him? After all, ‘Taham could have had his sword already if he truly wished to shame him…

“As I hear, that did not stop you from pursuing SpecOps Subcommander ‘Otsed,” Usze replied acidly, and N’tho felt sick all over again, and it had nothing to do with the screech.

“Where did you hear that?” he asked, his mouth dry.

“It’s all over the BattleNet,” ‘Taham replied with disgust. “I did a little research last night. You’ve got quite the reputation, you know. Your old unit has posted a lot of messages informing SpecOps that you’re the one to see for a good time. Advice that Subcommander ‘Otsed has already taken.”

“Oh, shit,” N’tho muttered. “Shipmaster ‘Gamul is going to kill me.”

The Blademaster pounced on that comment. “What’s ‘Gamul got to do with this?”

“He’s banging ‘Otsed…I mean…it’s a secret, I didn’t know until it was too late, please don’t tell anyone…”

“Well, you’re certainly in another fine mess, aren’t you?” ‘Taham sounded sadistically amused as he leaned back against the wall. “If you really wanted to keep me quiet, you’d draw your sword on me instead of begging like a Grunt for the teat.”

“If I drew my sword on you, one of us would have to kill the other.” N’tho narrowed his eyes. “And you know, maybe I could take you. But with the Prophets and the Brutes out to kill us, we’ve all got better ways to die. Maybe when this is over, we can have it out…but right now we don’t have that luxury.”

‘Taham nodded. “Just when I thought you were a fool…you are absolutely right. When this is done, we will have a reckoning. Until then, warrior, go clean yourself and prepare for duty.”