Halo Contact Harvest 16

“His hubris has destroyed our ship!" Tartarus continued. “Threatened the lives of all our pack!"
Maccabeus' blood started to boil. It made it easier to ignore the pain in his leg. “I am Chieftain. My decision rules this pack."

“No, Uncle." Tartarus removed his spike rifle from his belt. "Not anymore." Maccabeus' remembered the day he had challenged the dominance of his own Chieftain, his father. As it had always been, the
contest was fought to the death. In the end, Maccabeus' elderly father had happily taken Maccabeus' knife across his throat—a warrior's mortal wound delivered by one he loved. Before the arrival of the San'Shyuum missionaries and their promises of transcendence, an aged Jiralhanae could not have hoped for a better end.

But Maccabeus was not so old. And he was certainly not ready to submit. "Once made, a challenge cannot be taken back."

"I know the tradition," Tartarus said. He ejected his rifle's ammunition canister and tossed it to Grattius. Then he pointed at Maccabeus' leg. "You are at a disadvantage. I will let you keep your
hammer."

"I am glad you have learned honor," Maccabeus said, ignoring his nephew's haughty tone. He motioned for Strab to retrieve his crested helmet from his command chair. “I only wish I had taught
you faith.”

"You call me unfaithful?” Tartarus snapped.

"You are obedient, nephew." Maccabeus took his helmet from Strab's shaking paws and settled it on top of his bald head. "Someday I hope you learn the difference.” Tartarus roared and charged, beginning a vicious melee that took the two combatants around the holo-tank—Tartarus slashing with his spike rifle's crescent blades and Maccabeus parrying with
his hammer. The younger Jiralhanae knew all it would take was a single crushing blow and he was doomed; the Fist of Rukt bore the marks of countless victims not wise enough to steer clear of its massive stone. As they came back around the tank to their starting positions, Maccabeus slipped on the holo-projector's casing. His eyes had been locked on Tartarus' blades and he had forgotten it was there.

His injured leg faltered as he tried to keep his balance, and, in this moment of weakness, Tartarus was upon him. He tore off the Chieftain's helmet and began slicing at his face and neck. Maccabeus
raised an arm to deflect the attack and the spike rifle cut deep into the unarmored underside of his forearm. The Chieftain howled as the blade severed muscle and bit into bone. Swinging his hammer with his uninjured arm, Maccabeus caught Tartarus in the side of his knee. But the one-handed, lateral
blow didn't carry much force. Tartarus limped back, Maccabeus' blood dripping from his blades, and waited for his uncle to stand.

The paw of the Chieftain's injured arm would not close, but Maccabeus was able to hook his hammer in its thumb and hold the cudgel high. With a mighty roar, he charged his nephew with all the strength he had left. Tartarus hunched as if preparing to meet the impact, but sprung backwards as his uncle drew close. Maccabeus faltered-took a few heavy steps he had not expected-and brought his hammer down against the thick lintel of the bridge's
entry door. As the Chieftain staggered backwards, stunned by the reverberation, Tartarus threw away his spike rifle and bounded forward.

He grabbed Maccabeus by the collar and waist of his chest plate, spun him around on his injured leg, and sent him sprawling down the passage toward the cruiser's shaft without his hammer. Grasping
desperately with his good hand, Maccabeus managed to catch the uppermost rung of a downward ladder as his weight carried him over the edge.
"Doubt," Maccabeus groaned, straining to keep his grip. “Loyalty and faith,” Tartarus replied, stepping to the edge of the shaft. He now held the Fist of Rukt.

"Never forget the meaning of this Age, nephew."
An explosion shook the cruiser, sending a jet of fire across the shaft a few decks below Maccabeus' swaying legs. Yanme'e swarmed all around, firecontrol equipment in their claws, oblivious to their Shipmaster's peril. Tartarus bared his teeth. “Don't you know, Uncle? This sorry Age has ended."
With a powerful roll of his shoulders, Tartarus brought the hammer down, smashing the Chieftain's skull against the ladder. Maccabeus' paw relaxed. Then, with Yanme'e scattering before him, he plummeted lifeless though the flames.
For a moment, Tartarus stood still, chest heaving with the effort of his triumph. Sweat ran beneath his fur. But it did not give off its usual, unregulated scent. Tartarus huffed, acknowledging
his new maturity.-Chpt.20