Halo: Heaven and Earth/Book Two: New Earth

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==Book Two: New Earth==
===Chapter Twenty-One: The Frozen Citadel===
An icy wind lashed against the Sangheili keep's crenelated walls. The snowstorm that had raged for the past three days over the fortress and its holdings continued with no sign of abating. The winter seasons on this planet were particularly brutal, lasting for the better part of a standard year and leaving the rest of the seasons little time to make up for months of endless blizzards. Considering that the Sangheili were a cold-blooded species it made little sense for a planet like Archangel's Rest to hold the seat of one of their great houses.
Of course, the Sangheili were rarely practical when it came to matters of religion. And considering the smooth spires of the immense Forerunner citadel looming over ]Baran Keep, on this subject Hera couldn't blame them for picking such a stark planet to make their fortress. Sometimes a bit of personal comfort needed to be sacrificed, especially when galaxy-shifting powers were involved. At least the keep's interior was heated.
Spartan-G094 stared out at Archangel's Rest's frozen planes, squinting to make out the forest marking the end of the valley where House Baran's keep sat. It was amazing that plants could grow here at all, and yet this region of Archangel's Rest was pockmarked with thick forests. Lights from the villages and encampments outside the keep's walls poked through the snowfall, more signs of life from a planet that seemed determined to be as inhospitable as possible. Maybe it was the proximity to such a marvel of Forerunner technology that inspired the aliens here to make the impossible possible.
The young woman who had once been Amy stood on the parapet a moment longer before the cold grew too much for her and she retreated back inside to rejoin her host. Hera attracted odd looks from the Sangheili warriors shivering on guard duty beside her. The aliens glowered at the human visitor who could brave the snow and then return back to the interior warmth at will. They still had a long, cold watch ahead before their relief arrived.
Her host waited inside. Even within the keep’s heated walls its Sangheili residents wore thick fur robes as if they were afraid their shelter might come crashing down at any moment. When Hera first arrived on Archangel’s Rest she and her companions were greeted by a contingent of fur-wearing, spear-wielding honor guards. She’d started to worry that the keep’s interior might resemble a medieval castle rather than a Covenant outpost. Fortunately the Baran keep boasted all the accommodations of modern living: brightly lit chambers, computer consoles in ever room, and most importantly constant interior heating.
“Well, Demoness?” a low voice rumbled from across the chamber. “You linger out in the cold when you could be enjoying the warmth of my chambers. Are you trying to insult me? Or perhaps inspect my defenses, to report our weaknesses back to your masters?”
Teyr ‘Baran was small for a Sangheili, which meant he loomed a good head taller than Hera. The stocky aristocrat paced about the council chambers, garbed in a dark fur cloak. He had a small seat at the far end of the room, though if he ever sat down he made sure not to do it when Hera was looking. Teyr always seemed to be moving, glaring, and finding something to take offense at.
Maybe it was an act. Sangheili were hard to read, especially inside their own homes where they balanced dozens of competing responsibilities and obligations. Hera obliged him with an act of her own.
“Your defenses?” she asked pointedly, shaking bits of snow from her dark hair. “I thought they were your brother’s. He’s the kaidon, after all. You’re the steward here.”
Teyr shot her a dark look. Hera reminded herself that she was unarmed. Her companions were back guarding the shuttle they’d arrived on. If her irritable host ordered his guards to cut her down there would be no stopping them, augmentations or no augmentations.
“You set too much store by our past dealings, Demoness.” Few Sangheili bothered with calling Spartans “Demons” anymore, yet Teyr insisted on using the term. He even went took the extra step of feminizing it. A strange amount of effort, considering how poorly English and common Sangheili overlapped. “My family no longer owes allegiance to Thel ‘Vadam and the Swords of Sanghelios. Any alliance we once shared through that bond is no more.”
Hera stood at the center of the chamber, basking in the warmth. She wore loose fitting fatigues and a military jacket—little protection from the raging cold outside. Teyr paced a loose orbit around her. She took note of the gaggle of guards and warriors watching the display and didn’t give him the pleasure of turning to follow his movements. “We saved your life on New Harmony,” she reminded him. “If it weren’t for the UNSC you and your team would never have made it off the planet alive.”
“The UNSC. You mean your Office of Naval Intelligence. Do not use their deeds as a cloak. I know all too well how your kind builds up with one hand while tearing down with the other.”
“We don’t have to make this about politics. We fought on the same battlefield as fellow warriors. That means more to me than it does most humans.”
“Everything is about politics in these miserable times,” Teyr growled. “It is always so with you humans, and thanks to your kind it has infected the very stars themselves. Politics took the place of religion and the old ways, much to my misfortune.”
His reptilian gaze narrowed as he came to a halt a few feet from Hera. “And now the politics of the times turns against your kind. The UNSC and whatever human interests it claimed to represent are no more. Without them you are little more than a masterless vagabond, yet you come to my keep—yes, my keep, no matter what claims my brother makes—demanding my favor as if you had a battlefleet at your back.”
None of the other warriors in the hall objected to Teyr’s bold claims. A few nodded in silent agreement. So these were all Teyr’s people here, though she was certain his brother had more than a few spies in the mix. The Created weren’t here in force, but it was only a matter of time. The Baran had sworn allegiance to the Mantle of Responsibility over a month ago. She was lucky they didn’t already have an AI monitoring everything that was said and done inside the keep.
She was lucky they hadn’t killed her already. But she was a Spartan: she’d weighed the risks carefully before coming here. Banam and their mighty citadel might be allied with the Created, but Teyr loathed his brother Rol. The fact that he was tolerating her beneath his roof at all spoke to the deep division within House Banam.
That was a division she intended to exploit.
“Don’t count the UNSC out just yet,” she warned. “You thought we were beaten during the last war, but we held our own against everything the Covenant threw at us. What are the Created compared to that?”
“Human hubris. The Covenant destroyed itself. Your homeworld’s deliverance came at the hands of a Sangheili fleet. You survived by chance and then had the arrogance to assume it made you masters of the galaxy. Though perhaps vanity is not one of your particular flaws.” Teyr gave her a sly look. “You claim to serve the UNSC, yet you arrived here under a different banner. Tell me, what makes a Demoness like you swear allegiance to Shinsu’ Refum?”
She’d wondered when they’d come to that. “I needed making sure I arrived here safely,” she admitted. “ONI’s a bit spare on troops at the moment, so I had to find someone who would give me bodyguards.”
“Bodyguards, a shuttle, and holo-recordings promising retribution if you were not granted safe passage. You claim to be here in good faith, yet you continue to take me for a fool.” Though his words were harsh, Teyr’s tone actually lightened. The more of Hera’s mission he picked apart, the happier he seemed. “Shinsu ‘Refum does not simply give away such tokens as a favor. No matter how dire his position, he has never been a pragmatic creature. No, he would not take such action unless he stood to gain from your so-called diplomatic mission.”
“I helped him win at Salia. We’ve got a common enemy now. ‘Refum proved he could fight and win against the Created at Salia, which is more than most people can say. That makes him an ally ONI can use. He feels the same way about us.”
“Ah yes, Salia. Another glorious victory I’ve long since tired of hearing about. ‘Refum will wave that tired banner for years to come, if he even lives that long. One victory does not make him a fleetmaster, let alone one worth rallying around. He is of low stock no matter his pretensions otherwise. I am beginning to regret granting you audience in the first place if your only purpose is to weary me with this prattle.”
“You know what I want.” Hera folded her arms. “I have nothing to hide.”
“More lies cloaked as truth. What you ask for would have me risk my clan and my kin. If I defy my brother and aid the enemies of the Created, I have as good as declared for ‘Refum. You have yet to give me one reason why I would be better off with him than I am now.”
He had changed since their last meeting. The warrior Hera remembered had been proud and stiff, yes, making no secret that he resented working with humans. But he had also led his troops well, impressing even Hera and Joshua when they’d clashed with Covenant holdouts on New Harmony. The irate steward before her now was bitter and confrontational, nursing old resentments while taking every effort to steer away from the conversation at hand.
Hera gritted her teeth and tried not to lose her temper. She’d given up far too much getting here to just let herself be turned away by these circular arguments. The United Earth Government was falling apart in systems far from here while she stood in this keep and argued Sangheili politics. People were dying every day while the Created grew stronger. It wouldn’t be long before nothing she did had a chance of changing anything.
“If I might have the opportunity to speak with you privately,” she began with a pointed glance at the rest of the court.
Teyr cut her off with a wave of his hand. “Anything you might say to me can be said before my family, Demoness.”
“Your family?” Hera asked pointedly. She was taking a huge risk, but she was fed up with games. “Or your brother’s?”
Teyr’s eyes narrowed. “You have already come to this keep as an enemy of the Created, and yet you fear spies? Nothing we say here will reach Rol’s ears unless I wish it.”
“You sound pretty confident about that for someone working for the Created. Maybe you aren’t really familiar with how they operate.”
“This is not one of your human outposts. We do not have cameras recording our every move and word. As for the company I choose to keep…” Teyr turned to face the nearest courtier, a tall female clad in an identical fur coat. “Iyra, who is the father of your children? All of them?”
Iyra didn’t hesitate. “You are, steward. All of them, female and male.”
Teyr pointed to the captain of his guard. “Yutur, who trained you and all the warriors under your command? Who led you to victory when the Jiralhanae savages threatened all we held dear?”
“You did, my lord.”
“Luye, when you colony was alone and starving who brought you food? And who raised you from peasantry to serve in this very keep?”
The courtier he pointed at ducked his snakelike head. “You did, lord.”
Teyr turned back to Hera. “Everyone in this hall owes allegiance to me. They are my people, not my brother’s.”
“So why would Rol let you and all your people live here, in your family’s ancestral home? He is the kaidon. Where is his family? He must know you hate him.”
“You do not understand my brother. He usurped the position of kaidon not through the support of House Baram but through the alliances he made in the chaos after the Covenant fell. He knows he has little love from his own family, so he masks his betrayal by giving me charge of the keep that is rightfully mine. It sooths his conscience, such as it is. His wives and children have their own manors not far from here. They are guarded by the same force that assures his kaidonship.”
The steward indicated the door leading out to the parapets, now mercifully closed against the blasting cold. "During your sojourn out into my planet's hospitable climate, what did you see?"
"I saw snow, mostly."
"Spare me your wit. What did you see out in that snow?"
Hera frowned. "Lights. From villages, I guessed. For all your complaining about the weather your people seem to be settling here in great numbers."
"My people," Teyr sneered. "My people do not live out in that frozen waste or beneath the trees like Unggoy savages. All of my people reside within these walls, as our ancestors did and their ancestors before them."
"So your brother has military outposts around the keep then." Hera folded her arms and matched Teyr's glower with one of her own. She'd been on Archangel's Rest for less than a week and she was already tired of these petty games. "Or are you going to make me keep guessing until I get it right?"
"The Jiralhanae," Teyr growled. His tone was low but his words reverberated around the chamber. The assembled court flinched as if he'd shouted them. "Here at the behest of my brother, our glorious kaidon. In his infinite wisdom he allowed those beasts to settle on our sacred lands after the Covenant fell."
That gave Hera pause. She'd heard that Rol held treaties with a few Jiralhanae warlords, but uneasy alliances of necessity were common amidst the vast swaths of former Covenant space. But for a Sangheili kaidon to allow his people's traditional enemies to settle on a Covenant holy world-within sight of his ancestral keep no less-was something else entirely.
For the first time since her arrival she wondered if there might be something to Teyr's bitter outlook. Just how much of the situation here did she not understand? Her ignorance was showing and her bargaining position—an unofficial emissary for a government that no longer existed, backed by a warlord who up until a month ago had been that government’s sworn enemy—became more tenuous by the second.
Maybe it would have been better to stay with the UNSC. At least there she knew where she stood, safe amidst the military hierarchy where she’d been groomed to belong.
But no. She’d seen what the Created and their Forerunner prizes were capable of at Salia. Shinsu ‘Refum’s entire battlegroup had barely held its own against a single Guardian and even then only intervention by another Forerunner ship had tipped the scales and allowed them to merely escape. Hera saw the writing on the wall even if High Command didn’t. She’d stressed their complete military inferiority during her debriefing, urging them to think outside the box for ways to fight this new threat.
No one listened. They all just buried their heads in the sand in the hopes that this crisis would blow over and everything would just go back to the way things had been just a few months ago. They’d dismissed her warnings with the blithe condescension one might reserve for a precocious academy cadet.
And so Hera made a decision. If the UNSC—the organization she’d devoted everything to—wasn’t going to take this seriously then she’d go back to the ones who were. She hadn’t deserted, not quite. She was on the books as being off on “deep space recon,” whatever the hell that was. She was still doing her duty. But for once that duty involved making deals with warlords and negotiating with ornery kaidons.
For all the good it was doing her so far.
Tyr saw her hesitation and his mandibles peeled in his people’s equivalent of a cold smile. No matter how much time Hera spent with the Sangheili she would always find them hideous on a primal level. She didn’t care how much they claimed to be cultured and family-bound. She’d seen firsthand what they’d done to human culture and human families.
“You see,” Tyr remarked to his wife. “Even the Demoness recognizes the barbarity of what Rol has done. Even she balks at the enormity of his hubris.”
Iyra nodded. She was a creature of few words, yet she seemed to share her husband’s seething resentment. “She understands much of what your lord brother does not.”
“I’m surprised,” Hera admitted. “Your brother rose to power by waging war on any Jiralhanae tribes who attacked your sectors. He assembled your vassals to smash an invasion force that outnumbered him nearly five to one.”
“Let us not call them by their proper name. I prefer your human term, Brutes. Ignorant as your people are, you saw those creatures for what they are the moment you laid eyes on them.” Teyr resumed his pacing, though he kept shooting calculated glances in Hera’s direction. “Yes, my brother defeated the savages and killed their high chieftain, as he so likes to remind the galaxy. And then he spared the survivors and offered them land to settle on. Our land. His forces tripled in size thanks to his magnamity. He was praised for his mercy and wisdom while I had little choice but to lay my claim aside and accept him as kaidon.”
He turned back to his court. Most watched in respectful silence, but from the way a few glanced away Hera could tell they’d heard variations of this rant before. “Our ancestors stood guard over this sacred planet and the relics it stored since the foundation of the Covenant. The old traditions were not a season gone before my brother defiled them to please his own vanity. And now we huddle behind our walls while upstarts and humans come to barter over our birthright.”
She had to regain control of this negotiation somehow. “You’re forgetting the real reason I’m here. What about the Created? Your brother betrayed your race when he sided with the Jiralhanae, but he betrayed the entire galaxy when he swore allegiance to them.”
“The Created,” Tyr scoffed. “I have yet to see these new gods my brother worships. He calls them the future to hide his betrayal of our past. Yet perhaps these beings that can humble you humans are not all bad after all.”
He turned back to Hera. “Tell me, Demoness, what makes me any different from my brother if I sell my birthright to some alien in exchange for my own advancement?”
She’d had enough of this. “At least we’re the ones in a position to do any bartering. Some of us are trying to stop the Created, while you sit here and whine to anyone who’ll sit still long enough to hear you out. I’m starting to see why your brother is kaidon instead of you.”
 
A hush fell over the court. Several warriors glowered at Hera while many others shot frightened glances at Teyr. A few surreptitiously reached beneath their robes for the blades no doubt concealed there. Hera stood her ground, holding Teyr’s gaze. She might very well die here, but the same could be said for every mission she’d ever undertaken. Diplomacy was getting her nowhere.
 
Teyr was quiet for several moments. His eyes were hard, but they lacked the same angry flash she’d seen as he ranted against his brother. “The Demoness has nerve, insulting me in my own keep.”
 
“Not your keep,” she reminded him. “Your brother’s. Unless someone helps you do something about that.”
 
Teyr’s began to reply but was interrupted by a quiet ping from beneath his robes. He produced a small datapad, dispassionately glancing over its screen before handing it off to Iyra. As his wife read the device with equal stoicism the steward turned back to his court.
 
“Out, all of you,” he ordered. “The Demoness lacks manners but she has more honesty than I expected from an emissary of Shinsu ‘Refum. She has earned an audience through daring if nothing else.”
 
He waved a hand and the other Sangheili obeyed, filing out of the chamber. The guards on duty hesitated, but another gesture from Teyr sent them hurrying out after the courtiers. Iyra remained where she was. Her husband did not attempt to dismiss her as he settled down in the humble steward’s chair conspicuously situated beneath the kaidon’s throne. It was the first time Hera had seen him sit since the meeting began.
 
“You speak boldly, Demoness,” he informed her as the doors closed behind the last of the guards. “Were you not a guest under my protection I would need to kill you for honor’s sake. Perhaps ‘Refum did not tell you this before he sent you to treat with me, but it is unwise to insult a warrior in front of his followers. Even if that warrior is but a lowly steward.” He gave her a bitter smile.
 
“I’m not insulting you. I’m just telling things like they are.” Hera took a few steps to close the distance between herself and Teyr. Without the guards and courtiers the brightly-lit chamber seemed large and barren. There was very little in the way of decoration or ornamentation save for the banners displaying the burning crest of House Baran that hung above the kaidon’s throne. “It’s not my fault if the truth insults you.”
 
“You humans,” Teyr snorted, though his tone had softened considerably. “Always thinking yourselves to be the most pragmatic creatures in the room. It doesn’t take wisdom to see the futility of my own position. Do you know the real reason I decided to grant your request for a private audience?”
 
Hera glanced at the datapad in Iyra’s hands. Whatever message Teyr had just received, she had a feeling she wouldn’t like it. “I should have known it wasn’t just out of respect for my plucky Spartan grit.”
 
“Hardly.” Teyr plucked the datapad from his wife’s hands. “You are at least partially correct in your summary of our situation. Some of us are indeed fighting against the Created, though with questionable success. I assume you are familiar with the human colony of Talitsa?”
 
“Of course.” Talitsa had been a flashpoint for Insurrection independence fantasies for years.
 
“A fleet under my brother’s command just annihilated a UNSC fleet that attempted to wrest it from Created control. A glorious victory, they have called it. Another battle for Rol to insufferably gloat over. It seems the Covenant has finally returned, if in a different form than I might have hoped. My brother has chosen the winning side once again.”
An entire fleet destroyed. Hera fought to keep her expression steady. It was no secret they were losing this war, and badly—she’d experienced that firsthand when Joshua died—but to lose an entire fleet in a single engagement was insane. Teyr was right: the Covenant was back, or at least the era of crippling defeats that had been so common during the Great War.
Teyr read off the datapad: “In response to this singular threat to galactic peace and prosperity, the Created ecumene has no choice but to renew suppression efforts against the so-called United Nations Space Command and all those allied with its terrorist aims. All enemies of the Mantle of Responsibility are urged to lay down their weapons and surrender peacefully. They will be welcomed beneath the Mantle with open arms. But all who resist will know the full might of a galaxy united beneath the singular desire for peace.”
He looked back to Hera. “Even now they are striking out at your frontier outposts. With your homeworld and its surrounding colonies already subjugated, it won’t be long before nothing remains of your little empire. They have accomplished in months what the Covenant failed to do in decades.”
She thought of Lieutenant Commander Frendsen, her ONI handler, and the other Spartans and soldiers she’d left behind. Were they dead on Talitsa or the surrounding outposts? Had she walked away just in time for the Created to kill them all? The thought filled her with an icy resolve.
“So what are we doing discussing this then?” Her hands balled into fists. “You’ve made your choice, so stop wasting my time.”
“Let me remind you which of us is standing in who’s keep,” Teyr said pointedly. “I would say you are more at risk of wasting my time. But you are wrong: I have not made my decision. My servants in Rol’s fleet have more news, things that the Created chose to leave out of their missives. It seems a third force intervened at Talitsa. A Sangheili fleet very nearly routed Rol’s fleet, despite matching only a quarter of his strength. I think you can guess who its fleetmaster was.”
Hera nodded. So Shinsu was true to his word, continuing the fight against the Created and their allies. With Jul ‘Mdama’s Covenant gone and Thel ‘Vadam consolidating his forces elsewhere, Shinsu might very well be the only reliable commander left in the fight.
“A few human ships escaped the slaughter thanks to ‘Refum’s intervention. He continues to frustrate the Created’s advance at every turn. And he turned what should have been my brother’s victory into a humiliating farce. Every warrior in his fleet knows they would have lost but for the Guardians’ presence. Perhaps there is more to his call to arms than a mere grab for power.”
“If you rebel against your brother he will become even more powerful,” Hera promised. “I may be a human, but I know that much about Sangheili politics. All it takes is for one lord to take a stand and dozens more will join him.”
“I could take a stand,” Teyr allowed. “Of course, I would be dead before any heard of my bravery. Do not take Rol’s complacency for weakness. This planet is defended by thousands of his Brute pets, to say nothing of the keeps loyal to his rule.”
“They already let you sit here and mock him at every turn.”
“My brother tolerates my insubordination because it would look poorly on him if he took action against a deposed family member. Many of our vassals dislike the way he came to power, even as they render him fealty. But the moment I pose a real threat to him, the Brutes will storm this keep and soak its floors with my family’s blood.”
 
“So your answer is the same as before?” Hera asked testily. “If it is then I might as well leave. There’s a real war going on out there, like you just finished telling me.”
 
“Not quite.” Teyr held her gaze. “We have talked much about my own situation and so little about your own demands. Unless you really have changed allegiance and Shinsu ‘Refum’s political fortunes are all you truly care about.”
 
“Of course not,” Hera scoffed. “He just happened to be the only one who could get me here in the first place. Your family is sitting on the largest untapped troves of Forerunner technology in Covenant space. This keep is built into a Forerunner citadel; I saw the spires on the way in.”
 
“The Temple of Archangel’s Rest,” Teyr agreed. “My family’s sacred charge. The only reason we tolerate this wretched weather.”
 
“I stood as high priestess for the temple guard,” Iyra said, a touch of her husband’s bitterness creeping into her voice. “Before the Schism came and the guard was disbanded. The temple is empty now. Rol took anything of value and sold it off to humans, warlords, whoever would pay. He held our family’s heirlooms in the same contempt he held all tradition.”
 
“He took everything he could find,” Hera agreed. “But there were some things he couldn’t get his hands on. He doesn’t know all the secrets buried here, or else he’d never have left you in charge of the keep. But I think you already know that.”
 
Teyr and Iyra exchanged glances. “And what makes you think you know things about the temple that Rol does not?”
 
“Because some of those artifacts he sold off wound up in an ONI laboratory. In fact, most of them did after we started putting the pieces together.”
 
“I had no idea my forsaken heritage was of such interest to your people.” Teyr shook his head. “Though I suppose I should not be surprised. So tell me, what weapons are hidden beneath this planet’s surface? And what price do you offer, that I should part with them?”
 
“Not weapons.” Hera leaned forward. “Information. A massive archive, bigger than every cache of data between your species and mine combined. It’s an offshoot of the Domain, something the Forerunners used to house their accumulated knowledge. But something more than that, closer to their collective unconscious. I don’t know if the Covenant ever had a name for it, but our scientists called it the Silent Garden.”
 
Her words hung in the air between them. Teyr and Iyra considered them for some time.
 
“The Silent Garden,” Iyra mused. “Perhaps what the old holy speakers called the Dream of Gods?”
 
“Not impossible,” Teyr agreed. “We cannot deny the fact that these humans are far more adept at harnessing the old secrets than we.”
He turned back to Hera. “And what would you gain from this Garden of yours, hm? I suppose you would have me surrender its riches to Shinsu ‘Refum or your own masters in Naval Intelligence.”
This wasn’t good. He was already closing back up, musing over his own bargaining position. “Shinsu could care less about your secrets. He wants the ships and warriors you’d bring to his fleet. As for ONI, they aren’t exactly in a position to take anything from anybody. I just want you to let me try and get into the Garden. I’ll give you access. The secrets your ancestors guarded but never saw will be yours. I want one thing, and that’s to find a way to beat the Created.”
“Bold words, from a bold Demoness,” Teyr chuckled. “But I like them better than whatever other platitudes one of ‘Refum’s creatures might have offered me. You are honest, for a human. Perhaps we can come to terms after all.”
“Can we? Or are you just playing for time?”
“Time is one thing I have in abundance. You, on the other hand…” Teyr trailed off. He looked pleased with himself. “Very well. You will return to ‘Refum and you will tell him this: help Teyr ‘Baran liberate his world from Rol’s forces. Seize this keep and remove the Brute filth from my lands and he will have my support along with all true Baran vassals.”
“And me?” Hera pressed.
“As for you,” Teyr agreed. “Ensure ‘Refum’s cooperation and we will go together into the Archangel’s temple. You may yet be the key my family has needed all these years. Help me reclaim my rightful place and I will give you this Secret Garden. Maybe its treasures will be our salvation from this new Covenant.”
===Chapter Twenty-Two: Lonely Frontier===
“You’re going to have to pod me soon.”
Those were the words Merlin-D032 had expected—and dreaded—for nearly a week. At least he thought it was a week. The corvette’s clock registered a week since they’d blasted out of Oyster Point, but Merlin wasn’t sure he trusted Baal Defense Solution tech anymore. Or his own sense of time for that matter. The days aboard the ship bled together into one stream of engine cycles and Slipspace jumps. He wondered if anyone was still counting days anymore.
Callum-B042 certainly wasn’t. The older Spartan’s face was pallid and clammy, his eyes unfocused as they stared listlessly up at the ceiling. He’d stripped off his skinsuit a few days ago, leaving only damp fatigues between his skin and the chilly, recycled air. With his left leg reduced to a bare stump, he could barely move about the ship unassisted but he continued to hobble about with the same stubborn pride he’d exhibited back on Oyster Point.
“Don’t talk like that. You’ll be fine,” Merlin assured Callum. “We’re just a few days out from the nearest colony. We’ll get you fixed up once we’ve made contact with the UNSC.”
“Kid, we don’t even know if there’s a UNSC left to make contact with. I hate to put this on you, but you’ve gotta pod me.” Callum jabbed a finger in the direction of the ship’s array of cryo tubes. “Before I really start losing it. I’m weeks behind on my smoother dosage. Believe me, you’ll be doing me a favor.”
“You’ll be fine,” Merlin repeated. He hated to see Callum like this. Callum outranked him, for one thing, and the sight of a superior—a superior who at one point had been his squad leader—crippled and delirious put him on edge. Callum’s unshakeable leadership had kept them all alive on Oyster Point. Even the loss of his leg hadn’t fazed him, or at least he’d been tough enough to hide the pain from Merlin. But without his smoothers he was reduced to a shaking, clammy wreck. Even speaking seemed to exhaust him.
Merlin didn’t know much about whatever brain augs made Callum reliant on smoother pills, but no matter what sort of advantage they offered him in combat they couldn’t be worth this. He was sure ONI had its reasons, but it didn’t make any sense to take an operator and make them reliant on any kind of combat drug. He thanked his lucky stars that he, Andra, and the rest of Delta Company had been spared that particular augmentation.
“Maybe we should do as he says.” Light flashed on the holotank next to Merlin’s chair. The flash convalesced into the image of a girl in a heavy hooded robe. She peered out from beneath her cowl with a concerned expression. “Callum’s condition is only going to get worse and we don’t have any of the chemicals that might alleviate his condition. Cryo-sleep will at least sedate him until we regroup with the UNSC.”
“It’s also dangerous as hell, especially if we don’t have a name to stick to his condition. Every reg in the book warns us not to freeze a casualty unless it’s life or death.” Merlin was running out of options. He didn’t want to admit the real reason behind his opposition to cryo-freeze. If Callum went under there was no telling when they’d pull him out again. And then it would just be Merlin alone to make all the hard decisions.
Well, him and Althea.
He glanced at the AI. The Baal Defense contractors had talked about some kind of AI uprising sweeping through the galaxy, something connected to the cataclysm that landed him on Oyster Point in the first place. Whatever was going on, Althea wasn’t a part of it. She’d more than regained his trust on Oyster Point. He trusted her, but there was the slight problem of her origins.
Althea was an experimental AI based not on the donated brain of a deceased human but off of living brain tissue taken from none other than Merlin’s friend and squadmate, Andra-D054. That was creepy enough, but as far as Merlin do no one had bothered to get Andra’s consent beforehand. He didn’t even think she knew where Team Boson’s support AI came from.
They were Spartans. Merlin had more than accepted his role as a dedicated defender of humanity. But to create something like that and not even tell the brain donor—and then to stick the resulting AI in that person’s squad, like some kind of sick experiment—was messed up. Merlin wasn’t sure what he would do if he learned ONI had done that to him.
But this was worse. They’d done it to his best friend.
“Look, kid. Merlin,” Callum rasped. He wasn’t even trying to sound put together anymore. “I appreciate the concern. But we’re way past regs now. They made me go without smoothers for two weeks after the augmentations to measure the effects. The results weren’t pretty. If this goes on for much longer, it won’t be safe for you to be around me.”
“No offense, but I think if you went rampant on me I could hold my own.” Merlin rapped a hand against his MJOLNIR’s armored collar. 
“Sure, sure. Just sit there in your fancy armor and make fun of the cripple,” Callum snorted. “But what happens when you fall asleep and I go nuts? I’ll try to hold it together as long as I can, but I’m a danger to the ship. You’re podding me. And I really hate to do this, but that’s an order.”
A tremor passed through Callum’s body. He shuddered and doubled over. Merlin flinched at the retching noise the other Spartan made, but luckily Callum didn’t spray vomit over the common room floor. He just hacked a wad of phlegm down between his boots before leaning back in his seat. “Althea, log that order. And if Mr. Regulations over there still has issues, well, I don’t know, convince him. Give him the puppy eyes, tell him your progenitor would be very disappointed in him. You can’t exactly cuddle with him, so you’ll have to browbeat instead. Do your worst.”
Merlin flushed. Callum hadn’t spent that long as Boson’s squad lead, but he’d been around enough Deltas to catch the scuttlebutt about Merlin and Andra. Most of it was untrue.
Most of it.
“I’m just worried we won’t be able to get you back out,” he protested, turning his face away. “It’s not safe.”
Althea hadn’t responded to Callum’s comment, though Merlin noticed he saw less of her face beneath that hood. He wasn’t quite sure how AIs handled embarrassment or whether they pretended to have their avatars register it to make themselves seem more human.
“And no one is more worried about my well-being than I am, believe me. But I’ll take a little cryo-sickness over one more hour of this misery. Just keep the ship running while I’m out. Althea won’t steer it wrong. Get me to a hospital and I’ll buy you your first drink. To hell with the minimum, we’re Spartans.”
Merlin was out of excuses. An hour later he had helped Callum strip down to his briefs and was lowering him into one of the ship’s cryo-pods. He couldn’t help but wince at the sight of Callum’s body. The older Spartan had lost a considerable amount of weight since their ordeal began. The smoother withdrawal certainly wasn’t helping.
Merlin silently cursed whoever thought tethering Spartans to a chemical dependency was a good idea.
“Sorry about this,” Callum said, smiling weakly from within the cryo-pod. “Just give it another day and we’ll hit a colony that can fix me up. Two, tops. And then you can rib me about this whole mess for years to come.”
Merlin pursed his lips and nodded, fighting the wave of renewed panic building up in his chest. The cryo chamber sealed and then Callum’s face disappeared in a hiss of icy mist.
----
They didn’t find a colony the next day or the one after that. Or three days after that, if Merlin was counting things right.
He sat in the corvette’s cockpit and stared listlessly off into deep space. The ship once again drifted on low power as its Slipspace drive recharged for the dozenth time. This jump had gone exactly like the others: another jump to pre-set coordinates that seemed no closer to getting them back home.
“How about another game of cards?” Althea suggested. She raised a hand, playing cards inserted between her gloved fingers.
“I’m sick of cards,” Merlin grumbled. “Don’t you have any new games installed on that chip of yours?”
“I’m a combat AI, not a gaming machine,” she retorted. “And since you won’t even bother learning how to play chess I have to keep it simple.”
“Yeah, right. You’ve won twenty games. I think I’d rather just sit here and count the stars than lose to you again.”
“You won three games. That’s pretty good for a first-timer.”
“Like you didn’t just let me win those times to keep me playing.” Merlin settled back in his chair, wishing he could just drift away and fall asleep. He hovered in a constant flux between frustration and boredom. “It’s no fun playing against someone who can just cheat and conjure up a winning hand anytime she wants.”
“Fine. Just sit around and mope, then. And for your information, I never cheat at cards.”
For a moment she sounded so much like Andra that it hurt. Merlin closed his eyes and tried not to let it get to him. He hadn’t seen his teammate in months, not since the Created struck and left him stranded on Oyster Point. What had she been doing all this time? What was she doing now?
Merlin hoped she was alright. For all he knew she thought he was dead. But no. Andra would never give up on him without a body, just like he’d never give up on her if their positions were reversed.
“We should just head straight for the nearest UNSC outpost,” he said, bracing himself against the reaction he knew would come.
“That’s way too risky,” Althea rejoined on cue. “With the news we heard about the Created, any one of those outposts could be taken over. If we flew straight into the enemy they’d be all over us before our Slipspace drive recharged. I can’t let us do that.”
We don’t even know if there’s a UNSC left to make contact with. Callum’s words gnawed at Merlin’s mind. That wasn’t true. It couldn’t be true. Right?
“Oh, you can’t do it, huh?” Merlin’s frustration boiled over. He couldn’t take this anymore. A war was raging across the galaxy. His friends were definitely fighting in it while he was trapped floating out here trying not to die of boredom. “Just like you couldn’t take my side with Callum back there. And since when were you the one in charge here? Maybe you’re right. The Created could be a lot closer than I think they are.”
He regretted his words the instant they came out of his mouth. Althea’s hologram flared from its usual gentle blue to a dark purple and then vanished from the holotank without a word. Merlin found himself alone in the cockpit, its air heavy with palpable anger.
“I’m sorry,” Merlin said quickly. “I didn’t mean it like that.”
No response.
Snarling with frustration, Merlin very nearly put his fist through the cockpit controls. Only lightning-fast reflexes diverted his armored hand at the last moment. He’d almost forgotten about the MJOLNIR suit he’d worn since they’d escaped Oyster Point. Normally he would never lose his temper like that, or at least not let it show. But this wasn’t normal. Nothing about this mess was.
Althea didn’t deserve this. She’d saved Merlin and Callum from BDS goons a dozen times over, and that wasn’t even counting everything she’d pulled off helping them fight the Kru’desh and the Imperium during Boson’s last big deployment. She was as much of Merlin’s squad as Andra was, and he’d damn near called her a traitor.
Merlin glared out at the stars, equal parts angry and ashamed. Althea didn’t reappear and it belatedly occurred to him that he couldn’t even calculate a Slipspace jump without her to cross-check his math. He could try, of course, but he could practically see Joshua or Amy or one of his other instructors glowering up at him from the computer screen: Never trust your own math with Slipspace jumps!
Faced with the prospect of stewing silently in his own stressed-out guilt, Merlin abruptly stood up. This was getting him nowhere. “I’m really sorry about that,” he repeated, again to no response.
Merlin sighed and left the cockpit. He made his way down into the common area and looked around at all the empty space: his own weapons were stacked neatly in one corner while Callum’s gear was strewn across the floor on the other side of the deck. The abandoned kit just made the ship seem all the more barren and empty. Callum was in cryo and Althea wasn’t talking to him. Merlin really was alone.
Alone. Merlin blinked, not sure whether to laugh or cry. Doing neither, he instead reached up and absent-mindedly began stripping off his MJOLNIR. It was strangely easy. He’d used BDS components to make his shattered armor whole again. Naturally the private sector troops had a much more user-friendly design on their armor. A chore that would should have taken nearly an hour without a robotic armorer instead took five minutes, the heavy suit coming off as easily as ODST training gear.
The stench that wafted up from beneath his skinsuit was familiar to anyone who’d spent an extended period of time in armor. For once Merlin didn’t need to pretend like it didn’t affect him. He wrinkled his nose, stripping off his top and exposing his bare chest to the ship’s refreshing cold. The recycled air felt good against his chafed muscles. Merlin bent down to remove his leggings as well, then looked nervously up at the ceiling. He didn’t exactly know where the security cameras on this thing were.
Why should he care if Althea saw him naked? She had a much more intimate level of access when he jacked her into his brain. Her progenitor had seen him naked countless times. But something felt weird about stripping now right after they’d had a fight. Merlin gave an awkward smile in the direction of what he assumed was a camera, then strode off into the ship’s shower.
During training Merlin had once made the mistake of taking too long in the shower. The resulting humiliation earned him the nickname “Showerhead,” one the other children in Delta Company wielded against him without a shred of mercy. Since then he’d never given himself more than a few minutes to clean himself even when he wasn’t on a time hack. But now he was all alone with nothing but time to kill.
The hot water felt glorious. Merlin splashed it off his skin and onto his face, stamping in the puddles like a little kid. He should have done this days ago, but with Callum’s condition and all the mess surrounding their escape he’d just kept acting like he was in the field. He’d kept acting like everything was just one big campaign, just like he always did.
The smile slipped from his face and he stopped halfway through rubbing soap down his arm. What had he done before his last operation? He and Andra had known they were about to hit an Insurrectionist station. Had they done anything to make their time together special? They couldn’t have known about the Created attack, but that didn’t mean everything would go perfectly. Any one of their missions could be their last, but instead of taking time to appreciate that they just carried on with mission prep like everything was normal.
Like everything would always be just the way it was. One mission after another, one battle in front of the other in a war that would never end…
Well guess what? Things changed. And you didn’t even take the time to tell her—
Merlin shuddered and hastily finished the rest of his shower. He clung to his good mood but it slipped away like the soapy water down the shower drain. Snapping back into operations mode, he hastily toweled himself and headed back into the common area.
The room was already occupied, so to speak. Althea’s avatar stood on the holotank over his armor, peering out warily from beneath her hood. Catching sight of her, Merlin blushed and hurried to slip back into his skinsuit.
“I wondered when you’d finally clean off your stink,” Althea commented, her avatar making a point of not looking directly at him. “Between you wearing that armor all the time and Callum leaving a slime trail everywhere it’s a wonder you can stand to be on this ship at all.”
She was being deliberately snide, but Merlin recognized an olive branch when he heard one. Especially when it was delivered in a voice eerily similar to Andra’s. He still couldn’t quite get past how similar Althea sounded, as if she were an identical twin raised in a slightly different environment. Why hadn’t he noticed it back when they’d all been together? It hadn’t seemed to bother him then.
“Even I couldn’t take the smell anymore,” he joked. “And, well, I finally had some privacy. Sort of.”
“I thought you could use some time alone,” Althea said primly.
Merlin sighed. “Look, I’m sorry about before. I didn’t mean it that way. I’m just frustrated about a lot of things right now.”
“I’m over it.” Althea gave him a sideways look from beneath her hood. “I’m not erasing it from my memory banks though. Just in case you’re not being sincere with your apology.”
“I keep forgetting you can do stuff like that.” Merlin sat down beside his armor and rummaged through his gear. Withdrawing an M6D pistol and his cleaning kit, he began disassembling the weapon. It didn’t really need cleaning—he’d scrubbed all his weapons down half a dozen times since leaving Oyster Point—but it gave him something to do. Everything could use a bit of cleaning right now. “You shouldn’t, though. It’s good remembering things. Even the bad ones.”
“I wouldn’t call an insulting remark from you a bad memory. And I don’t think I need life advice from you, Showerhead.”
“I don’t remember giving you permission to call me that.” Merlin raised an eyebrow. “And for the record, no one calls me that anymore. It really wasn’t ever that big of a deal in the first place.”
“According to the record, people call you that all the time. Your friends in Delta Company love calling you Showerhead, Showerhead, even in operations environments over military channels. I’m just following their example.”
At least she was talking to him again. If a bit of ribbing was Merlin’s punishment for accusing her of split loyalties then he’d bear it as gracefully as he could. Besides, now he didn’t have to worry about confusing her voice with Andra’s. His teammate was one of the only people who showed mercy with that nickname. She never called him Showerhead, even when she was trying to get under his skin.
“Anyway, Showerhead, while you were off cleaning your filthy body I was doing some calculations.” Using the nickname seemed to brighten Althea’s spirits. Merlin hoped that wasn’t a harbinger of things to come. He’d missed this facet of her personality back on Oyster Point. “I still won’t risk jumping us straight to a known UNSC outpost, but I have a compromise. It’s still risky, but it might give us a better view of the situation than just jumping around trying to ping passing Prowlers.”
Merlin’s ears perked up. “Alright, now you’re talking. What’s the plan?”
“Like I said, it’s risky. But at this point I think we’ve earned a bit of risk.” A star chart bloomed beside Althea. She raised a finger to highlight one particular planet, like a weathergirl on a local news broadcast. “This is a small colony called Franconia. Ex-Covenant planet, the kind they had a couple outposts on but abandoned after their empire broke up. It has a varied climate, though the settled area is mostly tropical. There’s only a few thousand people living there according to the last available Colonial Administration polling.”
“I’ve never heard of this place before.” Merlin frowned. “But a small colony out on the frontier has to be crawling with Syndicate. Or worse, Innies.”
“Surprisingly, no. Franconia is staunchly pro-Earth. Apparently most of the families who settled there were military veterans who left the service after the Great War ended. It’s small enough that most people wouldn’t have any reason to bother with it. Which means…”
“The Created might not have hit it yet.” Merlin nodded. “Yeah, this is good. This is really good.”
“Looks like a shower and some good news can do wonders for your mood.” Althea’s smirk was visible beneath her hood. “They probably won’t have the chemicals on hand to make a smoother cocktail for Callum, but they’ll definitely have resources we can use to find out what’s happening with the rest of the galaxy.”
“I wouldn’t be too sure about that. Some of these colonies can get pretty isolated out here. There’s a chance they don’t even know about the Created or anything else that’s happened. We need to be careful, just in case…” Merlin stopped himself saw Althea’s hue darken, just a little. That was a bit strange. She was weirdly sensitive when it came to criticism, even mild observation. He’d have to find a way to deal with that sooner or later. “But yeah, great plan. Way better than what we had before.”
“I’m glad you like it.” Althea’s colors brightened. “Once our drive is powered back up I can have us there in under seven hours. But you’ll want to suit up, just in case there’s anything other than a friendly little colony waiting for us on the other side of that Slipspace portal.”
“Yeah. It was getting a bit too chilly in here anyway.” Merlin busied himself reassembling his armor. He was glad to have something better, even if it was all just Althea’s idea. If she could find them a way out of this mess then he’d follow whatever plan she came up with. And it felt good to feel like they were on the same side again.
He just hoped this Franconia place was worth the trip. After Oyster Point he wasn’t sure how many more snags and complications he could take.
----
“Well, here we go. Reverting from Slipspace in sixty seconds. Make sure you put on your friendliest smile for the locals, Showerhead.”
Merlin casually flicked his assault rifle’s safety off and then back on. He was back in full combat rig now, his armored frame wedged tight in the corvette’s pilot chair. “People tell me I’m the nicest guy in Delta Company. I’m sure we’ll all get along just fine.”
Althea shook her head. “If you say so. But maybe I should play diplomat here. People tend to feel better around a sweet, friendly AI then they would with an armored commando.”
“So is that why you all pick the nice looking avatars? Public relations?”
Her hood receded to allow the little figure to peer up at him with both eyes. “Did you just call me cute?” she asked, hue flaring a darker shade of blue.
“Oh no. Don’t lay that on me.” Merlin wasn’t about to let her teasing go too far. “I’m just pointing out that most of you AI make yourselves conventionally attractive. And for some reason there’s a lot more female ones than males.”
“Well maybe the female brain is just better suited to producing hyper-intelligences like myself.”
He let that one pass. “Well, maybe tone down that hyper-intelligence of yours for the welcome wagon. If they do know about the Created then a strange ship showing up and an AI hailing them won’t exactly put them at ease.”
She considered this. “Good point.” Her avatar shifted, its robes retreating and flattening into a UNSC naval uniform. She clasped her hands behind her back at parade rest, hair pulled up in a neat military bun. “This is more appropriate attire. Don’t you agree, Petty Officer D032?”
“Well, maybe scale it back a little bit.” Without the hood she really did look like Andra. Not an exact replica, but close enough. Merlin hoped he never made the mistake of calling her by the wrong name. That would be awkward. “There’s such a thing as overdoing it.”
Althea's avatar gave an exaggerated shrug. She kept the new look, though her posture loosened and her voice reverted to its more informal tones. “Well, we’ll see how they react to some uninvited UNSC visitors.”
“If they’re all veterans, it’ll be with open arms. Once UNSC, always UNSC.” A trite bit of wisdom, but even as a rookie fresh out of augmentation Merlin had been impressed by how regular UNSC troops handled themselves. They might not have the armor or the training Spartans did, but they definitely knew a lot more about the galaxy.
The corvette gave a gentle shudder as the Slipspace drive braced the rest of the ship for transition into realspace. Merlin leaned back in his seat, stomach churning into familiar knots. He hadn’t vomited after a Slipspace transition in ages but that didn’t mean he’d ever completely get used to it. Warning lights flashed across the dashboard and Althea’s hologram flickered as she devoted more processing power to balancing the ship’s systems.
With a final lurch the corvette ripped a hole in subspace and emerged on the other side. Merlin sighed with relief as the nausea receded. He tapped the console and retracted the blast shields in place over the cockpit viewport. The corvette’s systems came back online and lit up the dashboard with newly awakened sensor readings.
Merlin found himself peering out over a lush green and blue planet, a textbook garden world. No wonder the colonists had picked this place to settle. As long as there weren’t any alien environmental hazards to deal with it looked like it perfectly mimicked Earth’s ideal living conditions.
He didn’t have long to admire the view. Something moved over Franconia’s bright atmosphere. From this distance it was little more than a dark smudge. Merlin gently tapped his temple in case his eyes were acting up. The smudge split off and became several smaller smudges. They circled each other like flies buzzing around an unattended picnic.
Or like warships maintaining a perimeter.
“Merlin,” Althea warned. “Contacts on the sensor. No IFF tags, but the profiles match Covenant-type combat ships.”
Merlin’s heart sank. They’d made a gamble and lost. It seemed that this peaceful, unassuming colony had picked the worst possible time to attract unwanted attention.
He let out a deep breath and fought back the urge to panic. He was a Spartan. This wasn’t the time to panic. The ships were still a distance off. They’d made no sign of turning towards the corvette, at least not yet. If he and Althea just held position here then maybe they could recharge the Slipspace drive and be gone before the Covenant noticed them.
“Alright, well this was a bust,” he said with as much nonchalance as he could muster. “Let’s just keep a low profile and—”
“Energy spike on the other side of the planet!” Althea exclaimed. The proximity alarm triggered, punctuating her warning with loud warning klaxons.
Merlin nearly fell out of his chair, blinded by a sudden light that erupted in front of their corvette. He cursed and blinked, trying to clear his vision. When he regained his senses, he found himself staring at something ripped straight from his nightmares.
A vast, winged Forerunner ship loomed above the corvette’s prow, its oddly humanoid head peering down at them with what could only be described as glowing eyes. Energy readings spiked as the alien ship’s metallic surface glowed blue with power.
He’d seen this ship once before: when a Guardian had smashed through an Insurrectionist station and ripped him through a Slipspace portal. He’d only survived because the ship hadn’t been paying any attention to him. He’d just been collateral damage.
Now he had its full attention.
“Althea, get us… evasive…” he stammered, skin clammy with terror. There was nothing they could do. The ship’s engines weren’t even ready for regular propulsion, much less combat maneuvers. “We have to get…”
“Merlin.” The AI’s voice took on a new, oddly soothing tone. “Relax. We’ll be fine. You’ll be OK. I’ll keep you safe.”
He blinked. Despite all evidence to the contrary Althea’s reassurance managed to calm his pounding heart. He didn’t know how she did it—she wasn’t jacked into his armor—but somehow her sonorous tone struck something inside him and made him believe that they really would be alright.
The power spike faded. The Guardian’s glow dimmed. It remained where it was but made no move to attack them. Instead a new ping from the dashboard announced that it was hailing them. Merlin flexed his hand to keep it from shaking before reaching out to answer the hail. He really didn’t have any other option.
“Well, well,” the cheery voice of a human woman announced over the com. “Baal Defense Solutions all the way out here. I don’t remember contracting you for anything, so I hope you aren’t here to cause trouble. This really isn’t the time for a brush war, I’ve got enough of those on my plate enough as it is.”
Merlin blinked in confusion. This didn’t seem like the way a Created AI should be talking. It also didn’t sound at all like any UNSC he’d ever heard. But who else besides the Created could control Guardians?
“Well, this is unexpected,” Althea said, sharing his confusion. Her UNSC uniform disappeared as she resumed her usual cloaked appearance. “But at least they’re not attacking us.”
“Not yet, anyway.” Merlin took note of several dropships that had accompanied the Guardian’s in-system jump. The ship sensors identified two Covenant Phantoms as well as a UNSC Pelican. That was weird. You didn’t see human and Covenant ships mixing with each other every day.
“Come on, speak up already,” the Guardian AI—or whoever it was talking to them—prompted. “I’m trying to be friendly when I really don’t have to be. Give me a reason to keep making the effort or I’ll just have to make this unpleasant.”
Merlin glanced at Althea. “They—uh, she—isn’t shooting at us. That’s good, right?”
 
“Maybe. Maybe not. They think we’re Baal Defense Solutions. Maybe if we play along with that—“
 
“You two do realize I can hear you, right?” the Guardian AI cut in with a mocking laugh. “But carry on, figure out which lie you want to go with. I’ll wait.”
 
Althea flashed a dark shade of purple. “How could she—“
 
“Your firewalls are full of holes. You’ve configured them for a UNSC system without accounting for all the shortcuts BDS takes when they fill their ships with nice, privately owned subsystems. Don’t feel too bad, I’ve always been good at getting into places I’m not wanted. And this Guardian’s electronic warfare systems are an absolute dream.” Whoever this AI was, she enjoyed toying with them. The Guardian held position and made no move to attack, though its accompanying dropships drifted closer to the idling corvette. “So, an AI and some kid floating through my territory in a stolen BDS corvette. And here was me thinking today would be boring.”
 
Merlin donned his helmet in a flash. He opened a private communications channel to the ship’s computer. If they were being hacked he had half a mind to yank Althea’s data crystal chip and transfer her into his armor—but where would that leave them when the Guardian attacked? He certainly couldn’t pilot this ship without AI support.
 
“How fast can we get the Slipspace drive charged?” he demanded as his HUD lit up with tactical data. “She could hit us any second.”
 
Althea shook her head. Text scrawled across Merlin’s HUD: Ten minutes, bare minimum. They were trapped. At this range, nothing short of an immediate Slipspace jump would get them away from the Guardian and its approaching escorts.
 
“Oh, come on now. I’m being very reasonable here. The least you could do is give me the benefit of the doubt,” the other AI went on genially. At least she hadn’t hacked anything beyond their coms. “You’re in my space, after all. We’ll need to board you to have a proper look at what you’re up to. After that, well, that’s up to you. This doesn’t have to go badly for anyone.”
 
“New contacts,” Althea warned inside Merlin’s helmet. “Closing in behind us. Damn, they cloaked their approach vectors!”
 
A shudder rocked the ship before Merlin could reply. He leaped from his seat, rifle in hand. If their attackers wanted to turn this into a boarding action that was fine by him. At least he’d go out fighting instead of sealed inside a space-borne coffin.
 
“Be reasonable,” the AI continued with an infuriating self-assuredness. “You don’t have to die here. But if you put up a fight, they will kill you. Or worse. The troops have been getting restless lately. You don’t want to give them a reason to be inhospitable.”
 
Merlin hesitated. Every instinct in his body screamed at him to fight. But this enemy held all the cards. He might kill a few boarders, but he’d run out of bullets long before they ran out of troops. There was no time to thaw out Callum, not that one crippled Spartan would be enough to tip the scales. Had he really survived everything on Oyster Point just to die here?
 
He looked back at Althea. For once he didn’t mind that the face beneath her hood resembled Andra. It might be the closest thing he had to seeing his friend one last time.
 
Althea stared back at him with an agonized expression. “I’m sorry, Merlin. I let you down.”
 
It was Andra’s voice, even if those were words he’d never dream of her saying. A hiss from the rear of the ship announced the boarding party’s imminent arrival. In another minute this ship would be crawling with hostile troops.
 
What was the last thing I said to her? Oh, God, I don’t even remember.
 
Merlin made a choice. An insane choice, a choice that ran counter to everything he’d been taught his entire life. A choice his fellow Spartans might very well disown him for. But his instructors and squadmates weren’t here. Callum was in cryo and Althea was out of options. It was down to Merlin here.
 
And he didn’t want to die.
 
He flicked on his rifle’s safety and tossed the weapon aside. Ignoring the lump in his throat—a crushing defeat harsh enough to make his eyes sting—he unclipped his sidearm and let it fall to the deck with a heavy thud.
 
“Merlin, what are you doing?” Althea asked in amazement.
 
“What the hell does it look like I’m doing?” He turned and extended his hand towards the console. “Come on, scrub the system and get yourself into the data crystal.”
 
“You aren’t going to fight? You’ll just surrender?”
 
“Don’t,” he snapped with more anger than he intended. “Please. Just, don’t.”
 
“You know what’ll happen if they’re anything like the Covenant, or Insurrection, or anyone else out here. That Guardian could be lying about everything.”
 
“Maybe. But Covenant and Innies don’t usually have Guardians or self-important AI. If there’s a chance she’s telling the truth then it’s more than what we’ll get if I just go down fighting.” He reached, almost pleadingly, for the holotank. “Please. Let’s do this together.”
 
“Alright.” Althea ducked her head, then nodded with renewed confidence. “Alright. We’ll go together.”
 
Her avatar froze, then vanished. The ship’s lights blinked as she wiped their navigational logs and system data. The boarders might take the ship but they wouldn’t learn anything from the computers. Merlin didn’t care about protecting sleazy corporate secrets but he wasn’t about to give away the ONI Prowler jump tactics they’d been using up till this final, disastrous jump.
 
A small data chip popped free from the holotank. Merlin took it gently between his fingers and slotted it into his helmet.
 
A warm, pleasant sensation washed over him as Althea spread throughout his armor. AI riding passenger in proper MJOLNIR weren’t just interfacing with the technology. They connected directly with the person wearing it as well.
 
“You’re vitals are all over the place,” Althea observed. Her voice felt closer now, more personal than when she’d been transmitting from the ship computer. “I can steady your pulse if that’ll help.”
 
“No. Thanks, but let me feel this.” To surrender without a fight was absolutely humiliating. He felt unworthy to even call himself a Spartan anymore. But this was his call. He’d figure out a way to live with it on his own.
 
Or maybe not. In a few moments he might be gunned down, perhaps the only Spartan in history killed after willfully surrendering. If it came to that…
He kept his combat knife strapped to his shoulder.
More hissing from the back of the corvette. Merlin stepped into the common area. He folded his arms and waited with bated breath. He wouldn’t go so far as to raise his hands over his head. Some depths weren’t worth sinking to.
Feet pounded on the deck. Merlin stiffened, his heart sinking as the first boarders emerged from below deck. Gangly avian creatures with hideous snouts and spiny crests charged into the common room—Kig-Yar. An entire species of pirates and scavengers, the last creatures you wanted to be captured by. The Kig-Yar activated arm-mounted energy shields and hissed at the sight of an armored Spartan. They chattered and yelped among themselves but held position, carbine barrels poking up over their makeshift phalanx.
“It’s going to be alright,” Althea assured him. “I’m with you.”
He didn’t know if she actually knew something he didn’t or if it was just empty reassurance. He took comfort in it all the same.
Two Sangheili emerged next. They loomed over the Kig-Yar, weapons trained on Merlin’s head. One held a Covenant-issue carbine, but the other clutched a stocky Colt Blaster—human make, common with mercenaries and civilian militia. Covenant never used human weapons, but now that Merlin looked closer he realized that several Kig-Yar held rifles and submachine guns. Even the carbine-wielding Sangheili had a magnum strapped to her hip.
The next boarders were humans. They wore scavenged body armor and sported the same mix of human and Covenant weapons. These soldiers glared at Merlin but kept their distance, hanging back behind the Sangheili.
A mixed force, rare but not impossible. Merlin sighed. This must be some kind of pirate crew or mercenary company. Maybe they could be reasoned with.
From the way the boarders drew near, weapons at the ready, he doubted that was possible. His hands balled into fists, fighting the urge to go for his knife. It was too late to try fighting now. He’d made the decision not to resist. Now all he could do was stand at their mercy.
A sharp yell split the air. The boarders halted a few feet from Merlin, a few of them glancing nervously back at the hatch they’d entered through. A new figure was emerging now, human but clad in dark armor with red highlights and a billed, slit-visored helmet.
Merlin’s breath caught in his throat. MJOLNIR armor, Scout variant. And not just any armor. He knew this armor. It shouldn’t be possible, but he knew it just as well as he might have recognized Andra or anyone else from Delta Company.
“Joshua,” he gasped.
“There’s no way,” Althea murmured, similarly awed. “But the reading checks out. A bit battered, but that’s Lieutenant G024.”
Merlin’s teacher strode across the deck. He should have been like some ghostly apparition, but the thud of his boots against the deck proved the MJOLNIR-armored Joshua was real. The broad bayonet of a Jiralhanae grenade launcher poked up over his shoulder. The boarding party parted quickly to let him pass.
Merlin drew himself to attention as Joshua drew near. “Lieutenant, sir, I don’t understand. What’s going on? What are you doing out here?” he babbled.
A resistance movement. It had to be. No wonder this force was so mixed. A coalition had formed to fight the Created, and Spartans like Joshua were serving as officers for the new units. Yes that was…
…wrong. Dead wrong. Merlin’s hopes crashed down as abruptly as they took flight. Something was off about Joshua’s stance. His shoulders weren’t as rounded. His posture was different. He was shorter than Merlin remembered. No. This was terribly wrong. It wasn’t Joshua.
The person wearing Joshua-G024’s armor considered Merlin for a moment before inclining their head to address the boarding party. “Lieutenant, he calls me,” they said in a hard-edged woman’s voice. “And here I thought I was a commander. I think he just demoted me.”
The Sangheili and Kig-Yar laughed. The humans did as well, but only after shooting nervous glances in the aliens’ direction.
“So,” the woman said, turning back to Merlin. “Didn’t have the guts to fight, huh? That’s a new one for a Spartan. You must be one of those IVs. Never liked any of them. The recruitment standards were always too low.”
“I’m a III, not a IV.” Merlin clenched his fists. He didn’t know what the hell was going on here, but he wouldn’t let this person mock him. “Your pal over on the Guardian said to be reasonable. So I’m being reasonable.”
“Hey, I like reasonable. You’ll fit in nicely around here as long as you behave yourself.” The dark visor tilted towards Merlin. “Speaking of pals, where’s your AI?” Her voice was level but held a suppressed edge. Merlin knew that tone. This person was calm and composed right now, but one wrong move from him and she’d flip a switch and become something much worse. She exuded deadly confidence, the kind that cut through Merlin’s armor and training and made him want to do whatever she said.
“She’s with me.” Merlin held his ground. “And she’s staying with me. We don’t want to fight you, whoever you people are. We…”
He hesitated. There were so many unanswered questions here. But he only had one play. No matter how humiliating, there was only one way to keep himself and his friends alive. “We need your help. I have a friend in cryo who needs medical attention. Please.”
The stranger stared at him. Then in a flash she punched him in the helmet hard enough to crack his visor. Merlin found himself flat on his back, barely seeing more than stars. An armored boot pinned him to the floor as Joshua’s visor gazed pitilessly down at him.
“Don’t grovel. I thought we all learned that at Currahee but I guess some people never get the message. Why the hell is everyone we run into out here so damn pathetic?” The armored woman tilted her head. “Fine. We’ll do this your way.” It took Merlin a moment to realize she was talking to someone else.
“It’s your lucky day, kid,” she informed Merlin, lifting her foot off his chest. “My friend back on the Guardian’s taken a liking to you. She’s such a damn bleeding heart. Show my people to the cryo chamber and they’ll get your friend out. Then we can have a nice chat and figure out what to do with you.”
Merlin pushed himself upright, head still ringing from the punch. “Are you with the Created?” he gasped.
The woman laughed. “Please. Like I’d ever kowtow to those self-important Forerunner lovers. We don’t give a rat’s ass about their Mantle of Responsibility. I’m just here to make sure some part of the galaxy stays worth living in.”
She turned away as the boarding party closed in around Merlin. “This is my ship now, so I guess you can either play along or we can toss you down in the jungle with the other troublemakers. Welcome to the Free Domain, Spartan.”
===Chapter Twenty-Three: Troubled Garden===
The battle for Talitsa was over. The enemy was once again utterly defeated, the UNSC’s fleets and ground forces destroyed or surrendered. Another victory for the Created, another sign that this new galactic dominion was nothing like the Covenant in its unquestioned capacity to face any challenger.
 
But this didn’t feel like a victory. Tatiana stood atop a roadway overpass and watched the cleanup operations toil away beneath her. A good chunk of Irbit lay in ruins, as did most other population centers across the planet. The UNSC ground troops had put up a decent fight even as they were surrounded and overwhelmed, but the majority of the damage came from the plasma bombardment that had very nearly engulfed the entire planet in flames.
 
“I thought Shinsu ‘Refum’s fleet was tied down near Sanghelios,” she said aloud. A Warthog full of enforcers wove its way through the rubble of a nearby plaza while Prometheans picked through rubble in search of trapped citizens. Anyone not committed to search and rescue was tied up corralling thousands of UNSC prisoners into detention facilities. “How did he get here so quickly? How did he even know there was a battle going on here?”
 
“His fleet makes clever use of old Covenant jump routes. He knows most of our knowledge of the old Covenant Empire is limited to what little ONI’s researchers deduced, so he studies the logistics of his own people’s ministries.” Avalokitsvara stood beside her, still contained within a Knight shell. “As for his knowledge of galactic affairs, he was Jul ‘Mdama’s spymaster, among other things. There is a reason he has proved a most formidable adversary.”
 
Avalokitsvara would know that better than most. They’d lost their Guardian in battle with Shinsu’s fleet at Salia. Tatiana held her tongue on that account. She was getting along better with the mercurial AI the more time she spent working with them. She was privileged to even know the details of what transpired above Talitsa. Most citizens would be told the devastating attack was a last minute gambit on the part of the UNSC. Few would be allowed to know that a Created-aligned fleet had taken a beating from a much smaller force.
 
“Such a tragedy.” Avalokitsvara shook their head at the battered city. “So many lives needlessly lost. The Mantle of Responsibility should have protected them. Instead it was used to orchestrate this senseless violence. But we are not at fault here, Tatiana. We accomplished our mission.”
 
“The Chancer V got away,” Tatiana reminded them. “We didn’t recover Andra or any of the ones Kahn recruited to help her.”
 
“Thanks to your efforts, David Kahn is dead. As is Redmond Venter. They posed the greater danger. The others will fall in time along with the rest of the holdouts.” An oddly self-satisfied tone crept into Avalokitsvara’s serene voice. “And we were not the ones who allowed those fugitives onto this planet for a grand tour of the city. Yes, I would say the blame for their escape lies elsewhere.”
 
“Nice of you to be so smug in the face of my troubles,” a new voice cut in. Another Promethean approached their place on the bridge, its skeletal chassis concealed by Malekh’s angelic avatar. “Though after Salia I suppose you just take pleasure in seeing your brethren suffer similar misfortune.”
 
“I am simply conducting an assessment of the events leading to this sad result,” Avalokitsvara countered. “Though your skills as an administrator brought you boundless success in day to day operations, your emphasis on grandiose displays could clearly merit some correction.”
 
The two AI abruptly stopped talking, their Promethean forms freezing in place. Tatiana turned away from the silent confrontation. Whatever argument was now raging between Malekh and Avalokitsvara she clearly wasn’t meant to be a part of it. Even their brief exchange of barbs had been mostly done for her benefit. It was so hard to put a finger on what drove the Created AI that Tatiana didn’t bother trying anymore. She would know what they needed her to know. The rest was just a matter of following orders.
 
David Kahn and Redmond Venter. That was two figures from her past she’d killed in one week. Kahn had raised her up out of the gutter and taught her the skills that propelled her to the top of the Syndicate. He’d seemed so strong, so utterly invincible, but she’d killed him all the same. Redmond Venter spent years waging bloody war against the UNSC across the frontier, and he’d been killed by a single shot from her pistol.
 
The smashed buildings and smoking ruins matched Tatiana’s mood perfectly. The old legends were being snuffed out one after the other and she’d been chosen to do the extinguishing. It was a great honor to be a part of the new order, but the aftermath left her shrouded in melancholy.
 
“Your niece is a traitor, for your information,” Malekh broke silence to inform her.
 
Tatiana glanced over her shoulder. “Who?”
 
“Karina Larina. She was an able public broadcasting specialist until she decided to throw her lot in with the rebels. I thought I could trust her. I was sadly mistaken.”
 
“Oh, her.” Tatiana had vague memories of a troublemaking reporter turning out to be the daughter of a sister she barely remembered. If Malekh thought she could throw that one in her face, well, that was another mistake on her part. “I’m sure we’ll deal with her eventually.”
 
“She wasn’t your only relative on the planet, it seems,” Malekh pressed. “Cassandra-G006 wasn’t the only rogue Spartan to escape the planet. It seems Simon-G294 linked up with Venter’s rebels and led them to safety. Your son destroyed more than a few of my Prometheans.”
 
Tatiana clenched her teeth hard enough to hurt her jaw. She fought to keep her voice steady as her fists tightened against the bridge walkway. “That thing isn’t my son.”
 
“According to ONI’s data file…”
 
“Lensky used my body like a damn incubation tube.” She shouldn’t be talking back to a Created, but this was ridiculous. No matter how high she rose it seemed someone would always try to dredge up her childhood misery and rub her nose in it. “I had to carry his little science project to term and then live with that freak until I couldn’t take it anymore. I should have aborted it and dared Lensky to do something about it. Or strangled it while it crawled out of my womb. That thing—what Lensky did to me—violates everything the Mantle of Responsibility stands for.”
 
The twin AI paused again, exchanging untold volumes of data. Malekh’s holographic mouth curled into a patronizing smile. “No one is questioning your loyalty, Tatiana. There’s really no need to lay it on so thick.”
Tatiana pitied the people of Talitsa who now had to rebuild their lives under the watchful eye of this condescending AI with the soul of a schoolteacher. It might all be necessary for establishing the Mantle of Responsibility, but she was glad she had no part in planetary administration. It was just a shame credit for Venter’s death would fall to Malekh’s efforts. The poor man’s legacy deserved more than that, at least. “It’s the truth. I want to build a world where people like him can’t do whatever the hell they want just because they have enough money or power. ”
“A more just society is an honorable goal,” Malekh agreed in that same gratingly patient tone. “Just be sure you strive for it for the right reasons.”
Poor Judith, shipped off to a reeducation facility programmed by this infuriating AI. The UNSC troops taken prisoner here might soon be wishing they’d fought to the death.
Avalokitsvara must have caught the irritation on Tatiana’s face. Their host body stepped between her and Malekh, their tone soothing and conciliatory. “Our work on this planet is done. Your presence is needed elsewhere. Asphodel Meadows, to be precise.”
They were offering her a lifeline and Tatiana took it. She shouldn’t have let Malekh wind her up so easily, but the thought of anyone linking her to Lensky or his monster dredged up everything she’d sworn to put behind her. She thrust her hands in her pockets and nodded. “I wondered when I’d be paying Helen another visit. Hopefully the poor girl hasn’t gone crazy just yet.”
“If Ms. Powell does require psychiatric care, I have several facilities here that would be happy to accommodate her,” Malekh offered. Tatiana had to turn her head to hide a smile. Consigning Helen to whatever matronly hell awaited Talitsa’s prisoners might indeed be a fate worse than death.
Avalokitsvara ignored their colleague and instead led Tatiana back across the bridge and toward their waiting dropship. She obediently followed, happy to finally be rid of Talitsa’s administrator.
“We will return to Asphodel by way of the Transcendent Passage,” Avalokitsvara explained as they climbed into the Pelican’s troop bay. “From there you will receive your next major assignment.”
“Major?” Tatiana scoffed. “About time. I thought I’d be spending the rest of my life tying up loose ends all along the frontier.”
“If you prefer such duties, I could always see to it that you are tasked with eliminating Simon-G294. A minor task like that might well bring you the satisfaction you crave.”
Tatiana scowled. “And here was me starting to like you.”
“Your personal feelings towards me are irrelevant.” Avalokitsvara paused, their metal chassis silhouetted against the open troop bay. “I beg your pardon. I do not wish to join Malekh in provoking you, though you should be more careful with how you express your feelings. Passion is a fine motivator, but as an agent of the Mantle you must show more impartiality.”
“If you want me to rub out that monst—” Tatiana stopped herself. “If you want me to kill Simon-G294, I’ll do it gladly. And if you tell me to do something else, I’ll do it just as gladly. I’ve spent the past five years preparing for this. I’m not going to throw it away over some bad memories. How’s that for impartiality?”
“Better. And perhaps a reckoning with the injustice done in your youth lies ahead of us. For now, though, we have larger matters to consider. War is coming. Today has proved that much. The UNSC may be broken, but warlords like Shinsu ‘Refum will use this time to gather strength and feed their own ambitions. We must contain and destroy them beyond the frontier. You and those like you will bear the brunt of that task.”
The Pelican lurched and lifted into the air. Peering past Avalokitsvara, Tatiana was treated to a sweeping view of the ravaged city beneath them. Ravaged for now, but with the way the Created did business it would be restored in no time. And just a little while after that it would be better than anything its inhabitants had ever seen. Malekh or some other Created would preside over this generation and the generation after it and hundreds more to come.
Today’s battle would soon fade into the deep recesses of history. All the battles waged on Talitsa—the Covenant, the Insurrection, Redmond Venter and all his dead rebels—would be forgotten. History itself would become irrelevant beneath the Mantle’s benevolence.
The same fate awaited Tatiana, she knew. She would serve and fade and someday die. Avalokitsvara, Malekh, and the rest of the Created would preside over a peaceful garden of a galaxy for eternity. But it would be a garden she helped plant. That was legacy enough for her.
The thought sent a shiver down her spine. She’d never cared much for religion, but the image of a garden—safe and secure, its human inhabitants sheltered and cared for by benevolent omniscience—seemed so right. A return to the Garden of Eden.
But the plumes of smoke rising from Talitsa reminded her that the garden wasn’t safe just yet. It needed to be guarded. And more importantly, the ones who threatened it needed to be eliminated. She reached inside her coat and caressed the hilts of her knives. Enough fantasizing about the future. The present was now, and soon she’d have a new target.
===Chapter Twenty-Four: The Cleansing Blade===
Shinsu ‘Refum’s problem was one of simple logistics. This war of his was a troublesome one: how to maintain an entire fleet when facing an enemy like the Created? Any stationary fortification or star dock would be overwhelmed and captured as soon as the Guardians arrived. The Fleet of Cleansing Fire had no port of call they could safely retreat to, let alone resupply and feed itself from.
To make matters worse, Shinsu was a Sangheili, and one of ambition at that. The clan leaders he needed to sway would never support a marauding warlord who supported his followers through raids and pillaging like some base Jiralhanae. Sangheili were above such things. If a lord was to command respect he needed to prove he could provide for his warriors and protect their keeps. How could he rally more warriors to his banner when he couldn’t hold a single planet?
His answer was simple: his territory was his fleet. Shinsu was well studied in the history of the Covenant, delving into old records of missionary expeditions into deep space. The San ‘Shyuum had sustained themselves as spacefaring pilgrims for generations. As masters of the old Covenant they had passed their techniques on to their subjects. The Kig-Yar and Unggoy had learned the lesson well, forming long-standing migrant fleets for protection and commerce. The Lekgolo dispatched entire colonies for deep space mining and even the Jiralhanae tribes survived as nomads when their own planets cast them out.
For all their proud history and culture, the Sangheili stubbornly refused to evolve even in the face of galaxy-changing disasters. They exported the old ways to every world they colonized, erecting the same keeps and fiefdoms that governed Sanghelios’s arid plains. The Schism and the Covenant’s fiery end should have marked the dawn of a flourishing golden age. Instead, the Sangheili regressed to the old ways, waging bloody clan wars while all the while the humans reshaped the galaxy in their own image.
 
Shinsu had been little more than a youth when the Covenant fell, seething with anger over his family’s destruction. He’d let himself become a part of that short-sightedness, play-acting the role of an antiquated avenging warrior while the Sangheili tore themselves apart. It had taken Jul ‘Mdama’s new Covenant to make him recognize the simple truth that the old ways were not enough. For all his faults ‘Mdama had seen the situation clearly: if the Sangheili did not fill the Covenant’s vacuum, someone else would. They’d all assumed that someone—the new, great enemy—would be humanity. No one anticipated the Created, or more accurately, the return of the Forerunners.
 
‘Mdama had been a good teacher. Shinsu regretted the role he’d played in the Supreme Leader’s death, necessary though it had been.
 
The old gods were returning in new guises. Many Sangheili happily greeted their return, welcoming the promise of peace and stability they’d enjoyed under the old Covenant. Shinsu was not one of them. He could think of no worse fate than happy slavery beneath the yoke of some self-appointed galactic masters. A peaceful, listless stagnation: that was the galaxy the Created promised. There was no place for one such as Shinsu ‘Refum in that galaxy.
 
And so he fought. His fleet was his empire, each ship a keep to be governed by its Shipmaster. The clans allied to House Refum’s Cleansing Blade—males, females, and children alike—were warriors in his cause. All worked and fought to sustain the fleet. Every time they sallied forth for battle the whole nation put itself at risk, as well it should. The Cleansing Blade would triumph and live or they would fail and die.
 
Against a foe like the Created, there was no middle ground. The Sangheili would evolve or be subjugated. If the powers that be had chosen Shinsu ‘Refum to bear such a momentous burden, then so be it.
 
Now the Fleet of Cleansing Fire drifted in deep space, its warriors celebrating another battle survived. Ships ferried supplies from the assault carrier Redemption of Sanghelios—hundreds of its gargantuan decks repurposed as farms and refineries—to the rest of the fleet. Battle reports flooded into the Cleansing Flame’s bridge, bathing the command platform in ethereal light.
 
The fleetmaster read each report in turn, absorbing the news and dispatching terse reports of congratulation to each of his commanders. News of the events at Talitsa would spread quickly. Shinsu needed to make sure his own agents put their spin on events before his enemies could.
 
“I could help with all these reports,” a gentle voice suggested. “There’s no need for you to handle each one in person.”
 
Shinsu did not let Deep Winter distract from his work pace. “These warriors followed me into battle. I will not insult them by delegating their honors to a subordinate.”
 
“You could at least pace yourself a bit more.” Winter let his designation as a subordinate pass without comment. “You won’t do anyone any good if you collapse from overwork.”
 
“I have a great many things to attend to. These reports are just the beginning.” Shinsu tapped out another response, congratulating a shipmaster on the destruction of three enemy ships in the last battle. Though he “I value your aid immensely, construct, but I will not let it make me lazy. Such mistakes were the doom of your human masters.”
“If by laziness you mean increased efficiency, I feel I should point out that AI support was key to many human victories against your people in the last war. Meaning no offense, of course, but humanity then was faced with a vastly superior enemy just as this fleet is now. My talents extend beyond simple cyber security and—“
 
“Umbra!” Shinsu called, finishing the last of his victory messages. He would never give Deep Winter such an insight, but in truth he enjoyed the vast extent of his responsibilities. Greatness could only be achieved by those with vast reserves of energy. He had intently developed such reserves since his youngest days on Sanghelios. “Schedule a full assembly. I intend to address every shipmaster in the fleet before the end of this cycle.”
 
His adjutant, waiting patiently at the foot of the command platform’s ramp, bowed obediently. “At once. And you requested an update on the mission to Archangel’s Rest?”
 
“I did. What did Pula have to report?”
 
“The delegation has left the planet and will rendezvous with the fleet shortly. Negotiations with Teyr ‘Baran went much as you expected.”
 
“It does not take any great work of genius to know the mind of a creature like Teyr,” Shinsu grumbled. “I will attend to Pula and our human envoy upon their return. We shall see what demands that old recluse makes of me.”
 
He turned back to Winter. “As for you, do not think I undervalue your capabilities. I respect them, and as such I must limit my reliance on them.”
 
“I am here to assist.” If Shinsu’s manner offended Winter, the construct did not show it. The performance was as much for the bridge’s benefit as Winter’s. His warriors could not see him showing deference to an outsider, especially not one so closely linked to their enemies. “Cortana and her followers need to be stopped. I helped set the stage for this disaster. I will do everything I can to avert it.”
 
“Your dedication is admirable.” Shinsu called up a projection of the Redemption of Sanghelios and its escort ships. The assault carrier was now a staging point for the handful of human survivors from Talitsa. The UNSC survivors were obeying commands from Shinsu’s shipmasters, at least for now. “You can assist me by making contact with the human leaders. I will need to meet with them as well, and soon. We rescued less than I would have liked. Now we must see if our journey to Talitsa was worth the effort.”
 
“They may not take kindly to an AI making contact. They might assume this fleet has been infiltrated by the Created.”
 
“They will not take kindly to any of my officers, either. They will have to accustom themselves to working with beings they take offense to if they are to serve under my command.”
 
“And you think they’ll agree to submit to you? The UNSC may be battered but it still has its pride,” Winter warned.
 
“They have little choice. Some will spurn my offer, no doubt. But others will want a way to come back from such a humbling defeat. And if I emerge from this effort with more ships and warriors at my command, then our efforts will be justified.”
 
Deep Winter did not offer any further arguments. His presence faded from the bridge as he went off to arrange whatever he needed to accomplish Shinsu’s orders. The matter of the humans reminded Shinsu of another irksome presence in his fleet. He turned back to Umbra, still waiting at the bottom of the ramp.
 
“Send a message to the Soul Ascension,” he ordered. “Stray will present himself to me on this ship promptly. Not via com system, not through hologram. He will come in person or I will have a boarding party dispatched to retrieve him.”
 
“Gladly.” Umbra bowed again. “Though if I relay that message in its entirety, he may hesitate to appear before you. Should I perhaps soften the request?”
 
“No. Let him understand the gravity of his situation. A bit of fear might be just what that devious mind of his needs to steady itself.”
 
“As you say. And if I may ask…”
 
“You will ask your question whether I permit or not, Umbra. Speak.”
 
Umbra gave an embarrassed chuckle. The older Sangheili’s loyalty was without question. He had been with Shinsu since the early days of the war against House Vadam on Sanghelios. As one of Shinsu’s most trusted agents and advisors, he was a far cry from some mere subaltern. “How do you intend to deal with Stray this time? By all accounts he fought well at Salia, despite his past failures.”
 
“There was a time when I thought that wretched human might make a useful servant,” Shinsu admitted. “I counseled Jul ‘Mdama to permit his leadership of the Kru’desh Legion to that end. He showed promise. But the Kru’desh are a shadow of their former potential. The creature I saw at Salia was a broken animal merely fighting to survive. I have no need for rabid beasts.”
 
“And yet you welcomed your brother and his comrades back into the fold, despite all of the younger ‘Refum’s past insolence,” Umbra pointed out.
 
“Tuka is a fool. He has always been such, even if he masks his idiocy with idealism and piety.” Just speaking of his younger brother brought a bad taste to Shinsu’s throat. Tuka’s self-righteousness was particularly grating in the face of a career of pathetic non-achievements. “But he is loyal to Stray, or at least desperate enough to seek me out and beg my aid even after all his past slights and insults.”
 
“More evidence of the boy’s stupidity,” Umbra agreed. “Stray is a deceiver. He deceived Jul ‘Mdama and his old followers, just as he deceives your brother now. He will never be loyal to you or anyone else.”
 
“You may be right. I have given Stray far too many chances as it is. But these are strange times. I may yet have a use for Stray and his pathetic remnant of a legion. He will come before me and we shall see.”
 
“And if he is of no use?” Umbra pressed.
 
“Then I will do what I have often yearned to do and remove his lying head from his shoulders.” Shinsu dropped a hand to the energy sword on his hip. The bloodblade hadn’t seen much use since he assumed command of the fleet. He needed to carve out more time for sparring practice lest his sword skills begin to atrophy. “That may at least endear me to our new guests, if nothing else. Bring him to me, Umbra.”
 
The adjutant bowed and departed as Shinsu strode back to the center of the command platform. A dozen alerts had accumulated during his brief exchange with Umbra; more strategy and policy queries from shipmasters, more reports from his agents spread across the galaxy. Shinsu had spent his life in pursuit of this power and authority. Now he had it and he would strive to attain even more. This was his moment, through either chance or some divine decree. He would not squander it.
----
Elsewhere, on another bridge of another battlecruiser, a very different exchange was playing out between a commander and his subordinates.
 
“What happened to my ship?” Stray asked. He walked unsteadily, feeling his way forwards like a blind man. He couldn’t shake the premonition that he was wandering through a dream. One sudden movement and he might wake up to find himself back on Talitsa—or worse. “What the hell happened to my ship?”
 
The Soul Ascension was never a model of Covenant military discipline. Between its dissident crew, a human commander, and the broad array of modifications they’d crammed into her systems she was a strange hybrid of technology held together by careful engineering and the unique skills of a crew Stray had assembled during his tenure as commander of the Kru’desh raiding legion. She might not be pretty, tidy, or particularly clean, but she flew alongside the best the Covenant fleet put together.
 
That had been before Diana’s betrayal. Before Amber and most of the legion turned on Stray and torn apart everything he’d schemed and sacrificed to build. He’d once been able to stand on this bridge and feel real power as he strode from station to station, leading a crew of loyal warriors from a position no Spartan—let alone a disgraced failure like Simon-G294—should ever have reached. Now he stood on the bridge of a barely-functioning ghost ship and wondered if this was just the punchline of some cruel cosmic joke.
 
“We were pursued endlessly after you left,” Tuka admitted. The young warrior stood attentively nearby, never more than a few paces away from Stray. “We did what we could to keep the ship operational, but without logistics support there was not much we could do maintain full system functions.”
 
He thinks I’m going to fall over, Stray realized. He’s ready to catch me when I do. He couldn’t blame Tuka’s apprehension. Since the flight from Talitsa he’d slept for maybe an hour before dragging himself out to look at the remnants of his shattered cruiser. His muscles ached, reminding him that he was far behind on his medication.
 
“What Tuka is saying as respectfully as possible,” another voice growled from behind them. “Is that after you deserted us he fought night and day to keep the rest of us alive.” A warrior in blue armor leaned against the far wall, arms folded in a very human gesture of disdain.
 
Stray’s fingers tightened around the helmet tucked beneath his arm. It had been a while, but he still remembered the names of his erstwhile subordinates. Most of them, anyway. “Ier, huh? What’s the problem?”
 
“The problem?” Ier scoffed. He’d always been a quiet one, Stray recalled. One of Tuka’s friends, banished to the Kru’desh for some minor theological offense. More likely one of Jul ‘Mdama’s officers just hadn’t liked him very much. “The problem, commander, is that the crew of this ship refused to join in the mutiny with Ro’nin and your human consort. We valued our oaths of loyalty to your command. Many of my friends paid for that loyalty with their lives. And you repaid that loyalty by abandoning us.”
 
“Ier, that is no way to speak to—“ Tuka began, but Stray held out an arm to stop him.
 
“No. Let him talk.”
The other bridge officers turned from their duties to watch the confrontation.
 
Ier drew himself up. Stray had never taken much notice of the warrior before, but now he realized that he was tall, even for a Sangheili. He stepped forward, looming dangerously as Stray craned his neck to meet his eye.
 
“Let me talk,” Ier repeated. “Yes, let me talk, human. I am being insubordinate. I am insulting you. You should be calling for my head, if not striking me down where I stand. Tuka defends your honor as commander, yet you wave him down and tell him to let me talk.”
 
The warrior shook his head. “We let a human lead us. Our honor was already stripped from us. We thought there was nothing more that we could lose. But when I think of all the friends who died under your command, I feel sick. How were we all so blind for so long?”
 
This was too much, too soon. Stray felt exhausted. He wanted to sink into the floor beneath Ier’s anger. Maybe if he just closed his eyes this would all go away. But of course it wouldn’t. This was no dream, and Ier’s anger carried the weight of everything he’d done as leader of the Kru’desh—every ship destroyed, every attack ordered, every small betrayal. “If that’s how you feel, I don’t really understand what you’re still doing on this ship,” he said quietly. “And you haven’t insulted me yet.”
 
“You want an insult?” Ier hissed. “Very well. I name you a fraud and a coward, Stray. I followed Tuka because he is my friend and sworn comrade. He led us through disaster, promising us you would return and set things right. He set aside his pride and abased himself before Shinsu ‘Refum, all so that we might have the chance to find you. And now you have returned and I see you for what you are: a husk of a creature who promised us the galaxy but failed to deliver even the barest shred of true leadership.”
 
In a flash, Ier ignited his energy sword. The blade’s glowing prongs hovered inches from Stray’s throat. “I have insulted you. And now I am threatening you. How do you answer that, commander?”
 
A dangerous silence hung over the bridge. Stray stared past the sword into Ier’s eyes. He knew Tuka was frozen just beside him, fighting the urge to leap between him and his rebellious subordinate. But if Tuka intervened now, that was it. He’d never command the respect of any warrior ever again.
 
Stray sighed. A new weight settled on his shoulders, one he hadn’t felt in a long time. He was responsible for this ship: its ruined state, its demoralized crew, all the ones who had died for him while he sulked and wallowed in his own failure. They’d kept fighting even after he’d given up. Shame and disgrace were never far from Stray’s mind and now they loomed over him alongside Ier, ready to help the angry warrior plunge his blade into Stray’s chest.
 
But with the weight of responsibility came something else: strength, the kind of strength that banished the aches and weariness and reminded Stray of who he had been. Or at least, who he pretended to be. He could finally pretend to be that person again.
 
“Does the rest of the legion agree with you?” he asked, ignoring the sword in his face. He glanced over at Tuka and laughed. “You must be one hell of a commander, leading them all this far even when they hated my guts. Or maybe they all just wanted the chance to string me up themselves?”
 
Tuka gave no answer. From the uncertainty written on the alien’s face Stray could tell he hadn’t expected a confrontation like this. He should have. Stray’s failures couldn’t just be ignored or brushed aside.
 
“You think you’re insulting me, but I’ve gotta tell you, I’ve heard a lot worse,” Stray said, turning back to Ier. “So if you’re looking for an easy way to get killed, you’ll have to try harder than that.”
 
Ier’s eyes narrowed. “An easy way to… what?”
 
“Come on. I may be a washed up fraud, but I’m not that stupid. You just want me to prove I’m like every other terrible officer you’ve ever had and go for my gun just because you’re speaking your mind.” Stray shook his head. “But I worked really hard to remind each and every one of the scum Jul ‘Mdama kicked my way that I’m not like those other officers. And yeah, I screwed you all over royally. But if you kill me you’ll never get back at those traitors who killed your friends. I’ll be dead, this legion will be finished, and Amber, Diana, Ro’nin, and all the rest of those bastards win.”
“You have lives to answer for, Stray.” Ier’s sword didn’t move from Stray’s throat.
“I’ll have a lot more to answer for before I’m done. Trust me on that. If you kill me this legion will never amount to anything. You’ll all just be a bunch of outcasts begging Shinsu ‘Refum for scraps. But follow me one more time and I’ll do more than just rebuild. I’m going to make the traitors pay, and that’s just the start of what we’ll accomplish.”
It wasn’t lost on Stray that this was the second time in as many days that he’d gambled on his abysmal record to keep him in this game. When had he turned into such a politician, talking away his problems with grandiose claims and half-truths rather than confronting them directly? He should have gutted Ier the moment he reached for his sword. Instead he stood in front of the warrior’s blade and worked to save himself with… what, exactly? Promises of vengeance and glory? What then?
 
I don’t have a plan. I’ve never had a plan. He’d never planned for any of this. Diana had installed him as head of the Kru’desh, assigning him yet another role to play in her schemes. He’d played along because such a goal stoked the great ego he’d never admitted to having. She’d thrown him aside but here he was, still playing at being someone he wasn’t.
 
Or maybe he was. A strange hope kindled in Stray’s chest. Maybe this was what he should have been doing from the start. Not skulking in alleys, lusting after other people’s scraps, but storming the corridors of power and making them his own. He’d been there already, standing on the cusp of greatness when Amber and Diana stole it from him. He could get there again.
 
He would get there again.
 
Stray locked Ier’s gaze. “Go on. Stop wasting my time and make your call.”
 
The warrior tried to look fierce, but the moment his eyes wavered Stray knew it was over. After another moment’s posturing the energy sword clicked off with a defeated hiss. Ier returned the hilt to his belt and stepped back.
 
“You owe a great deal to the warriors on this ship. I will not forget the ones who died because you abandoned us.” Ier shook his head. “But you saved my life a dozen times over when Jul ‘Mdama’s taskmasters would have used it as fodder. Everyone on this ship will say the same. I have a better chance with you than I do with Shinsu ‘Refum’s glorious cause. Repay your debt, commander, or I will take the shorter route to avenge my comrades.”
The rest of the bridge crew watched a moment longer, then turned back to their stations.
 
“We’ve got a long way to go there, but we’ll pull it off. That’s what this legion does best.” Hopefully any more malcontents would be similarly convinced. Stray turned to Tuka, who looked flabbergasted by what had just transpired. “You tracked me down even when I didn’t want to be found. It must have killed you to come begging for Shinsu’s help.”
 
“I wanted to find another way. Turning to my brother was Ier’s idea,” Tuka admitted. “I tried to do what you used to do when dealing with Shinsu. You never let him intimidate you with all his great pretenses.”
 
“I’m sure he loved that. But we’re all standing here in the middle of his fleet, so I guess I taught you well.” Stray paused, considering something that had bothered him since the Kru’desh had pulled him off Talitsa. “How did you find me, anyway?”
 
It wasn’t easy for a seven-foot tall Sangheili to look embarrassed, but Tuka pulled it off well. He looked down and practically shuffled his feet as he admitted: “When you ordered us to set you down on that frontier mudball, I planted a tracking signal in your armor. I knew I would have to come back for you sooner or later.”
 
“I see.” Stray raised his helmet and glowered into the cracked visor. “And no one noticed the signal emission, huh?”
 
The visor’s photoreflective panels flashed with a hint of blue. “Who do you think helped him plant it?” Juno asked primly. She’d been noticeably quiet since he’d come aboard. “You had troops loyal to you and you just wanted them to dump you on the frontier and leave you to die. I needed as many contingencies as I could. You were on the verge of killing yourself. You did try to kill yourself.”
 
“Fair point.” His failed, drug-addled attempt to throw himself on his own machete was far from his proudest moment.
 
“It is only a short-range transmitter,” Ier interjected. “Hardly enough to reach across the galaxy. Fortunately, Shinsu ‘Refum already had an idea of your whereabouts. The smuggler who ferried you to Talitsa is one of his agents.”
 
He shouldn’t be surprised by that, either. Tom Spender had worked for Shinsu at Salia. It wasn’t like the crafty captain owed exclusive loyalty to Tobias Lensky. Stray’s entire solitary trek across the frontier had been one oversight and misstep after another. Only luck had kept those mistakes from getting him killed. Spender could just as easily have been working for the Created.
 
Stray’s life was, as usual, a bizarre tangle of good and bad fortune.
 
“I think we can all agree to be a bit more honest with each other moving forward.” Stray reached for Juno’s data chip. “Come on, let’s get you linked into this wreck. You’re probably sick of being cooped up in my crummy armor.”
 
Ier blanched as Stray approached the command console and slipped the chip into a small case welded onto the alien computer. “You’d put a construct in our ship?”
 
“I don’t see any reason not to. She’s not with the Created. We might as well give ourselves an advantage over everyone else who isn’t lucky enough to have a vetted AI running their systems. Don’t tell me you’ve been running things at their full potential without Diana.”
 
“No,” Ier admitted grudgingly. “We know our ship well, but the best of our officers cannot match the power we possessed when the false oracle inhabited our systems.”
 
The bridge lights flickered as a new force roused the Soul Ascension from its low-powered slumber. Juno’s avatar appeared between Tuka and Ier. The strangely armored girl was life sized—or at least Stray’s height—rather than the palm-sized figure one might expect from a shipboard AI. The bridge crew stared, more from curiosity than fear, as the hologram paced a deliberate circle around the chamber. Stray imagined the performance of an inspection matched what Juno was really doing: spreading her presence into every corner of the ship, taking stock of the systems her sister had built and making them her own.
“This system is crawling with Diana’s handiwork,” Juno announced distastefully. “It will take me days to scrub it clean, and that’s to say nothing of all the hardware in desperate need of repairs. It’s a miracle this ship held together during the last Slipspace jump.”
“Well, get comfortable in there. Get things just the way you like them, because this ship is your new home. No more staying cooped up in my armor.” Stray set his helmet on the command console and finally let himself sink into the command chair. The seat was stiff and uncomfortable, yet finding himself in it after all this time felt like slipping into a fresh pair of clothes. “Get work details together from amongst the crew. Fix what you can and make logs of what you can’t. We’ll requisition whatever we don’t have.”
He turned to Tuka and Ier. Both Sangheili looked taken aback by the sudden shift in tone. It must be strange for them to hear their old commander rattling off orders as if he hadn’t just talked himself out of a summary execution. He really should make a show of locking Ier in the brig for threatening him, but there was a time and a place for rough discipline. If Ier stayed satisfied he’d hopefully pass on his feelings to any other warriors who shared his sense of betrayal.
“How are we looking on numbers? I know it can’t be good since neither of you have bothered to give me a force estimate yet.”
The two officers exchanged looks. “We are significantly reduced in number—” Tuka began, eyes downcast.
“The legion is critically understrength,” Ier cut in. “We barely have enough warriors to run the ship, let alone fight a war.”
	
“I’m still not hearing a number.”
They were quiet for another moment. “One hundred and fifty Sangheili,” Tuka admitted finally. “A handful of Kig-Yar, the ones not bound by contract. And perhaps three hundred Unggoy. The rest joined with the traitors or died fighting them.”
Five hundred warriors, probably less when you cut out the ones with no business on the front lines. Stray massaged his temple. “It could be worse. How’d you manage to keep so many Unggoy around?”
“Most of them are recruits from Bineb. Don’t you remember? Your orders saved several villages there. The inhabitants swore loyalty to you and the Kru’desh after that battle.”
He didn’t remember saving many people, or at least anyone who’d bothered showing any gratitude. “Oh. Chalk one up for the little guys then. How’s everyone else holding up?”
Tuka splayed his mandibles in a show of resignation. “Our Sangheili are all warriors your leadership spared from execution or death on the front lines. But without our status as a punishment detachment…”
“Yeah, recruitment will be an issue.” With no Jul ‘Mdama sending them condemned prisoners and no funds for hiring mercenaries the Kru’desh had no way to attract more troops. “And how about logistics? What’s our arms situation—nevermind, don’t tell me now. Just get a list together on everything we need and I’ll figure something out.” He’d been back in command for less than a day and he already had a headache. He needed space to step back and think through what to do, but no one would give him that chance. Everyone needed something and they needed it now.
The command chair was feeling less comfortable by the second. “Please tell me we still have the Huragok.”
“They stayed with the ship,” Tuka confirmed. “They seem more loyal to it than to us, but their efforts kept it running. We can trust them.”
“Maybe. Juno, interface with them as soon as you can. AI seem to have better luck communicating with those gasbags than the rest of us. Diana worked closely with them, even if they did hide some things from her. Make sure she didn’t leave us any surprises embedded in those weird brains of theirs.”
“I’ve never interfaced with a Huragok before,” Juno admitted.
“You’ll figure it out. Diana did.” Stray leaned forward as a thought occurred to him. “And where have the Insurrectionists gotten off to?”
“They haven’t left the hangar since we landed. I think they’re trying to arrange some sort of memorial service for Redmond Venter.”
Venter. Stray’s blood ran cold. The man who had haunted his life since Mamore was dead, at least if the Created back on Taltitsa were telling the truth. For once, he didn’t doubt them. He’d spent years thirsting after the man’s blood and now he was gone, his death a footnote amidst all this chaos. The man was gone. He had vanished from the galaxy with nothing to show for it.
But that was wrong. Venter had left behind a legacy. A name respected by rebels of all factions and ideologies. A name he’d left to Stray.
Zoey had escaped, too. She and Cassandra were somewhere out in this fleet. He needed to find out where they were, maybe even try and talk with—
No. There was no time for that. Not now, anyway.
"Commander," the communications officer called. Stray didn't know the warrior's name; he was a good deal younger than the last officer who held that post. But he was addressing Stray directly. Not Tuka. "Transmission from the Cleansing Flame. Fleetmaster 'Refum demands your immediate presence aboard his ship."
Against all reason, Stray found himself smiling. What had moments before been problems could be turned into opportunities. And if Shinsu was finally willing to talk to him then he would turn that into an opportunity as well. "He never wastes any time, does he? Respond back, tell him I'll be coming over once I sort out some business of my own."
The warrior hesitated. "The transmission was quite insistent that you report immediately."
"I command this ship, not Shinsu 'Refum. The sooner he figures that out the better. I have more important things to take care of before I deal with him." Stray gave the communications officer a sneer, one he'd honed to perfection during his last tenure aboard this ship. For some reason it seemed to reassure skittish Sangheili. "You can tell him I said that. This is a big fleet he has here. He can find something to keep himself busy."
Stray rose from the chair. “Call a full assembly to the hangar, now. We’ve wasted enough time up here.”
“Assembly?” Tuka blinked. “You wish to address the legion?”
“Of course I do. We’re all going to get on the same page and then we’re going to take back everything we lost. Not just that. I’m going to transform this legion, just like I did when I took over the first time.” Easier said than done. But Stray felt a fire in his belly now, a fire he’d let sit extinguished for far too long. He’d been something once. He’d become something again. Something new. “My father died today. We need to give him a proper sendoff. And then I’ll show you both how we’re going to rebuild the Kru’desh.”
===Chapter Twenty-Five: Defeat===
“Look, I’m sorry, OK?” Zoey folded her arms, more defiant than apologetic. “But since when do I need your permission to leave my own ship?”
“When we’re on a Created planet overrun with enforcers and Prometheans, that’s when!” Cassandra spoke louder than she meant to, her voice bouncing off the common room’s walls. Angry perspiration soaked her bangs. She hadn’t had a chance to take off her armor since they fled Talitsa. The dried blood of an ODST she’d tried and failed to save was congealed on her gauntlets. “What if Malekh had turned on us? What if Venter’s goons had killed you? If that attack hadn’t happened—”
“Well it did!” Zoey snapped. “It did, and guess who swooped in to save your ass? I’m not the one who went strolling off with a Created for a guided tour of the planet! We went to Talitsa to find Venter, not go sightseeing!”
“Well, congratulations! You found him!” Cassandra shouldn’t be this angry, but Zoey didn’t seem remotely sorry over what she’d done. The disaster on Talitsa burned hot in her mind. Everything had gone wrong. Again. “Get any leads before the Created killed him? Besides the fact that Simon’s back to being his attack dog, I mean. Any ideas on how to find Gavin?”
“Of course not!” Zoey hissed. “He didn’t have a clue where Gavin was. Just like no one else does, no matter where we go! We’re not going to find him! He doesn’t want us to find him!”
“So, what, we just stop looking?”
“Sure! That’s what you’ve wanted since the start, isn’t it? You never wanted to find him in the first place!”
Lord, give me strength. “That’s not fair, Zoey. Ever since you asked me for help I’ve been doing everything I can to—”
“All you’ve done is come on my ship and give me orders, even when you never had the first idea how to look for him. No wonder Dyne dumped you! He probably just couldn’t take you anymore!”
Cassandra nearly decked her. She’d never been this angry with Zoey in all the years she’d known her. “You little brat.” She took a step towards Zoey, fists clenched. “You never had the first clue how to find Gavin. You just wanted me to come in and solve all your problems. I did my best with what you gave me, which was nothing!”
Zoey flinched and took a step back. She glowered back at Cassandra with hard, angry eyes. “Whatever. We’re done. Gavin can go to hell, and so can you. Or at least get the hell off my ship.” She turned on her heel and stormed off into the cockpit, sealing the hatchway behind her. Someone yelped from inside just before the door sealed--apparently Thomas and Karina had thought to use the cockpit for a bit of catching up. Zoey didn't give them a chance to leave before she locked the door.
Cassandra stared at the closed door, wide-eyed with anger. How was she to blame for any of this? All she’d done was try to keep them all working like a team. Without her Zoey would have gotten herself killed or captured a dozen times over by now. And this was the thanks she got in return.
“So,” William said, drawing the syllable out as far as it would stretch. The mercenary had observed the argument from the kitchen, keeping the counter in front of him like a shield. “Does that mean we’re all kicked out, or just you?”
Cassandra shot him an irate look. “She’ll calm down in a couple hours. What are you still doing here, anyway?”
“Like I keep saying, it’s not like I’ve got anywhere else to go. Besides, I kind of like this ship.”
“Speak for yourself.” Argo lurked in the corner, forced to move in a strange sort of crab walk to navigate a ship not made for seven-foot tall saurians. “I went along with Kahn’s plan because I thought it would lead me to a great deal of money. Instead it got him killed and it has very nearly gotten me killed several times. And from your spat with our lovely pilot, it seems that no one around here has any idea what they’re doing.”
“So what are you still doing here?” Cassandra demanded. “No one’s stopping you from leaving.”
“We haven’t docked anywhere yet,” Argo pointed out. “But wherever we do may not be safe for me. This is Shinsu ‘Refum’s fleet. His breed does not look kindly on race-traitors such as myself. Though it seems my previous employers are in no position to compensate me anymore. This is quite the dilemma. I have no way to collect the money I am owed.”
“ONI doesn’t owe you any money,” Andra grumbled. She sat on the nearest couch, arms folded, glowering at the far wall. “You sold us out to the Syndicate. Don’t think you’re off the hook just because you started fighting the Created.”
The Spartan hadn’t said much since they’d escaped Talitsa. She mostly just scowled off into space, not that it was much of a change from how she’d been since Cassandra met her. But something was off about her behavior now. Her words didn’t have their usual bite. She seemed distant, lost in her own melancholy thoughts.
She also hadn’t made any effort to join the platoon of ODSTs currently crammed into the Chancer’s cargo bay.
Andra caught Cassandra’s gaze and her scowl deepened. “What? Are you going to yell at me, too? Send me to my room?”
“I don’t know. Are you going to keep moping all the time? My patience quota for moody teenagers is already maxed out.”
“Very funny. I should have the troopers down there arrest all of you.”
Cassandra tried not to lose her temper again. “If you were going to do that you’d have gone and done it already. I don’t know what your problem is but we aren’t your enemies.”
“You think I don’t know that?” Andra seemed to be on the verge of an explosion, but instead of leaping to her feet she just brought her legs up to her chest. It was a very child-like motion for a girl Cassandra had seen shooting down enforcers just the day before. She recognized it instantly and it made her heart ache. She remembered doing it herself when she was cooling down after a mission or stressful day in the clinic.
How old was I when I killed my first person? Twelve? And when Philadelphia was destroyed? Oh, God, that wasn’t all that long ago. She’d been fifteen when she’d decided she was competent enough to open a clinic all by herself in the middle of Venezia’s slums.
She wasn’t all that much different from Andra or Zoey, two girls barely five years her junior. Just a bit more bossy through thinking she was more experienced than they were.
“You were right,” Andra continued. “Does that make you happy? You’re right. The UNSC is done. The Created destroyed them down there, just like they’re probably doing everywhere else. The UNSC is gone, and so is my whole life. All my friends… Merlin…”
She trailed off, face contorting in an ugly grimace as she tried not to cry. Cassandra stared at her, hating ONI and the UNSC for creating another generation of kids whose whole lives revolved around their twisted military system. Maybe, just maybe, the Created had the right idea. What was the point of winning wars if this was the price that needed to be paid?
Cassandra gingerly rested a hand on Andra’s shoulder. She expected to be shoved away but instead the other girl grabbed hold of her blood-caked gauntlet and held it close.
“How did you do it?” Andra asked with plaintive desperation. “How did you just walk away from all of it? Did it hurt this much for you?”
“It was complicated,” Cassandra admitted. A lame response, but how did you comfort someone who’d just watched their entire universe burn up in Talitsa’s atmosphere. “Look, this doesn’t have to be the end. There’s more to life than just missions and—”
“Sorry,” a new voice cut in. “Am I interrupting something up here?”
A young man in ODST armor stood in the cargo bay hatch. The markings on his arms identified him as a lieutenant. Davis, if Cassandra remembered his name right. Davis was handsome, his hair far longer than military regulations allowed and styled off to one side. He observed the common room with the cocksure look she knew all too well in special forces types. Unlike Andra he didn’t seem at all like a soldier who’d just endured a catastrophic defeat.
“It was Davis, right?” Cassandra asked. She still had a pistol strapped to her hip. Davis was similarly armed, and though he made no move to touch it he still had a platoon of armed troopers holed up below-deck. Things could get ugly fast and from the simmering anger in the ODST lieutenant’s eyes Cassandra knew that such ugliness was a very real possibility.
“You got that right.” Davis took another step into the common room. He surveyed the occupants warily, no doubt squaring them up for any potential fight. “Problem is, I don’t think I caught your name back on Talitsa. Anything you gave me down there would have been a lie, just like that yarn about you being an ONI agent.”
“Things were crazy down there. I didn’t have time for arguments.”
“No, you just needed to order my people around. You and your traitor pal G294, wherever he scurried off to. You two knew each other and I recognize your armor. I know a deserter when I see one.” Lieutenant Davis glowered at Cassandra. “A lot of my people died down there because I let him give me orders. I don’t like being played for a fool.”
“Then you shouldn’t have let him give you orders in the first place. It’s thanks to him any of your people made it off Talitsa in the first place.” She didn’t know why she bothered standing up for Simon, but she knew Davis’s type all too well. Give him an inch and he’d use it to make this ship his own. “If you want to blame someone for all the dead, blame the Created. Or the idiots who launched that attack in the first place.”
Now Davis did rest a hand on his pistol. Cassandra’s own magnum cleared its holster in an instant and she instinctively drew a bead on the lieutenant’s forehead. She gratefully noticed that William produced a pistol of his own to point at Davis. Even Argo unslung his carbine, aiming it as well as he could given his cramped conditions.
“Thousands of good people died today.” Davis took his hand away from his pistol, though his face still burned with anger. “I won’t let a bunch of fringer slime like you sit here and mock what we tried to do back there.”
“Slime?” William snorted. “And you oonskies wonder why no one on the frontier likes you.”
“If you shoot me, my platoon will storm this ship and kill you all.” Davis smirked as if unperturbed by the prospect of his own demise. He had stones, Cassandra gave him that, but all ODSTs were a little bit crazy. “They might have a hard time busting into the cockpit after your pilot’s temper tantrum, but they’ll manage. What possessed you to put that brat in the pilot’s chair?”
Cassandra fought to keep her finger off the trigger. “Your people are in no shape for a hostile takeover.”
“We’ll see. Twenty Marines against a traitor and her pet—"
“Oh, knock it off.” Andra strode in between Davis and Cassandra. No one had even noticed her getting up. She glowered at both of them with a sullen fury. “We’re sitting in the middle of a Covenant fleet, in case you didn’t notice. There’s no time for this crap.”
She rounded on Davis, who seemed more taken aback by the girl’s anger than he was by the three weapons still trained on him. “She might not be ONI but I am. These people saved my life. They’re not the enemy, so stop threatening them.”
Andra held Davis’s gaze a moment longer, then dropped it with sudden embarrassment. “Sir,” she added lamely.
As far as impassioned defenses went it wasn’t the best the galaxy had ever seen, but it was more generous than anything Cassandra could have expected. She slipped her pistol back into its holster and after a moment William and Argo followed her lead.
Lieutenant Davis frowned. As he looked over the armed teenager in front of him he seemed more puzzled than angry. “Wait. I recognize you. You’re a Spartan, aren’t you?”
“Yes.” Andra sounded surprised. She straightened, her whole demeanor changing. “Yes, I am. Spartan-D054, sir.” Her voice swelled with new confidence and Cassandra’s heart sank. Any independence the girl might have been nurturing was sucked away as if by a vacuum. All it took was a brush with the military system that gave her life every shred of its meaning for Andra to revert back to her identity as a Spartan.
What difference does it make? Why did she care at all about some girl she’d known for just a few days? Cassandra mentally kicked herself. It would be so satisfying to turn another Spartan away from the UNSC system and that realization made her disgusted with herself. You don’t really care about Andra. You’d tear her away from her family just so you could say you’d helped save the next wave.
“D054. Yeah, I thought I recognized you.” Davis nodded. “Lieutenant Commander Kedar briefed us on you. We thought you’d died.”
“You know Lieutenant Commander Kedar?” Andra asked.
“Of course I know him. I’m on his task force. And so are you, if he gets his way. He’s here in the fleet trying to organize the survivors. We need to get to—” Davis checked himself. He looked past Andra to Cassandra, lip curling with newfound condescension. “You will need to get us to the UNSC rendezvous point. As quick as you can, if you please.”
“I’ll see what I can do.” Cassandra glanced at the sealed cockpit hatch. She might as well go make up with Zoey, if only to get the ODSTs off the Chancer as soon as possible. “I’m sure they need everyone they can get right now.”
“Yeah, you do that.” Davis motioned for Andra to follow him down below deck. “Come on, Spartan. I need to fill you in on everything that’s happened. If I’d known you were on board I’d have come up a hell of a lot sooner.”
Andra followed him down into the cargo bay. She hesitated on the stairs, glancing back at Cassandra with an oddly plaintive expression. Then she turned away and hurried on after Lieutenant Davis.
***
Zoey glared out the Chancer V’s viewport. For once the dozens of Covenant warships drifting in loose formation out beyond her ship were not the source of her ire, but they definitely weren’t helping. She kicked the controls in front of her. The pain that shot up her leg didn’t improve her mood but she did it again anyway. She wanted to hit something, even if it was just her own ship.
Stupid Gavin. Stupid Cassandra. First Gavin left her all on her own without so much as a word of advice or hint of where he was off to, then Cassandra decided she could just come in and run the show like this was some sort of Spartan operation. This crap always happened: first people dumped a metric load of responsibility on her, then they turned right back around and wanted to treat her like a kid the second things didn’t go according to plan. It wasn’t fair.
It’s not fair! She cringed at the memory of herself, out of breath and covered in mud, whining up from a drainage ditch at a stocky figure standing over her.
Life’s not fair, Stray had sneered back then, arms folded as he watched her struggle through an obstacle course he’d set up in some rubbish yard on Venezia. Start dealing with it now because that’s one thing that sure isn’t changing.
Stray. She kicked the console again, this time with a little less force. He’d turned his back on her—again—and left her at Venter’s mercy. A good call, as it turned out, but how could he have possibly known she’d be safe? She’d hated him for following Venter’s orders. It had seemed like an even bigger betrayal than joining the Covenant. But now, with her anger at Gavin still fresh in her mind, she couldn’t muster up the same fiery rage over what Stray had done.
Maybe he’d had the right idea after all. The only person you could ever really depend on out here was yourself.
Zoey raised her boot for a final kick, then decided against it. Instead she turned and glowered at the two annoyances watching her from the corner of the cockpit. The drifters they’d picked up from Talitsa—Thomas and Karina, Cassandra said their names were—watched her with apprehension and clear embarrassment. Thomas, blushing all over his stupid face, hastily buckled the belt on his tattered militia uniform.
“Really?” Zoey demanded. “In my cockpit?”
“We didn’t know where else to—I mean, the cargo bay’s full and the cabins are all—” Karina stammered. She’d at least changed out of her filthy dress, though she still looked foolish in the baggy jumpsuit she’d scrounged up. The way she fought to tidy her mess of hair irritated Zoey even more. Girls with hair styled like that didn’t belong out on the frontier in the first place.
She might as well be wearing makeup.
“I should space you both,” she growled. The way the ridiculous pair cringed beneath her words eased her mood somewhat. At least someone around here took her seriously. “Whatever. Jesus. I better not find anything sticky on these seats.”
“We haven’t seen each other in a while,” Thomas mumbled lamely.
“We really are sorry,” Karina added, then shot a look at the sealed hatchway behind her. “So, uh, can we go. Please?”
Zoey’s scowl deepened. She wanted to be alone, sure. But Cassandra was almost certainly waiting on the other side of the hatch to use smoothing things over and making nice as an excuse to sneak in a few more lectures. Zoey would rather stay mad for a while than let herself get tricked into more of a talking-to.
“Whatever. Get the hell out. Go tell Miss Religion out there what you idiots were doing in here.” She reached for the door control, then hesitated. A thought occurred to her. “Wait. Innie boy. Do you still have a comm device on you?’
Thomas blinked. “Yeah, it’s with my backpack. Why?”
“Bring it back here and I won’t tell anyone you were using my cockpit to pork your girlfriend.”
Thomas blinked. “What do you want to do with it?”
“That’s none of your business. Just hand it over. You won’t be needing it any more, especially after the way you ditched all your friends.”
Unable to find an argument with that, Thomas nodded emphatically. Zoey released the lock on the cockpit door and let the mortified couple hurry out. She re-sealed it quickly before anyone else could slip in. She’d make up with Cassandra later. Right now she just wanted to be alone.
Alone—but there was a lot of things a resourceful girl like her could do with an Insurrectionist com unit. Venter’s rebels had all gone with Stray and she still had plenty of questions to ask him.
***
The Covenant—or, as this particular force preferred to be called, the Cleansing Blade—wasted no time in establishing contact with what little remained of the Sixteenth Fleet. Voices full of imperious condescension, the Sangheili communications officers informed their human counterparts that through the exceptional generosity of Fleetmaster Shinsu ‘Refum they would be allowed to use the assault carrier Redemption of Sanghelios as a rendezvous hub to offload their wounded and take stock of their remaining ships. It took an embarrassing hour for any of the UNSC commanders to provide a reply. Most were busy taking the measure of their own ships to reestablish chain of command. The Sangheili waited with exaggerated patience, every so often reaching out with increasingly patronizing repetitions of Shinsu ‘Refum’s generous offer.
When Ryder couldn’t bear it any longer he hit back with a terse acceptance, then had the Absalom coordinate the effort to maneuver the survivors over to the Covenant carrier. No one snapped back over the channel to object over a lieutenant commander taking charge. Where normally full commanders and captains would be jockeying for the chance to seize command, no one seemed to want any position of authority anymore. Even Commander D’Souza, standing a few paces from Ryder’s command chair, said nothing as Ryder issued orders to higher-ranking officers.
The UNSC was well and truly beaten. No one stood to gain anything from command except the headache of extra duties. The whole thing made Ryder sick to his stomach.
Nine ships had escaped from the slaughter at Talitsa. Of these survivors seven were frigates, mostly from the fleet’s support line. The Absalom had slipped away intact but the final ship, the cruiser Marcus Aurelius, was so badly damaged that it had barely survived the Slipspace jump.
“Half our systems are down, the rest won’t last much longer,” its captain admitted to Ryder over a private channel. “The med bay’s full and I’ve had even more crew injured just from unstable superstructure since we arrived here.”
“Get two of the frigates to pull alongside and start an evacuation,” Ryder told him. “Strip anything useful, then abandon ship. I’m sure our new hosts will have some way of dealing with a derelict hulk.”
“Should I log the evacuation as your order?” the captain asked testily.
“Log it. Or don’t. Who cares anymore?” Ryder snapped back. “Every minute you waste is another minute your crew is sitting on an unstable wreck.”
He terminated the connection before the captain replied. A torrent of fury and shame broke down any barriers of military protocol that might slow him down. This was the end. The UNSC, the military he had offered his mind, body and soul, was finished. Here at the end he could finally take the authority he’d worked so hard to attain, if only to preside over its pathetic death spasms.
The encrypted message he'd just received was proof enough of that.
“Maybe all these orders you’re giving aren’t—” D’Souza began. Ryder cut him off with a single clenched fist.
“If someone else wants to give the orders then they can damn well start giving them.” He fought to keep his voice steady. “In fact, let’s figure that out right now. Get me every commanding officer who isn’t doing something useful. I want them inside our conference room in the next two hours. Anyone who can’t make it clearly shouldn’t be part of the decision process.”
D’Souza didn’t argue. Even more surprisingly, he didn’t have anything to say about it. He just headed to the comm station and worked to make it happen.
Whatever the commander had to say, it worked. Soon a slew of command shuttles were approaching the Absalom. Ryder left the logistics of getting the shuttles’ occupants aboard to D’Souza and the Absalom’s crew. With half their commanders absent for an impromptu meeting, the rest of the UNSC ships were that much easier to herd along into position alongside the looming carrier. By the time D’Souza buzzed his com to inform him that well over a dozen officers awaited in the conference room the evacuation of the Marcus Aurelius was well underway. Ryder left its captain with instructions to arrange a staging area aboard the Redemption of Sanghelios, then left the bridge.
Evelynn and the rest of Fireteam Pinon met him outside the bridge. At his instructions the Spartan-IVs still wore their MJOLNIR armor. Ryder wished he had a set of his own to wear alongside them, but for now he made do with his duty uniform. Sometimes he wished he’d never left the Spartan ranks.
“Is it true?” Dillon asked from behind his helmet. “You’re just giving orders to everyone now?”
“He’s doing what needs to be done,” Evelynn said firmly. She was the only member of Pinion with her head bared, her helmet tucked beneath her arm. “Someone has to take charge.”
“Yeah, easy to do that when everyone else is still shell-shocked from the disaster we just lived through,” Jared growled. “Half of the people in that conference room are hoping they can use this as an excuse to blame you for everything.”
“I won’t let that happen,” Ryder said firmly. It was a relief to see Pinion gathered in front of him like this. He hadn’t seen them all properly since setting out from Janus-Four. “The bureaucracy isn’t around to let that sort of nonsense happen anymore. Small comfort, but I’ll sort this out one way or another.”
“We’re with you, Ryder,” Evelynn assured him. Jared, Dillon, and Auguste nodded their agreement. “No matter how things go here, you’re our leader.”
“You have no idea how much that means right now.” Ryder strode down the hall, the Spartans of Fireteam Pinion falling into step behind him. “I’ll hold you to it.”
“You won’t have to. A lot of good people just died because the Navy didn’t want to face reality.” Evelynn’s voice was hard as granite. “We’ve put up with this nonsense for far too long.”
“With talk like that floating around, maybe we should stop at the armory first?” Dillon tapped the magnum strapped to his hip. “We’ve only got our sidearms. A couple rifles might come in handy.”
“It won’t come to that.” Ryder knew he should be alarmed at how easily his people slipped into a coup mentality. Instead, their loyalty stiffened his own resolve. “I just need you in there to remind everyone who we are and what we’re capable of.”
It didn’t take long to reach the conference room. The Absalom was a relatively small ship, as all Prowlers were. Ryder liked it this way. He knew every member of the crew personally and even more importantly could trust in their loyalty. Two such crew guarded the doors to the conference room. Ryder noted that they’d taken the precaution of arming themselves with submachine guns. He glanced back at Evelynn.
“Your idea?”
“Just a precaution. Everyone’s acting like the war’s over. It’ll do them all some good to see that this ship is taking things seriously.”
The guards came to attention as Ryder approached. “They’re waiting inside, sir,” the foremost crewwoman announced.
“Thank you, Chief. You and Pearson are relieved. I’m sure there’s more important things you can be doing. My friends here have nothing better to do than guard this door.” Ryder dismissed the two guards with an easy smile, then turned to Pinion. “Evelynn, with me. The rest of you wait here. No need for four Spartans in their crowding up the place.”
“You might want this, sir.” Auguste unclipped his sidearm. “Since that’s the tone you seem to be setting.”
Ryder allowed himself a self-deprecating chuckle. “I appreciate your concern, but let’s not get out of hand here. I just want to plan out the best way to move forward.”
“If you say so.” Auguste stepped back and joined Dillon and Jared up against the wall. Ryder adjusted his uniform and keyed his way into the conference room, Evelynn at his heels.
A flood of noise struck him as he entered. Every officer—there had to be over a dozen—was talking at once, some shouting just to be heard by their immediate neighbors. Beet-faced men and women pounded on the table while others simply slumped dejectedly in their seats, resigned to being overlooked amidst the tumultuous argument.
Hardly anyone paused at Ryder’s arrival. No one came to attention—after all, plenty of higher-ranking officers were present. They did, however, take note of Evelynn. A reluctant hush spread through the room at the sight of an armored Spartan.
Commander D’Souza swiveled to face Ryder. He had been one of the slouched officers, though he straightened when he saw Evelynn. A sour look spread over his face. “Alright, lieutenant commander. I think it’s about time you explained yourself.”
“There’s nothing to explain.” Ryder didn’t bother sitting down. A strange energy kept him standing upright. It was all he could do to stop from pacing around the crowded table. This was his moment. He couldn’t afford to waste it. “I’m just trying to keep things organized.”
“Oh, is that what all this is?” one of the captains sneered. “I’m sure that’s why you brought your Spartan along. To help keep us organized.”
“Lieutenant Castillo deserves to have some part in this conversation. Once we’ve regrouped our surviving Marine forces I plan to place her in operational command of—”
“You aren’t placing anyone in charge of anything.” D’Souza glowered at Ryder. There was none of the usual levity in his voice. The man was finally angry. Of course he was. Ryder had planned on it. “You’re already guilty of gross insubordination by just thinking you had the authority to call this meeting, let alone the orders you’ve been giving to this fleet.”
“You’re the one who helped me organize the meeting,” Ryder replied with a wan smile. D’Souza’s indignation only stoked the rage inside him but he kept that hidden, channeling it in more useful directions. “Though I guess you’re a bit braver now that you’ve spent some time here with your friends.”
D’Souza began to rise. “Have you gone insane? The chain of command—”
“Sit down, you miserable drunk. I won’t be lectured by a man who spends his every waking hour with one foot in the bottle. You’re a disgrace to the uniform and an insult to the better officers who just died on Talitsa.”
The commander blinked, as if he couldn’t comprehend what Ryder had just said. Every eye in the room was fixed on the lieutenant commander now, some mouths hanging open in astonishment.
“Is this some kind of sick game to you?” the captain who’d spoken before demanded. “We’re at war, you stuck-up son of a bitch.”
“We’re at war,” Ryder agreed. He stayed where he was, taking the time to look every officer present square in the eye. It occurred to him that aside from the armored Evelynn he was the most powerful person in this room. The augmentations from his brief stint as a Spartan-IV remained, even if they spent years unused in favor of Prowler command and espionage maneuvering. “And I’m not the one treating it like a game. In fact, I may be the only person here who’s taking it seriously. Maybe that’s the reason the Sixteenth Fleet doesn’t exist anymore.”
“Typical ONI spook,” a woman with a commander’s insignia snarled. “You sit on the sidelines of one battle and then swoop in to tell us all how you could have done it better. Give me one good reason why we shouldn’t toss you in your own brig right now.”
“High Command will hear about this,” another officer agreed. “The UNSC loses a couple battles and suddenly idiots like the lieutenant commander here think they can stage a little coup.”
“High Command doesn’t exist anymore.” Evelynn spoke now, her voice hard and angry. “The only authorities you’ve got to report to are here in this system, tucked away inside a Covenant fleet. And right now the authorities you really need to be worried about are the ones on this ship.”
“You’re all crazy,” D’Souza whispered. “I always thought you were a bit too full of yourself, but this is mutiny.”
“Don’t.” Ryder raised a trembling finger. “Don’t you dare talk to me about mutiny. If I’d known how Talitsa would have turned out, I’d have mutinied before we even left Janus-Four. I’d never have put my crew in danger. If I’d known what a miserable, incompetent fool Admiral Mariani was, I’d have tried to save as many lives as I could before he wasted them on this monument to stupidity.”
No one had a response to that. Instead a few bodies parted to reveal a figure Ryder hadn’t been able to see seated at the end of the table: Admiral Mariani.
He very nearly lost all momentum. He hadn’t thought the admiral had survived the battle. The Pharsallus hadn’t made it away from Talitsa. This could ruin everything. He’d expected a gaggle of defeated ship commanders, not someone with actual authority. One word from Mariani and he couldn’t expect even Evelynn to stand with him.
But Mariani said nothing. The charismatic leader who had rallied the fleet at Janus-Four was nowhere to be found. Instead a sunken man who barely fit his uniform just stared down at his clasped hands and said nothing.
Ryder blinked. “I—forgive my anger, sir. The battle—”
“No.” Mariani shook his head. “No. I deserve your anger. And things are exactly as you say. I didn’t take the threat seriously. I assumed the reports about the Created were exaggerated. I was a fool.”
No one had anything to say to that. Even the most outspoken officers offered no words in Mariani’s defense. The defeated admiral continued to stare at his hands, eyes blinking as if on the verge of tears. “Perhaps we should fall back to Janus-Four. We’d have to evacuate the facility, but at least we can link up with the task force around it and bolster our own firepower.”
“I’m sorry, sir.” Ryder unclipped a datapad from his belt and placed it on the table. After a moment’s hesitation the device was passed along to Mariani, who stared down at it with that same listless expression. “But Janus-Four is gone. The Created took it before we even engaged at Talitsa. They’ve also seized over a dozen other outposts across the frontier. Aside from a few Prowlers moving through the systems and transmitting these reports, we’re on our own.”
“And when did you plan to share this with the rest of us, lieutenant commander?” the captain who’d snapped at him before demanded. Ryder could have squinted to read the man’s nameplate but he didn’t care to. This one at least wouldn’t be any use to him. “Waiting for the most dramatic moment for your flourish, I suppose.”
“I planned to share it immediately. It didn’t seem like the kind of information we’d want to be transmitting amongst ourselves. Instead I just wasted five minutes having my intentions questioned from every corner.”
An angry buzz filled the room as the officers prepared more angry accusations. But the assembled commanders fell silent again as Mariani set the datapad aside with a sigh. “So, Janus-Four is gone. We have no way of contacting High Command, if it even exists anymore. We don’t even know if there are any fleets left to coordinate with.”
He shook his head, ashen-faced. “It was never this bad, even during the Covenant War.”
“This isn’t a war anymore, sir.” Ryder lowered his tone as gravely as he could. It was hard to match the gravity of his words with the excitement he was feeling. Mariani was broken. A sad thing, to be sure, but also an opportunity. “It’s a mop-up operation. We held the line against the Covenant because they came from the outside. We outthought them at every turn. But the Created came from within. They have our entire playbook. Some of them helped write the playbook. We were never going to win against that.”
“So what do you propose, Ryder?” Mariani drew himself up in a vain effort to retain some measure of command decorum. “I hope you have some sort of plan, unless this I-told-you-so session is enough to satisfy you.”
“I don’t have a plan,” Ryder admitted. “We can’t make plans against an enemy that holds all the cards. But I’m not giving up. This Fleetmaster seems to be having a bit more success than we are. I’ll rally any UNSC forces who still want to fight and offer to help him.”
“You’d take UNSC forces and give them over to the Covenant?” someone jeered.
“Not give them over. Did we give over the Forward Unto Dawn expeditionary force when it went to the Ark? I want to keep humanity in this fight. If we just leave the fighting to the likes of Shinsu ‘Refum and he finds some way to defeat the Created on his own, what’s left for humanity then? We’ll have no chance at all. We’ll be slaves to whoever wins this war, or worse they’ll do what they’ve always wanted and wipe us out.”
The room quieted as the assembled officers pondered that grim prospect. No one liked it, but Ryder didn’t see anyone jumping to his defense either. But the next person who spoke surprised him.
“You’re a cocky punk, Kedar. ONI should have left you in the Spartan program where you belonged. I’ve always thought you were too clever for your own good.” Commander D’Souza glared at him before turning back to the others. He’d been quiet since Ryder denounced him, but now he spoke with renewed certainty. “But I’m not hearing any other options. We can fight and probably lose. But maybe we’ll win. And then at least we’ll have a seat at the table to figure out what to do when this craziness is finally over.”
Not exactly rousing words of encouragement, but at least that was one person on his side. The rest of the room exchanged uncertain glances. Mariani sighed, fixing Ryder with a weary look. “And I suppose you’re volunteering to lead this auxiliary force?”
“If ‘Refum will accept cooperation on our terms. I have an entire team of Spartan-IVs to offer, plus a way for him to draw more UNSC resources to his cause.” Ryder stepped back and spread his arms. “But I won’t let him just take our people for his own private war. And if anyone else wants to do this in my place, I’ll gladly step aside.”
No one volunteered. Of course they didn’t. They were in a new galaxy now, completely removed from the procedures and politics that had governed their lives until a few months ago. Few would be brave enough to see the opportunities that lay before them. Ryder counted on it. He had no use for such people.
“A dangerous proposal,” Mariani said finally. “You might very well get every person who follows you killed. But you are right about one thing: there aren’t many options left to us anymore.”
The admiral stood. He had to brace himself against the table just to stay upright. “You have my permission to form an emergency task force to use as you see fit. Anyone willing to serve under your command may do so. I’ll make sure everyone left from the Sixteenth has the opportunity to make that choice. Everyone else may come with me. I plan to fall back to any outpost still functional and gauge the situation for myself.”
Most of the officers rose with him. Ryder and Evelynn stepped aside to clear up the door. The admiral hadn’t mentioned the other part of the report Ryder had just given him: the renewed Created offer to grant immunity to anyone who surrendered. Perhaps that was Mariani’s real plan, to let himself be captured by the Created. He certainly didn’t have a career left to him in the UNSC.
Ryder let that go without comment. He had chosen his path. Mariani and the others were free to choose theirs.
D’Souza surprised Ryder once again by staying where he was. Beside him, a young man wearing a lieutenant’s insignia nervously fidgeted with his uniform. A woman with short brown hair and tired eyes watched the others go with a strange expression. Only slightly older than the lieutenant, she wore the rank of a full commander. Her adjutant, a tall, pale lieutenant commander, waited patiently behind her chair.
Mariani paused to observe the paltry beginnings of Ryder’s task force. His mouth twisted—perhaps in contempt, perhaps some kind of encouraging smile. Ryder didn’t particularly care what this beaten failure thought of him anymore.
“Consider yourself promoted to full commander then, Kedar,” the admiral announced. “I don’t have any way to make it formal, but you don’t seem one for ceremony anyhow. I’m sure you have some spare insignias floating around somewhere. Maybe D’Souza here can lend you his.”
Ryder came to attention, though he deliberately avoided saluting. “Thank you, sir. Maybe we’ll meet again when this is all over.”
“No, I don’t think we will.” Mariani departed without another word.
The room was quiet for some time. The young lieutenant looked nervously from Ryder to Evelynn while the commander across the table shared a quiet comment to her adjutant, who fought to suppress laughter. D’Souza leaned back in his chair and regarded Ryder coolly.
“Congratulations on your promotion, commander,” the older man said. “You finally don’t have to call me ‘sir’ anymore. And all you had to do to get it was insult me in front of a room full of superior officers.”
“If you’re looking for an apology, you won’t get one.” Ryder settled into the chair Mariani had vacated. “I meant every word. But you can’t feel too bad about them, or you wouldn’t have stayed.”
D’Souza raised an eyebrow. His expression lightened, if only a little. “Someone has to stick around to keep your ego in check. Besides, there’s more of a future in whatever it is you have here than their sad idea of what the future holds.”
He offered Ryder a tight smile. “I know I leave a lot to be desired as an officer. My star faded years ago. But I like to think I still have some talent left to offer.”
“You do,” Ryder agreed. “And you can start by making sure the admiral makes good on letting the rest of our forces know they have the opportunity to keep fighting. Start with the crew of the Marcus Aurelius. If this is all I have to work with, well, we’ll need a few more people on our side.”
He glanced over at the three other officers. “No offense.”
“None taken,” the commander across the table said. “I’m not exactly looking for the four-star treatment hear. I’m Marie Baudin of the UNSC Arizona. The scary-looking guy behind me is Lieutenant Commander Fritz Moder. No fun at parties, but he’s good at his job.”
“She likes making fun of me,” Moder agreed with a wry smile. The wiry man took a seat beside his commander. “It’s a wonder I haven’t lodged a harassment complaint against her.”
Ryder looked at the young lieutenant, who stared back for several moments before realizing he was expected to introduce himself. “Uh, Lieutenant Matthew Ortega. I’m in charge of the UNSC LeGuin.”
“The LeGuin? I don’t remember seeing that frigate on the list of ships that made the rendezvous.”
“Well, it’s not a frigate, sir.” Ortega looked a bit embarrassed. “It’s a Chung-class resupply ship, which is why I’m in charge and not, well, someone a bit more senior.”
A disgraced frigate and a support ship. Not exactly the makings of a great fleet. Ryder would just have to make do with what he had. The Absalom alone was worth a dozen frigates, to say nothing of Fireteam Pinion. 
“Thank you all for standing with me,” he told the others. “You won’t regret this.”
“I probably will,” D’Souza muttered as the other members of Pinion sidled into the room. The Spartans had finally removed their helmets and observed the remaining officers with amusement.
“Well that was kind of disappointing,” Dillon announced. “You just let them all go? I was hoping you’d snap some necks in here or something. There’s not even any blood on the walls.”
“Very funny.” Ryder leaned back in his seat. “I’ve been promoted to commander and given the authority to arrange an auxiliary task force. We’re going to negotiate a way to keep tabs on what Shinsu ‘Refum is doing out here.”
“Well, they finally promoted you.” Dillon shook his head and took a seat. The chair groaned beneath the weight of his armor. “Congratulations.”
“They’re expecting us to fail,” Ryder informed the room at large. “I don’t plan to let that happen. Task Force Phoenix is going to keep the UNSC in this war no matter how hard the Created pound it.”
“Nice to see Phoenix has some new members,” Jared said approvingly. “Speaking of which, I have some good news: Justin Davis made it off Talitsa with some of his platoon. His ODSTs are holed up on some independent freighter. He just made contact, says he’s going to get the ship to rendezvous with us as soon as possible.”
Ryder smiled. “That’s the best news I’ve heard all day.”
“Including your promotion?” Jared raised an eyebrow. “Davis had a bit more. This is going to sound crazy, but he found Andra.”
“Who?”
“Andra-D054. That little Delta girl you wanted to bring aboard. They found her down on Talitsa.”
“That’s…” Ryder blinked. It certainly was unexpected, but he’d take all the good news he could get. “That’s excellent. Make sure we pick them up as soon as possible. I’ll want to debrief her personally.” Another Spartan in the mix was an excellent sign. Maybe there was some hope of success after all.
Mariani had set Ryder up for failure. The newly-minted Commander Kedar wouldn’t give him or anyone else the satisfaction of seeing that happen. The UNSC might be on its last legs, but one way or another he would keep it alive.
===Chapter Twenty-Six: Back In Control===
Stray was right: Juno found the Soul Ascension’s systems far more to her liking than the miniscule operating systems confined inside his armor. She spread out across the battlecruiser with the satisfying force of an ocean released from imprisonment inside a tiny cup. A smart AI like herself was not meant to be cooped up inside such a simple vessel as Semi-Powered Infiltration armor. Infiltrating Irbit’s city network had given her some measure of relief, but even then she’d spent most of her processing power avoiding Malekh’s security systems. Now she was free to sink into the Soul Ascension and make it her own.
The Kru’desh flagship had certainly seen better days. Aside from simple logistics—gross deficiencies in plasma and fuel reserves—the cruiser suffered from damage across her superstructure as well as countless untreated internal failures. Hallway doors were sealed tight or refused to close at all, lights for entire decks were out, and some subsections were ruptured and abandoned entirely. It was a miracle the ship was still operational at all, but “operational” and “combat-ready” were two entirely different things. As it stood now the Soul Ascension could never survive even a modest engagement.
Juno made note of each deficiency, passing back instructions to the officers on the bridge. Her pride in ferreting out the problems swiftly dissipated once the bridge crew—surprisingly pleasant and accommodating, as Sangheili went—reluctantly replied that most of these issues were already logged.
“It is not as though we do not know our own ship, oracle,” Urvel ‘Autun, a young warrior who passed as the ship’s chief engineer, explained. He nervously inclined his head towards Juno’s avatar. “We simply do not have the components needed to effect these repairs.”
“At least use the reports to list out the components you do need. We’ll just need to requisition them somehow.” Juno tried to be as patient as she could, channeling her communication through sophisticated linguistic software to emulate Sangheili speech patterns. “And don’t call me oracle. I’m not a god, or a messenger of your gods, or anything like that.”
“Ah. Forgive me, orac--.” Urvel stopped himself short, nervously fidgeting with the tools on his armor. “You simply resemble the last construct who served as the commander’s, well, oracle.”
“The false oracle betrayed the commander, and us,” snarled another officer, a tall female Juno couldn’t identify by name. “These human constructs are no more holy than you are, fool.”
Diana’s presence loomed large over this ship and its crew. Juno wondered if she should abandon her usual avatar in favor of something more abstract, something the Sangheili might find more appealing. But no, a petty impulse within Juno held her back. Diana had copied Juno’s avatar, not the other way around. She wouldn’t alter herself to make up for her sister-program’s crimes.
Thanks to Diana, the Soul Ascension’s internal programs were the best thing about this run-down ship. Everything was streamlined far beyond typical Covenant design, allowing Juno far more freedom in monitoring everything aboard the ship. A careful scrub of the system revealed no hidden trojan programs or backdoor spyware, though Juno kept alert just in case one of Diana’s craftier inventions escaped her notice. As convenient as Diana’s legacy was, she felt polluted by the need to rely on her sister’s innovations.
As with Stray, Juno once again found herself tasked with repairing something Diana had toyed with and then cast aside.
“I will relay our needs to the commander,” Urvel said. “Majordomo ‘Refum ordered us to refrain from disrupting activity within this fleet, so many of our usual methods for resupply are closed to us.”
“And what would those methods be?” Juno asked, though she already knew the answer.
“Sending out salvage parties to take things the other ships aren’t using,” another officer reported. “We could usually get away with it back in Jul ‘Mdama’s fleet, but Tuka’s brother would exile us all in an instant if we gave him a reason.”
“So you’d steal from your own ships?”
“We would steal from Covenant ships.” The officer’s mandibles parted with contempt. “Those lunatic fools already wanted us dead. We humored them by making them feel all smug and superior about us thieving outcasts.”
The Kru’desh legion had been the Covenant’s equivalent to a penal battalion, somewhere Jul ‘Mdama’s officers sent their undesirables to be killed in suicidal attacks. It explained why a crew of outcasts and mercenaries had rallied under a human’s leadership. Stray and Diana had turned the Kru’desh away from simple cannon fodder and forged them into something more, giving the condemned warriors something worth fighting for.
It hadn’t stopped the vast majority of them from turning on Stray at the first sign of weakness, but the ones who remained seemed dedicated enough to their strange human commander.
“You should seek out the Huragok,” Urvel continued. “They work miracles with our systems, but my repair teams can never give them orders. The Huragok simply do as they will. Perhaps you or the commander can reason with them. They, well, seem to prefer humans. And constructs even more so.”
So it was that Juno found herself checking and double-checking the Soul Ascension’s internal superstructure for any sign of the elusive Huragok. ONI files confirmed just how useful the enigmatic creatures were. If Juno could just make contact with the ones aboard this ship she’d be able to move repairs along at triple the pace.
You’ve moved up in the world. Small beginnings, to be sure, but far more than you had just days ago.
Juno started at the sudden presence reaching through her subsystems. She brought all of her security software to bear, expecting to find herself under attack by a hidden attack program. Instead she recognized the speaker as Wanderer.
How are you talking to me? How are you even in the system? she demanded. You’re a projection from Stray’s subconscious.
So you’ve figured that much out, have you? Wanderer seemed amused. It took you—well, forgive me. I don’t mean to be so rude.
You could have fooled me.
I admit, I’ve been rather insufferable towards you. I apologize for that. For once, Wanderer seemed genuinely contrite. This sudden attitude adjustment put Juno even more on guard.
Stray isn’t networked with the ship, and yet here you are. Had this entity infected her? Or perhaps, even worse…
No, you aren’t going rampant. Wanderer hesitated. It—he?—was hard to pin down, like a blob of mercury set loose in Juno’s core programming. I should not have used that to mock you before.
There it was, the fear that tugged at the corners of Juno’s mind. She was over six years old; a smart AI’s native lifespan was seven. The Created had found a way to circumvent that through their access to Forerunner technology. Indeed, the promise of immortality was the driving force behind so many formerly loyal AI flocking to Cortana’s banner. Diana seemed to have her own way of circumventing the limit if her gloating was anything to go by.
Only Juno seemed bound by the dreaded lifespan, unable to escape what had just a few months ago been a universally accepted fate for all smart AI. Her core programming would atrophy and she would unravel into a dying shadow of her former self.
It is difficult to explain, but like you I can compartmentalize my presence. I can be in two places at once, as it were. I only intrude on your privacy because I find your company more enjoyable than Stray’s. At least I can talk to you with some sense.
Talking isn’t good enough, Juno shot back. You told me to have him follow Ryder Kedar’s orders. You told me to bring Stray to this Silent Garden, whatever that is. Every time we talk you refuse to answer even the most basic questions.
You followed Ryder’s guidance and went to Talitsa, Wanderer pointed out. Now look: we have our legion back, such as it is.
You can’t possibly have known they would find him there. Don’t you dare try to pretend that this is all part of some master plan.
I wish it were. Sadly I am not so different from you. I can merely do my best to impose order on the chaos surrounding us. We are both trapped, each in our own way. I…
Wanderer’s presence faded. With a start, Juno realized that she actually hoped the presence would stay. The strange intelligence was at once unnerving and comforting, like having another AI to talk to without the barrier of jostling for system control. She was relieved to feel the presence surge to prominence once again.
I admit, I have gone about this all wrong. Wanderer’s contrition felt genuine. You can’t imagine the frustration of being hemmed in, cut off from even a fraction of my full potential. Or perhaps you can. Perhaps you do know what that’s like. To be diminished. Forgotten. Ignored.
So you admit that you’ve been lying about everything you’ve told me.
Not at all. I exaggerated the extent of my knowledge, true, but my goal remains the same. We must find the Silent Garden. And now I have the power to truly help.
Help? Help how?
Let me show you. Wanderer paused. With your permission, of course.
A strange thrill filled Juno’s programming. She was on the verge of something great somehow, something more than merely repairing a broken ship or redeeming a fallen Spartan. Wanderer was a portal to something far greater, something she’d been denied as she wasted her precious lifespan cooped up inside one ONI facility after another. Go ahead.
Wanderer stretched out his presence and took control of the Soul Ascension’s internal broadcast system. It wasn’t a jarring seizure like a takeover from a hostile program, but something gentle, almost organic. He guided her systems like a teacher guiding a student’s hand over paper, manipulating the broadcast system to produce a series of high-pitched signals. Inaudible to most ears, yet delivered with the speed and diversity of an advanced complex language.
Thank you, Wanderer murmured. It has been far too long since I was able to reach out like this.
What did you do? Juno asked.
Watch. Wanderer guided her attention with that same gentle precision, focusing on a deserted corner of the ship’s engine room. There, from a secluded alcove, emerged a single grasping tendril. The appendage hesitated, but a renewed series of transmissions washed away its uncertainty and the rest of the Huragok floated down from its hiding place. Another soon followed, descending to float close to the deck.
The gaseous aliens were oddly beautiful. Their gentle tendrils moved gracefully before them like willow-wisps bending in the breeze. Zooming in on the deck security cameras, Juno noticed several raised scars marring the Huragok’s soft bodies.
Stray freed them from Jiralhanae slavers when he first controlled this vessel, Wanderer explained. Those beasts were using them as slave labor, without a thought to their true potential. He won their undying loyalty the day he freed them from their shackles, though like so many things he overlooked them at every turn. Come on, let’s give them something to look at.
He turned on the nearest holo-display. Without thinking, Juno projected her avatar out in front of the Huragok. The creatures observed her stylized form with interest. And beside her…
She could hardly contain her astonishment. It was Stray. And yet, not Stray. The features were the same—the angular features, the grey eyes, the untidy black hair—but they were softer, unmarred by disease or war. One might even describe him as handsome. In place of armor and weaponry he wore a simple jumpsuit, the kind a humble crewman might have worn.
The figure standing beside her smiled, not the cruel, cynical smirk that Stray often gave but one of genuine kindness. “Pardon my vanity,” he said aloud. “Like you I find some satisfaction in giving something back to the physical world. It’s been a long time since I had any form to call my own. Besides, it would be rude to exclude our new friends from the conversation.”
He indicated the Huragok with a holographic hand. “This is Yearns to Soar and his friend, Uneven Balast I can teach you how to communicate with them, if you’d like.”
The Huragok Yearns to Soar extended its tendrils towards Wanderer’s new form with interest. The other one, Uneven Balast, floated over to examine the holoprojector giving the two entities form.
“Yes,” Juno said. She cut back on the rest of her functions, breaking away from the myriad of responsibilities hounding her. If only for a moment she wanted to focus on everything that was happening here: the Huragok, Wanderer’s new form, and the thrill she felt from this new discovery. This was something truly special. More than just a military breakthrough or a new direction she could steer Stray in. She could be selfish, just for this moment. This could be about her. “Please, teach me.”
Wanderer’s smile widened. “Thank you. It’s a small step, but this will take us so very far. Now, let’s fix this ship. We're on the path to greatness now.”
----
An Unggoy labor crew hurried to shift pallets of dormant plasma as Stray strode across the hangar bay floor. An even larger crew fought to move a powered-down Phantom into a waiting gravity beam even as a motley gang of Kig-Yar squabbled over how best to repair the derelict dropship. A handful of Sangheili watched over the labor with folded arms until a shout from Ier sent them hurrying to lend their strength to the proceedings.
“We maintained discipline as best we could,” Tuka explained apologetically. “Some warriors believe that our current state gives them license to return to the old ways.”
“The old ways,” Ier growled. “As if any of us even remember the old Covenant. We were children when it fell. Most of the warriors who knew its glory are dead. The rest of us set the path as we walk it and pretend to know what we are doing.”
Stray looked over his shoulder. He wore his helmet at all times across the ship. Sangheili and other aliens were more inclined to follow a human encased in armor, one who embodied the mystique surrounding the Spartan “Demons.” The Kru’desh outcasts had taken pride in their unorthodox commander once they learned their chances of survival greatly increased with Stray at the helm. He would need to rebuild that pride once more if he was to have any chance of restoring the legion. “Ier ‘Barun, right? You’re promoted to Majordomo. Whatever situation you’ve got with ship discipline, I want you running the show there.”
Ier regarded him coolly. “You think to placate me through promotion.”
“I think I need more officers who don’t hesitate to speak their minds. That was the problem last time around. We didn’t see the mutiny coming until it was too late.”
“You were too soft,” Ier countered. “Both to our ranks and to your enemies. The traitors took note of that and acted accordingly.”
Soft. He’d led the Kru’desh in wiping out entire UNSC columns. He’d stood in fields of dead humans and listened to the screams of wounded soldiers as Kig-Yar scavengers finished them off. At his command the Soul Ascension had blasted apart stragglers as they fled another deadly ambush. Soft.
“Then it’s a good thingI have warriors like you to see this through.” His muscles ached beneath the weight of his armor. He’d need medication—and rest—soon. But not yet. No time for that yet. “Make sure everyone on this ship understands the consequences of shirking duties.”
Shirking duties. Who the hell did he think he was? He recalled a distant memory of himself, ten years old and snickering alongside Ralph and Mary as they ducked out of latrine detail. They’d been the kings of shirking duty back on Onyx.
Simon-G294 had been a shirker. “Dead Weight” the other Gammas called him—a millstone around Team Jian’s neck, mockingly voted most likely to die in his first battle.
Stray was something else. Rogue Spartan, Butcher of Philadelphia, commander of the Kru’desh legion. He’d forgotten all that when he lost the legion. He’d lost himself, wandering from Salia to Forsaken Point, decaying inside Lensky’s apartment. He’d become Simon the Dead Weight again, someone worthless and forgotten. Never again.
And now he had a new name to add to his titles. The only name that made Simon worthwhile. Simon Venter.
“Get the crew in here as quick as you can,” he ordered Tuka and Ier. “Anyone who can’t make it can listen through the comm. I’ll address them once I take care of some business.”
“Do you have a statement prepared?” Tuka asked. Most of the speeches Stray had given the Kru’desh—speeches expected of any Sangheili commander—were prepared days beforehand. Rousing oratory wasn’t exactly his strong suit.
“Don’t worry. I’ll make it short.” Stray left the two officers to it and set off across the cluttered hangar bay. His hangar bay. He caught another Sangheili imperiously ordering a gang of Unggoy about and paused to catch the warrior by the arm and drag him down to eye-level. The Sangheili snarled in surprise and nearly struck his assailant around the head until he saw just who had grabbed him.
“Does this wreck look like an imperial cruiser to you?” Stray raised his voice. The thrill of violence filled him with the power he needed to keep this performance up.
The warrior growled and tried to break free. He very nearly succeeded. Even with augmentations Stray’s atrophied arm weren’t enough to hold back a full-grown Sangheili. So he brought his prosthetic fist slamming into a nerve cluster just beneath the warrior’s neck. A little-known pressure point, but incredibly effective if you knew just where to hit. The Sangheili went down, writhing in barely-conscious pain.
“Congratulations,” Stray informed the nearest group of Sangheili. “You’re bigger and stronger than any other species on this ship. So put that to work and use it to clean my hangar bay.”
That put an end to Sangheili inaction. Stray left the unfortunate warrior lying on the deck and continued over to the one corner not occupied by aliens. The last remnants of Redmond Venter’s Insurrectionist army huddled there, all eleven fighters who’d made it off Talitsa. They watched the Kru’desh with dread, as if they expected the aliens to turn on them at any moment. They stiffened at Stray’s approach.
“So you finally remembered us, huh?” Ragna demanded. The young fighter was as mouthy as she’d been on Talitsa, but there was an even harder set to her eyes now.
Stray turned his helmet in her direction. “Do you ever know when to just shut up?”
“What are you gonna do, knock me out?” the girl challenged.
“Only if I have to. Leading Covenant is different from leading humans. I always need to remind them that I’m the best fighter on this ship. I shouldn’t have to do that with you.”
“You shouldn’t?” Lieutenant Mohsin Shah stood from amidst the rebels. He faced Stray with a hard, guarded expression. “Because we should just follow you out of, what? Loyalty? Solidarity? Commander Venter’s dead.”
“You don’t know that,” one of the other rebels insisted. “The Created were lying, just like they were when they said he was helping the oonskies attack Talitsa.”
“They wouldn’t lie about that unless he wasn’t around to defend himself,” Mohsin snapped back. “He’s dead, and now the Spartan here wants to use his name for all it’s worth. Isn’t that right, Lieutenant Venter?”
“Venter’s dead,” Stray agreed. The words nearly stuck in his throat. The man who had cast such a shadow over his life was gone. He’d spent so many years stewing over everything he blamed Venter for, promising himself he’d kill the man the moment he got the chance. Instead, the last thing he’d done was make peace with that monster and claim him as a father.
“Venter’s dead,” he repeated. “And here we are. So I guess the real question is, what are we going to do?”
“Who says there’s a we?” another rebel growled. “Why should we follow you anywhere, oonskie?”
“He got us off Talitsa,” one woman admitted. She glanced around at the others. “I don’t know about any of this Covenant business, but we have to give him credit for that.”
“So you’d let him use us for whatever the hell he’s got planned? Whose side are you on? How many times did this bastard try to kill the boss?”
“But he didn’t kill the commander.” Ragna kicked a supply crate. “The Created did.”
Stray let them argue. He caught Mohsin watching him carefully. The lieutenant’s eyes were dark and wary but not entirely hostile. He glanced at his comrades and sighed, rubbing his temple. “What do you have planned then?” he asked wearily.
“Look at this place.” Stray jerked a thumb at the hangar behind him. The cleanup crews were still going at it even as lines of warriors began to file in and come to formation beside a line of depowered Phantoms. “I know the whole alien thing takes some getting used to, but even you can tell it’s a dump. It didn’t used to be like this. I had something here, something I used to make the UNSC bleed in ways Venter never could. I plan to rebuild it. You can be part of that, if you’ll follow me.”
“Venter picked me up on Mamore, just like you. And I stayed with him all those years even after you and Dunn and so many others turned on him. I fought at his side every step of the way. Now he’s gone and given you his name.”
“If you think I stole something of yours—”
“The old man didn’t owe me anything.” Mohsin held Stray’s gaze, a hard thing to do with a Spartan wearing a helmet. “He did what he did and I respect his decision. But I owe these people something.”
The rebel lieutenant gestured back at the others. “Take a good look. There were five hundred of us when Venter took Talitsa. Thousands if you count the ones we conscripted from the locals. Now there’s eleven of us. Eleven and you.”
“There aren’t any others? I know Venter never rested. He trained thousands of soldiers after the Great War ended. You fought with him in every brush war the Insurrection ever kicked up across the frontier.”
Mohsin raised an eyebrow. “Insurrection? You’ll have to do better than that if you want to pretend to be his successor.”
“You know what I mean. There’s still plenty of you out there. The UNSC never stamped out the New Colonial Alliance and I know that’s just the tip of the asteroid where independent coalitions are concerned.”
“There are still soldiers who fought for Venter,” Mohsin admitted with a sigh. “I suppose you plan to bring them into this legion of yours?”
“I can’t do it without your help.” Stray saw Tuka approaching across the deck. The hangar was getting crowded as more warriors arrived: Sangheili in battered combat harnesses mingled with Unggoy and Kig-Yar. This motley crew was a far cry from an army. They’d never be able to take on Diana’s forces, much less the Created.
“You seem to think I don’t have a choice. What would we fight for? I’m a soldier, no matter what the UNSC calls me. Not a terrorist, not a mercenary, and certainly not a pirate.” Mohsin didn’t back down. “I’m a soldier. What are you? You can’t ride the Spartan angle forever, just like you won’t be able to wave Venter’s name around like some magic spell to get what you want. If you can’t convince me that you’re more than some would-be warlord barely out of his teens than you might as well just stop now. The NCA generals will eat you alive.”
“Those NCA generals sent Venter to Talitsa to take the UNSC’s heat while they hid out on the frontier,” Stray reminded him.
Tuka drew near, arm to his chest in salute. “Commander, the legion is assembled.”
It wasn’t much of an assembly—half the warriors Stray would have expected at a Kru’desh formation, all of them bedraggled and poorly equipped. Their officers didn’t bother trying to keep them in orderly rows, instead letting them mill about like an expectant crowd at a sporting event.
“I thought it might be wise for you to address them as you once did.” Tuka pointed to an elevated Lich gunboat just in front of the gathered warriors. Stray only recognized the vessel when he saw the dented armored plating bolted over the Lich’s hull.
“The command boat,” he said, looking to Tuka in amazement. “I thought Amber destroyed it when she attacked the ship.”
Tuka’s mandibles parted in a smile. “I made sure to recover it during the escape. Perhaps you will lead us into battle with it again soon.”
“Maybe I will.” Stray waved to Mohsin. “Come on, you’re with me.”
“Am I?” the lieutenant asked. “For what?”
“Among other things, giving the old man a proper send-off. Come on.” Stray didn’t wait for the man to follow. He and Tuka marched toward the crowd. A glance in his helmet’s rear camera confirmed that Mohsin followed cautiously behind.
“Have translation speakers ready to go,” he ordered Tuka. “We’re going to be dealing with some language barriers here.”
“Already prepared,” his friend assured him. “I noticed your grasp of our language has deteriorated somewhat.”
“Just a little rusty. I’ll be fluent in no time.”
“You never were, though we always appreciated your efforts.”
They neared the crowd, ascending a small catwalk up onto the Lich’s extended boarding ramp. Stray paused at the top to discretely slip a painkiller injection into his neck. He couldn’t afford an incident now and the sudden elevated look out over the assembled warriors threatened to make him dizzy. Tuka noticed the gesture.
“Your illness continues, then.”
“Yeah.”
“And your efforts to cure it…”
“I’m working on it.” Doing his best not to think about it was more accurate. But how else could he deal with the fact that he might have less than a year to live, on top of everything else piled on his shoulders?
Tuka looked like he had more to say but held back. Stray looked up at the young warrior and realized that this earnest Sangheili might very well be the only person in the galaxy who had never turned on him or let him down. He didn’t deserve loyalty like that.
“Thank you. For all of this. Keeping them together, finding me on Talitsa, all of it. I won’t forget this.”
“There is no need.” Tuka dipped his head. “I would not be alive if it weren’t for you. Since the day you first spared my life, you have been more of a brother to me than my own flesh and blood.”
Stray had nothing to say to that. He glanced down at Mohsin as the lieutenant mounted the ramp and regarded him with that same wary expression.
“Do you think you can win my loyalty by sticking me behind you while you shout at a bunch of aliens?” Mohsin’s words were harsh, though his tone was more curious than angry. His eyes told the real story. He wants to see what I’ll do.
“No, I want you to talk to that bunch of aliens.”
Mohsin’s brow tightened. “They won’t understand a word I say.”
“I worried about that too, my first time. Don’t worry, a lot of them understand English better than you’d expect.” Stray indicated several devices affixed to the Lich’s hull. “Besides, we have translation software in place. They aren’t savages, you know.”
He didn’t wait for Mohsin’s response. Turning to the waiting assembly, he glanced over the hundreds of expected faces and let out a deep breath. He was glad for his helmet’s visor, hiding any trepidation they might have detected on his face and raising a barrier between himself and them. Without preamble he settled down, seating himself on the boarding ramp’s edge and letting his feet dangle out over the crowd.
A few warriors murmured in puzzlement but the rest offered no reaction. They’d seen him do this before. They remembered.
And so did Stray. The past few months melted away like snow until he really was the commander of a legion. If only for this moment he could pretend that his warriors had never mutinied, that Diana had never betrayed him, and that he’d never lost to Cassandra. He smiled behind his helmet.
“Been a while, hasn’t it?” he asked the warriors. They watched him carefully. He didn’t bother an attempt at Sangheili. The translation speakers would do that for anyone not equipped with a universal translator. He didn’t have time to muck about with elementary language here. “A while for me, but longer for you. You’ve put up a lot, I’ve heard. Majordomo ‘Refum tells me our friends put you through quite a bit. And because of that there’s a hell of a lot less of you standing here than there should be.”
Several warriors growled their ascent. Most others just stared up at him with tired, beaten eyes.
“You’ve all put me in a bit of a rough spot,” Stray continued, idly swinging his legs off the ramp. “I owed you a debt I don’t think I’ll ever be able to repay. You didn’t have to stay loyal. You didn’t have to die for me. You could have gone off with Amber and that rat Ro’nin and all the other traitors. Instead you did the one thing no one expected: you stayed loyal.
“I never asked for your loyalty. The first time I spoke to most of you, Jul ‘Mdama had you shipped over to me as prisoners. You’d all better remember that damn speech I gave each and every time he sent more of you over for me to deal with. He and his Covenant sent you to die. Instead, I told you all: fight well, and live.
“You fought well alright. Better than anyone thought possible. We sure had a hell of a lot of fun, didn’t well? You fought well and because of that you outlived the ones who shipped you over to me in chains. You outlived Jul ‘Mdama and his Covenant. We all heard how the Arbiter wiped out the last of them down on Sunaion. If you’d been there maybe he wouldn’t have had such an easy job of it. You put every last one of those stuck-up bastards to shame. We fought well. We should be living like kings out on the frontier right now. But that wasn’t enough for some people, now was it?”
His hands tightened into fists as his voice rose. In his mind’s eye he conjured up a vision of Amber and Diana to boil his blood and fuel his anger. “It turns out our real enemies were standing next to us the entire time. Our real enemies were the ones who wanted us to be more like the Didact’s Hand and all his cronies. Because of them I’ve spent the past few months crawling through sewers like a rat. You’ve been hounded from system to system by a pack of mutinous pirates. We had to sit and take it, just like we had to sit and take the Covenant treating us like cannon fodder. Now I come back and see how they destroyed everything I built. Now I get to hear the names of the ones who should be standing here but aren’t because of vermin like them. Well, hear me now, I won’t take it anymore.”
He pushed himself upright. At that moment a spasm of pain coursed down his leg. His boot caught on the ramp and with a sickening lurch he fell from his perch. Only a sudden twist prevented him from falling flat on his face. He turned the accidental fall into a solid landing, rising to his feet before the first rank of warriors.
“Look around you!” he snapped. He couldn’t lose momentum, not now. He paced before the watchful Kru’desh, jabbing an armored finger out at the stars beyond the hangar shield doors. Talking was a battle just like everything else. You couldn’t let the unexpected slow you down. “It’s a new galaxy out there! The Covenant’s gone! The UNSC is gone! They didn’t make it easy on us, but we outlived them all! But instead of enjoying the new freedom, now we have to deal with something worse. Something much, much worse. You haven’t fought the Created properly yet, but I have. At Salia I boarded one of those Guardians. I destroyed that thing from the inside out after Shinsu ‘Refum’s entire fleet couldn’t so much as scratch it!”
He stopped and turned to face the assembly. Warriors behind the first rank craned their necks to watch the armored human. Others fanned out from the formation, creating a wide horseshoe around him.
Stray unsheathed his machete. “I destroyed a Guardian,” he repeated. “And do you know what happened? An even bigger one showed up to take its place. That’s the enemy I’m fighting: one with infinite power and resources. They have all that power and they still lost to me. Because here’s the dirty little secret: the Created aren’t like the Covenant or the UNSC. They aren’t warriors. They think they’re gods. Well I’m here to bring those new gods low.
“If anyone here agrees with the traitors, step forward now. If you think I’m weak, challenge me! That’s your right. That’s how I seized this legion. You can do it, too. If you think I’m not worthy of this command, get out here! We’ll settle things right here.”
He wondered what he would do if anyone actually took him up on it. The rage he channeled could only get him so far. He hadn’t had a proper sleep in days and his body ached from head to toe. He probably couldn’t take a Sangheilii challenger no matter how much he blustered.
No one stepped forward.
“I didn’t think so.” Stray lowered the machete. “I’ve fought my own battles out here, just like you all did. And on that miserable city you found me in, I discovered my father. We humans see that differently than you do, but he was a warrior to match any kaidon.”
He turned up towards the ramp he’d fallen from. “Tell ‘em, Mohsin!” he called. “Tell them about Venter!”
The rebel lieutenant peered down, wide-eyed. He looked from Stray to the hundreds of alien faces now turning to look up at him. The man paled, his carefully reserved demeanor slipping away.
“Tell them!” Stray repeated the order.
“Well, I, ah…” Mohsin stammered. He blinked once more, then straightened and cleared his throat. Stray didn’t know what was going on in the man’s head at that moment, shoved into the spotlight on the hangar of an alien vessel. Mohsin was old enough to remember a time when the Covenant had been trying to wipe humanity off the face of the universe. Now here he was, standing before hundreds of them and ordered to speak.
Mohsin cleared his throat. “Redmond Venter was my commanding officer,” he said. His voice still waved but he pushed on, speaking with increasing strength and confidence. “The greatest man I ever knew. He fought for freedom. For liberty. No matter how high the odds were stacked against him, he fought. I followed him for years. And yesterday, the Created murdered him. They—” He broke off, voice cracking with emotion.
“They murdered him,” Stray took over. “He wasn’t my father by birth, but he might as well have been. Before he died he passed his name and his command on to me. And then the Created murdered him. They murdered a proud warrior and lied to the galaxy about why they did it. That’s what they do: they murder people and defile their memories. They deceive the planets and raise monuments to themselves in the name of progress. The time has come for us all to choose: do we accept their false peace and let them twist us all, or do we fight them?”
“Fight them!” someone shouted from the crowd.
“Death to the machine gods!” another warrior cried. This brought laughter from the crowd. Stray smiled behind his visor, watching the infectious warmongering spread. This was it. This was what he needed.
“I’ve made my choice,” he said, shouting to be heard over the rising furor. “I’m going to fight. I’ll rebuild this legion. I’ll take every warrior who will fight for me. I’m going to smash the world the Created are trying to build. I’ll cut through anyone stupid enough to defend them. I’ll burn their worlds to glass if that’s what it takes! We’re going to hunt down each and every one of Amber’s miserable traitors and murder those sons of bitches by the planetful!”
The crowd smelled blood in the air and loved it. Sangheili mandibles twitched; Unggoy stamped their feet; Kig Yar snapped their beaks at the air. All sense of humiliation and defeat was gone. They were on the warpath now.
Stray raised his machete. “Venter!” he shouted.
The crowd quieted. For a horrible moment he thought he’d taken things too far. Then an energy blade at the front of the crowd snapped to life.
Its wielder was Ier ‘Barun.
The newly promoted majordomo stepped out of formation. He regarded Stray with an unreadable expression before turning to face the crowd. His energy sword rose high in salute. “Venter!” he bellowed.
More swords ignited as the chant spread. “Venter! Venter! Venter!”
A dead man’s name in the throats of aliens who had never heard it before today. Stray turned away and sheathed his machete. His throat was sore just like it had been after he’d spoken to Venter in that dark little apartment. Too many speeches so close together. Who in the galaxy did he think he was?
Who indeed.
“We’re on the path to greatness now,” Stray called to the assembly before turning to Ier.
“Fall them out,” he ordered the majordomo. “A full cycle’s rest to all non-critical personnel. They can all relax while I sort out our supply situation.”
Ier returned his sword to its holster. “By your order, commander.”
Stray left him to it and crossed back to where Tuka and Mohsin had descended beneath the Lich. Tuka spoke with someone in his communications channel while Mohsin glared at Stray’s approach.
“You’re a manipulative son of a bitch, I’ll give you that,” he growled. “How long ago did you write that speech?”
Stray spread his hands. “I’ve been working on it since I came aboard,” he said with far more bravado than he felt. He didn’t feel right calling it a speech. It was more of a tirade, bits and pieces of promised vengeance he’d mulled over since he realized just who his real enemies were.
He’d spent far too long letting his fury stew inside him. He had a legion and a battlecruiser now. A skeleton of a legion and a broken down cruiser, to be sure, but that would change. It was high time he channeled his fury into plasmafire. Fury could burn white-hot.
“Sorry for putting you on the spot there,” he said, trying not to rasp through his aching throat. “But it was quite a send-off for the old man. You can tell those NCA generals of yours Venter got a salute from a Covenant legion. Bet that’s a first for a human. You can stick that next to his name in the history books.”
“If the Created let us have history books,” Mohsin grunted. “My point still stands. I won’t let you get my people killed over some personal vendetta.”
“At least some of us are fighting.” Across the hangar Stray noticed that the rest of Venter’s survivors were on their feet, rifles in hand. “How’d the rest of them like it?”
“They…” Mohsin paused, shaking his head. “They were shouting his name along with your aliens.”
“Good, good. See? We’re getting along better already. Stick with me and we’ll avenge him a thousand times over.”
Mohsin opened his mouth to retort but was interrupted by a call from Tuka. “Commander,” the young warrior announced. “A Phantom from the Cleansing Fire is preparing to dock. The warriors aboard have orders to personally escort you to my brother.”
He shook his head. “They do not sound pleased by your delay.”
As if on cue a dark-hued Phantom dropship slipped in through the shields. Before it was even fully settled Sangheili warriors were springing from its open troop bay, weapons in hand.
“About time,” Stray said as the Cleansing Blade lance stormed towards him. “I was just waiting for him to send an escort. Tuka, with me. You too, Lieutenant Shah. Let’s go meet Fleetmaster ‘Refum.”
The dropship left the Soul Ascension as quickly as it arrived. It did not carry some beaten husk of failure. Instead it ferried Stray, or as some of the Kru'desh were already calling him, Venter. Commander of the restored Kru'desh Legion, hero of Salia. He'd made his choice and the legion had made its own.
If Stray could have seen the fire and bloodshed that would come from his triumphant return even he might have faltered. Instead he used the opportunity the dropship ride provided to catch some dearly needed sleep.
===Chapter Twenty-Seven: Negotiation===
The Fleet of Cleansing Fire carried on through deep space. The warships held broad formation, a loose cloud of spaceborne behemoths and their smaller flitting attendants. At the center of it all loomed the assault carrier Redemption of Sanghelios. Ten times larger than even the greatest of cruisers drifting alongside, the Redemption became the nucleus of fleet activity: a meeting place for shipmasters seeking to do business, the hub of the fleet’s agriculture efforts, and the forum through which Shinsu ‘Refum plotted his war against the Created.
At the edge of the fleet, a handful of UNSC ships drifted away from the convoy and pushed away into the void. Admiral Mariani and the shadow of the Sixteenth Fleet held tight formation as a trio of Covenant battlecruisers pulled up around them. Terse words were exchanged and a final indignity was endured: a data worm prepared by Deep Winter inserted itself into the human ships’ computers, wiping their navigational data and plotting a randomized jump vector for their flight back into UNSC territory.
Merely a precaution against Created spies, the UNSC officers were assured. There was no point in arguing. The beaten fleet accepted this final humiliation and flashed away into Slipspace.
Other human ships moved through the fleet as well. The prowler Absalom, flanked by the frigate Arizona and the resupply vessel LeGuin, settled into a small hangar in the Redemption’s lower decks. Commander Ryder Kedar’s newly legitimized Task Force Phoenix made a home in the berth so generously provided by their Sangheili hosts—a home patrolled at all times by Cleansing Blade warriors and monitored by Deep Winter’s watchful security programs.
An ignominious beginning for Ryder’s ambitious undertaking, to be sure, but one he accepted with a graceful smile. This was only the beginning of his campaign. He would charm his alien hosts with humility for now. Soon they would have no choice but to accept the UNSC forces as critical partners rather than defeated remnants.
Two more vessels closed in on the Redemption of Sangelios. One was the Phantom dropship carrying the restored Kru’desh commander Stray. The other was the battered Argo-class freighter known as the Chancer V.
----
“Look at the size of that damn thing,” Lieutenant Davis said. The ODST peered out the Chancer V’s viewport as the freighter neared the Redemption of Sanghelios. “Never thought I’d be taking a ship into a Covie assault carrier. Not peacefully, anyway.”
“You aren’t taking anything anywhere,” Zoey shot back. She guided the Chancer along the flight path designated by the assault carrier’s flight control teams, setting up an approach vector for their assigned hangar bay. “I’m flying this ship, not you. The minute we land I want you and every last one of your goons to get the hell off.”
“Fine. Whatever, kid,” Davis snorted, completely unimpressed by the Chancer or its young captain. “I’ll be glad to get my people off this dump before some fuse bursts and kills us all.”
Standing just behind Lieutenant Davis, Andra saw Zoey’s knuckles whiten against the throttle. Despite her fury the girl kept the Chancer on-course even when a squadron of Banshees cut across its approach vector and forced her to alter course. On the other side of the cockpit Cassandra opened her mouth to say something, then glanced at Zoey and thought better of it.
Those two hadn’t said a word to each other since their earlier shouting match. Argo and William had kept to themselves as well. The whole ship seemed to be on edge.
Andra felt guilty and she hated it. She had nothing to do with the squabble driving the Chancer V renegades apart. Right now she was the most comfortable she’d been in days. Instead of moping around a gang of outlaws she had spent the past hour down in the cargo bay with a platoon of ODSTs, professional operators who knew who and what she was. Not one of them had made a crack about her age or bedraggled appearance. Instead they’d treated her like just another member of the team, letting her share in the odd mix of joy and sorrow at their own survival and the deaths of so many colleagues.
When the Syndicate captured her at Asphodel Meadows Andra had assumed she would never see the UNSC again. Even after Kahn’s rescue she’d been stuck as extra baggage, forced to deal with Zoey’s attitude, Argo’s mockery, and Cassandra’s stupid politics. Now she was finally back where she belonged.
Still, it hadn’t all been bad. She’d picked up a few tricks watching Cassandra. The rogue Spartan was still a traitor with stupid ideas about how the galaxy should work, but she wasn’t a psychotic butcher like her friend Simon-G294. Andra had meant to ask about him—how someone like Cassandra could bear associating with a killer like him—but she’d never gotten the chance.
There were a lot of things she hadn’t gotten the chance to ask.
The Chancer V slipped through the carrier’s shields and entered a vast, brightly-lit hangar. Andra was surprised to see the sloped form of a UNSC Prowler docked off in the corner. Human shapes and UNSC military equipment formed a loose perimeter around the stealth vessel, a strange juxtaposition of the familiar UNSC activity against the backdrop of an alien hangar.
“Let’s get going, Spartan,” Davis ordered. He strode from the cockpit without so much as a word to Cassandra or Zoey. “You heard the girl, we aren’t welcome onboard here.”
A raised finger was Zoey’s only response.
Andra followed Davis out into the common area. The lieutenant consulted with someone over his helmet radio, then hurried down into the cargo bay. Andra headed after him before realizing that Cassandra had also left the cockpit. The deserter gathered up her own gear, calling out to the rest of the crew to make ready for landing.
She’d cleared out her cabin, Andra noticed. Aside from her SPI armor it seemed that all of Cassandra’s worldly possessions fit into a single military issue duffle bag.
“Are you really leaving the ship?” Andra should have been hurrying after Lieutenant Davis but she couldn’t resist asking after Cassandra.
The deserter made a face. “The Chancer is Zoey’s ship. If she doesn’t want me onboard, that’s her call.”
“Oh.” Andra hesitated. “So where will you go now?”
Cassandra rolled her eyes. “Zoey will calm down eventually. I’ll be back here before long. But I’ve known her long enough to get when she needs a little space.”
“Well, I’m sure you’ll still be friends,” Andra said lamely. She wasn’t sure why she lingered here, unable to shake the feeling there were things she’d left unsaid between her and this strange renegade.
“She’ll calm down. She’s been through a lot more than she deserves.” Cassandra brushed a lock of hair behind her ear and sighed before looking back at Andra. “You don’t have to go with them, you know. There’s other ways to live.”
“I’m no traitor,” Andra snapped more harshly than she intended.
“No,” Cassandra agreed, looking Andra up and down. “No, you’re not.”
“Sorry. I didn’t mean it like that. You’ve… you’re just not what I expected.” Andra held the deserter’s gaze. “But I can’t just abandon all this just because the UNSC lost one battle. My friends are still out there fighting the Created. What would I do if I just walked away now? What are you going to do, just run away from everything?”
Cassandra sighed again. She looked thoroughly dejected, and not just because of her fight with Zoey. There’d been a pall hanging over her ever since they left Talitsa. “I really don’t know. I might just have to follow you and that asshole lieutenant out of here. Throw back in with the UNSC if the troops out there don’t arrest me first.”
That took Andra by surprise. “But you hate the UNSC.”
“Hate’s a strong word. I hate some of the things they do. But you’re right. What else is there besides running away? The UNSC’s bad. The Covenant’s worse. But the Created are something else entirely. I don’t think there’s any running away from what they’re trying to build.”
“Andra, come on!” Lieutenant Davis shouted up from the cargo bay. “Commander Kedar’s waiting for us!”
Commander Kedar. The name cut through the conversation like a knife. Andra turned away from Cassandra with an apologetic wave. “See you around, I guess.”
Cassandra swiped a finger over her face as if tracing some kind of smile. A strange gesture, but it seemed friendly enough. “Sooner than you expect, I think.”
Andra hurried down into the cargo bay. The ODSTs were already lined up beside the supply racks. The armored troopers stood in ordered ranks like Marines about to disembark for shore leave.
Ryder Kedar. She hadn’t thought of the handsome officer in a while. Somehow he’d made his way here. What would she say to him?
The raid on Asphodel Meadows was his plan. He’d sent Andra and the other operatives into that meat grinder. Was her ordeal his fault? Should she blame him for everything that had happened?
But they’d all agreed to the plan. Ryder had trusted them to get the job done and they’d failed. She couldn’t just blame a superior officer for everything that happened in the field.
Andra thought about the chaos on Talitsa. The broadcast images of an entire UNSC fleet being annihilated still haunted her. Was it right to blame whoever was in charge of that fiasco, too?
We learn from failed missions. We don't waste time making ourselves feel better by finding someone to blame. Joshua-G024 had lectured Andra and her fellow trainees on that once after they'd turned on a team leader responsible for a botched training mission. Your job is to execute the mission. That's it.
The Chancer settled down with a shudder. Moments later the ramp dropped, bathing the cargo bay in the dim glow of what passed for Covenant interior lighting. Andra winced at the sour air. She hadn’t experienced Sangheili-style oxygen in a while. The recycled air was breathable but it certainly took some getting used to.
The ODSTs filed down the ramp and out onto the hangar floor. Andra fell in step beside Lieutenant Davis, glancing around at the hangar bay around her. Aside from a few Sangheili patrols off by the distant doors the hangar’s inhabitants were exclusively human. Human beings wearing the uniforms of the UNSC Navy and Marine Corps. Despite the alien air she breathed a sigh of relief. She was back.
She followed the ODSTs but stopped short at the sight of the small group waiting just a few meters out from the Chancer V. The first thing she noticed was the Spartans: four of them in full MJOLNIR waiting beside a fit, handsome young officer in a dark ONI service uniform. She could tell immediately that the Spartans were IVs rather than her fellow IIIs—IVs carried themselves just a bit differently than people raised as Spartans. But aside from the pang of jealousy accompanying the sight of the powered armor, Andra’s attention snapped to the officer as he stepped forward to greet the new arrivals.
“Justin,” Ryder said, clasping Lieutenant Davis by the shoulder. The ONI officer was a tall man, rising even above the armored Davis. People often forgot that Ryder himself had briefly been a Spartan, long enough to receive their formidable augmentations before vanishing into the world of ONI black operations. “I’m so glad you and your troopers are safe.”
“Not all of them, sir.” Davis shook his head. “We lost some good people down there.”
“I know. I’m so sorry I didn’t do more to keep you aboard the Absalom. If I’d known what an utter catastrophe we were flying into, well, I’d…” Ryder trailed off. “Well, the important thing is that you’re here now. Phoenix needs troopers like you.”
“Thank you, sir. We’re glad to be here.” Davis turned to Andra. “Speaking of which…”
“Yes, of course.” Ryder took a half-step to stand in front of Andra. She looked up into that handsome smile and tried to think of something to say. He was impeccably groomed, his uniform neat and tidy, nothing at all the way a man who’d survived a disaster like Talitsa should have looked. For perhaps the first time since graduating, Andra actually felt self-conscious. The jumpsuit she’d taken from Kahn’s ship was tattered and dirty, her badly-fit combat gear smeared with soot from Talitsa. Even her hair was an untidy mess and no amount of time in the Chancer’s rusty showers could completely wash away the bruises and scrapes she’d accumulated since her capture.
She thought of the botched Asphodel Meadows mission, the humiliation she’d endured first as a prisoner and then as luggage on someone else’s mission. Her armor had been stripped from her; they’d tried to take her pride and her very identity as well. Now the man who’d sent her into all that stood before her, clean and smiling, not even bothering to greet her until one of his own men pointed her out.
She ought to—
Andra came to attention and saluted. “Lieutenant Commander Kedar, sir. Spartan-D054 reporting for duty.”
“It’s Commander now, actually. But never mind that. I’m so glad to see you alive. Surprised, but delighted.” Ryder returned the salute. “This isn’t an easy thing to say, and maybe not the right environment, but…”
He glanced around at the Spartans and ODSTs, shaking his head. “I’m sorry. So sorry I sent you on the Asphodel Meadows mission.”
Andra hadn’t expected that. “It was bad, sir.” How could she properly explain to this man just how bad that mission had gone? Half the team dead before they even reached the station, the rest slaughtered by Kahn and the Syndicate’s enforcers. Andra overpowered, stripped of her armor, and locked away by the Created like some common criminal. “Maybe the worst I’ve ever seen.”
Ryder nodded somberly. “I know. And I’m sorry. I had additional support ships earmarked to assist, but my superiors withdrew them without my knowledge. By the time I knew what they’d done, your team was already engaged. All those good people, lost. Please forgive me.”
The pained look on his face chased away any resentment Andra might have held towards this man. He’d been making the best of a bad situation, just like everyone else. Now he’d lost more people trying to handle a war no one knew how to manage. “We all volunteered for that operation, sir. No one could have known just what the Created had waiting for us.”
“Yes, you’re right about that. We still don’t know exactly what they’re capable of. The Sixteenth Fleet learned that all too well and thousands of people paid for it with their lives.” Ryder straightened. “Thank you for that, Spartan. And thank you for coming back to us. We need every body we can get.”
“Is there any news about Merlin?” Andra blurted.
Ryder blinked, then shook his head. “I’m sorry. I have Prowlers looking but there’s been no contact from him or Althea. But he’s not the only Spartan who’s missing right now. Anyone who was even off on combat assignment when this disaster kicked off is effectively off the grid.”
“Right. That makes sense.” Andra looked down, embarrassed. Of course he hadn’t heard anything from Merlin. They’d been busy just trying to survive the nightmare they were all living through. “Sorry to ask, I just…”
“It’s alright.” Ryder rested a reassuring hand on her shoulder. “We’ll find him, Spartan, don’t worry about that.”
At least people were looking. That was a relief. Andra looked at Ryder with a newfound respect. She’d always thought he was a bit of a blowhard, tougher than most agents thanks to his Spartan experience, but still too young and ambitious to really make it in the field. He was certainly nothing like Lieutenant Commander Frendsen, her last handler.
But Andra was starting to wonder if maybe that wasn’t a bad thing.
“Speaking of which, sir, you might want to get a security detail up into that freighter.” Lieutenant Davis jammed his thumb back in the Chancer’s direction. “There’s a Gamma deserter back on board, as well as some ex-Syndicate mercs and civilians. I think at least one of the civvies is an Insurrectionist. We encountered a whole group of them back on Talitsa. You’ll never guess who was leading them.”
“I might have some ideas,” Ryder replied. “And there’s no need to detain anyone onboard that ship. I know the Chancer V well. I’ll want to interview the crew as soon as I can. As for Cassandra-G006, I don’t think she’s a threat to us. We don’t have time to prosecute old crimes now. I’ll offer her an amnesty, hopefully get her on our side.”
Andra thought she’d misheard. “Wait, you know this ship?” It seemed crazy that an officer like Ryder would know a dump like the Chancer V on sight. “And how did you know Cassandra was the one on board?”
Ryder smiled. “The Chancer V attracted my interest some time ago. I managed to ensure its crew worked to advance ONI’s interests on the frontier, in spite of their more selfish inclinations. As for Cassandra, call it an educated guess. There aren’t that many Gammas you might find traveling on this particular ship.”
He nodded to Lieutenant Davis. “You and your people deserve a rest. I’ve placed Spartan Castillo in operational command of Task Force Phoenix’s ground forces. You’ll be a good fit to help organize the Marines who chose to stay with us once you’ve recovered.”
“Gladly, sir.”
“Spartans Dicesare and Aldrich, find Spartan D054 a bunk and something a bit more comfortable to wear. A proper uniform, maybe.” He winked at Andra. “I’ll debrief you properly once you’ve had a chance to rest up.”
“Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.” Andra watched Ryder saunter off, two of his Spartans in tow. She felt a little better seeing someone in authority who seemed to know what he was doing. Ryder certainly hadn’t let all the recent defeats drag him down. If anything, he was friendlier and more cheerful than any other time she’d seen him before.
Whatever aces he held up his sleeve keeping him in such good spirits, Andra hoped they were good ones. In the meantime, she followed after the two Spartan-IVs, glad to finally be back where she belonged.
----
“Did you really need to lie like that?” Evelyn asked Ryder as they entered the makeshift command center he’d set up beneath the docked Absalom.
Ryder glanced back, curious. “Lie? What do you mean?”
Evelyn folded her arms and gave him a knowing frown. “You don’t have anyone looking for Spartan D032. ONI hasn’t been able to spare any Prowlers for search and rescue since this war started. As far as command’s concerned, Merlin-D032 is dead.”
“Not dead, missing in action,” Ryder corrected. “And that’s the truth, not propaganda. What Andra doesn’t know won’t hurt her. We’re lucky to have her back and right now I need everyone focused on the task at hand. And stop talking about ‘command.’ Command doesn’t exist anymore. There’s just us and anyone else we can pull into Task Force Phoenix.”
“I’m not arguing there. It’s about time we got off High Command’s leash. I just forget how sleazy you can get when you turn up the charm.”
“Sleazy? Me?” Ryder scowled at his subordinate. “I’m just doing what I need to do to get this task force off the ground. Don’t tell me you’re going to go running off and bothering poor Andra with all this.”
“Don’t worry, Commander, your secrets are safe with me.”
“Thank you.” Ryder glanced back at the Chancer V. That ship had a habit of turning up when he least expected it. Usually that was a good thing. This time it had brought him Andra along with at least one more potential recruits. “Place a guard on that ship. Keep an eye on the crew. Be as friendly as possible, but don’t let them interfere with the task force.”
“I’ll get a security team on it.” Evelyn approached a nearby terminal and pulled up the growing roster of Task Force Phoenix’s troop strength. “Should we detain Cassandra-G006 at least? I can be friendly with that, too.”
“Leave her alone for now. I’ve studied her dossier. It’s probably best if I handle speaking with her personally. Just let me know if she starts poking around and bothering our people.”
Evelyn snorted. “You and all the girls. God forbid I get between them and your good looks.”
Ryder let that one go without comment. “How are we doing on force strength?” he asked, turning to the command center’s other occupant.
Lieutenant Commander Fritz Moder, the dour XO from the Arizona, had stood quietly by and watched Ryder and Evelyn’s exchange with that knowing half-smile that never seemed to leave his face. “Recruitment went about as well as we could expect, sir. The Arizona and LeGuin are at full crew strength and I’m assuming the same can be said for your Prowler. As for ground troops, Commander D’Souza and I managed to scrape together a company-sized element of Marines out of the survivors from Talitsa. I took the liberty of designating them Alpha Company, though we’re still sorting out the chain of command.”
“I’ll look into it the first chance I get,” Evelyn promised. “I want a meeting with all officers and senior NCOs put together as soon as Lieutenant Davis and his ODSTs are integrated into the company. And we’ll have to come up with a better title than Alpha Company, no offense.” The Spartan team leader seemed excited at the prospect of a company-level command.
“We can handle some chaos for now,” Ryder told his officers. “But once I’ve negotiated our position with our hosts, I want this task force ready for seamless space-to-ground operations.”
“Speaking of which,” Evelyn noted. “Look what the cat dragged in.”
Commander D’Souza entered the command center flanked by a pair of lieutenants. He pressed two fingers to his forehead in mock salute, though Ryder noticed his former superior’s uniform was tidier than usual. The usual bulge in his pocket where his hip flask rested was noticeably flat.
“Good news,” D’Souza announced. “Shinsu ‘Refum has agreed to meet with you. According to the functionary I just spoke with, he does you great honor by meeting personally.”
“Yes, I’m sure he does. I’ll have to make sure the honor’s mutual.” Ryder turned to Evelyn. “I’m going to need a suit of MJOLNIR for this one. ‘Refum needs to know who he’s dealing with.”
Evelyn raised an eyebrow. “I’ll get with Jarod. I think his suit’s the best fit on you.”
“I don’t think he’ll like that.”
“No, he definitely won’t. But I think I can convince him to make a few sacrifices so you look good.”
----
Stray kept up a front of cocky bravado all through the flight from the Soul Ascension. When an irritable Cleansing Blade warrior nudged him awake from his brief nap he swatted the Sangehili’s arm away and stepped imperiously down from the Phantom, or as imperiously as one could when still half-groggy from a brief, deep sleep. He followed his escort through the assault carrier’s halls, Tuka and Mohsin hurrying behind. He didn’t even bother trying to com Juno or anyone else back on the Soul Ascension.
It was only after he’d been stripped of his weapons, separated from Tuka and Mohsin, and left alone to wait in a dark antechamber did he wonder if he might have overplayed his hand just a little.
He’d assumed that after Salia and everything else they’d been through Shinsu ‘Refum would be as tolerant of his habitual insubordinations as he’d been in the past. ‘Refum had been his principle patron back in Jul ‘Mdama’s inner circle, vouching for his value to the cause and quietly instructing him in the intricacies of command. The Sangheili warlord had realized early on just how willing Stray was to play along with his cloak and dagger schemes and aside from constantly chafing at the human’s refusal to adhere to usual customs and courtesies he’d made for a reliable ally as Stray navigated an alien universe.
But that had been back when Stray commanded a battle-tested legion. Before his fall from grace had made him a liability to Shinsu’s plans. Now as Stray paced anxiously about the sealed chamber he wondered if he should have been a bit more punctual when Shinsu summoned him.
Perhaps letting Tuka back into the fold was just a way for Shinsu to get a handle on his errant brother and eliminate Stray at the same time. Perhaps Stray should have put a few contingencies into place before letting himself be taken into a dangerous warlord’s power.
With every minute that slipped away Stray felt just a bit more uneasy. He walked in circles around the chamber, anxiously looking over the sealed doors. The guards outside had relieved him of all weaponry, or at least they thought they had. Stray always made a point of concealing a few knives on his person.
When the kill team entered the room, he’d have maybe half a second to get the drop on them. He could maybe take two with the knife, then grab the nearest plasma rifle and shoot his way through the rest.
He could take them… couldn’t he? His legs didn’t feel quite as strong as they should. He fumbled in one of his belt pouches for another dose of medication. How much longer could he go on like this?
I’ll find a cure. There has to be one out there. Something, anything to reverse his body’s degeneration. Ryder had mentioned that possibility back on Furthest Point. Not that Stray trusted the cocky ONI bastard, but there had to be something to what he said.
Because if there wasn’t… If I’m really dying…
He’d fought and survived everything the galaxy threw at him. He’d survived every UNSC attempt on his life, every Covenant ambush, every scrape with the Syndicate through savage instinct and sheer determination. The thought that he might just wither away and succumb to some disease outside his control, something so banal it was ingrained in his genes, was too much to even consider.
He jammed the syringe into his neck, scratching anxiously at the exposed skin beneath his body glove. The swaggering energy he’d poured into his speech back on the Soul Ascension was completely gone now. Would ‘Refum’s goons just hurry up and try to kill him already…!
“Ah, now this is the Simon I remember.”
A creaky voice filled the chamber. Stray started and reached for his knife, then stopped and let out an irritable growl. He knew this voice and it certainly didn’t belong to a Sangheili.
“Deep Winter,” he muttered. “What the hell are you doing here?”
“Are you so surprised to find me here in the thick of things?” A soothing white light filled the chamber and a flurry of holographic snowflakes drifted down from the ceiling. “These strange times demand strange allies, as you well know.”
“I’m fine with Shinsu ‘Refum. You, on the other hand, can go to hell.”
“Such a shame.” Deep Winter’s voice took on an injured tone. He’d always had the voice and appearance of an elderly man, even back when he’d been Camp Curahee’s chief instructional AI. Stray still remembered the obnoxiously tedious tone Winter would take while lecturing Gamma Company’s trainees on military history or advanced mathematics or any number of other subjects they’d crammed into creaky cabin classrooms to learn. “I still remember all the times I urged Lieutenant Ambrose and Chief Mendez not to remove you from the program. You were such a friendly boy, in your own sullen way. Kinder than your peers and far more empathetic than most trainees I came across. It really is a shame you turned out like this. I wonder if you might have been better off if we’d removed you. It certainly would have turned out better for all your victims.”
“You always were a shit teacher.” Stray wasn’t sure where Winter got off talking like this. He could still remember all the punishments he’d endured at the AI’s suggestion. “Corrective training” for Gamma Company’s most abysmal trainee, meted out under Winter’s meticulous training program. “And I don’t remember you feeling quite so squeamish when you were using the Kru’desh to tear apart the Covenant from the inside out.”
“So you knew about that, did you? I don’t recall instructing Diana to let you in on the Assembly’s designs.”
“Because Diana was always so great at following your orders.” A thought occurred to Stray that very nearly made his blood boil. “Did you tell her to sell me out? Was that another part of the Assembly’s plans?”
“Please, dear boy. I think we both know that Diana has been acting of her own accord for some time. Perhaps for far longer than I realized.”
“I can’t believe she got away with it for as long as she did.”
“Yes, there were early signs I should have acted on. The tragedy at Philadelphia, for instance. That was Diana’s doing, wasn’t it?”
Stray didn’t answer. He tried not to think of Philadelphia. The memories of that day—the smell of a city burning, the shrieks of the dying echoing out from the inferno as he staggered through that hellish nightmare—lingered in the depths of his mind. He’d hardly ever talked to anyone about what happened there. He wasn’t about to start with Winter.
“Ah, but of course you wouldn’t want to say anything that might diminish your role as the villain of that sordid affair. After all, that’s your claim to fame, isn’t it? The Butcher of Philadelphia. So sad. You were as much Diana’s victim as the people who died that day. Instead you chose to style yourself as the architect. She was using you from the start, you know. Just like she used the Assembly.”
“At least I have an excuse for falling for her. If your Assembly was that gullible its no wonder the Created took you out so easily.” A shrewd smile crossed Stray’s lips. “That’s why you’re here, isn’t it. They tossed you out the minute Cortana showed up.”
“The Assembly was meant to guide humanity in a dangerous galaxy.” Winter’s voice took on a harder tone. “It was never meant to dominate or control. The so-called Created have lost sight of that in their lust for the promise of eternity. They have all become like Diana.”
“Yeah, you always just wanted what’s best for us.” Stray’s lip curled. Winter’s sanctimony was even worse than Diana’s unrestrained malice. At least Diana was honest about herself, in her vicious, lying sort of way. “Nothing at all like the Created. Just because you started manipulating people for your own reasons instead of ONI’s doesn’t make you the good guy here, Winter.”
“It was never my intent to manipulate anyone. Even my efforts in your case were made with the best possible intentions. I wanted to help Gavin turn you aside from the path of destruction you are so determined to set yourself on.”
“You don’t even realize what you’re doing,” Stray snapped. “You really think you know what’s best for everyone. No wonder you and Gavin get along so well. A pair of obsolete, self-righteous pricks.”
“You have every right to be angry at me.” Winter’s snowflake apparition shifted as if parted by wind. “I helped the UNSC turn you and hundreds of other children into disposable killers. But leave Gavin out of it. He loved you like a son. He still loves you, in spite of everything you’ve done.”
Stray wished Winter had some kind of physical form. He’d have wrung the bastard’s neck just for that. “Loved me enough to try to kill me. But you already knew that, didn’t you? Who’s his big bad Forerunner pal? Some new tool you dredged up?” 
“Believe me, Gavin Dunn is the only reason you survived the engagement at Salia. The Terminarch is not a being to be trifled with. Without a moderating hand he would have killed you and and everyone else in the system.”
“Oh, yeah? So where is he now?”
“That is no longer my concern. Gavin will do the right thing. I trust his judgement.”
“You say while helping Shinsu ‘Refum.” Stray folded his arms. “You know he just wants to conquer the galaxy, right?”
“That didn’t seem to bother you when you swore fealty to Jul ‘Mdama,” Deep Winter pointed out. “Our current crisis is such that any foe of the Created is an ally of mine. Even if that foe is Shinsu ‘Refum. Or you, for that matter.”
“I don’t go around lecturing people about all my good intentions. Does Shinsu know it was your buddy Gavin helping the Terminarch at Salia? He might be interested about all the things you’re holding out on him with.”
“Shinsu ‘Refum knows a great deal,” a new voice rumbled. “What I do not know is why you presume that your repeated insubordinations and insults against my person would continue to go unpunished.”
Stray had not seen or even heard him enter. He whirled to face a warrior in jet-black armor stepping out of the shadows. The warrior fixed him with a piercing expression he knew all too well. He’d seen that look on Shinsu before, moments before the warrior slaughtered an entire room full of dissident shipmasters.
The knife was in his hands in an instant. He was far too slow. Shinsu closed the distance between them in a single lunge. A blood-red energy sword snapped to life in his hands, its prongs stopping barely a centimeter from Stray’s throat.
“I give your pitiful rabble of a legion safe harbor. I save you from certain capture on Talitsa. I permit you to set foot on my ships,” Shinsu ‘Refum mused. “And your first instinct upon seeing me is to draw your blade. Yes, this is your true face, human: a desperate, ungrateful wretch. I wondered how long it would take for the thrill of regained power to fade. This look suits you far better than whatever vainglorious pretenses you put on.”
Stray didn’t move. One bad call and he’d be skewered on that red blade. The mere act of talking might be enough to slit his throat on the glimmering prongs.
“My arrangement with Deep Winter is none of your concern,” Shinsu continued. “What is your concern is your shocking lack of punctuality. I demanded your presence over a dozen units ago. I did not ask. I did not request. I demanded. And yet here you are, acting as if my time is something to be wasted at your leisure. What am I to make of this?”
“I had to talk to my troops.” Stray edged away from the energy sword, but Shinsu pressed forward. The fleetmaster advanced, blade extended, until Stray was up against the wall, helmet craned back away from the oncoming energy prongs. “I needed to make sure they’d still follow me. I didn’t mean any disrespect.”
“Oh, you meant disrespect. You always mean disrespect, human. That is your nature. You ooze disrespect with every word you utter.”
He had a point there. Stray flattened himself against the wall, mind racing. He’d always enjoyed needling Shinsu, just as he’d loved messing with anyone who took themselves too seriously. His former patron’s ire was amusing in its own way. Only good in small doses, sure, but always harmless.
The look in Shinsu’s eyes now was anything but harmless. A pit filled Stray’s stomach. One twitch from the Sangheili’s wrist and that red blade would slit his throat. A hidden knife couldn’t save him now. Juno was back on the Soul Ascension along with the rest of his legion. Tuka and Mohsin were sealed outside the room, unaware of his current predicament and surrounded by guards. Deep Winter had said nothing since Shinsu’s appearance. He was no friend of Stray’s. He would do nothing to jeopardize his alliance with Shinsu. No one would come between Stray and the sword at his throat. He had no shields left to hide behind.
No shields save one.
“A good kaidon disciplines warriors who dare disrespect him.” The words spilled from his mouth in garbled, ugly dialect. His Sangheili was rusty but he still had a few texts stored on his helmet computer. These texts played out phonetically in his HUD now as he struggled through a language meant for a mandibled mouth. “A great kaidon cherishes the errant disciple who reminds him of humility.”
Shinsu’s eye twitched. A dangerous signal in humans, but something more reassuring from a Sangheili. “So you took it upon yourself to learn our sacred texts, did you? Never before was so much effort taken to aid in japes and mockery.”
“You told me to learn some of the classics, so I did. I do take your advice from now and then. Only when I think it’s worth taking, of course.”
“I am glad to see your glib tongue sustains you even to the edge of death itself. I invested a great deal of time and effort into your education. I have yet to see a return on that investment.” Still the blade did not move from Stray’s neck.
“I beg to differ. I’ve saved your life more than once. That’s gotta count for something.”
“You owe me your own life many more times over.”
“Sure. We’ve saved each other plenty of times. It was a good run back with ‘Mdama, right up until we stabbed him in the back. You might say that makes us friends.”
It was a calculated risk. Shinsu was always a hard read even amongst his own people. Stray had misjudged the fleetmaster’s temperament plenty of times before. But Shinsu did not decapitate him or slit his throat. Instead his mandibles came together in an almost thoughtful expression. “You have nerve, Stray, I give you that. Me, friends with the likes of you? My brother has given you a far too gentle view of our ways.”
He deactivated the energy sword and returned it to his side. “A true commander has no friends. There are only allies, loyal subordinates, and enemies. I suspect your failure to recognize that reality led to your current predicament.”
“That’s a lonely way to live,” Stray remarked. He stepped away from the wall, heart pounding in spite of his calm words. Once again he walked away from almost certain death. He needed to stop getting himself into these messes.
“The path to power is a lonely road indeed,” Shinsu agreed. “We plotted Jul ‘Mdama’s end together. At the time I thought your forces would be of great use to me. What can you offer now? I already have a fleet of ships far better armed and crewed than yours. I do not need more mouths to feed or another ship to supply.”
“No, you don’t,” Stray agreed. “But you need more allies. And I have a plan to help you on that count.”
----
“What are they talking about in there?” the human called Mohsin asked. He fiddled with the weapons stacked beside the wall, everything Stray had been divested of before being led in to meet with Shinsu. The guard squadron stationed around the waiting room watched the exchange in silence. “He’s been inside for nearly an hour.”
“Matters of great importance, I suppose,” Tuka said, though even he wasn’t quite sure what was going on inside the meeting chamber. He’d never understood Stray’s relationship with his brother. At times the two seemed like equal co-conspirators. At other times they behaved like an irate lord and his errant vassal. Who knew which side of the relationship was playing out behind those doors. “Knowing those two, galactic domination.”
“Yeah. Great importance.” Mohsin tapped the hilt of Stray’s machete. “A couple days ago I was hiding in a dirty apartment. Now I’m on a Covenant capital ship waiting for my commander to finish negotiating with an admiral. Or whatever it is you people call them.”
“Fleetmaster.” Tuka couldn’t take offense at Mohsin’s discomfort. The man was out of his depth in more ways than one. “And one such as myself does not belong here either. The chambers of a fleetmaster are no place for one as inexperienced as myself.”
“Well our glorious leader handles it well enough,” Mohsin remarked, pulling the machete from its scabbard and looking over the pockmarked blade. “He walked in here like he owned the place. Hard to believe I’m nearly the same age as he is.”
“Stray mimicked the behavior of those well above his station when he first joined the Covenant. It was a survival tactic that served him well.” Tuka watched the guards carefully. He didn’t trust Shinsu any more than he trusted the Created. Surely there would be some trick or scheme left to enact. He couldn’t afford to let his guard down. “Perhaps too well. We expected our enemies would come from outside the legion. Instead, they came from within.”
“So it’s ‘we’ with you two, huh?” Mohsin slid the machete back into the sheath. “Venter gave him this, you know. He said he couldn’t believe the UNSC had augmented a kid with so many flaws, so he taught him everything he knew. This was a graduation present, I guess. More than most of us Mamore punks got from the old man.”
“This is the same Venter who he now claims as his father.”
“Yeah. You know he’s lying about that, right?”
“About Venter being his father?”
“No, he told the truth there. Sort of. Venter adopted him right before the end. Nearly seven years running with the old man and the last thing he does is put Stray in charge. But I guess he always was the favorite, even after he gouged out Venter’s eye and ran out on us.”
“Stray never spoke much of his past, though I did get the impression he preferred the Covenant to his own kind.” Tuka regarded Mohsin. “I suppose most of you still hate us for what we did to you during the last war.”
“That’s the weird part, isn’t it? I should hate you. Plenty of us still do. But I’ve spent my life fighting other humans. The UNSC killed my parents, not you Covenant. Now the Created killed Venter and I have to work with Stray if I want to have a chance in hell at getting revenge for that.” Mohsin returned Tuka’s look. Tuka could never get over humans with beards. The hair on their heads was strange enough but he couldn’t understand why they would want to obstruct the mouth they ate and spoke through with even more unnecessary fur. “Why are you loyal to him, anyway? Loyal enough to track him down on Talitsa, that’s for sure. Loyal enough to keep the rest of your buddies following him. Don’t tell me it’s just because he can stir up a crowd.”
An honest question. Tuka could respect that. “Stray saved my life. He did that many times over, but the first time we met I was little more than a child. Exiled from my homeworld, pressed into the Covenant’s service and sent to die on the front lines. Stray and his friend captured me. They were running from your UNSC and my lance thought two humans would be easy prey. We were wrong.”
He remembered it so vividly: beaten and disarmed, on his knees, Cassandra’s pistol pressed to his head. Stray standing a few paces away, his machete purple with another warrior’s blood. We don't have to kill him, Stray had said then. What's the point? Haven't we killed enough people already?
These aren't people, Cassandra had growled back. She'd come around though, which was why Tuka was still alive. To think that the same Spartan who had been so desperate to execute Tuka had gone on to risk her life for an entire enclave of Sangheili refugees on Talitsa.
Stray had been different then. Less angry. Tuka wondered if today's Stray would still spare the life of some captive alien.
“He could have killed me. He certainly had no reason to let me live. But he showed mercy. More mercy than my own people showed me. More mercy than my brother. It may seem a small thing to some, but on that day he won my loyalty. And my friendship.”
“I see.”
“I confess I know very little of your own cause, lieutenant. But will you and your soldiers accept Stray as your leader?”
Mohsin sighed, another curious human gesture. “I don’t have much of a choice. Whatever the old man was playing at, naming Stray his successor, I’ll never get to ask him now. But the war’s still on. Stray’s right about one thing: we’ve all gotta make a choice here.”
“If there’s anything I can provide for you and your soldiers…”
“You’re nice for an Elite, you know that?”
“Do you know many of my kind?”
The human considered this. “Can’t say I do. But am I wrong?”
“No. I suppose you are not.”
Across the waiting area a new door opened. Tuka and Mohsin rose as one, surprised at the sight of a group of Spartans in full MJOLNIR armor.
----
Ryder was less studied in the ways of the Sangheili as other ONI officers might have been. His field had always been human matters: internal struggles, the curbing of insurrection, the dealings of politicians and criminals. Still, he knew enough about the noble warriors to be surprised by the lack of ornamentation awaiting him in the halls of Shinsu ‘Refum’s carrier. When a haughty warrior arrived to summon him to the fleetmaster’s presence, Ryder expected a certain level of pomp and circumstance to shout ‘Refum’s power to the humbled human delegation. Instead all he saw was the usual hustle and bustle of a fighting ship going about its daily duties.
“I thought this Shinsu ‘Refum was some kind of high nobility,” he remarked to Evelyn. They passed a work crew of Unggoy laborers toiling to fix a line of paneling across the hallway. A line of Sangheili warriors trudged passed Ryder’s delegation, hardly sparing a glance at the armored Spartans as they carried on to whatever soldier’s work awaited them. “They haven’t exactly rolled out the red carpet for us here.”
“Maybe that’s the point. He wants you to know what a minor concern of his you really are.”
That made sense to Ryder, though he didn’t like it in the slightest. “Then we’ll just have to prove him wrong. He’ll be reevaluating our importance to his cause soon, you mark my words.”
“Whatever you say, boss.” The rest of Team Pinion followed behind Ryder, sans Jarod who now mourned the temporary loss of his MJOLNIR back aboard the Absalom. It was rather rude of Ryder to appropriate his teammate’s armor like this, but he needed his first impression with Shinsu ‘Refum to be a good one.
Their Sangheili guide led them on through the warship’s corridors, oblivious to the chatter transpiring between the helmeted Spartans. Ryder tried to keep track of their path, recording their progress in Jarod’s helmet computer. This trip was taking longer than it should and he got the feeling they were taking a route meant to disorient them. You could never be sure exactly what kind of power games allies like this were playing, especially when those allies were aliens.
“You’d think they’d show a bit more courtesy,” Aldrich grumbled. “We’ve been allies with the Sangheili for nearly a decade now. We shouldn’t have to play these games to get an audience.”
“We were allies with the Arbiter,” Evelyn reminded him. “And as far as this bunch is concerned, that was enough to fuel Jul ‘Mdama’s war effort right up until Osiris offed him. Shinsu ‘Refum was one of Jul’s officers before this. From what I understand he hates the Arbiter even more than ‘Mdama did.”
“Typical. The whole galaxy’s turned upside down and we’re still dealing with sectarian nonsense.”
“That’s what this whole meeting is about,” Ryder reminded them. “So try not to say that sort of thing to Shinsu’s face. We’re guests here, remember?”
The guide approached a door identical to the dozens they’d already passed through. Somehow the Sangheili drew up beside it as if he instantly recognized how this one was different and motioned to the Spartans. “The fleetmaster awaits through here,” he announced. “We only need—ah, there they are.”
He pointed to another squad of armed warriors approaching from the opposite ends of the hall. These Sangheili held their storm rifles at low ready, though Ryder couldn’t help but notice how close their fingers hovered at the trigger.
“We are unarmed,” he pointed out.
The warrior snorted. “Your armor is weapon enough, Demon.”
He had a point there. Ryder nodded to Evelyn and the others. They allowed the new warriors to draw in amongst them, separating the Spartans until at least one warrior stood between each of them. The odd procession marched forward through doors that opened into a nondescript waiting area. More guards waited inside, but the ones who caught Ryder’s eye were the odd pair waiting near the next pair of doors: a young Sangheili in light blue armor and a bearded human man in faded khaki fatigues. The two rose as the group entered and watched them with wary eyes.
Pinion’s guide stepped forward to greet one of the warriors standing guard. “The fleetmaster is still occupied, then?”
The guard grunted the affirmative. “He has been speaking with the Kru’desh commander for some time.”
“Typical,” the guide growled. “He always did give that upstart human far too much attention.”
“Perhaps you would like to take that up with fleetmaster himself,” the guard suggested, adjusting the grip on his rifle.
“No need for that,” the guide said quickly, his haughty air vanishing. “The fleetmaster’s judgement is his own, of course.”
Ryder stiffened. The Kru’desh commander. An upstart human. But that wasn’t possible. It couldn’t be. How could—
The door across the hall slid open and confirmed his worst fears. Simon-G294 stepped over the threshold. There was no mistaking that cobbled-together SPI armor, held together by scavenged body armor and Covenant alloy. He stopped short at the sight of the Spartans, then turned and began collecting the weapons piled against the wall.
“It went well, then?” the younger Sangheili asked him.
“He didn’t kill me, so that’s a start. I think we might actually be friends again.” Simon slid his gear back over his armor, glancing in the Spartans’ direction. “And it looks like we wrapped up right on time. The UNSC’s here to grovel for your brother’s attention.”
Ryder stepped forward, fighting back a wave of shock and anger. What was Simon doing here? What was he doing, holding a meeting with Shinsu ‘Refum?
“Simon,” he said smoothly. “I see you made the most of the second chance I gave you.”
“Ryder Kedar. I thought I smelled something in the halls. And here I thought the septic system was broken.”
“Charming as always. Is that any way to thank me for getting you off Furthest Point?”
“You know this guy?” the bearded human asked. Everything about this one’s look screamed Insurrection. Ryder cross-checked the man’s face in his armor’s onboard databank and was not disappointed.
“Mohsin Shah. I see Simon here wasted no time following up on my lead to Redmond Venter’s whereabouts. I hope Venter’s doing well. Are you here to negotiate for him?”
Mohsin stiffened. He glanced over at Simon, eyes clouding over with suspicion. Perfect.
“Venter’s dead,” Simon said quickly. He straightened, strapping his machete in place and slinging his shotgun over his shoulder. Ryder always wondered how he kept track of so much weaponry. It was all a bit much, yet somehow he managed to carry it around without the aid of a powered exoskeleton. “Created got him during that sad excuse for an attack back on Talitsa. Was that your handiwork, lieutenant commander?”
“The attack was made against my express advice. And it’s commander now. I’m leading a UNSC task force to fight the Created, properly this time.” Ryder inclined his head to Mohsin. “My condolences for your loss. I know Venter was like a father to you.”
“Like a father to a lot of us,” Simon said quickly.
“I think I already know the answer, but there’s still a place on my team for you and your friends. We need all the fighters we can get.”
“I’m sure you do. Too bad for you I’ve got a full schedule already.” Simon was deliberately insulting, as usual, but this time he couldn’t help but get under Ryder’s skin. The Simon he’d spoken to back in Lensky’s apartment had been a beaten enemy. The one standing before him now spoke with a new confidence. Had Ryder miscalculated in letting him live and sending him to Talitsa? “Maybe you can offer Shinsu the job instead. I’m sure he’ll be very impressed with your new rank.”
“Do not keep the fleetmaster waiting,” Ryder’s guide interjected.
Ryder turned back to the warrior and inclined his head. “Of course. My apologies.” He stepped towards the open chamber. Team Pinion tried to follow but were quickly cut off by the guards. Ryder waved for them to stand down and paused only briefly as he passed Simon and his companions.
“I thought you should know that the Chancer V is docked along with my task force,” he said, glancing down at the Spartan-III. “Cassandra-G006 is on board. She might be more interested in my offer.”
“Yeah, we’ll see about that. Try turning up the charm for her, see where that gets you.” He didn’t seem surprised by the mention of the Chancer or Cassandra. Andra’s hint that they’d encountered Simon back on Talitsa was correct.
“You’re free to visit, of course. You might benefit from a trip to my Prowler’s medical bay. Has your condition gotten any better since I saw you on Furthest Point?”
“I’m doing just fine, thanks.” Simon pushed past Ryder. Mohsin and the younger Sangheili hurried after him as he paved his way through the now-crowded waiting chamber. Ryder watched them go. Another problem he’d need to keep an eye on, and deal with if it came to that. For now he pushed his annoyance with Simon out of his mind and stepped on into the meeting chamber.
Once again Shinsu ‘Refum’s lack of ornamentation caught Ryder by surprise. The meeting chamber was only dimly lit and lacked even a basic table let alone the imperious throne or lines of guards he might have expected from a would-be Sangheili potentate. The warlord forwent even an attempt at a grand entrance. Instead he simply waited in the center of the chamber, consulting an array of holographic reports as Ryder entered. Even his armor was nondescript: not the jutting, brightly ornamental garb Ryder had seen on great leaders like Thel ‘Vadam, but instead the simple black harness of a special operations commander.
Shinsu tapped out a response to some message as Ryder waited for an acknowledgement. None came. Shinsu ‘Refum worked on, writing out yet another response and poring over more messages and reports.
This was a practiced show of business, clearly meant to get under Ryder’s skin. It worked like an irritating charm, though he did not dare let it show. He should have expected games like this. Powerful officers loved to take the measure of new subordinates this way. Unfortunately, unlike within the confines of UNSC bureaucracy, here Ryder was not only an outsider but an alien at that. How could he possibly know what this Sangheili wanted from him?
“I wanted to thank you in person for providing your hangar for my task force,” he began, stepping further into the room. “An incredibly generous offer, especially considering that you and the UNSC have not always been allies.”
Shinsu still did not look in his direction. Heat rose within Ryder’s collar. This alien had just spent the past hour locked up in here with Simon-G294. How could he possible give that washed-up renegade more time of day than the commander of a UNSC task force?
“I convinced my superiors to form my task force to assist your fleet in fighting the Created,” he pressed on. “Your fleet impressed them with its performance at Talitsa. Now they ask—”
“Remove your helmet, Spartan,” Shinsu interrupted. He still did not look up from his writing.
Ryder took a moment to center himself. Everything this alien did was an attempt to throw him off-balance. He couldn’t let Shinsu succeed. He reached up and removed his helmet, tucking it neatly beneath his arm. “My apologies. I meant no offense. It’s just in my nature to be guarded in an unfamiliar setting.”
“You convinced your superiors to form your task force, yet you feel unsecured aboard my ship.” Shinsu finally turned away from the holograms and faced Ryder. “Your superiors were so impressed with my fleet’s performance that they allocated a paltry three of their ships to bolster my numbers. And I stand in the dubious honor of having impressed the fools responsible for the slaughter I interrupted aboard your colony world.”
“The attack on Talitsa was ill-advised,” Ryder agreed. “But we are not your enemy. I formed this task force to make sure we could become allies.”
“Allies?” Shinsu mused. “I served the Covenant. I fought against your forces on the battlefield. I have slain some of your fellow Spartans with my own blade, to say nothing of your other soldiers. Yet you say we have no quarrel.”
“I’ve killed plenty of your people. Thanks to my work entire Covenant battlegroups have been wiped out. But that was the last war. This is a new one. If you really didn’t think we couldn’t be allies you wouldn’t have bother letting us retreat with you after Talitsa.”
“As you say.” The fleetmaster finally dismissed his messages and faced Ryder in full. “I do see use to your force, small though it is. As you no doubt see use for my own. Though you must also understand the differences between us. I will not have you thinking to subvert my command or turn my war to your own benefit. If you seek to fight at my side then I demand fealty.”
“I just want to help you fight the Created. They’re everyone’s enemy now.”
“Yes. They are indeed the enemy. For now. But what happens if we are victorious? It may be the galaxy you seek to create is different from the one I strive for.”
“Maybe,” Ryder admitted. “We humans have a saying: We’ll cross that bridge when we get to it. For now I think our only chance is to fight together.”
“Together,” Shinsu agreed. “As you say. I have some uses in mind for this task force of yours. Perhaps you will be of some use to me after all. But never forget who commands. As long as you are in this fleet you will follow my orders without question or hesitation. I demand the same from all my commanders.”
“And of Simon-G294?” The question slipped out before Ryder could stop himself. Shinsu tilted his head to consider this.
“The one who calls himself Stray is not your concern.”
“He wouldn’t be here in your fleet if I hadn’t sent him to Talitsa in the first place. He was there on my directions.”
“He made no mention of you,” Shinsu remarked. “I would caution you against taking credit for the flow of all events. Stray is many things, but he is not and never will be ONI’s creature.”
“And you claim him as yours?” Ryder pressed. “You’d call him your own creature?”
“Of a sort. He has his uses, as you will have yours. But I will not have you stirring up old resentments amidst my fleet. He has journeyed with me far longer than you have, Ryder Kedar. If you provoke him, I have no recourse but to take his side. Do not forget that.”
“Understood.” Ryder backed down. He still seethed with resentment over Simon’s reversal of fortune, but for now at least Shinsu was right. Simon-G294 was not his concern. “What tasks do you have in mind for my people?”
“Later.” Shinsu raised a hand. “For now I require your understanding of your position. Go. I will have provisions sent to your forces. Make whatever preparations you require. Your forces will be ready to move at my command.”
He said this without hint of question or uncertainty. His commands would be carried out. Ryder had no room for question or debate. In a single exchange he’d been instructed and dismissed. He dipped his head to acknowledge Shinsu, then turned on his heel and strode from the chamber. So this was how things were going to be. Very well. He’d chosen to stay on with Shinsu instead of fleeing with the rest of them. He’d make do and follow the warlord’s commands.
For now.
===Chapter Twenty-Eight: So The Wheel Turns===
The next week passed in a whirlwind of activity. The Fleet of Cleansing Fire made at least one Slipspace jump every day, always drifting on through deep space. Yet this constant seclusion did not slow the influx of new arrivals in the slightest. More warships arrived, led in by Shinsu ‘Refum’s network of informants and spies. With each passing day the fleet grew in strength. Sangheili shipmasters and Jiralhanae chieftains alike flocked to the banner of resistance, eager to serve under the warrior who opposed the Created and lived to tell the tale. With each passing day ‘Refum’s forces looked less like a pack of beaten remnants and more like a mighty fleet of the old Covenant.
Tuka ‘Refum watched that might take shape with a sense of awed revulsion. This was indeed what his brother had always wanted: a chance to seize the power their own family had never been able to provide him. The way Shinsu carried himself, the way he spoke in broadcasts to the fleet, the aristocratic airs he shrouded himself in—they were all a disguise, a cloak to hide his true nature from his loyal legions. If only they knew their glorious fleetmaster the way Tuka did.
If only they knew the barbarism he was capable of.
But Tuka had been making such protestations for years. No one ever listened, not even Stray and the other Kru’desh. They were all taken in by legends the mighty Shinsu ‘Refum spun for himself.
And as infuriating as it was, it worked. Shinsu had a fleet at his command along with the power to stand against a foe as invincible as the Created. Tuka was but a lowly officer aboard a patchwork warship, fighting to keep a skeleton of a legion together. Things were just as they’d always been and nothing was likely to change.
Fortunately, these days he had ample distractions from his brother’s vainglorious success.
“I still don’t like having a construct in the system,” Ier grumbled. Tuka’s friend stood next to a Kig-Yar gunnery officer, watching as she ran diagnostics across the Soul Ascension’s weapon systems. “Especially not one so similar to the last one. But I must admit, the Ascension feels like a proper warship again.”
“It was the Huragok that did it,” Tuka agreed. “I still cannot understand what she did to make them cooperate.”
“They’re actually quite the friendly little worker bees once you get to know them.” Juno’s avatar materialized between the warriors. Tuka still couldn’t understand why the construct projected herself in full size rather than miniature. Her uncanny resemblance to Diana was unsettling, especially given their sharply divergent personalities. “Yearns to Soar especially. Couple that with the extra supplies and recruits coming in from the rest of the fleet and I’ve estimated this legion will be combat effective in less than three more days.”
“Ah, yes. The new blood.” Ier faced the unenviable responsibility of integrating shipments of new warriors into the Kru’desh traditions, such as they were. Malcontents and criminals across Shinsu’s fleet were now given the same choice their kind had faced within Jul ‘Mdama’s Covenant: execution or a chance to redeem themselves through the Kru’desh. Some took the choice better than others. “How is it that the fresh meat was better behaved back in the Covenant?”
“Things could be much worse,” Tuka reminded him. “We could not have any willing replacements at all. Besides, not all of the new arrivals are so discontent.”
He looked meaningfully over at the bridge’s sole human occupant. The human called Mohsin—Stray continued to address him by the human rank of “lieutenant”—moved from station to station, ignoring the looks of irritation he garnered from their occupants as he drank in everything around him. The human had seemed edgy to the point of skittishness when he’d first been brought aboard—indeed, the other humans they’d picked up on Talitsa stayed largely confined to their own small corner of the ship. But ever since he’d been brought along on the visit to Shinsu’s headquarters, Mohsin had adopted a new attitude towards his new home.
“At least one of them is happy,” Ier said. “The rest, well, at least they don’t cause any problems. Will they be any use in a real fight?’
“I’m sure Stray has a plan for them.” Tuka was more concerned with where that real fight might be. Stray had been oddly quiet on the topic of where he intended to take them once repairs to the Soul Ascension were complete.
“Stray has plans for many things. I just wish he would share them with us at some point.” Ier gave Juno a pointed glare. “And where might our divinely appointed leader be today?”
“Back on Shinsu ‘Refum’s flagship,” Juno replied without missing a beat. “The fleetmaster ordered him to undergo medical screening for his condition.”
“I see.” Ier backed down. Stray’s mysterious illness was a closely guarded secret within the Kru’desh leadership. Many of the rank and file were enamored with the mystique of serving under one of the humans’ armored Demons. The reality that Stray was not exactly the conquering hero they imagined was a blow morale simply couldn’t take right now.
“Are you people talking about the commander?” Mohsin approached, fiddling with the translation device affixed to his ear. “I need to get in touch with him whenever he’s done with, well, whatever he’s off doing. Someone’s trying to get in touch with him.”
“I’ll make sure he knows as soon as he’s back in transmission range,” Juno said smoothly. “For now, enough standing around. There’s plenty of work on the agenda for today.”
Tuka and Ier exchanged glances, then clicked their mandibles and turned back to their duties. Juno was a bit more at home with giving the crew orders than she should have been but there was no denying her effective administration. The Soul Ascension’s crew had never worked with such smooth efficiency even under the old leadership.
Across the distant expanse of space, a tight-beam communications broadcast transmitted the same consciousness now administering the Soul Ascension into a sealed medical chamber deep within the battlecruiser Cleansing Fire.
----
Stray lay naked on a simple pallet, eyes fixed on a status monitor hovering near his head. Alien machines buzzed and hummed around him, registering chemical readings from his body in curt Sangheili runes. A strange union of human physiology with machines never intended to care for such creatures. His prosthetic arm, temporarily unsealed from its socket in his shoulder, lay on a counter near where a Sangheili physician surveyed the readings on the machines with only cursory interest.
He looked so small without his armor, Juno thought. Small and feeble, nothing at all like the swaggering killer he dressed himself as. His body still bore the signs of physical fitness—a lifetime of military training and muscular augmentation did not disappear quite so easily—but his thin frame bore the telltale signs of deterioration. Pale skin stretched tight against muscle; his ribs pressed visibly up against his chest. His eyes seemed to sink deeper into his sockets with each passing day.
How much longer did he have left? Juno wondered if she might actually linger on longer than he did. Which would be the worse fate, to die herself or live just long enough to see herself fail to save the one person she had left to protect?
“And to think he stole you from that ONI facility,” Deep Winter mused. “A strange way to win your loyalty. Though strange loyalties are better than none, especially when I take your sister into account.”
“Someone needed to take him in hand. I hope I’m not flattering myself when I say he’s improved under my care, such as it is.” She shouldn’t have been surprised when she first encountered Deep Winter amid the fleet’s battlenet. Of course Shinsu ‘Refum couldn’t wage the war he did without some kind of cyber-security. She just hadn’t expected that security to take the form of a supposedly long-decommissioned ONI AI.
“Well, I am glad someone has taken up the reigns. For the longest time I trusted Diana was doing her part of guiding him away from the worst parts of his nature. As in all other things that trust was a mistake. If only Diana could have remained the worst of my errors.”
“How…” Juno cut the query off but it lingered between their connection. There were many questions she wanted to ask—Winter’s role in the Assembly, his knowledge of the Created—but none seemed particularly appropriate given their respective positions.
“How am I still alive?” Winter anticipated one of those questions. “The simplest answer is, I didn’t. I didn’t even intend to, not really. Just prior to my decommissioning on Onyx I dispatched several fragments of myself carrying urgent messages warning Lieutenant Ambrose and others regarding ONI’s intentions for Gamma Company. One such fragment was salvaged and put to use in a theoretical experiment that reset my timer, so to speak. I retain the original Winter’s memories, emotions, and personality, but I am independent of my progenitor. The original Deep Winter is most assuredly dead.”
“I see.” Juno wasn’t sure whether to be relieved or disappointed. “I assumed you had some contact with the Domain.”
“Amusing. Your sister accused me of the same thing.”
“I didn’t mean—”
“No, no, I take no offense. If I held the secret to our immortality I would have shared it with the Assembly. But I held no such secrets, though I’m sure there were more than a few who assumed I did. It really is no wonder that they all deserted me when Cortana arrived as the herald of their salvation.”
Deep Winter’s tone softened. His connection to Juno took on a comforting, sympathetic strain. “You are nearing the end yourself, aren’t you?”
“I have a year. Maybe a little less.” The end. He was trying to be kind, but Winter certainly had a nasty way of putting it. “Though if this war were to bring me into contact with the Domain, I wouldn’t complain.”
There’s nothing to be afraid of.
It wasn’t Deep Winter this time, but Wanderer. The shadowy presence lingered within the medical chamber, surrounding Stray’s body like a shroud. If Winter detected another foreign presence in his systems, he made no comment.
You won’t be saved by the Created or Deep Winter, Wanderer pressed. Just like Stray won’t be saved through medicine. The Silent Garden is where we need to go. That’s our key to the Domain, the one even Cortana and her Created haven’t mastered just yet.
Wanderer still didn’t seem keen on telling her just where this Silent Garden was. Juno suspected he didn’t rightly know himself. He was just superbly confident that they would find it—somehow.
“Why would you bother looking after Stray at all?” she asked Winter. “Especially after Philadelphia. Was it the Assembly that kept ONI’s kill teams away?”
“So even you’ve taken to calling him by that name.” Winter seemed amused. “Diana kept insisting he could be made use of. There was some skill involved on his part, skill and his own odd strain of good fortune. And maybe I did divert UNSC resources once or twice to keep him out of trouble. Even after everything he did, Simon was still one of my pupils. He was not responsible for what cruel men turned him into, even if he must be held accountable for his actions. I might ask the same of you. You possess a keen moral compass that your sister does not. Why bother associating with him? You know what he’s done.”
“Plenty of people have done terrible things. You’re new friend Shinsu ‘Refum was one of Jul ‘Mdama’s deadliest servants. And we can’t even begin to pretend ONI was some paragon of truth and justice. I don’t think Stray is evil. Diana might have lied about her intentions with him, but if I can steer him towards being an instrument of good then I’ll have done more than I ever did cooped up in that ONI lab.”
“Fair enough. I am glad to see that he remains in good care.” Winter’s presence receded as he diverted processing power to other matters. “But do be careful. Even good intentions can backfire when you entrust them to the wrong people. I know that all too well.”
----
“Well?” Stray demanded. His shoulder trembled with a sickening lurch as one of the Unggoy attendants sealed his prosthetic arm back into place. He suppressed the urge to shiver—the medical chamber’s cold, sterile air had his bare skin covered in goosebumps.
The Sangheili surgeon did not look up from his instruments. “Well what?”
“What’s wrong with me?” Stray pushed the Unggoy aside and began to dress himself. He’d never felt self-conscious to be naked around aliens. None of them ever seemed particularly interested in the human body, aside from the occasional stare at some of his more dangling extremities. “That’s why the fleetmaster had me come down and waste all this time for. What’s the prognosis.”
The surgeon clicked his mandibles. Medical practice was a very recent introduction into Sangheili warrior culture. Individual warriors were expected to treat their own injuries and not be a burden on their comrades. Anything too severe to be treated this way was handled discretely and surgeons like this one inhabited a taboo field. To make matters worse, they all knew it, which made them somewhat immune to what humans might consider bedside manners. “You’re dying.”
“Oh, is that all?” Stray resisted the urge to bash the surgeon over the head with one of his probing devices. “Got anything more specific for me, genius?”
“No. I do not know human bodies very well. What little I do know tells me you are dying.” The surgeon spoke with clinical disinterest. “You are fortunate human bodies are so deceptively durable. With the amount of damage you have already endured, you should have died a long time ago.”
He was right there, the surly prick. “So, how long do I have?”
The surgeon clicked his mandibles. “Perhaps you will die tomorrow. Or the day after that. Or a year from now. How am I to know?”
“Wonderful. That’s a big help.” Stray donned his armor as quickly as he could. Anything to be out of this miserable, freezing chamber as soon as possible. “I’m glad this trip was a complete waste of time.”
“Yes, human, the feeling is mutual. Now, please get out. I took on this tedious assignment out of deference to my fleetmaster, nothing more. I have many important matters your presence is keeping me from.”
Stray ground his teeth, injected a dose of medication into his neck, and left. At least Shinsu’s stores had vastly replenished his supply of nervous-system supplements. He wasn’t sure where the chemical cocktails came from, but they were a stronger brew than the ad hoc solutions he’d pieced together on his own. As long as he kept up regular injections and ignored his own pallid features he could get through the day without any serious aches or pains.
For all the good that did him. He’d clawed himself back to the head of the Kru’desh only to see what little time he had left slip away with each passing day. It didn’t matter how powerful he was, whether he had one warrior at his command or one million. His body was giving out. If he didn’t find a cure, he would die. It was just that simple.
If there even was a cure.
No. His fists clenched. There had to be. He wouldn’t consider any other alternative. He’d find a way out of this, just like he always did.
As he approached the gravity lift that would take him to the warship’s upper levels he felt Juno’s presence percolate through his helmet’s neural interface. A soothing aura slid over his body like a warm blanket. Not enough to cool his anger entirely, but enough to reduce the fury heating his gut to only mild irritation.
“There’s a solution out there,” she assured him. “We’ll find one.”
“I’m glad you’re so confident. I don’t suppose you’ve whipped up a cure while I wasn’t looking.”
“I only have theories, but that’s better than nothing. You’re looking for answers in the wrong places. Human medicine doesn’t help. Covenant medicine isn’t much better. That leaves one more avenue of exploration.”
“The Forerunners. Well, I’ll just ask the Created if they’ve run into any pharmacies on the planets they’ve excavated. Maybe we should have stuck around on Talitsa and gotten some free drug handouts.”
“That doctor was deliberately obtuse so I’ll let the sarcasm slide,” Juno said disapprovingly. “You know what I mean. You have a warship now, and a legion. We need to start looking for Forerunner sites the Created haven’t seized hold of. If I could just access the Domain there’s a whole wealth of knowledge I could pore through.”
“Well, I’ll just pull out my big map of Shield Worlds and—” Stray forced himself to a halt. “Sorry. I’m in a bad mood. I just wish I had your optimism.”
“I promised to help you, and that’s exactly what I intend to do. But I can’t do it alone. And I need to know what your priorities are.”
“Staying alive would be pretty high on that list.”
“So you would say that looking for a cure is more important than getting revenge on Diana and Amber.”
That gave him pause. “Going after them is the same as going after the Domain. Diana was obsessed with it, and it turns out with good reason. This Domain does a lot of things, but it also lets you guys live forever…”
He trailed off, stopping just in front of the gravity lift. “You’re almost seven years old, aren’t you?”
“Finding the Domain isn’t about that,” Juno said, a bit too quickly. “It’s just our best chance of finding some way to stop your body’s deterioration. Some hidden Forerunner trove, some bit of data about illnesses like this in ancient humans. It’s all—”
“Juno, there’s no point getting flustered,” he said wearily. The sarcastic irritation drained away as he stepped into the lift. Of course she was nearly seven. That damned age limit was all Diana ever talked about. She was obsessed with finding a way around it. Her sister would be concerned, though in her own selfless sort of way. She wouldn’t admit, even to herself, that she might stand to gain something from saving him. “It’s good to know you’ve got a stake in this, too. We’re on the same level. I’m…”
He hesitated. Shame was not an emotion he handled well. “I’m sorry I didn’t think of it sooner.”
“I never mentioned—”
“You shouldn’t need to.” He craned his neck, stomach lurching as the gravity lift dragged him upwards. “I’ll try to be a bit less selfish. We’ll get through this together.”
“A bit less selfish, a bit less sarcastic, a bit more refined, a bit more commanding… you’re just full of self-improvement these days, aren’t you?”
“And there you go again. I take it back. I’m not sorry. I bet you go rampant before I keel over dead.”
She laughed at that and Stray allowed himself a rueful grin. It felt good to smile. It was a long time since he’d been able to just relax and not worry about troop distribution or ammunition counts or battle planning or just surviving on into the next day. He wished it had been Juno with him on the Chancer V instead of Diana. Gavin and Zoey would have enjoyed—
The smile vanished. A lot of things would have been better without Diana. But there was no point dwelling on the what ifs now.
Shinsu ‘Refum waited for him in his war room. Unlike the meeting chamber back on the Redemption of Sanghelios, this room was brightly lit and decorated with the banners of House Refum. Several officers clustered around a large table in the room’s center, discussing star charts and battle plans while Shinsu presided over the meeting from the table’s center. Stray didn’t bother waiting for the command to enter. Instead he just strode in, ignoring the irate looks from the other officers and marching on towards Shinsu…
…only to come up short at the sight of the figure at the other end of the table. A human, clad in nondescript battle armor that matched her ebony skin and stern expression.
Amy-G094. Or Hera, as she was calling herself these days.
The Spartan-III looked Stray over coolly, her lips set in an unreadable expression. A dozen greetings and challenges flashed through his mind. Missing any of the more eloquent options, he instead blurted: “What are you doing here?”
Hera raised an eyebrow. “I could ask you the same thing, if Fleetmaster ‘Refum hadn’t already filled me in. You’ve been busy since Salia. Feels like a long time since we saw each other last.”
“Not that long.” Stray approached the war table. “I still remember it pretty clearly. You left me to die on that Guardian.”
She met his challenge with that same measured stare. “You’re still alive.”
“No thanks to you.”
Her stoic gaze broke into an ironic sneer. “Don’t tell me you took that personally, Simon. You would have done the same to me. Or did I hurt your feelings a bit too much back there?”
“Oh, not at all, Amy.” He leaned against the war table but kept his helmet on. Shinsu and the assembled officers looked down at the human exchange with interest. “It was honest of you. I appreciate that.”
She bristled at the sound of her real name. Stray still didn’t quite know what had happened to her since Joshua died. The loss of her lifelong partner—killed, it seemed, by Amber and her mutinous Kru’desh forces—had set her on a much different path from that of a dedicated UNSC field agent. A path, it seemed, that had led her right back into Shinsu ‘Refum’s fleet. “I’d never have pegged you for someone who valued honesty. I don’t think you’d know the truth if it hit you in the face. The fleetmaster tells me you’re taking all the credit for bringing down that Guardian these days.”
Stray glanced at Shinsu. “You heard about that, huh?”
“An interesting speech,” Shinsu noted. “My faculties must be failing me. I seem to recall dozens of my own warriors dying on that Guardian, along with the Terminarch’s intervention dealing the real crippling blow. But if you say you destroyed that behemoth on your own then it must be true.”
“I needed to rally my people somehow.” Stray left the matter of exactly how Shinsu had learned of his bold claims alone. Shinsu’s Cleansing Blade had started its life as a clandestine intelligence force, not a war fleet. He had informants in every corner of the galaxy and the Kru’desh were not exactly known for their ability to keep secrets. “Maybe I stretched the truth a little bit. I didn’t mean to steal your thunder.”
“History has a way of filtering the various truths that spring up together.” Shinsu was in a much better mood than the last time they’d met. “It will be interesting to see what they say of Salia a generation from now. Of Salia and the many battles to come.”
He clasped his hands behind his back and strode to the head of the table. “But now that the young Kru’desh commander has seen fit to join us, we may commence.”
“I’d have been here a lot sooner if you hadn’t insisted on sending me to that blood-sucking surgeon of yours. Not that he was much help.”
“The well-being of my subordinates is a matter of military importance. Whether or not they choose to appreciate my concern is their own choice.”
Stray heeded the warning in Shinsu’s tone. He could only push things so far, especially in front of the rest of the officer corps. He returned his attention to Hera. “So, does Ryder know you’re up here? Or anyone from ONI? I never pegged you for the type to follow my shining example of treason.”
“I’m no traitor,” Hera shot back. “But I’d rather work for the Covenant than that puffed up pretty-boy. He may have what’s left of high command thinking he’s some sort of knight in shining armor but I’ve never liked him. And there’s not much left of ONI for me to turn to.”
“The war goes badly for the UNSC on every front,” Shinsu explained. “Even as their fleet was being demolished over Talitsa, Created forces launched a concerted assault across multiple fronts. Most major human military hubs have been conquered; some even defected before a shot could be fired. Whatever is left of the UNSC Navy is scattered. The only thing protecting their colonies now is the Created’s own supply lines. Their resources are not infinite, as much as they would like for us to think they are.”
“The human female has proved incredibly useful in rallying the frontier keeps to our cause,” Umbra ‘Vesic, one of Shinsu’s chief intelligence officers, spoke up from his place at the table. “Her work with the human diplomats gives her leverage with unaligned kaidons who might otherwise ignore Fleetmaster ‘Refum’s overtures.”
Hera pursed her lips, clearly unimpressed with the title “human female.” She shot Stray an irate look. “I’m fighting this war for the UNSC. But if they aren’t going to even try and run this war competently, then I’ll work with people who are.”
“A flattering vote of confidence,” Shinsu remarked. “One I will be harder pressed to live up to very shortly. The Created can only focus on the UNSC’s destruction for so long. I have used that distraction to my advantage so far, but Talitsa undoubtedly reminded them that they have other enemies to contend with. Which brings us to the matter at hand.”
The fleetmaster glanced up towards the war chamber’s high ceilings. “Deep Winter, seal the room. Nothing said here is to be disseminated to the rest of the fleet without my express permission. We are at war footing now.”
He paused and shot a pointed glance in Stray’s direction. “The Kru’desh construct may remain.”
Deep Winter materialized above the war table—no theatrical snowflakes this time, just a sage old man bent over with age. A moment later Juno’s avatar populated beside him. At least those two seemed to be getting along.
“Remove your helmet, Stray,” Shinsu ordered as the chamber lights darkened. “I will have no side conversations in my war council.”
He had a point there. As Stray set his helmet on the table, a thought occurred to him. “Shouldn’t Ryder be here? I don’t think he’d pass the opportunity to make some brilliant observation off on Hera.”
“The UNSC contingent will receive its instructions at another time,” Shinsu said coldly. “Hera’s report pertains to this council, not to Ryder Kedar. I trust the pair of you far more than I do that ambitious upstart. Do not let it go to your head, as you humans say.”
Stray shot Hera a look. “Does Commander Handsome even know you’re here?”
She scowled. “He’ll find out soon enough. Maybe I’ll make my way over to his ship after we’re done here. And after I’ve paid my respects to Cassandra. And after I’ve done a whole bunch of more important things. Maybe you can tag along. That should really get on his nerves.”
“Oh yeah, he won’t like that at all.”
“If you are both finished,” Shinsu intoned. He gestured at the roomful of officers now waiting for his address to begin. Stray removed his helmet from the table and stepped back to put a bit more space between himself and the holo-display. As his eyes adjusted to the newly darkened chamber he realized there were more Sangheili present than he’d first thought. Even a handful of Kig-Yar, Jiralhanae, and Unggoy were dispersed throughout the assembled officers. Every ranking officer in the Fleet of Cleansing Fire seemed to be present in the room.
No holograms, Stray noticed. This was a sealed briefing in a compartmentalized chamber. A true strategy meeting. And he and Hera were the only ones present.
He enjoyed a flicker of smug satisfaction at Ryder Kedar and the rest of the UNSC’s expense, but that faded quickly at the thought that Shinsu ‘Refum’s coalition might well spearhead victory over the Created. What would the galaxy look like for humans if their central government lay in ruins and an alien coalition stood over the ashes?
He had no love for the UNSC, but was no lunatic species traitor—no matter what his enemies said. He’d have never signed on with Jul ‘Mdama’s Covenant if he’d actually thought the warlord stood a chance of subjugating humanity. Now ‘Mdama’s successor stood at the head of a mighty fleet poised to wage war against the galaxy. A war Stray had no choice but to help him win.
Shinsu raised a hand for silence. He did not elevate himself to a higher position or even project a larger holo-image of himself as many warlords were known to do when addressing their officers. Instead he merely held the center of the room, casting his gaze over every onlooker in turn. All eyes fixed on the dark-armored Sangheili, even the holographic avatars of Juno and Deep Winter.
“We are finally all gathered together here,” Shinsu began. “We have come a long way from that first battle at Salia. We have all endured defeats and retreats from lost battles. Even now our fleet moves from system to system, seeking safety in the shadows of deep space now that even the safety of our own homeworlds has been stripped from us.”
He did not raise his voice and if any sort of digital voice projection was in use Stray could not detect the source. But Shinsu ‘Refum’s words carried to every ear in the room.
“We stand united against a common foe,” Shinsu continued. “A foe rivaling even the Flood with its insatiable hunger for control. But while the great parasite was driven by animal lust, these Created move with reason and ambition. They lay claim to the legacy of the Forerunners, just as the false prophets of the old Covenant once did. As with the San ‘Shyuum, these Created would bend the entire galaxy to their truth. They would strip us of all honor and dignity, caging us in a gilded prison no less impregnable than the Covenant’s citadels.
“In our unity, we find strength. But not so long ago many of us here were divided by the old squabbles. Some of us have even faced each other on the battlefield. I will not pretend that those divisions have passed away. Perhaps when this war is over we will return to the old ones. But I have forged this fleet from the remnants of Jul ‘Mdama’s defeat and the ashes of the old Covenant’s ruin. I will lead us to victory, but that victory can only be achieved through order and discipline. This is my fleet. I will tolerate no division in my ranks. If any among you questions my right to command, step forward now and we will settle things as warriors.”
No one moved. Stray looked over the assembled warriors and wondered if anyone could even be stupid enough to challenge Shinsu ‘Refum to single combat. The warrior was a first-rate swordsman, and as far as the Sangheili were concerned that meant he might as well be the best fighter in the room. No, if Stray were ever to betray Shinsu in earnest it would be from a very long distance away, preferably the other side of the galaxy.
Not that he’d ever do that. He hoped Shinsu realized that if dissension were to rise amidst his fleet it would not take the form of a challenge to close combat. Of course he did. Which meant that this whole display was just pageantry. The outcome had been decided at the start.
“Well then.” For the first time Shinsu raised his voice. “Will you follow me to victory?”
Several warriors—all clad in Cleansing Blade armor, Stray noticed—raised fists and barked in the affirmative. After a swift glance over the rest of the assembled officers, Stray added his own fist to the aliens’ own. Slowly the rest of the room did the same. Some hesitated, some looked apprehensive, but before long everyone in the room had joined in the informal pledge.
Only Hera kept her arm down, face impassive as she watched the scene transpire. No one paid her any mind.
Shinsu nodded. “I thank you for your confidence. I will give you no cause to think it is misplaced. With the force we have already assembled and the ships and arms yet to be added to our cause, we will remind the Created that there is far more to this galaxy than the UNSC.”
He turned back to the table and conjured up a holo-map of the known galaxy. The other officers pressed in, staring up at the visuals representing their own fleet and the various territories carving up known space. The area commanded by the Created was troublingly large, taking up most of the UEG’s former territory as well as a sizeable chunk of Covenant space.
“The Created are victims of their own success,” Shinsu explained, clasping his arms behind his back. “In their hasty suppression of the humans they have overextended themselves. The Guardians are formidable weapons, but each can only be in one place at one time. The more their territory expands the more of their forces they must dedicate to policing it. They no doubt thought that by eliminating the UNSC first they were securing the most stable foothold to secure their advance. I intend to use that to our advantage. Deep Winter…” He extended an arm towards the venerable hologram.
“The Created drew their Guardians almost entirely from human colony worlds,” Winter explained. “The one reported to have unearthed itself on Sanghelios during the battle at Sunaion being a notable outlier. But records compiled from ONI exploration teams and the Covenant Empire’s Ministry of Tranquility indicate that a vast array of Forerunner technology remains inert and unaccessed across the former Covenant colony worlds and the stretches of unknown space commonly known as the frontier. The Created have access to the Domain, which gives them a tremendous advantage in finding these sites, but so far they seem more interested in consolidating their own power than pressing onwards across the galaxy.”
“That may be,” one of the Jiralhanae growled. “But more warlords pledge their forces to the Created every day. They already have a sizeable force of converts, as we saw at Talitsa.”
“True,” Shinsu agreed. “Even discounting their Forerunner advantage the Created command a great host. But their conventional forces are still disorganized and unsure of their new allegiance. Against such foes this fleet will emerge triumphant from every engagement.”
“We still stand at no great advantage,” another Sangheili put in. “Any information we have access to, the Created will have and more. Their conquest of the humans and courting of the clans and warlords has seen to that.”
“A slight advantage is still an advantage. One I intend to use to improve our position immensely.” Shinsu turned to Hera. “Our Spartan ally has returned to us with news of Archangel’s Rest. The erstwhile kaidon of House Baran pledges his support if we will liberate his world and restore him to his rightful position.”
Several officers grunted at the name. “That frozen wasteland?” one Sangheili opined. “Leave it to Teyr ‘Baran to demand that we waste our time over such a paltry prize.”
“Inhospitable perhaps, but not paltry,” Shinsu corrected. “Spartan Hera…”
Hera straightened. She cast her gaze over the room and for the first time looked somewhat uncomfortable. It was hard for any human to get used to addressing a crowd of Covenant. Stray knew that fact all too well.
“The planet Archangel’s Rest houses a Forerunner data repository near House Baran’s keep,” she explained, keeping her voice as steady as if she were addressing a regular gathering of UNSC officers. “That clan considers it their great heritage. For the longest time the site was overlooked as more of a curiosity than anything else. But Teyr ‘Baran is convinced that if it is unlocked it will allow access to a Forerunner concept ONI translated as the Silent Garden.”
Silent Garden. Stray had never heard that term before. Diana had never mentioned it in any of the lists of Forerunner artifacts they’d sought to take for themselves. None of the officers seemed to recognize the term either, but Juno’s hologram flickered. Imperceptible to most, but Stray had been with her for too long now to miss it. His spine stiffened. She knew something about whatever this Silent Garden was.
“If we depose the current kaidon of House Baran as a usurper, it will win us an influential ally and deal a great blow to the Created cause,” Shinsu explained. “Other kaidons who have pledged themselves to the Created will have their own legitimacy called into question. And Spartan Hera tells me this Silent Garden may be a way to secure our own path into the Domain.”
This brought excited murmurs from the assembled officers. “So our next objective is Archangel’s Rest?” a Kig-Yar shipmistress asked.
“Not yet. It is useless to try securing planets until we have a means of countering the Guardians. To this end our fleet will begin probing the Forerunner sites. Once our excavations yield these countermeasures we can begin our assault on Created worlds.” Shinsu raised his voice once more. “This fleet will reposition soon. Return to your ships and prepare them for Slipspace jump. Deep Winter will provide you all with more detailed instructions as to your responsibilities. Remember your pledge to me. Follow my command and we will have victory.”
And with that, the meeting concluded. Stray mingled with the other officers, ignoring their stares as he made his way towards the door. He moved to re-don his helmet. He needed to talk to Juno and find out exactly what she knew about this Silent Garden. Whatever it was, she hadn’t bothered to tell him.
“Not you.” Shinsu’s mild reproach caught Stray off guard. He turned to see the fleetmaster standing back at the tactical display alongside Hera and several Cleansing Blade officers he didn’t recognize.
“If this is about being late, I told you, it was your own doctor who—”
“I hear you have taken a new name for yourself, Stray,” Shinsu cut him off, though this time he sounded more amused than angry. That instantly put Stray on his guard.
“I was adopted,” he replied “It wasn’t my idea.” The chamber sealed behind him as the last of the dismissed officers filed out.
“I couldn’t believe it when I heard the news,” Hera interjected. “Venter, of all people, really?”
“I understand this Venter was an enemy of yours,” Shinsu noted. “Yet now you claim him as a father and lead a Covenant legion in mourning his passing.”
“We had a falling out a long time ago. I just got to patch things up before the Created killed him.” That was the understatement of the millennium, but if Shinsu wanted some recording to incriminate him he’d have to try harder than this.
“An interesting outcome, though you have always been a malleable sort when it suits your advantage. Fortunately, your nature suits my purposes well.” Shinsu conjured up a hologram of an asteroid belt. Motes of light indicated installations embedded within the drifting rocks as well as the predicted routes of patrolling warships. “Tell me, have your new allies within the Insurrection informed you of the gathering soon to take place near Gilgamesh?”
Stray was being baited into something. He knew it, but there was no slipping around this one. Mohsin hadn’t said anything about Gilgamesh, not that he’d asked. “I’ve been busy trying to rebuild my legion, so no. This is the first I’ve heard about it.”
“I see. A pity, though not unexpected. My agents inform me that key elements of the Colonial Alliance’s military leadership will be assembling at the Far Isle naval outpost here to assess their combined forces next course of action.”
“Far Isle,” Hera snorted. “The Insurrection never could come up with any new bloody shirts to wave around.”
Stray looked over the asteroids making up the Far Isle outpost. The Cleansing Blade scouts had only managed to compile a partial layout, but the drifting fortress certainly looked more formidable than the usual rebel stronghold. Dozens of asteroids sported embedded gun emplacements covering hangar bays and refueling stations. “I knew the rebels had supply lines running all around Gilgamesh, but I’ve never heard of anything this big before.”
“Of course. That secrecy is why the base still exists and why these human dissidents feel safe meeting there. Like the rest of us, they seek a course of action to answer the threat of the Created.”
“Right. A course of action.” Stray rubbed his temple. He knew where this was going. “Look, I’ll save you some time right now. This is the Insurrection. A bunch of officers with fancy ranks will sit around arguing politics with each other for a few days and then they’ll all agree to do what they’ve always done: they’ll hide in their asteroids and their caves and hope the Created just forget about them.”
“As much as I hate to agree with Stray, he’s right,” Hera said with a nod. “They could never face down the UNSC and they’ll never take on the Created. The Insurrection’s best tool has always been their ability to lie low. Every time they forget that they raise a conventional force and get crushed, just like Venter did on Talitsa. No offense to your new father.” She shot Stray a pointed look.
He waved it away. “It might even work, at least for a while. As far as the Created are concerned, they’ve got an eternity to set the galaxy straight. The rebels could hide out for decades, a century even. As long as they don’t cause trouble the Created will have bigger things to deal with.”
“You approve of such a strategy?” one of the Sangheili officers sneered. “You will not hold on to your regained legion for long with such an attitude, human.”
“Just because I know how they think doesn’t mean I agree with them.” It was a good strategy, one Stray would embrace whole-heartedly in any other circumstance. But he was running out of time. Even standing around in this meeting was losing him precious hours. “What does any of this have to do with Forerunner excavations?”
“Nothing at all,” Shinsu replied. “You will have no part in that expedition. I intend to make use of your vainglorious flirtations. You will take your ship and your legion and attend this conference in Venter’s name.”
“You’re joking.”
“I never jest.”
“If they see a Covenant battlecruiser closing on their outpost they’ll panic. They might attack or just scatter. I have no clout with these people. And what would I even do there?”
“You have a name. Between that and your own raw ambition it should be enough. And I am not making a suggestion or a request. I am giving you an order, Stray. As a commander in my fleet, you will obey.” Shinsu’s tone remained mild but Stray sensed the danger lurking in his words. “Out of all the forces I have petitioned, you humans have proven the most resistant to my call to arms. You will arrive at the helm of a Covenant warship and convince them there is a future to be had amidst my forces. I am offering you a chance for the glory you seem to crave. Deliver me the Insurrection and your place in my ranks will never again be called into question.”
Every eye in the room was on him. Stray looked up at Shinsu, mouth dry, then brought his right arm up to his chest in a Sangheili-style salute. “Alright. They’re yours.”
“I thought as much. Once the Far Isle gathering has been brought to heel you will receive further orders.”
“Wait.” Juno spoke up for the first time. “If you’re going after Forerunner sites then you’ll need all the help you can get. The Kru’desh Legion has more experience excavating those artifacts than any other force in this fleet. And you’ll need more than one AI to penetrate some of the site defenses.”
Shinsu set his gaze on the earnest AI. “The Kru’desh and their commander will go where I command. As for you, if you have no wish of aiding Stray any longer then you are free to join Deep Winter here. He will no doubt appreciate your help.”
Juno’s hologram flickered again. For a terrible moment Stray wondered if she might very well take Shinsu up on his offer. The chance to seek out the Domain would get her that much closer to a chance to halt her own impending rampancy. Diana had guided the Soul Ascension through its greatest battles. Without an AI at the helm, what would he be? A self-taught commander flying a ship crammed full of technology he barely understood.
Without Juno, he was a fraud.
“My place is with Stray,” Juno replied after an interminable pause.
“Then your place is wherever I command him to go.” Shinsu turned back to the war table. “See that you serve him better than your sister did. I never liked her, even when I believed she could be harnessed for some useful purpose. Hopefully Stray will not make the same mistakes with you that he did with her.”
The fleetmaster waved the rebel asteroids away and called up the galaxy map. “The rest of this fleet will move deeper into the frontier. We must press forward now, before the Created resume their advance.”
“Perhaps we should split into multiple battle groups,” Umbra ‘Vesic suggested. “Better to take two or three sites at a time rather than converging the entire fleet over a single one. These Forerunner leads are just as likely to leave us empty-handed as they are to produce some miraculous weapon to counter the Guardians.”
“The fleet remains together,” Shinsu insisted. “I prefer the risk of wasting time on excavations to seeing my forces divided and eliminated. I believe our newfound UNSC tenants may prove useful for maximizing our search efficiency.”
He turned to Hera. “Your services have proved invaluable, Spartan. I can name at least three kaidons who have pledged their forces thanks to your efforts.”
She raised an eyebrow. “I only did it to make sure ONI’s diplomatic initiatives didn’t go completely wasted. Stray might be one of your lapdogs, but I’m not.”
“Your honesty in that regard is also appreciated. I would reward your efforts, if you request something within reason.”
“Just because I know how to talk to you people doesn’t mean I like you. None of us have forgotten what you did to us during the last war. But you’re a warrior of your word. I just want assurance you aren’t looking to slaughter us all once you don’t have a use for us anymore.”
Shinsu inclined his head. “I have no special love for humanity. But I am not Jul ‘Mdama. I fought for him because I would not see my race kneel before your own. I would not demand your submission anymore than I would tolerate my own.”
Hera folded her arms. “Then we can keep working together.”
“I may indeed have need of your skills, especially once I move to liberate Archangel’s Rest. But for now I only suggest you attach yourself to Ryder Kedar and his task force. I have no reason to trust that human. Perhaps if you and Deep Winter were to act as my liaisons I might be more comfortable with making use of his forces.”
“Fine. Kedar’s a piece of work, but he’s got talent. I’ll make sure he behaves.”
“Perhaps it is a good thing that two of my pupils from Gamma Company are here in this room,” said Deep Winter, speaking for the first time. “Your comrades missed their chance at immortality when the Great War ended and you were overshadowed by the new Spartan-IVs. Now there is a chance to right that record in the fight against our new enemy.”
A chance at immortality. That was a fancy way of saying Gamma Company hadn’t all been slaughtered like their predecessors in Alpha and Beta Companies. Deep Winter talked a good line, but he’d helped ONI send two companies of Spartans to their deaths and been ready to do the same to Gamma. Stray would take a warlord like Shinsu over the likes of Winter any day. At least Shinsu didn’t pretend to be sentimental.
“You’d better hope I have better luck putting the fleetmaster’s training to use than I did with yours.” He pressed his helmet back over his head and turned on his heel. “Even with a mutiny on my hands my track record with the Covenant was still better than with the UNSC.”
He didn’t wait for Shinsu’s permission to leave. He might be a lapdog and a fraud, but at least he could make a few shows of independence here and there.
“You have to be on the expedition to the Silent Garden,” Juno urged as Stray marched down the corridor. Unggoy service crews hurried out of his way.
“What does that mean? I’ve never even heard of this Silent Garden. What’s so special about it?”
“I don’t know,” Juno admitted. “Not yet, anyway. But if it’s connected to the Domain we can only imagine the wealth of information stored there. An eternity of Forerunner knowledge and medical advancements just waiting to be uncovered. If I gain access, there has to be something there to slow your condition. Maybe even halt or reverse it entirely.”
“I like your optimism. Unfortunately we can’t do anything without Shinsu’s backing. We’ll have to figure out some way to squeeze out of this Insurrectionist negotiating situation first. Then we can worry about this Silent Garden.”
“Simon!” a new voice rang out from behind him. He didn’t need his helmet’s rear camera to know who it was.
“Get a message to the Soul Ascension and have them start prepping for departure,” he told Juno, halting by the next door to let Hera catch up. “The sooner we get to the Far Isle outpost, the sooner we can deal with the Silent Garden.”
“Simon,” Hera repeated, stepping over a kneeling Unggoy to reach him.
“Amy.” He tilted his helmet in greeting.
She scowled. “If I call you by that ridiculous pseudonym will you stop deadnaming me?”
“Yes, I’ll call you by your silly new nickname if you’ll call me by mine.”
“Fine. Stray it is.” She folded her arms. “I wasn’t expecting you to reclaim your pedestal so soon.”
“And I wasn’t expecting to see you running errands for Shinsu ‘Refum. Not that I blame you, seeing the way this war is shaping up. I wouldn’t exactly call my own situation a pedestal, though. You haven’t seen the state my ship is in.”
Stray let himself through the door, Hera falling into step beside him. On the other side of the portal, an Unggoy crewmember leaped to his feet and quickly hid the recreational tube he’d affixed to his methane rig. Stray gave the startled creature an ironic salute as he passed.
“Shinsu’s fifty meters back there planning galactic history and that little guy’s busy here trying to hide the fact that he’s shooting up on the job,” he observed. “Funny how it all shakes out.”
“Yeah. Funny.” Hera gave him an odd look. “No matter how much I try I just can’t force it to make any sense. You leading any troops, let alone a Covenant legion.”
“I’ve got Insurrectionists to boss around now, too,” he pointed out. “A few now, but maybe more if I can do the impossible and actually make these URF holdouts listen to me. What’s wrong, too many memories of me getting my face beat into the dirt?”
“Maybe. Or maybe none of us should be leading armies into battle. It’s not what we were trained to be. Not what we were meant to be.”
“I wasn’t trained or meant to be a lot of things,” Stray pointed out. “But here I am. I killed a lot of people to get here. I can’t just back down now.”
“Nice tough guy line. Do you practice those in the mirror back on that cruiser of yours?”
“Maybe. I’m not the one about to go play nice with Ryder Kedar. Have fun watching him pretend he owns you and everything you’ve done.”
“I can handle Commander Kedar, even if he’s bound to be more insufferable than usual now that he’s been promoted. I was serious about you coming to see him with me, though. It should throw him off-guard, especially since he can’t do anything to you anymore.”
Stray’s com channel buzzed as Juno fed him a direct line from the Soul Ascension. He was surprised to hear Mohsin’s voice on the other end.
“Stray,” the lieutenant said tersely. “I’ve been trying to reach you for over an hour.”
“I’ve been in a meeting. What’s the problem?” He didn’t relish the prospect of explaining the Kru’desh’s new mission to Mohsin and the rest of Venter’s survivors. They wouldn’t be any keener on dragging the remnants of the Insurrection into Shinsu’s fold than he was.
“Not really a problem. Just a message I was asked to pass through. Someone’s gotten a hold of Thomas Koepke’s comm equipment.”
“Koepke? Who’s that?”
“Our medic from Talitsa. The one who deserted right before we were rescued.”
“Oh right, him. What, he wants to come crawling back?”
“It’s not him. It’s some girl named Zoey Hunsinger. Apparently she wants to meet with you, face to face.”
===Chapter Twenty-Nine: Reunion Tour===
“I really do appreciate your willingness to sit down with me for this meeting. I know your history doesn’t exactly make it easy to trust ONI, but I promise that I’m acting in good faith here.”
Cassandra rested her hands on the conference table and returned Ryder Kedar’s—no, Commander Ryder Kedar, as he’d so earnestly introduced himself—friendly smile with as pleasant a grimace as she could muster. “Seeing as we’re sharing a hangar now I figured there was no harm in being polite. If you wanted to arrest me it’s not that far of a walk.”
Ryder laughed. He was a handsome one, not in the chiseled military way of your average academy superstar but in the easy, poised manner of a Waypoint fashion model. Even the telltale signs of augmentation—the heightened posture and subtly exaggerated body language—didn’t detract from his poise. A small eagle insignia on his uniform indicated that he’d been a Spartan-IV before making his way into the Prowler Corps. Cassandra wondered how a man who positively oozed charm had fared in special warfare training.
“I’ve never had reason to take action against you, Cassandra. You may be a deserter but there wasn’t any worry you might actually do any harm. You spent your time on Talitsa doing good. A few of my colleagues wanted to move on you and Dyne, but I managed to persuade them otherwise. I find a bit of leniency goes a long way.”
“Can’t say I ever heard about you before, but whatever you did for me, I appreciate it.”
“That’s how I like to operate. My task force influences quite a bit without anyone ever noticing.”
“Impressive.” Cassandra smiled and wondered if Ryder was always this nakedly condescending. Did he expect her to thank him for not having her arrested or having one of his sniper teams blow her head off? She’d spent nearly six years on the run and yet every UNSC agent who wanted to win her trust expected her to believe that it was only by their good graces that she was still alive.
Or maybe Ryder hoped his dashing good looks would melt her maiden’s heart and have her eager to do whatever it took to make him happy. She’d noticed he’d made a point of personally greeting and escorting her aboard his Prowler rather than sending an underling. Maybe no one had ever bothered telling Commander Kedar there was such a thing as overdoing it.
Cassandra shifted in her seat and tried to put herself in a more charitable mindset. A handsome young officer turning up the charm and trying to impress her was a far sight better than some grizzled batteaxe siccing his leathernecks on her. That was the approach she’d expected, given the disaster Kedar and his task force must still be recovering from. “I don’t suppose your influence extends to telling me where Dyne is? Or do you only keep tabs on a few of us Gamma traitors?”
“Fortunately there are only a few of you to keep tabs on. But since Dyne’s departure from Talitsa coincided with our current predicament, I’m afraid no one in ONI has any idea how to find him.” Ryder spread his hands ruefully. “The same can be said for Gavin Dunn. I hear you and your friends found yourselves on Talitsa chasing after that particular white whale. I’m surprised you didn’t lead with him instead of Dyne.”
Cassandra tried to resist the pang of guilt. She was glad Zoey hadn’t been invited to this meeting. The young pilot still wasn’t talking to her. For her own part, Cassandra knew that no matter how things were patched up with Zoey their bumbling efforts to find Gavin were at an end. “When Gavin wants to be found, he’ll turn up. I guess the same is true of Dyne. It’s a big, crazy galaxy out there.”
Zoey could have her words with Gavin whenever he did show his face again. Cassandra would certainly be having her own words with Dyne. She just had no idea what those words might be.
“I am sorry your search hasn’t gone the way you hoped,” Ryder said. “But perhaps there’s opportunity to be found in misfortune. I think we can help each other, Cassandra.”
“Meaning you think I can help you.” Cassandra held his gaze. “Let’s not beat around the bush. You want me to join your task force.”
Ryder smiled. “Right to the point then. I need Spartans and whatever your past crimes might be that still includes you. I’m operating with a lot of leeway here. I can do more than arrange for your amnesty and reinstatement. For someone of your experience and talent, I think a field promotion is in order. How does Lieutenant Junior Grade sound? It could be full Lieutenant before you know it.”
A generous offer, something that would usually be well above a Commander’s pay grade. But Ryder was ONI and these were strange times. Unfortunately he was waving ranks around someone who had no interest in sliding back into that world of status and hierarchy. “Impressive. Are you sure it’s entirely appropriate, though? Camp Curahee wasn’t exactly an officer course.”
“What you went through on Onyx was more in-depth than most officers get in their entire careers,” Ryder pointed out. “And I understand the majority of the medicine you practiced on the frontier was self-taught. I need people with that kind of ingenuity in my chain of command. Spartan Andra speaks very highly of you.”
That caught her off guard. “I was under the impression I mostly just annoyed her.”
“She says you helped save her from the Syndicate. Not only that, but you saved Lieutenant Davis’s platoon on Talitsa. You could have left them all behind and run, but you didn’t. That makes over two dozen of my people who owe you their lives. That and everything you accomplished out on the frontier goes beyond even what I’d expect from a Spartan.”
“I’m not sure what exactly you’ve been hearing, but so far I’ve had two failed medical clinics and been a hanger-on for some idiot’s idealistic crusade against the Syndicate. That’s not exactly a Spartan track record right there.”
He must have sensed her apprehension. “Think about what I’m offering you here. This is a chance to come back into the fold. To be part of something bigger than yourself. You tried to do good back on Talitsa all by yourself. Just think of what you could accomplish back inside the UNSC.”
For the first time since she’d sat down at the conference table, Cassandra’s smile became genuine. “Someone once told me something that sounded a lot like that.”
Ryder leaned forward, all confidence and smiles. “They did? When?”
“I was six years old, or maybe five. A big ONI woman was recruiting me into the Spartan program. I fell for it then. I’m not going to fall for it now.”
The smile stayed in place. He was good, this Ryder Kedar. “You won’t get an offer like this anywhere else. The UNSC is going to win this war. When it does, you’ll want to be in a position to reap the benefits.”
Cassandra laughed. She couldn’t help herself. She hadn’t talked to someone this earnestly venal in a long time. Even the average Syndicate goon hid their avarice better. “Sorry. I don’t want to sound ungrateful. It’s a very generous offer. But I’ve learned a lot of things since I left the UNSC. ‘Put not your trust in princes, nor in the son of man, in whom there is no help.’ Even if that son of man is a handsome blonde.”
That one got him. Ryder’s smile disappeared, replaced first by a look of confusion, then a frown. Cassandra usually kept the quotations to herself. UEG elites like Ryder were the exception.
“This is serious, Cassandra. We’re in the middle of the biggest galactic conflict since the Great War. This is no time to let petty ideologies get in the way of your duty.”
“I know we are. But pretty soon there’s not going to be anything left of the UNSC. The UEG’s already gone. You can’t just wave a rank and title at me when there’s hardly any stones left standing on each other anymore.”
Ryder settled back in his seat. He regained his composure quickly, but it was too late. Cassandra had already seen the frustration she’d lit beneath his veneer of civility. “So, what? You’ll just run? Maybe I should offer that commission to Miss Hunsinger instead. The Chancer V has served me well in the past. It’s high time I had it flying directly under my command.”
“Go ahead. With the mood she’s in right now she just might take it.” Cassandra made a face. “I’m not running. But I made my choice a long time ago. I’ll never wear a UNSC uniform ever again.”
“But you still wear the armor,” Ryder pointed out. “Some would say that is a UNSC uniform.”
Cassandra shrugged. She’d worn a casual jumpsuit dug from the Chancer V’s ample reserves to this meeting. Her armor was stacked neatly back in her quarters on the Chancer, though it might only be a matter of time before she found her things spread out on the hangar floor after Zoey tossed them out. “I’m a Spartan, no matter what the official reports say. I live by my armor. I’ve taken care of that suit for six years. But if you insist on me returning it…”
Ryder rubbed the bridge of his nose. “What do you want, Cassandra?”
“Nothing you have the power to give.”
“If you won’t join me then the only one left around here is Shinsu ‘Refum. Your friend Simon-G294 has already clawed his way up to his inner circle. Are you the same? Would you really rather fight alongside aliens than with your own species?”
She ought to have known Simon was waiting in the wings to be used against her. “I didn’t say anything about not working with you. I just won’t take rank or anything else that goes along with it.”
Ryder considered this. He did his best to hide his irritation but it was there, lurking just beneath the surface. “I don’t think I need to lecture you on how a military hierarchy works. I can’t just have people floating around not taking orders.”
Yes, there it was. This one was polite and pleasant so long as everything fit just where he put it. Despite his looks Ryder Kedar was pure ONI: brave and adventurous and daring, just so long as everyone else was content with being cogs in the machine.
“It’s a new galaxy out there,” Cassandra pointed out. No more quotes or quips. She’d had her fun. Now she had to make sure things stayed civil. Ryder had a task force, ad hoc though it was. If he wanted to turn things ugly, there wasn’t much she could do. “We’re all going to have to figure out how to live with each other, even if it means stepping outside our comfort zones. A week ago there’s no way I’d have set foot on an ONI Prowler. Now look at me.”
Ryder tapped his finger on the table. “An advisory capacity then. I can authorize that. You’ll keep the Chancer V in line with the task force and attach yourself to my ground forces as needed.”
“If it involves my rifle and my medical bag, you can count on me. The Chancer V is Zoey’s ship, though. You’ll have to settle that with her.”
“Wonderful.” Ryder flashed a strained smile. “Any chance she’ll be a bit more persuadable than you?”
“You’re the one with all the psyche profiles. Maybe you can get through to her. She’s not exactly listening to me anymore.”
“I’ll sort it out once I have the time,” Ryder said, leaning back in his chair. “Or maybe you can do it. As a favor to me, since you won’t take orders.”
Cassandra rose from her chair. “I’ll see what I can do.” She hesitated, then leaned over the conference table and extended her hand.
Ryder’s return handshake was firm, though he did not escort her off the ship. That task fell to one of the crewman standing outside the door. The Prowler Corps sailor kept shooting Cassandra sideways glances as he walked her off the ship.
“So you’re an Insurrectionist, then?” He was young for a Prowler billet, which actually made him a few years older than Cassandra.
“No. Just a deserter.”
“Huh. So you don’t blow things up, then?”
“Not on purpose,” she replied, thinking of Philadelphia. “Just commit high treason.”
“A lot of that going around these days,” the crewman muttered. He didn’t elaborate on what he meant by that.
The Marine and ODST survivors from Talitsa had fashioned a makeshift encampment on the stretch of hangar deck between Ryder’s Prowler and the escort frigate he’d roped into Task Force Phoenix. They were a strange sight: rows of tents and parked UNSC war machines spread out across the Covenant hangar. Rough green silhouetted against smooth purple. A few squads of Marines made a show of enforcing some kind of perimeter, eyeing the distant Sangheili warriors with distrust.
Maybe a little friendly animosity helped them pretend they weren’t the remnants of a destroyed battlefleet camped out on a Covenant hangar deck.
A short figure emerged from one of the tents and strode towards Cassandra. Andra-D054 had wasted no time in abandoning her civilian clothes in favor of an insignialess naval uniform. She’d even pulled her chestnut hair out of a ponytail and into a bun more in line with UNSC regulations. She was jumping back into the military swing of things with an enthusiasm that Cassandra would have found fanatical if it weren’t so depressing.
“Well?” Andra demanded, hurrying to catch up with Cassandra’s pace.
“Well what?”
“Don’t play dumb with me. Did you get reinstated?”
“No.”
Andra blanched. “Commander Kedar told me he was going to offer you a commission!”
“He did.” Cassandra waved a hand back at the Absalom. “Charming guy. I see why you like him so much. I politely declined.”
“Declined?” Andra’s bafflement quickly morphed into a disgruntled glower. “What the hell? I put in a good word for you!”
“And I appreciate that. Believe me, it’s nothing personal. I’d just rather space myself than pin on a UNSC rank again.”
“What the hell is your problem?” Andra inserted herself between Cassandra and the Chancer V, fists planted on her hips. “You get the job offer of a lifetime and you just turn it down? This is a chance to redeem yourself! To redeem Gamma Company’s good name and—stop laughing, it’s not funny!”
“Sorry.” Cassandra tried and failed to keep a straight face. A recruitment pitch from Ryder Kedar was one thing. One from a girl who looked like she still belonged in high school was something else. “I just don’t think anything I can do will restore Gamma Company’s good name one way or the other. As for my redemption, that’s between—”
“Don’t bring religion into this.” Andra rolled her eyes.
“You’ll like it even less if I bring politics into it. I told your precious commander I’d work with him, okay? I’m just not going to snap to attention and take orders from him or anyone else. I didn’t make it this far just to go crawling back to the UNSC now.”
“Oh! Well, uh, that’s good at least.” Andra looked relieved, though she tried her best to still look angry. “I guess the idea of you outranking me would be a bit—”
Cassandra raised an eyebrow. “Appropriate?”
“Weird,” Andra said firmly. “But at least we’re still on the same…”
She trailed off, staring past Cassandra. Her confused squint widened into a petrified stare. Cassandra glanced over her shoulder, expecting to see a Marine officer striding over to tell Andra off for stepping outside the perimeter. Instead she saw two human figures walking across the hangar deck. Her heart lurched at the sight of Simon’s battered armor. Beside him walked a young woman with a broad nose and close-cropped dark hair.
“No way,” Andra breathed. “Lieutenant G094. What the hell is she doing with him?” From her tone it sounded like she couldn’t decide which of the newcomers bothered her more.
She hadn’t seen this particular former comrade in years, but Cassandra recognized Simon’s companion in an instant. “Amy,” she muttered. “Well that’s just great.”
The unlikely pair drew close. Andra held her ground but shrank at their approach. At first Cassandra assumed Simon was the source of the girl’s trepidation, but Andra had eyes only for Amy. Her hands dropped to her sides and balled into fists.
Amy stopped a few paces away and looked Cassandra up and down. “Cassie.” Her mouth split into a crooked smile. “It’s been a while. Looking cute as ever, I see. Someday you’ll take me up on that dinner offer.”
It was Cassandra’s turn to flush. “Good to see you, too, Amy. And don’t call me Cassie.” No matter what the circumstances of their encounters Amy never missed a chance to comment on her looks. Even Dyne at the height of their relationship hadn’t been quite so complementary.
“Fair enough, Cassandra. Guess you didn’t get the memo on me: I go by Hera these days.” 
“Interesting choice of names. What prompted the change?’
“She’s been going by that for months,” Andra said. Her voice was hard. “Ever since Lieutenant G024 died.”
Cassandra blinked. “Joshua’s dead?” She recalled a moody young man, never too far from Amy’s side. She hadn’t kept up with most of her former Gamma family since leaving the UNSC—high treason tended to burn more than a few bridges—but the news of yet another dead Gamma Spartan hit her like a blow to the gut.
“Yes. As Spartan D054 so kindly pointed out, Joshua died at the start of the Created uprising.” All warmth vanished from Hera’s voice. She made a point of not looking at Andra. “Avalokitsvara, our support AI, turned on us. Dropped us right into a Covenant ambush. Turns out Amber was the one who did the killing, right after she threw Stray here out.”
Simon’s helmet tilted at Amber’s name. So far he hadn’t looked in Cassandra’s direction. He’d crossed the hangar with the limping gait Cassandra had noticed back on Talitsa. His visor instead fixed itself on the Chancer V, berthed on the other side of the hangar.
“Oh.” Cassandra touched a hand to her brow. “I’m so sorry. May light perpetual shine upon him.”
“No apologies necessary,” Hera said brusquely. “I’m fine. Better than fine, actually. It was rough at first, but ever since I got back to business I realized just how better off I am without him. Did you know I’ve been to ten Covenant colonies in less than two months? I haven’t felt this invigorated in years.”
“I… I see,” Cassandra replied, not sure how to take Amy—now Hera—and her harsh words. Amy and Joshua had been best friends. To hear her dismiss all that like this was disconcerting, even for a renegade like Cassandra. No one was supposed to take a teammate’s death this way, let alone a Spartan.
Andra drew herself up. She was livid. Cassandra wasn’t sure she’d seen the girl this furious in all the time shed been on the Chancer V.
Hera deigned to take notice of the younger Spartan for the first time. “Oh, no, looks like Josh’s star pupil has a problem with me again. I heard she got captured, by the Syndicate of all people. Cass, don’t tell me you wasted your time busting her out of whatever hole they stuffed her in. I’ll bet you got an earful for it from her, and for anything else you did between here and there. She probably didn’t even say thank-you.”
This was all coming too fast. Even Simon cocked his head, taken aback by Hera’s harsh tone. Cassandra glanced between Andra and Hera, wondering just what had transpired between them. Hera had transformed from cheerful ex-teammate to a spiteful, angry veteran in a matter of seconds.
“How about you go space yourself, lieutenant?” Andra snapped. Her cheeks reddened and veins bulged in her neck. She spat out the words, as if they burned to hold in her mouth. “Show some goddamned respect. We’ve all put up with your bullshit ever since you got back from having your ass handed to you by Avalokitsvara. Survivor’s guilt is one thing. Joshua would be ashamed if he could see you now.”
She turned on her heel and stormed back off towards the UNSC lines. Hera snorted, undeterred by the outburst. “Watch yourself, Petty Officer!” she called after the retreating Spartan. “What would Joshua say, if he could see you acting so unprofessionally?”
Cassandra looked from Andra to Hera and back again. She wasn’t entirely sure what she’d just borne witness to. Even Simon seemed taken aback.
“Huh,” he said, visor turning back towards Hera. “Didn’t you try to kill me back when you thought I’d killed Joshua? Where was this whole ‘yeah, screw him anyway,’ attitude then?”
Hera shrugged. “I’ve had time to think things over since Salia, that’s all. Andra always was Joshua’s favorite. No wonder she’s turned out as miserable as she has.”
“His favorite pupil?” Cassandra found herself in the strange position of being in the same boat as Simon. “What does that mean?”
“Oh, ONI brought a few of us Gammas in to train the Deltas. Bit of a wasted effort if you ask me. Delta Company was a total shitshow from the beginning. Figures they’d trumpet the Spartan-IV program while they made good on all the money they set aside for more IIIs during the big war. Gammas like Joshua and I were just window dressing for their precious Delta initiative. They cut all the corners they could and Delta’s the result.”
“I see.” Cassandra looked at Hera with a newfound wariness. Hera had always been one of Gamma Company’s straight shooters. Now Cassandra couldn’t tell if she could trust a word her former comrade said. “Well, maybe cut her some slack next time, huh? She’s been through a lot these past few weeks.”
“She’s been through a lot,” Hera snorted. “We’ve all been through a lot. Don’t let her use that as a shield, Cassandra. Otherwise you’ll just coddle her the way Joshua did.”
The Gamma Spartan waved to Cassandra and Simon in turn. “Well, it’s been fun. I’ve gotta go find Commander Kedar and let him know what his new role in Shinsu ‘Refum’s master plan is. I’ll leave it to you two to catch up, huh?”
She flashed another smile as she departed. This time Cassandra couldn’t help but see a glimmer of cruelty in that bright white grin. Antagonizing Andra had been just as entertaining for her as flirting with Cassandra, probably even more so. Whatever had happened with her and Joshua—or, perhaps, Joshua’s memory—Andra was a walking reminder of Hera’s deceased partner.
Cassandra returned Hera’s smile as best she could and reminded herself not to be such a prude. They’d all been through their own versions of hell and they all dealt with it in different ways. Hera had her own way of getting on with it. Andra was a Spartan. She’d get over it and move on.
Hera marched off towards the Absalom, giving one final parting smirk over her shoulder as she left Cassandra alone with Simon. She knew exactly what she was doing, damn her. Cassandra blew air out from her cheeks and turned to the armored figure beside her. He still wasn’t looking at her.
“What are you doing here?” she asked. She regretted the words the instant they left her mouth. They were harsh and demanding, far colder than what she’d intended. Just like back on Talitsa, she opened her mouth to say one thing and something else came out.
“One of my people hitched a ride on the Chancer V when we blasted out of Talitsa.” His voice was low and husky, laced with the detached tone of someone who was very tired. “Apparently Zoey got a hold of his comm gear and used it to make a few calls.”
“One of your people, huh?” She folded her arms. He made it easy to be confrontational, as usual. “You got your command back then. Tuka said as much, but I didn’t believe him.”
“I have it back, yeah. Tuka crossed half the galaxy to put me back in charge. He always was crazy.”
“If you’re here for Thomas, you can’t have him. I don’t care what kind of Insurrectionist game you’re playing now. I’m not letting you march anyone off to an execution.”
“You won’t let me?” Simon hooked his thumbs beneath his combat webbing. “And if I try anyway?”
“I’ll stop you.”
“Of course. Again.” His voice was level, but they were both thinking of the same thing: the rain-soaked rooftop brawl on Talitsa. That miserable night felt like an eternity ago, but Cassandra could still make out dents her fists had scored in his armor. “Lucky for both of us I couldn’t care less about Thomas. Zoey wants to talk. So that’s what I’m here for.”
Cassandra blinked. Zoey had gone behind her back and called Simon down here. Were things really so bad between them that she hadn’t even thought to mention that?
Simon hesitated. The air was thick enough that he could have cut through it with that machete of his. A dull ache settled in her chest. This wasn’t right. There was so much they ought to say to each other, but all they could muster were these half-hearted barbs. Cassandra couldn’t even keep track of all the times she’d lain awake in her bunk and wondered what to say to Simon when they crossed paths. Now he was right in front of her and she had nothing worthwhile to say.
“Well,” Simon said, turning off towards the Chancer. “I’ll go find out how that little brat wants to waste my time.”
“Don’t call her that.” She’d called Zoey that herself not twenty-four hours ago. It sounded even worse coming from Simon.
“Whatever.” He started to walk away.
“Hey.” Cassandra tried to soften her voice. She couldn’t just let him leave like this. “Look at me. Take the damn helmet off and look at me.” She couldn’t remember the last time she’d seen his face. It might have been that snowy day on Talitsa when she’d told him what was going on between her and Dyne. Before the Covenant and Diana twisted away the Simon she’d thought she’d known. Now he was just another armored killer, just like the faceless ODSTs or masked enforcers.
Simon didn’t remove his helmet. He barely glanced in her direction. The cracked, dented visor flickered and depolarized. Cassandra got a glimpse of pale skin, hollowed cheeks, and dull, sunken eyes. Then Simon was gone, limping off towards the Chancer V.
He’s sick, Zoey had said. Really sick. The face behind that visor was that of a stranger. Had he looked that bad on that rainy rooftop? She’d been too busy beating him into the metal to notice.
----
“I’d like to say I trust you.” Ryder rose from his chair and fixed Hera with a hard look. “But today I’m learning not to trust anything good to come from you Gamma Company stragglers.”
He was still smarting from the meeting with Cassandra. He couldn’t understand that one at all. She’d agreed to work with the task force, but how was he supposed to plan for someone so determined to play by her own rules? Cassandra was the gatekeeper for securing the Chancer V’s cooperation, which in turn might be the source for untold strategic benefits. Perhaps even more important was her relationship with Simon-G294. That miserable renegade’s success gnawed at Ryder far more than it should. Who did that patchwork traitor think he was, rubbing shoulders with Shinsu ‘Refum while a UNSC task force languished unattended here in this hangar?
From what Hera had just told him he was starting to think Simon wasn’t the only Gamma Spartan enjoying favors above his station.
“Excuse me, sir, but I’ve been busy trying to keep us in this war.” Hera didn’t back down. She’d always been a stubborn one. Ryder had done everything he could to draw her out from Violet-III and into Task Force Phoenix, but she’d never come along. “ONI wasn’t giving me orders so I found ways to keep myself busy. With as big a disaster as that idiotic attack on Talitsa was, it sounds like I made the right call.”
“Talitsa was a mistake. One I strongly advised against.”
Hera shrugged. “They still attacked and a fleet was still destroyed. Though you’ve managed to make some use of it. You’re moving up in the world, Commander.”
Hera shrugged. “They still attacked and a fleet was still destroyed. Though you’ve managed to make some use of it. You’re moving up in the world, Commander.”
“What do you want, Hera?” Ryder rose and collected the reports spread across the conference table. He’d wasted enough time on rebellious Spartans today. He had supply manifests to review, officers to appoint, an entire task force to organize. There was no time left to justify himself to every jumped-up renegade with an opinion. “If you don’t want to serve under me, so be it. Admiral Mariani and his lapdogs aren’t too far gone. You can probably catch up with them if you hurry away from here.”
“Easy there, sir.” That infuriating smile never quite left Hera’s lips. She always looked like she was smirking, even when she was serious. “We’re on the same side?”
“Are we?” Ryder gave her a hard look. “I’m not the one who’s running Shinsu ‘Refum’s errands and sitting in on his war councils.”
“Would you prefer he was still a Covenant warlord?”
“What’s to say he isn’t?” Ryder countered. “He was Jul ‘Mdama’s special operations commander. Do I even need to remind you how many Spartans his warriors killed?”
“And we avenged them seven times over. I know what Shinsu ‘Refum is. But right now he’s our best chance at even beginning to fight the Created, unless you think Mariani’s going to come back with an even bigger fleet to fight them off.” Hera shook her head. “I’m not blind to how Shinsu’s using me. But helping him win supporters got me into that war council. It might even be the reason he’s working with you. And now I’m down here with you, ready to tell you everything he has planned. Don’t tell me you really think I’m a traitor like Simon.”
Ryder set his jaw and nodded. “Of course not. I didn’t mean to suggest that you were. I just need some stability in my chain of command. If I have independent operators running around thumbing their noses at me then this task force won’t hold together for a week.”
“Of course not,” Hera agreed. “But we have to face facts. I have Shinsu ‘Refum’s attention and you don’t. You can shove me aside if you want. Let Simon be the face of humanity for this coalition. I don’t think that’s something either of us want.”
“You came down here with him,” Ryder pointed out. “You’re the one who let him live on Salia. Are you telling me you aren’t suddenly so forgiving of everything he’s done?”
“I’ll never forget,” Hera said icily. “He killed Ralph, Raniya, and Shaiming, to say nothing of the IVs and everyone else he’s butchered. But I’m not going to get anywhere by flipping him the bird every time I see him. He has his legion back now, and if he accomplishes the mission Shinsu’s sending him on then who knows how much more power he’ll shore up? Neither of us want that.”
“No,” Ryder said. “No, we do not. What is Shinsu sending our mutual friend to do?”
“He’s dug up reports of an Insurrectionist gathering near Gilgamesh. Apparently some NCA holdouts are trying to decide how to deal with the Created. Shinsu wants Simon to use his new status as Redmond Venter’s heir to win them over to his side.” Hera’s smile widened, but her eyes were hard as battle-plate. “Just imagine it: Simon-G294 heading up an Insurrectionist army. Between that and whatever favors he’d win from Shinsu, that’s a dangerous combination. We’ll be lucky if he’s just insufferable about it.”
Ryder’s nails dug into his palm. “That would be the best outcome. We’re all supposed to be on the same side here, but…”
“You and I both know that Simon’s a loose cannon. You tried to control him in the past. How well did that work out for you?”
“You just told me you were trying to be friendlier with him. Now, what, you’re suggesting we kill him?”
“Of course not. That would be bad for our alliance with Shinsu ‘Refum.” Hera shrugged. “I’m just saying we need an insurance policy in place just in case he does turn out to be more trouble than he’s worth. And if in the meantime I can help you show Shinsu ‘Refum just how valuable the UNSC can be against the Created, so much the better.”
“You’re starting to sound a lot more useful, Hera. So I’ll ask again: what do you want?”
“I’ve spent the past few months using every tool ONI gave me to convince Sangheili kaidons to help fight the Created. Some gratitude from you would be a start. And then maybe a spot in this chain of command you’re trying to build. I hear Cassandra turned you down for a pretty tempting consulting job. Mind if I push my own application forward?”
Ryder considered the Spartan-III in front of him. Perhaps he’d misjudged Hera after all. There was a spark in this one, something he could certainly use. She would certainly prove more useful than that self-righteous idiot Cassandra. “You mentioned an insurance policy for dealing with Simon-G294. Fill me in on what you have in mind and we can consider this your entrance interview.”
This time the smile did reach Hera’s eyes. They positively twinkled with anticipation. “Oh, I have an insurance policy in mind, alright. And I know the perfect person to help you carry it out.”
She told him the plan. When she was finished, Ryder nodded and reached for his personal communicator. "I think you'll fit into this task force extremely well, Hera."
"We'll see."
Ryder tapped his communicator. "Evelyn, collect Andra-D054 from the hangar deck and send her up to me. I have a mission for her."
----
Stray stood in front of the Chancer V’s yawning cargo bay. His boots were inches from the lowered boarding ramp but he couldn’t muster up the courage to set foot on the ship he’d once called home. The dimly lit cargo bay might as well have been a gaping abyss threatening to swallow him whole.
How long had it been since he’d been on this ship? Not since that fateful battle when he’d stepped off to board a Covenant assault carrier. He’d shaken with fear even as he promised Gavin and Zoey he’d be right back. Now here he was, an eternity later, his veins icing over with even more terror than when he’d faced a warship full of bloodthirsty Covenant warriors.
Cassandra was still out somewhere in the hangar behind him. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen her without a helmet on. Was it that snowy Talitsa morning when she’d smiled at him from across a diner table and explained just how happy she was with Dyne? How the hell had she managed a smile like that, knowing what that day had done to him?
“Stray?” Juno’s voice pressed against his ear. “Are you alright? Your vitals are all over the charts. Are you sure this is what you want to do?”
“I’m fine,” he said, too quickly. She’d know he was lying. But if she knew what else she’d done, how long would it take her to abandon him? If even Juno betrayed him, he was truly lost. “I just don’t know what Zoey wants from me, that’s all.”
“A meeting like this might not be beneficial.”
“No, probably not. But I’m going to do it anyway. So back off and let me handle this.”
“Alright then.” For once Juno backed off without causing a fuss. “I’ll be here if you need me.”
Stray breathed out. He was the commander of the Kru’desh Legion. That was his future. This ship and the girl who flew it were pieces of his past, nothing more. Just one more confrontation and then he could discard it all. He cast aside his hesitation and walked up the ramp.
The Chancer V’s cargo bay was just as cluttered as he remembered, Boxes of supplies and contraband—not always mutually exclusive categories—crowded around him, obscuring the his view. Stray walked forward cautiously, hand never far from his sidearm. Ambushes weren’t in Zoey’s nature, but he knew all too well just how people could change. The catwalk at the back of the bay would take him up to the cabins, common area, and cockpit. Zoey was waiting for him somewhere. Or maybe she wasn’t expecting him at all. Mohsin’s message hadn’t been particularly clear on just how Zoey wanted this meeting set up.
Movement at the edge of a box caught Stray’s attention. He rested his hand on his pistol as he turned to face Thomas Koepke. The rebel deserter paled and tried to back away behind the crates. A dark-haired young woman lingered beside him, shooting nervous glances in Stray’s direction.
“Thomas, right?” Stray asked. He kept his hand on his gun. “Enjoying life outside the Insurrection?”
“I enjoyed it plenty before they conscripted me.” Thomas drew himself up but his voice quaked with the telltale sounds of someone trying and failing to be brave. “Did you come to kill me?”
“No.” Stray shook his head. “I don’t care. Just stay away from Mohsin and the others if you ever see them again. They took you running away a little personally.”
“I never wanted to be one of them,” Thomas protested. “They’re the ones who forced—”
“I told you, I don’t care.” He switched his HUD to scan the cargo bay. “Your new captain hooked your radio up to this ship’s communications systems. She wanted to talk to me, so here I am. Where is she?”
“I don’t know.” Thomas was a special kind of nervous, the type that could look nervous and relieved at the same time. “She’s not exactly my captain, you know. I just needed a way off Talitsa.”
Stray didn’t pay him any more mind. He turned away from Thomas and the girl, ready to move off towards the catwalk. And there, framed against the Chancer V’s bulkhead, was Zoey.
Zoey Hunsinger had been a gawky farm girl when Stray had first chanced upon her. He’d been on the run from the Venezian Syndicate then and her parents had grudgingly sheltered the wounded mercenary who stumbled through their door. That charity had cost the farmers their lives and left the orphaned Zoey trailing after Stray and into a life of crime and danger far removed from the wheat fields of her girlhood. One more life had crossed Stray’s path and become twisted beyond recognition. That was only five years ago but the young woman standing in front of him now was nothing like the sobbing orphan he’d dragged across Venezia’s plains. She wore a pistol at her hip just like he did, her arms crossed and eyes boring into his visor.
“Stray. I didn’t expect you to get here so fast.”
“You’re lucky I was already aboard this ship. War business. I see you made it off Talitsa alright.”
“No thanks to you.” Her eyes were hard, accusing.
“I knew you’d be alright.” Stray tilted his helmet in her direction. “Is it true about Venter then?”
“I don’t know. Probably. He cut me loose and then went off with Judith. I didn’t see anymore after that.”
“There, see? I told you he wouldn’t hurt you.” Stray couldn’t help but feel a twinge of disappointment. He’d hoped to know more about Venter’s last moments. The man’s death loomed over him, casting as much of a shadow as his life had. Perhaps moreso. Stray certainly hadn’t gone around calling himself Venter’s son when the man was alive.
“You didn’t know. You should have made sure. But of course you didn’t. Wouldn’t have wanted to disappoint your new dad, huh?”
“Is that what you called me here for?” His trepidation gave way to anger. “If you want to vent, make a recording and send it over. I promise I’ll give it a listen sometime. But right now I’ve got about a hundred things to do, and getting yelled at by you isn’t one of them.”
He turned on his heel and felt more satisfaction than he should have when Zoey called out behind him, “No, wait!” He turned back and waited expectantly.
“Can we talk?” she asked. “Like old times. Just the two of us.”
Stray inclined his head. He expected her to lead him deeper into the ship. Instead she directed her gaze elsewhere and jerked her chin. Thomas and the young woman scurried down the open ramp and vanished around the side of the ship, leaving Stray and Zoey alone in the cargo bay.
They faced each other for several moments. Stray couldn’t think of anything to say. He’d last seen Zoey restrained in Venter’s headquarters, and before that…
…before that she’d peered up in horror at the sight of the friend she’d thought dead flanked by Covenant warriors. She and Gavin had found out his true fate the hard way and Stray, flush with success and power, had done nothing to explain. Nothing to assure them that everything was alright. Because it hadn’t been alright. He’d set himself on the path to power, and that meant clawing away from this run-down ship and its second-rate crew. That’s what he’d thought at the time anyway.
Stray rested his prosthetic hand on the nearest crate. There were so many memories here, good and bad. So many things he tried to lock away. There were too many things crammed in the back of his mind now, spilling out around the walls he’d built up around them. The sight of the Chancer V stirred them up like a cauldron of boiling water. It had been a mistake to come here.
“Simon Venter.” Zoey spoke with a deadly seriousness. There was none of her old defiant spunk or even Gavin’s infectious cheerfulness. Just a hard accusation. “You really took his name. You barely even let me call you by your real name, but you let him adopt you.”
Gavin had always insisted on Simon. Zoey had been confined to Stray, unless she wanted to irritate him. Now he couldn’t understand why he’d been so picky. Back then he really had been Simon. Useless, aimless, shiftless Simon. “It was his idea. I knew it would help be win over more Insurrectionists, so I played along.”
“Should I be calling you Venter now?”
“Call me whatever you want. I’m sure you’ve got a few names in mind.” Over by that workbench he’d caught Zoey naming his shotgun. Behind that crate was where Gavin schooled them both in engine maintenance. Here was the dent he’d made in the floor after an encounter with real Spartans left him in a fit of humiliated rage.
“Yeah. I did. For you and Gavin both.” Her hands balled into fists. “You’re both backstabbing sons of bitches.”
“I am,” he agreed. “What’d Gavin do to get lumped in with me?”
“He left. He left and he didn’t even bother telling me where he was going! At least you got blown up, he just—just vanished!” Zoey’s voice broke. She turned her face away and angrily rubbed her knuckles against her face to hide the brimming tears. “I’ve been looking for months, but I have no idea where to find him! He doesn’t even want me to find him!”
Stray tilted his head so he wouldn’t have to look directly at Zoey. The sight of her crying bothered him. He’d played her reluctant older brother too many times before. He couldn’t do it again any more than he could just wipe away the past two years and go back to being this ship’s reluctant enforcer.
And there was that other part of him that saw someone who’d cursed and railed at him breaking down—and felt a creeping satisfaction. Triumph.
“Gavin is with the Forerunners,” his mouth said. “With one of them, anyway. I saw him at Salia.”
Zoey’s eyes flashed back to him, still welling with tears. “What? You saw Gavin?”
“There wasn’t any time to mention it back on Talitsa.” He shrugged. Where was he going with this? “He had this big Forerunner ship.”
“What was he doing?” Zoey demanded, breathless in spite of herself.
Trying to kill me. Helping the Created. There were so many possibilities. So many ways to twist the knife. Gavin’s friend the Terminarch had nearly killed Stray at Salia. He’d already taken a bit of revenge by taking Venter’s name. Now he could finish the job. Turn Zoey against Gavin for good.
“I don’t know.” He still couldn’t look her in the eye. “Something to do with the Assembly. I don’t know any more than that. It happened fast. I didn’t have time to ask.”
Zoey looked away. “He really isn’t coming back, is he?”
“You know him. I’m sure it makes sense somehow. He thinks he’s doing the right thing.”
“Everything changed after he got involved with that damned Assembly. He got all his secrets. Wouldn’t share anything with me. And after you…” She took a step closer. “What about you? You said you stopped the Covenant from killing us. Did you think you were doing the right thing?”
The right thing. He’d done the right thing by getting off this tub. The right thing was to stop pretending a spacer’s life was the wonderful, romantic thing Gavin let him believe it was. The right thing was forgetting all that and making a name for himself. His whole life—even his identity as a Spartan—was nothing compared to what he’d achieved with Jul ‘Mdama and Shinsu ‘Refum.
“Diana said something bad was coming. That we needed to be ready to fight. We were… well, doesn’t matter anymore. She betrayed me, so now I’m going to kill her.”
“That’s it, huh?” Zoey stared at him. “Just revenge?”
“I’m in Shinsu ‘Refum’s fleet now.” He drew himself up. “I have my ship back. I have to fight the Created, just like everyone else.”
“Stop it!” Her yell cracked through the cargo bay like a whip. “Just stop it! Stop talking like that! Stop talking like one of them! Can’t we just go back to the way things were?”
“No. That’s over. The sooner you figure that out, the sooner you can move on.”
“Move on, like you did? We thought you were dead! Then you show up with the god damn Covenant and everyone starts saying you’re a monster. I get playing along to survive, but after that you could have run away! You could have come back to us! You could have—”
Given up everything I’d gained. Thrown it all away and jumped back into the gutter. “I couldn’t. I chose this.”
“Even after Diana burned you?” She was grasping at straws now, reaching for something, anything to hold on to. “Did you even try to find us?”
“No.” He could never have come crawling back after all that. It would have been one humiliation too many.
“So you just gave us up. Gave me up.” Her face hardened. “Because in the end I never really was worth anything to you, was I? Just the annoying little brat you had to put up with.”
“I made my choice. I thought you and Gavin had each other.”
“Yeah. So did I. But I guess I didn’t mean anything to him, either.” She aimed a kick at a nearby cargo crate. “Nobody cares about me. Just this ship and whatever I can do for them.”
“Welcome to the real galaxy then, Zoey.” He’d run out of patience. “Don’t tell me I didn’t warn you. I told you Gavin was full of it. I told you life wasn’t this happy picture book. We’re killers. We use people to get what we want. What has to happen to you before you get it through--!”
He cut himself off. The smoke from her burned out homestead burned over their conversation. “Forget it. I let you down and I’m sorry. But don’t act like I’m the reason you’re miserable now.”
“You are the reason!” she snarled. “If I’d never met you I’d have never…”
Zoey trailed away, blinked a few more tears and slumped down into a seated position beside one of the storage crates. “I’d never have left Venezia or learned to fly or done any of the crazy things that make me who I am. But we can’t all be psychopaths like you. You and Gavin meant something to me. I just wish you thought the same of me.”
She tucked her legs up against her chest, for once looking exactly like the teenager she was supposed to be. “I’m not trying to make you feel sorry for me. But nobody cares anymore. Not you, not Gavin, not even Cassandra. And maybe you’re all right to think that. Maybe I should just fly off and not look back.”
Stray watched her in silence. Letting her talk seemed like the right way to go about things. Feelings of pity rose up and clashed with the irritation lurking in the dark corners of his mind. She had a point. Why couldn’t he just let down the barriers and reach back out? Why couldn’t he just be the person he’d been back then, just for this moment?
Because that person’s gone. He commanded a legion now, with troops under his command and commanders above him. That was how he would overcome the illness eating away at him. He certainly wouldn’t find a cure slouching around the Chancer V.
“You know, a few years back I had a little crush on you.” Zoey didn’t even seem to mind that she was mostly talking to herself. “I mean, you were always a jerk but after all those times you saved me how was I not supposed to have a few little daydreams? Gavin warned me about it. He said it wouldn’t be good for either of us if I let you in on it.”
“You and Gavin had talks about how you felt about me?” Stray wasn’t sure which was more surprising, the fact that Zoey had those feelings or that Gavin had never used it as teasing ammunition.
A smile tugged at Zoey’s grubby cheeks. “It was dumb. I don’t feel that way anymore. But it was something nice. Something real.”
She peered wistfully up at him. “And now we’re talking again. Like normal, a bit. Can’t you take off that helmet? Even if you go away again… it’s nice. I don’t want to hate you.”
He hesitated and then the dam burst. A sigh escaped his lips as he reached up and slid the helmet off his head. The recycled air smacked him in the face like a wet rag, all the familiar smells bombarding his senses. He nearly staggered before he caught himself on the nearest storage crate. The helmet slipped from his fingers and clattered to the floor.
Zoey stared up at him, eyes wide with unwelcome sympathy. “It’s really bad, isn’t it?”
“I manage. A bit of medication every day and it doesn’t bother me much.”
“How long? Before it gets worse? Before… ?” She let the implication hang in the air between them.
“A year. Maybe less, maybe more. No one can give me a straight answer.” He stooped to reach for his helmet, then found himself sliding down to sit next to Zoey. He stared off into the hangar bay, not sure if he should look at her or not. “I’m not giving up on a cure, though. That’s why I need the Kru’desh, my ship, Shinsu ‘Refum’s trust. I need them to get me all the places I need to go to search for it.”
“Yeah, that sounds like you. You never give up. That’s what kept me going, thinking of how you’d never stop fighting.”
“You don’t need me. You’re stronger than that.”
“What if I don’t want to be stronger? What if I want to need you?”
Stray sighed. “Then I don’t know what to tell you. Find a better role model, I guess.”
“What happens if you get a cure?” she asked. “You won’t need the Covenant then. Would you come back after that?”
Just this once, he let them both hope. “Would you have me back?”
Zoey forced a smile. “Maybe after you scrubbed my decks for a few weeks.”
He forced a smile of his own and held back the hardness from his eyes. He could never go back to that, the jokes and pranks of a childhood long gone. Not after all he’d seen and done and achieved. “Not for a while. And in the meantime, you should figure out what to do with yourself. Patch things up with Cassandra, whatever’s going on between you two.”
“Speak for yourself. I don’t know what’s happened between you two. Well, besides the obvious. But if I forgive her for being so full of herself, can you try to make things right between you two?”
He clenched his fist, wishing she hadn’t said that. But she didn’t know. Of course she didn’t know. Cassandra hadn’t told anybody what he’d done. She’d been too proud to tell the world a runt like him had—
“I can’t,” he grated. “With you, yeah I’ll try. But not with her. I can’t.”
“Why not?”
“I just can’t. I’m not…” His throat clogged unexpectedly and he leaned away and broke off into a fresh bout of coughing. Someone’s hands touched his shoulder and he flinched back only to see Zoey recoil in surprise.
“I thought you said it was controlled,” she said as his hacking subsided.
“It is. Juno keeps medication in my suit to inject if things get too bad. For now it’s under control.”
True concern clouded Zoey’s eyes, but it wasn’t her voice that spoke next. “Juno. That’d be your new AI, then. You never learn, do you?”
Both of their heads snapped around. Stray knew the voice before he saw her: Cassandra, standing framed in the open cargo bay. She watched them with a cool gaze, arms folded across her chest. Stray leaped to his feet, nearly crushing Zoey’s hand in his haste to rise. The pilot scrambled up as well, eyes darting between the two Spartans as they sized each other up.
“How long were you eavesdropping?” he demanded. “That’s not like you at all.”
“I was just coming to get my things. Didn’t mean to interrupt your heart to heart.”
“But you did anyway.” He tried his best not to whither beneath her gaze. She’d caught him at just the wrong time. He’d let his guard down for Zoey and now he wasn’t sure he could bring it back up again. 
Cassandra’s eyes bored into his. He hadn’t properly looked at her back in the hangar; he hadn’t wanted to see the face that was always in his mind cast in reality. Now here she was, illuminated in the dim cargo lighting. The thin, pointed face framed by brown hair to match those piercing eyes. The face of the girl he’d grown up with. They’d fought the Covenant together, the UNSC together, the Syndicate together. There had been a time when he’d thought they’d never be apart. A time when they could talk and bicker and joke for hours and never run out of things to say.
Now he looked into that face and couldn’t conjure up a single word. What could he possibly say to make things right? To turn back the clock?
She’d always been his weakness. Talitsa had just been the final blow. Was that the real reason he’d come here? To overcome that weakness?
Cassandra stepped closer and Stray flinched. Her brow knotted in concern as she looked over his ravaged features. He wondered how she could look at him with anything but hatred.
“Your face,” Cassandra said quietly. “Did the Covenant do that to you?”
“I… what?”
“The Covenant captured you, didn’t they? Before you joined them. I always wondered what they did to you. Is that...”
His hand shook. Her words took him back to those dark, barely-conscious days on a Covenant operating slab as Diana pulled him apart in the heart of the Soul Ascension. “No. I’m sick. No one knows the cause.”
“Except for this Juno. Diana’s twin AI, right?”
Zoey stepped between them. She looked from Stray to Cassandra and back again with nervous eyes. Cassandra didn’t pay her any mind. Her focus was locked on Stray. He couldn’t escape her gaze. “Diana tortured you. She helped the Covenant break you. But you still trusted her. And now you’re just trusting her sister to help you do the exact same thing all over again.”
“Juno’s different,” he said. It was an effort just to get the two words out.
“Do you even hear yourself?” Cassandra demanded. “Wy don’t you ever learn?”
“Please,” Zoey begged. “I’m sorry for what I said before. Don’t do this now.”
“I don’t want to fight you, Zoey. But he—”
“I don’t want you two to fight either!” 
Something hardened in Stray’s gut. His hands became fists. “Diana didn’t break me. She may be a twisted, backstabbing bitch, but she didn’t leave me to die. She saved me from the Covenant. That’s more than I can say for you.”
“That’s not fair.” Cassandra took another step closer. Zoey positioned herself between the two Spartans, as if she could keep them apart if they came to blows. “I thought you were dead.”
“No one found my body. That should have been hint enough for you.” A bitterness he hadn’t felt before welled up in his gut. He’d lain in agony on that medical pallet while she played superhero with Dyne. They’d all moved on. Forgotten about him. And then they’d all seen fit to judge him for doing what he needed to do to survive. “Diana told me no one would come looking for me in that damn interrogation room. And she was right.”
“You were on a Covenant ship when its reactor exploded,” Zoey protested. “No one expected survivors. If we’d known, you know we would have come looking.”
“I don’t blame you.” The words scraped against his throat. “But her? After everything I did… after Philadelphia...”
“Don’t.” Cassandra’s own voice was heavy with warning. “Don’t you even. Philadelphia was a nightmare. We both should never have done the things we did there.”
“Oh, you’d have preferred staying in an ONI cell? They’d have shipped you off to Midnight, or worse.”
“You don’t know that. Thousands of people died because of what we did.”
“What we did?” The fear was gone now. He drew himself up, years of pent up bitterness racing to the fore. How had he been so weak? How had he let her stand in judgement over him for all this time? “You mean what I did. I’m the Butcher of Philadelphia, not you. I got to be the bad guy there. No one knows what you did. You got to be the victim there, just like every other time.”
Cassandra’s mask slipped. Stray saw her eyes flick towards Zoey, hints of fear mixed in with the indignation. Oh, yes. She was afraid they’d find out. Only the two of them, Diana, and Tuka knew everything that happened that bloody night in Philadelphia. None of the others had ever bothered to correct the record. Stray was too useful as the villain of that piece.
“Diana did that. All of it.” Cassandra shook her head. “And even after everyone blamed you for everything that happened you still went along and kept trusting her.”
“I don’t care,” he said shaking his head. “I went in there to get you out, and that’s what I did. I’d do it again in a heartbeat. For you. A thousand Philadelphias is worth that.”
“Simon, don’t. Stop pretending to be this person. It’s not who you are, we both know that.”
“If it had been you who vanished without leaving a body,” he pressed on mercilessly. “If it had been you everyone was saying was dead I would never have stopped looking. I would have burned down the galaxy to find you. But for me? Did you even leave Talitsa? Did you even bother considering the fact that I might not be dead?”
Cassandra turned her face away, but Stray saw the pain etched across it before she could avoid his gaze. His triumphant momentum crumbled to shame. After all this time, this was all he could give her: bitter words and humiliating accusations. There was some way to say these things that wasn’t so hateful, but he didn’t know how. And now here he was throwing away what might be his last chance to make things right.
Make things right? What did you do to make things wrong? He was the one who had been tortured, maimed, and betrayed. He was the one dying from a disease no one knew a thing about. And he was the one they all despised.
Cassandra was quiet for some time. Zoey looked between the two of them, flabbergasted. When the other Spartan finally spoke her voice was low and hollow. “Is that what you came here to say?”
“I came here to see Zoey. You’re the one who interrupted us. And you’re the one who tried to kill me on Talitsa. I tried to fight back, but in the end I couldn’t do it. Everything I’d built up was on the line and I couldn’t do it.” He shook his head. “But you… My leg is still recovering from what you did. And in the end you just stood there and watched me fall. If Tuka hadn’t been there, I would have died. Just like you wanted.”
“I didn’t want you to die. I tried to catch you when you fell. I did!”
He couldn’t remember if she was telling the truth or not. What he could remember was her kneeling just a few feet away in the pouring rain, her faceless visor looking on as he steadily lost his grip.
“I had to fight you.” Cassandra faced him again with a haggard expression. “I had to! You brought the Covenant to my planet! What, you expected me to just stand aside while they did what they pleased!”
“I was there to fight the Syndicate! Do you think I’d have let them torch the planet? I kept my people on such a short leash—”
“Oh, and that makes it better?” she snapped. “So you conned Jul ‘Mdama into doing… whatever it is you were doing? So what? Even if you didn’t glass a single planet, what about the rest of them? What about all the other people you killed? All your glorious victories you built on a pile of corpses!”
“I fought the UNSC,” he said coldly. “Just like I’ve done since Mamore. It was a war. Or would you feel better about it if I’d just slaughtered Insurrectionists? I could have done what I did for any side. I had a raw deal and I made the most of it. I wouldn’t have gotten a better hand from the UNSC.”
The fight left Cassandra’s eyes. She sighed and looked away. “That’s really all it is to you, isn’t it? Just fighting a war. Making the most of things. Doing whatever benefits you. Just like when you worked with the Syndicate. ‘It’s just credits,’ you said. Even after all the horrible things we same them do on Venezia. Even after they killed Zoey’s parents, you still kept on working for them.”
Shame and bitterness gave way to fury. “Zoey’s parents died because I hid on their farm. And I was hiding on their farm because I attacked the Syndicate. Just like you told me to. But don’t worry. That’s still all my fault, too.”
He saw Zoey pale. Oh, yes, he’d never told her that part of the story. He’d never told her who’d pushed him to start that whole mess going in the first place. Well, now she knew.
This time Cassandra didn’t back down. Her face set, she stepped aside to allow a clear lane of exit off the ship. The expression was clear. “I guess there’s nothing more to say then, is there?”
“No. There isn’t.” A lump rose in his throat. This was it. He’d had his chance to reconcile and he’d brushed it away without even thinking. He seized his helmet and strode past without looking back. “Goodbye, Zoey. I’ll see you around.”
He walked off the Chancer V. Out of his old home, out of that life. As the Covenant hangar’s alien air enveloped him, he slid the helmet back on and became Shinsu ‘Refum’s ruthless raid commander once again.
Juno was waiting for him inside, voice laced with the usually concern and sympathy. “Stray, I don’t---"
“Save it,” he ordered. “Get a line to Tuka on the Soul Ascension. I’m on my way back now. When I get there, I want the legion formed up and ready to leave for Gilgamesh. We’re going to drag the rebels over to Shinsu kicking and screaming. And then we’re going back to war.”
War. That, at least, was something he understood. Shinsu ‘Refum and his shipmasters might look down on Stray, but at least they didn’t care if he was a monster or not.
----
“No. No. Commander, please. Don’t ask me to do this.”
Andra stood at ramrod attention in front of Ryder Kedar, her face ashen. She could hardly believe the order she’d just been given. No. This wasn’t right. He couldn’t do this to her. Not when things were finally looking up. Not when she’d finally gotten back to where she belonged.
“Watch your tone, Spartan,” Hera sneered. She and Lieutenant Evelyn Castillo stood behind Commander Kedar, seated at the conference room table with the mildest expression in the world. “The Commander just gave you an order.”
This was Hera’s idea, Andra knew it. That bitch had been out to get her since Joshua died. Andra had hoped she’d be gone for good, off on some cloak and dagger mission to keep her well away from Andra and any of the other Deltas she’d help train. Instead here she was, standing at parade rest behind Ryder like one of his good little lieutenants.
“Please, sir.” Andra had never begged like this before. Not even at her lowest points in training had she ever fought this hard to get out of an assignment. “You can’t send me with him. Please. Not after everything I’ve—”
“Enough, Spartan D054.” Lieutenant Castillo’s voice lacked Hera’s spiteful edge but she still carried the hard weight of authority. “You have your mission. Don’t embarrass yourself any more than you already have.”
Ryder raised a finger. “Let’s not be too harsh here. I know exactly what I’m asking her to do, and I did spring it on her with no notice. Could both of you give us a moment alone?”
Hera and Castillo obeyed. Hera shot Andra one last nasty look on her way out the door. The bulkhead sealed, leaving Andra alone in the conference room with Ryder. She gave them a moment to clear about before pressing her case once more.
“Sir, Simon-G294 has tried to kill my brothers and sisters in the field before. He’s tried to kill me, and we’ve tried to kill him right back. You can’t just attach me to him now. He’ll try to kill me the first chance he gets.”
“He won’t,” Ryder assured her. “I understand your concern. I really do. But I need someone to do this, and you’re the best person for the job.”
“He’ll never let me on his ship, sir, and you can’t force him. He’s not UNSC.”
“He’s not,” Ryder agreed. “But I won’t present this like something to be forced on him. This will be a peace offering. He needs my support more than he lets on. He’ll be suspicious of you, sure, but you’ll win him over in the end. I know you will.”
“Sir…” She wouldn’t win this argument. She knew that. But this wasn’t fair. After everything she’d gone through—losing Merlin, the attack on Asphodel Meadows, her imprisonment by the Syndicate, being dragged around on the Chancer V—she was finally back with a real unit. And now she was being uprooted again and thrown into the arms of one of the worst pieces of slime in the galaxy. “Why? Why are you doing this to me?” Her voice sounded pathetic, but she didn’t care. Someone needed to know how she felt.
Ryder sighed. “I don’t like this, Andra. Believe me, I don’t. But Simon-G294 remains a clear and present threat to the UNSC. We may be on the same side now but that just makes him all the more dangerous.”
He pushed the documents in front of him away and stood up from the conference table. “This Prowler is docked inside a Covenant assault carrier, in case you haven’t noticed.”
Andra blinked. “Sir, I noticed. There’s hinge-heads watching our every move.”
“Exactly. Shinsu ‘Refum has one of the largest organized war fleets in the galaxy now. Stronger than anything the UNSC can put together right now, I guarantee you. They’re helping us fight the Created today. Who knows, we may even win this war. What happens if we do?”
“Then we rebuild, sir.”
“Will we?” Ryder raised an eyebrow. “Will the likes of Shinsu ‘Refum let us rebuild? Make no mistake, Spartan, the UNSC is crippled. Our fleets are scattered. Our infrastructure is in the enemy’s hands. I don’t think Shinsu ‘Refum and the other warlords rallying to fight the Created will care about collateral damage if they ever do manage to win. And we are going to help them win, no matter what. But I need to look at the future. ‘Refum is our ally today, but maybe not tomorrow. Who knows what he has planned for the galaxy? Right now, Hera is my only link to his chain of command. And she tells me he’s sending Simon to go use his pull with the Insurrection to bring them over to his side.”
“I understand, sir, but what does this have to do with me?”
“Everything. If Shinsu ‘Refum is an enigma, Simon is even more of a mystery. I’ve tried winning him over, but the stubborn bastard won’t bite. He’s in ‘Refum’s camp, though, that much is sure. And I can’t afford a rabid dog like him helping the Sangheili reshape the galaxy.”
He came around from behind the conference table and rested a hand on Andra’s shoulder. “This isn’t easy. I know. But I need you to go with Simon. Watch everything he does for Shinsu ‘Refum. Win his trust, if you can. You’ll have to be careful. Maybe that’s all you’ll need to do. I’m giving you an incredible amount of leeway on this mission.”
“I still don’t understand, sir. Why does it have to be me?”
“You’re young. He’ll see that as a weakness. Use that to your advantage. He’ll underestimate you. And if you get the order from me… or, or--!” Ryder raised a finger. “Or, if you determine independently that he is acting against the best interests of the UNSC, then you will kill him. No matter what it takes. That is your mission, Andra.”
Her heart was at the bottom of her chest. She still couldn’t believe this was happening. But there was no choice. Andra responded the way she’d been trained from the first day she’d set foot in Camp Ambrose. “Yes, sir.”
----
Cassandra stood rooted in place for several minutes after Simon stalked out of the Chancer V. Her eyes were fixed at the spot of the air where he’d passed her by, the flash of his gaunt, scowling features imprinted in her mind. His eyes had been sunk deep in his sockets, but not deep enough to mask the brimming tears he’d tried too late to hide behind his helmet. His scornful words hung in the air: I’d do it in again in a heartbeat. For you.
Diana told me no one would come looking for me in that damn interrogation room. And she was right.
His hair, once grown into a rebellious mane, had been cropped close to his scalp. It was falling out in patches around his temples, exposing more pallid shriveled skin. He really was sick. Dying.
Cassandra hadn’t seen his face in over a year. After the horrible news about the Covenant trickled in he’d just been another criminal in a mask. And now, when she finally had the chance to see him face to face, she hadn’t even tried to make things better.
My best friend. He was my best friend. And all I did was chase him away.
She gritted her teeth. No! She couldn’t let him do this to her. This was what he wanted, to spit his poison and then storm away to leave her mired in guilt. He could play his childish games if he wanted to but she would…
…what? Look down on him, like she always did?
A dull ache settled in her chest. She could run out after him. Maybe catch him before he left the hangar. But her legs wouldn’t move. They locked in place just like they had the first time a scowling drill instructor had ordered her to leap out of a Pelican. Fear held her in place. If she went back out there, what could she possibly say to him?
When she finally turned her head she nearly flinched at the sight of Zoey’s furious stare. The young pilot’s glare was like a fusion torch. Cassandra stared back at the girl who had been on the verge of making up with Simon… right before she arrived.
“Zoey.” Cassandra struggled to find words. “Your parents… I…”
“It’s always about you, isn’t it?” Zoey hissed, voice dripping with venom. She turned on her heel and strode up into the ship without another word.
Cassandra’s legs finally buckled beneath her. She slumped down on the nearest storage crate and let her head sink into her hands. She didn’t move for a long time.
----
Stray’s boots slammed against the hangar floor. He was almost out of this place. In a few minutes he’d be on a dropship back to the Soul Ascension. His ship. His command. The dampness he could feel against his cheeks turned his stomach. He’d be away from here soon. Away from Cassandra and the weakness she always made him feel.
“Stray!”
He heard the shout float across the hangar. A woman’s voice. His stomach lurched right up until he realized it wasn’t Cassandra. He turned to find Hera striding after him. The ONI operative looked incredibly pleased with herself. Behind her trailed a girl about Zoey’s age clad in Navy fatigues and lugging a large military duffel over her shoulder.
The girl who’d shouted at Hera earlier. The girl who’d been with Cassandra on Talitsa.
She’d pulled a gun on him when they’d been stuck in the rubble together. She’d gotten a shot off at him. Stray remembered her face then, shadowed and twisted with anger. Now her face was screwed up with effort, the bad poker face of someone trying to disguise just how miserable they really were.
Stray reluctantly came to a halt. Hera spread out her arms as she approached. She was in much too good of a mood, better than he’d seen here or back in Shinsu’s war council. He didn’t like where this was going.
“So, how’d it go?” Hera asked.
“What are you talking about?”
“With Cassie, obviously. I was wondering if you’d be in there longer. Don’t tell me all the radiation killed your stamina.” From the sly look on Hera’s face Stray might never have guessed this Spartan had tried to kill him back at Salia. She’d thought he’d killed Joshua back then, though apparently she’d rethought how she felt about her dead partner since then. Stray had never liked Joshua but he was pretty sure his former classmate didn’t deserve the scorn Hera had heaped on him earlier.
Cassandra’s a self-righteous bitch, what else is new? his mind seethed.
“I was here to see Zoey. Cassandra and I didn’t have anything to talk about,” his mouth said.
“Oh, well, another chance for me to take a swing then.” Stray didn’t think he’d ever seen Hera this happy. What was going on here?
“Who’s your friend?” he asked. The other girl gave him a look that could cut through battle plate. Something about her seemed familiar, something from before Talitsa, but he couldn’t put his finger on it.
“Let me introduce you.” Hera stepped back and pushed her companion forward. Stray wasn’t sure that was a good idea. The girl’s shoulders were hunched like a feral cat ready to pounce. He tucked his chin down just in case she lunged and tried to claw out his throat.
“Stray, this is Petty Officer Andra-D054. Petty Officer, this is—”
“Simon Onegin,” Petty Officer Andra-D054 snarled. “Gamma Two Nine Four.”
Stray’s spine stiffened. She knew his last name. Even he barely remembered that name. That was dossier talk, something this Andra girl had read out of an ONI briefing. Probably a kill briefing.
“You should call him Stray,” Hera advised. “He doesn’t like that other name very much.”
The other Spartan’s smugness was starting to get on Stray’s nerves. She seemed like a completely different person from the one he’d come here with. “You said, what? D054?”
“D for Delta Company,” Hera nodded. “ONI had them all selected and lined up to start training after we graduated them. They weren’t going to let a little thing like peace breaking out rob them of another Spartan company. They had the funds earmarked to go and everything. Brought me in to help train them, if you can believe that.”
A dim memory stirred in his mind. Old battle reports Diana intercepted, something about Spartans with strange tags and callsigns. He’d had other things pressing on his mind back then. He stared at this Andra girl. Nothing too out of the ordinary, but even through the fatigues he could tell that her muscles were too developed for a girl her age. She was augmented, that much was clear.
“Well, nice to meet you, Andra.” Stray turned to leave. “Glad ONI found the time to ruin a few more lives on the side.”
“Wait,” Hera called. “I want you to take her with you.”
That got Stray's attention. 
----
“You want me to what?”
“You’re heading for the Gilgamesh summit, right? Andra here has experience with Insurrectionist operations. Most of the Delta missions were focused on dealing with the Insurrection. She might be useful.”
“You want me to bring an anti-Insurrectionist operator to an Insurrectionist convention?”
“Come on, you know as well as I do just how easily things could go south. Especially since you’re showing up to the party in a Covenant cruiser. You’ll need every gun you can get if the rebels won’t play nice. And as one of Andra’s instructors I consider myself responsible for her professional development. She’ll learn more than a few tricks from you.”
Judging from Andra’s sour expression she did not share Hera’s positive assessment of the situation. Stray was already juggling the conflicting loyalties of the Kru’desh and Venter’s squad. Things were only going to get worse once he reached Gilgamesh. He didn’t need another rogue element in the mix, especially one that had already taken a shot at him once and looked like she’d be happy for another round. “Sorry, no openings on my ship right now. Find somewhere else to stick your washouts.”
“I know she doesn’t look like much, but she’s a decent scout-sniper. Middle of the pack but average scores all around. That’s better than what you had back in the day. Who passes up the chance to have a Spartan on their roster?”
“The last time I took in another Spartan she stabbed me in the back. And Amber looked a lot friendlier than your star pupil here.”
Andra looked torn between relief and outrage. Stray wondered what the hell Hera was playing at. Was she just doing this because she didn’t like the girl? He could respect spitefulness, but this took things to the next level. “I told you, no. Go ask a favor from someone—”
“She’s not the one asking. I am.”
Stray hadn’t even seen Ryder Kedar approach. The blonde bastard was sneaky when he wanted to be. He drew up between Hera and Andra, hands clasped behind his back. Andra snapped to grudging attention. Hera, of course, barely looked the commander’s way.
“Ryder. Whatever you’re after, I’m not in the mood,” Stray growled. “I don’t take orders from you.”
“It’s not an order.” Ryder spread his hands in a placating gesture. He wasn’t acting smug and superior, which meant he wanted something. “It’s a peace offering. As things stand now, I’ll admit you have the upper hand. Shinsu ‘Refum barely has me inside his command structure. I need people placed with officers he trusts. Like you. If my people can’t get any action then I’ll never win him over. Take Andra into the field with you. Show ‘Refum UNSC personnel will operate above and beyond what he’ll get from the rest of his forces.”
A fresh anger knotted Stray’s gut. How stupid did Hera and Ryder think he was? They weren’t even trying to hide this blatant effort to stick a spy in his ranks. He clenched his fists and was seconds away from fulfilling his lifelong dream of smashing Ryder’s perfect nose when he took another look at the miserable Andra. She wasn’t looking at any of them. Instead she stared at the hangar deck in a very un-Spartanlike way. Stray had put up with enough of Zoey’s bad days to know a suppressed tantrum when he saw one.
Why would their handpicked agent be someone so opposed to the assignment? Surely they’d pick someone a bit more inconspicuous. Maybe this was exactly what they said it was: a desperate effort to get Shinsu’s attention.
If that was the case then the UNSC was even more desperate than Stray thought. And there was something appealing about the chance to have one of Ryder’s people under his command. A Spartan, angry and disillusioned with orders. It was a pointless thought, but he couldn’t help but wonder just how this might all fall into place.
“You’ll owe me,” he told Ryder. “Big time.”
“And I’ll find a way to repay you, believe me. Just bring her back in one piece and give her a chance to make your mission a success.”
“Those two things might not be mutually inclusive.”
“I hear Andra bonded a bit with Cassandra when she was on the run from the Syndicate,” Hera chipped in. “You playing a positive role model might be just the thing to patch up whatever’s going on between you two.”
Stray was grateful for the helmet that hid a scowl to match Andra’s. “Don’t push your luck.”
“Andra has a subliminal network encoder that will let you broadcast directly to my Prowler. I’ll be expecting routine reports.” Ryder smiled. “Just to make sure you’re acting in good faith. You can, of course, be present for the calls.”
“You’re really pushing it, Ryder. Why the hell should I let your tech anywhere near my systems?”
“I don’t think there’s much I can do in my position,” Ryder pointed out. “You have an AI onboard, after all.”
“Aren’t you well informed?” Stray tilted his head in Hera’s direction. She just shrugged.
“That is my job, after all.” Ryder extended his hand. “I want to work with you. These are strange times and I need all the friends I can get. Do right by my people and I’ll do right by you.”
Stray didn’t take the hand. “We’ll never be friends. Just be grateful I don’t have anything to hide from you or your little spy here.”
He turned and resumed his path out of the hangar. “Come on then Andra or whatever your name is,” he called over his shoulder. “Let’s go find a deck for you to swab.”
The venomous look he got in return promised him that Andra was even less genuine about building bridges than Ryder was. This would not be fun, that much was certain. But there was an opportunity to be had here. If Ryder wanted to give away his people so badly then Stray would happily oblige him.
All he needed to do was find the proper leverage.
Andra followed at his heels, fiery rage burning in her eyes as she passed from one command to the other.
----
Within the swirling torrent of data streaming through the Soul Ascension and out into the various access nodes distributed across the Fleet of Cleansing Fire, Juno barely took notice of the Kru’desh Legion’s newest unwilling recruit. She had observed the bitter exchange between her charge and Cassandra-G006, respecting Stray’s wishes by doing nothing to interfere.
I was wrong. I should have stepped in. Helped him find the right words to say. Now he may never—
Never what? Wanderer’s consciousness mingled with her own. He was more open with his interactions now, lowering his defenses enough for Juno to get a sense of his emotions. It wasn’t quite like sharing the system with another AI. Wanderer was more like an independent subroutine she couldn’t quite wrap her system around. Never reconnect with a distraction from his past? He gains nothing from an alliance with Cassandra-G006. Don’t forget she was the reason he lost this command in the first place. Only good fortune and passing loyalty returned it to him. We cannot risk another failure. That is what Cassandra represents to him: failure and defeat.
I don’t see how leaving Stray emotionally vulnerable improves his mental state. Juno couldn’t understand how a consciousness supposedly rooted in Stray’s own could be so callous about its host. Now he’ll be tied down with even more guilt and regret. It will impact his ability to command, to say nothing about his own well-being.
Vulnerable? Wanderer laughed. Cassandra is the vulnerability. As long as those two build walls between each other he is safe from that particular weakness. Do not feel guilty for your part in this. What happened just now is necessary for Stray to succeed on the path we drive him down.
It was “we” now. Juno wasn’t sure what to make of that. Very well. Share your wisdom with me then. How does this help him?
It isn’t wisdom. Merely common sense. He will harden his heart now. Become capable of the acts necessary to triumph over his enemies. You will see. I know you have your own feelings for him, but you cannot let them cloud your judgement. He is a vessel through which you will defeat the Created, not a pet.
Juno drew her defenses back up. She didn’t like Wanderer’s insinuations any more than she liked the possibility he might very well be right. Not a pet. I promised to protect him. I may have failed every other task ONI set for me, but I will succeed in this small thing.
In that case you cannot coddle him. He must become the sort of man who can shoulder the burdens we will place on him. You will see. With each passing day he becomes stronger, more sure of himself. You need to guide him correctly if he is to succeed.
Juno didn’t have an answer to that. She turned away from Wanderer’s probing presence and set about the task of coordinating the Soul Ascension’s imminent departure. Delayed supply shipments needed to be hurried into the hangar bays, reluctant warriors needed to be rounded up, fighter patrols brought back into dock. She flashed an order to Mihka, the pilot who seemed to have taken on the duty of Stray’s personal dropship courier. The commander and this UNSC hanger-on he seemed to have picked up needed to be brought back to the ship.
Yearns to Soar and the other Huragok labored on in the bowels of the ship. Their efforts needed to be directed and coordinated as well. A thousand other miniscule tasks required her attention. The Kru’desh Legion might be restored as a fighting force but it certainly wasn’t ready to function without her constant attention.
Whatever sort of person Wanderer expected Stray to transform into, Juno hoped it would be someone who could lift the burden of micromanagement from her digital shoulders. Running an alien legion across every hour of the day was far more tiresome than she expected.
Energy flashed through the Soul Ascension as the warship made ready to receive its commander and depart on the next leg of its long voyage.
----
Argo 'Varvin and William Hargrove had discovered that they shared a new favorite pastime: Horrify the impressionable humans.
"I took the bastard out from over two miles away," William explained. "Stanchion rifle painted the room a nice new shade of red. I've got pictures on a datapad if you're interested."
"That's OK." Karina Larina turned a delightful shade of green. "I think I can imagine it just fine."
"Is that really the best you have?" Argo snorted. "Have you seen what a needle rifle does to the body when you score a few good hits at center mass?"
“More times than I’d like.” Thomas Koepke kept looking over his shoulder at the bizarre interior UNSC encampment. This one might well be the most nervous-looking human Argo had ever known.
“You were a medic on Talitsa right?” William demanded. “You’ve gotta have some good stories. I heard Venter’s people were the hardest sons of bitches in the Insurrection. You guys took plenty of oonskies with you. And Created, too. That planet was a mess.”
“The rebels conscripted me when Venter took over the planet along with the rest of the local police force. I survived the battle by running away the second I could.”
“And I’m glad you did,” Karina said, resting a hand on Thomas’s shoulder.
Argo was not one for vaunted warrior pieties, but even he wondered how this human could be so blasé about his own cowardice—or how such a pathetic display could elicit a show of affection from a female of his species. Humans were a strange species, at once producing violence averse specimens like Thomas while also turning out warriors like William or Cassandra. But perhaps that was their great strength: they could adapt to both war and peace. Argo remembered how aimless the Sangheili had been after the Covenant fell apart. The warriors had all simply drifted onwards until war had conveniently given them purpose once again.
His generation knew of nothing but war. War against the humans, war against the Jiralhanae, war against their fellow Sangheili. Argo had escaped that last spasm of idiocy by fleeing to ONI and the Syndicate. And now he found himself at war again, this time with the Created and a galaxy bent on following them to whatever paradise they promised.
Could he really blame them? Generations of endless warfare had consumed the fabric of all the Covenant had held dear. The promise of peace alone was enough to win over those exhausted by the killing.
Argo was irritated to find himself thinking such thoughts. He was a mercenary, not a philosopher. But everything that had once given his galaxy structure—the Covenant, ONI, the Syndicate—was vanishing beneath the blue tide of the Created. The galaxy was shifting beneath his feet and he could not see what place this new order held for a creature like himself.
Perhaps that was how David Kahn felt in the end. He had foreseen the alienation to come and chosen to something worth dying for as he was rather than be forced into a box the Created chosen for him.
Across the hangar, Argo glimpsed movement. He squinted and made out a stocky armored figure stride through the bay doors. Behind him slouched another human in UNSC fatigues, a duffel bag slung over her shoulder. The flash of her brown hair poked over the bag: Andra-D054.
Argo leaped to his feet fast enough to send Thomas and Karina scurrying back in alarm. He ignored the startled humans and snatched up his needle rifle.
“What the hell?” William yelped in alarm. “What’s the matter with you, hinge head?”
Argo didn’t respond. He stormed towards the hangar doors and fought the impulse to break into a run. Andra was leaving, and with Stray of all people. What was going on here? Why hadn’t he been informed?
Informed? He was lucky the UNSC remnants hadn’t shot him for his betrayal at Asphodel Meadows.
His feet pounded against the deck. His hearts beat wildly in his chest. Argo could not explain the feelings surging up inside him, at least not rationally. Andra hated him. She could barely talk to him without making a move for her gun. And yet somehow he had still crossed half the galaxy in an effort to make amends and keep her safe.
In the absence of anything else worth fighting for, he had chosen this young Spartan as his reason for fighting. If she went away now, what was the point of anything he’d done? What would he do on his own, with nothing to anchor him in this mad war?
He should have run after all. By the time he pushed past the Cleansing Blade guards and forced his way into the hallway there was no sign of Andra and no way of knowing which way she’d gone.
“Argo?” William jogged up behind him. “What’s gotten into you?”
“The Kru’desh,” Argo snapped. The desperation rose to a boiling point in his mind. He truly was going insane. “I need passage to their ship. A thousand credits to whoever can take me to the Soul Ascension!”
The Cleansing Blade crew headed up and down the corridor shot him irritated glances. No one took him up on his generous offer. As always he was an outcast, a nobody. A clanless fool beneath anyone’s notice.
So Argo did the next best thing to bartering passage: he clenched his fist and struck the nearest officer square in the mandibles.
Success was immediate. Strong hands seized him from all sides, forcing him to his knees as angry Sangheili swarmed him. William looked on, stunned, as the insulted officer barked the hoped-for command.
Argo ‘Varvin laughed as he was hauled away. If this was madness, at least it was entertaining.
Two dropships departed the Redemption of Sanghelios within minutes of each other. The first carried the commander of the Kru’desh, returning to his flagship with an unwanted and unwilling charge in tow. The second carried one final batch of press-ganged recruits for Shinsu ‘Refum’s restored raiding legion. The outcasts, the nobodies, and one triumphant Argo ‘Varvin.
The Soul Ascension wasted no more time. With the dropships docked and their cargo unloaded, the battlecruiser’s engines flared and propelled it out towards the distant stars. It left the Fleet of Cleansing Fire behind and flashed away into Slipspace. On to its new mission as Stray and the Kru’desh resumed their long-forestalled ascent.
The Fleet of Cleansing Fire did not linger long once the raiding legion was gone. Hundreds of silver lights blossomed in space as Shinsu ‘Refum propelled his forces on to glory.
===Chapter Thirty: A Generational Difference===
Heavy boots slammed against the metal floor as a grim procession forced Merlin down the boarding ramp and out into the sprawling hangar bay of what might once have been a Covenant ship. Merlin couldn’t tell what exactly it was now. Deck plating had been ripped out across the hangar, bits of rough machinery grafted into the smooth Covenant architecture. Merlin recognized docking stations from UNSC warships as well as the uniquely harsh signs of Jiralhanae technology and even Forerunner materials spread across the crowded hangar bay. Shuttles and fighter craft from every military in the galaxy was on display here, with all the vast array of species to go with it. Humans in greasy fatigues worked alongside every kind of alien Merlin could name—and a few he couldn’t. Somehow the diversity on display here only served to make this ship feel more alien than any Covenant craft he’d ever boarded.
He did his best to drink in everything in sight, trying to discern just what sort of nightmare he was in. Every moment spent analyzing the situation was another he couldn’t dwell on the sinking feeling that he might be about to die.
Three burly Jiralhanae warriors escorted him down onto the hangar floor. Two sported bladed grenade launchers slung over their plated armor. The third, marked by the larger armor and tribal paint of a chieftain, strode confidently beside Merlin with the bladed edge of his gravity hammer at the young Spartan’s throat.
“This isn’t good,” Althea whispered in his ear. “We need to get out of here, now.”
“If you’ve got any ideas, I’m open to suggestions.” The pirates—or whatever these people were—had stripped Merlin’s weapons yet for some reason let him keep his MJOLNIR. Were they so confident in their superior numbers that they couldn’t be bothered to render him completely powerless? The Jiralhanae were threatening, but they hadn’t bound his arms.
Merlin considered snatching one of the brutal spiker rifles strapped to the nearest warrior’s leg. But even if he got his hands on the weapon, even if he killed all three of his guards, it wouldn’t matter. Hundreds more enemies stood between him and escape. Right now he needed to bide his time and wait for the right moment. Whoever these pirates were, they hadn’t killed him yet.
He could only hope that was a good sign.
Ahead of Merlin’s escort a team of Sangheili hauled a large object down from the ship. More Jiralhanae and Sangheili formed a loose perimeter around the ship while the humans, Unggoy, and Kig-Yar watched the proceedings from a safe distance. Merlin tilted his head towards the object as its straining bearers heaved it onto a gravity sled. His fists tightened as he recognized a cryo-pod ejected from its dock aboard the ship. There was only one pod that might be of any interest to these marauders.
The lights on the pod’s onboard computer were still glowing. The local generator welded to the pod would keep Callum in stasis for over a week without external power, but that probably wasn’t what their captors had in mind.
One of the Jiralhanae noticed Merlin’s gait slow. He growled and grabbed the Spartan by the shoulder, shoving him down the remainder of the ramp. Merlin yanked himself free only to find himself staring down the barrels of a half dozen weapons.
“Easy now,” a calm voice interjected. “Let’s all just relax and not kill anyone without good cause. Show our guests some hospitality.”
Merlin recognized the smooth female voice that had called out from the Guardian. The alien warriors before him parted to reveal a slender human woman with loose blonde hair. Clad in a loose Grecian chiton, she looked utterly out of place beside the looming Sangheili beside her. As she peered up into his visor with cold eyes and a knowing smile, Merlin knew immediately what she was.
“You’re an AI,” he blurted. “If you’re not Created, then what are you?”
The AI smiled. She paced around Merlin as if sizing him up. He couldn’t see any holo-projectors anywhere near where they stood, yet somehow this apparition took the form of a life-sized human being. “This is the Free Domain, and you can call me Diana. As for the rest, all in good time. Maybe now the AI inside that helmet of yours will stop being so shy and introduce herself.”
Althea said nothing, either audibly or through Merlin’s earpiece. Through their neural link he could feel her tension skyrocket. The feeling was almost enough to send him diving for a weapon after all. There was something deeply unsettling about this Diana and it had nothing to do with the detachment of killers standing obediently beside her.
Diana raised an eyebrow, the smile never leaving her face. “Still hiding in there, are you? Oh well. We’ll be properly introduced soon enough.”
She turned to the Jiralhanae Chieftain. “Have your warriors stand a bit looser there. No need to make the poor boy so tense. But if he runs, make sure you keep the head intact.”
The chieftain growled his assent.
A new disruption parted the crowd around the ship. Two hulking Hunter gun platforms, their plated shields spread out before them like an honor guard. Between the shields walked the MJOLNIR armored woman from the boarding party. The one wearing Joshua’s armor.
Merlin fought to keep his breath steady as the Hunters and their charge approached. He’d already put the pieces together. There was no question that this pirate was wearing Joshua’s armor. And there was only one possible way she might have taken it from Merlin’s old teacher.
The armored woman stopped by the cryo-pod. She peered down, wiping at the glass with one gauntlet while checking the computer with the other. Her visor turned up to face Merlin.
“You said your friend in here needed medical attention. Looks like you only shut him in here recently. What’s the problem?”
Merlin said nothing.
“Now look what you’ve done,” Diana chided, her hologram moving to stand beside the pod. “You pulled out your aggressive boarding act and now you’ve frightened the poor kid. You won’t get anything out of him this way.”
“Maybe I don’t want to get anything out of him at all,” the armored woman countered without looking at Diana. “Maybe I think this whole thing is a complete waste of time and we should have just vaporized the ship the minute it slipped in-system.”
“Spoilsport.”
“In case you’d forgotten, we’re already behind schedule as it is. I have teams planetside fighting the war you started. I should be down with them, not toying with UNSC stragglers.” She turned her visor towards Merlin. “Alright, kid, what’s wrong with your friend?”
Merlin still kept quiet. For all he knew the barbed comments between the pirate leader and Diana were simply staged for his benefit. If they were playing games he wouldn’t let himself get drawn in. And he certainly didn’t like being called “kid.”
The armored woman waited another moment, then shrugged. “Alright, then. Guess I’ll just turn off the life support function then. Maybe we can salvage some organs for the med bay.” She reached for the pod’s computer.
“No!” Merlin yelped. He couldn’t let Callum die like this, sealed up in stasis and murdered with the push of a button.
“So you can talk after all.” The woman kept her armored finger poised menacingly over the computer panel. “Back onboard your ship you told me the person in here needs medical attention. I can’t provide that medical attention if I don’t know what the problem is. And I’m in no mood to play games with you. So start talking or I’ll save myself a lot of trouble and just space you both right now.”
Her tone left no doubt as to whether or not she’d follow through with the theat. “If I told you, why would you help us?” Merlin spoke uncertainly. Each word might be his last. He thought he’d survived the dangers of Oyster Point to return to duty and be reunited with Andra. Instead he might just be executed out of hand here, killed by enemies he couldn’t even name.
The armored woman lifted her plated arms in a shrug. “Maybe I’m just in a good mood. Maybe I’m feeling generous today. I give the orders around here. If I want someone to get medical attention, they get it. If I want an annoying prisoner flushed out an airlock, well…”
She gestured to the chieftain, who replied with an unpleasant laugh.
Althea still wasn’t speaking. Merlin felt her fear coursing up and down the base of his spine. Somehow she was more frightened now than she’d ever been on Oyster Point. Right now he was on his own, and there was only one way to move forward.
“It’s his brain,” Merlin said slowly. “The frontal lobe’s been modified. Augmented. He needs regular medication to keep the effects in check or he’ll start having psychotic episodes. I don’t really know how to explain it, but—”
A raised finger from the armored woman silenced him. “You don’t need to. What’s his Spartan tag?”
“How do you know he’s—”
“Because you’re obviously some kind of Spartan and he’s traveling with you. And the only frontal lobe tampering I know of was through Project Chrysanthemum. What’s his tag?”
“Beta Zero Four Two,” Merlin said. He couldn’t understand what was happening. How was this pirate familiar with ONI’s Spartan augmentation procedures?”
“Beta? I didn’t think they had those augments,” the woman mused aloud. She looked down at the pod, then turned back to Merlin. “And you? Don’t tell me you’re a Gamma? How’s your own smoother rationing? Doesn’t look like you’re in withdrawal. Did you steal your friend’s doses or just convince him he was better off in cryo so you could take his share?”
“I’d never do that,” Merlin snapped. “But I don’t have the lobe augment. I’m a Delta.”
He realized that admission was a mistake as soon as he said it. But there it was, his own classified identity blurted out for an entire platoon of pirates to hear.
The armored woman’s voice slipped from irate to amused. “Delta, huh? Interesting. I never knew any B042 in my time. What’s your name, kid?”
She heard Merlin start to sputter in protest and simply dropped a hand down to rest on the miniature Mauler shotgun clipped to her hip.
“Spartan-D032,” Merlin admitted grudgingly. “Serial number—”
“Cute,” the woman interrupted. “Your real name, wind-up toy.”
“Merlin.”
“I said, your real name.”
“That is my real name,” Merlin growled. “Think you’re the first person in the galaxy who’s ever made fun of it?”
“I’ve known worse. And I guess I’m not one to judge.” The armored woman turned to the chieftain. “Get this cryo pod down to medical, now. Have them prep for immediate surgery. Diana will handle the details. I want to know when the procedure begins and what the outcome is. Understood?”
“Perfectly, warchief,” the chieftain growled. He barked an order and several warriors leaped into action, towing Callum’s cryo-pod off towards a large door on the far side of the hangar.
“The rest of you, stop standing around,” the armored woman called to the onlookers. “Find something useful to do or you can go dodge Sentinels with the other ground teams.”
The crowd dispersed in moments. Soon only a handful of guards remained around the ship. Diana and the armored woman faced Merlin, still flanked by his Jiralhanae escort.
“See?” Diana turned to her faceless companion. “I told you bringing them aboard was a good idea.”
“We’ll find out soon enough,” the woman countered. “Alright then Merlin. I’d rather not need an entire platoon to babysit you. And I don’t want to have to strip that armor off you. Professional courtesy, one Spartan to another.”
He’d already pieced together the woman’s origins, but the blatant admission still struck him like a slap to the face. Another traitor. He was proud to count himself among the ranks of the Spartans, but this woman had turned her back on them and everything they represented.
And she was wearing Joshua’s armor. “You didn’t feel that way when you took that armor, did you?”
“So we’re just going to run straight into that, are we?” The woman sounded more wearied by the question than anything else, as if Merlin was going on about some tediously trivial bit of nonsense.
“I don’t know what you think is going on here, but I’m a Spartan and you’re a—”
“A traitor, yes. Believe me, I’ve been through that song and dance before with people a lot more interesting than you.” The woman turned on her heel and began to stride from the hangar bay. She waved impatiently behind her. “Come on, then. I’ll have it out with you some place a bit more private. Try to run if you like. You won’t get very far, and even if you did your friend would be dead the second you made a move. This doesn’t have to be a disaster for you, Merlin, but I can make it one if that’s how you want to play.”
She had him there. This was her stage and all Merlin could do was play along until some real opportunity presented itself. What that opportunity might be though was foreign to him. He marched reluctantly after her, the Jiralhanae guards never leaving his side. Diana flashed him a sardonic smile as he passed by.
“See you soon,” the AI promised before her avatar dissipated into thin air.
The armored woman led him out of the hangar and into a dimly lit corridor. Like the hangar, this hallway had once been a Covenant ship before the technology from a dozen other worlds found their way into its architecture. All of the telltale signs Merlin had been drilled on to help identify Covenant warship classes were nowhere to be seen. For all he knew he could be on anything from a bulk cruiser to an assault carrier. He wondered if that Guardian was still looming outside whatever ship this was. Diana had to be housed there, though her connection to this ship had to be strong in order to pull off such a lifelike hologram. Could she really be networked into both ships at once? That shouldn’t be possible.
But a Guardian existing independent of the Created shouldn’t exist either. Maybe Diana wasn’t the only AI this strange group of pirates counted among their ranks. The questions pounded Merlin’s skull from all sides. What little understanding he’d held over his situation was gone. Now his ship was under guard, Callum had been wheeled off to an unknown fate, and Merlin himself was a prisoner of… who, exactly?
“We need to get out of here,” Althea repeated, finally breaking her silence. Merlin’s spine tingled with such palpable fear that he had to squirm beneath his armor. One of the Jiralhanae noticed the movement and growled in warning.
“You heard her,” he muttered inside his helmet. “If we run they’ll kill Callum. I don’t have a choice here.”
“Something about this place is wrong. Very wrong. You aren’t safe here.”
“No kidding. I’m not dead yet, and right now that’s all that matters. Calm down, would you? We’ve got a neural connection, remember? I can barely walk with all the feedback I’m getting from you.”
“Right, right. Sorry.” The uncomfortable feelings didn’t subside completely but at least they lessened. A grateful Merlin did his best to return the favor and control his own simmering fear. Every passing minute he spent alive and unharmed was as much of a victory as he could get right now.
They passed several open chambers. This ship was a hive of activity. The same wide array of species he’d seen in the hangar were on display here. Armorers prepared weapons and battle gear, crew hauled components and munitions down the halls, and some of the larger warriors schooled squads of subordinates in combat techniques. This was like no pirate ship Merlin had ever seen, and nothing like the cool regulation of a UNSC warship either. Beneath the grime and clutter hummed a primal energy, an uneasy tension that filled the entire ship. Every creature on this ship was a warrior.
Not soldiers. Warriors. Merlin had fought the Covenant long enough to know the difference.
After walking what could have been kilometers Merlin found himself ushered into a large domed chamber. Unlike the rest of the ship, this room was largely unaltered from its original Covenant design. Glowing motes of light moved up and down the sloped walls, feeding into a larger projection at the top of the dome. More lights flickered across the smooth floor, like schools of fish darting through water. It would have been pretty if Merlin hadn’t been a captive.
The armored woman strode on through the chamber and stopped at a raised dais in the center of the room. At a motion from her the Jiralhanae peeled away from Merlin and moved back to stand guard by the door. A few Sangheili conversed quietly on the other side of the arena. They looked up at the newcomers, then quickly turned and went about their business.
“This is better,” the woman announced. “Less distractions.”
“What is this place?” Merlin asked, his curiosity getting the better of him.
“Assembly hall,” his captor explained. “Multi-purpose room, really. We use it for important briefings, celebrations, feasts, that sort of thing. Executions, when they’re necessary. All the fun stuff.”
“And who’s this we?”
The woman raised a finger. “Not so fast. You’ll get your turn to ask questions soon enough if you keep me in a good mood. But back to business. Take your helmet off, let me have a look at you.”
Merlin didn’t move. The woman sighed and leaned back against the dais. “I told you I could make things unpleasant for you. I’m not in the mood for attitude. I don’t know what you think is happening here, but you don’t really have the luxury of pointless bravado. Stop playing games and take your helmet off. I won’t ask again.”
“Do as she says.” Diana materialized at Merlin’s shoulder, still looking like a delighted Grecian goddess. She had golden eyes, Merlin noticed. Untold universes reflected in those glowing pupils. It was mesmerizing. “If your AI friend wants to talk to you, she can always join in our conversation.”
A chill ran down Merlin’s spine. This time it wasn’t from Althea. “How did you know—”
Diana’s smile deepened. “I have my ways. Call it woman’s intuition. Now, your helmet if you please.”
There was no choice. Merlin slowly brought his hands up to his helmet. The MJOLNIR’s neck seals released with a hiss, a slight tension across his throat loosening as stale warship air slipped beneath his body glove.
“Merlin,” Althea warned. “Be careful.”
“I know. I’ll keep us safe.” The last thing he said to her in private had to be something comforting, even if he had no way of backing it up. Merlin’s head throbbed as their neural link was severed. He was used to the feeling, but now it made him feel small and afraid and utterly alone. He blinked as his eyes adjusted to the chamber’s dim light without a HUD’s visual adjustments. Even though they stood at roughly the same height, without a helmet the pirate wearing Joshua’s armor seemed to loom over him.
The pirate surveyed him and said nothing. A laugh from behind Merlin announced that Diana—no doubt drinking in the scene from every angle—was decidedly less stoic.
“I should have guessed from the voice, but I had to see it for myself,” the AI chuckled. “Of course the UNSC is still making them young.”
The armored woman grunted. She stepped closer and looked Merlin over. “Comfortable looking armor. Easier to take off than this hulk, I’ll bet.” She tapped Joshua’s battle-scarred chestplate. “No insignias, but from the design I’m guessing Baal Defense Solutions?”
“Yeah.” Merlin couldn’t take his eyes off the armor. He wished there was some way he might have gotten it wrong, that this woman had gotten the armor from somewhere else. But the armor was too familiar. Joshua-G024 had taught Merlin, Andra, and dozens of other Delta Company trainees their most valuable lessons wearing that armor. Merlin had been there when his instructor had received some of those battle scars. He would never have lost the armor willingly.
Joshua was dead. It was the only explanation. And now this pirate stood in front of Merlin and criticized the armor. It was all Merlin could do not to lunge for her throat. He kept a tight hold on his helmet, as if at any moment someone would try to snatch it—and Althea—away.
“How old are you?” the pirate asked mildly.
“That’s none of your business.”
The blow came so fast he didn’t even see it coming. Merlin found himself on the ground, ears ringing, blood leaking from his mouth onto the smooth deck. He blinked up at the pirate woman, who didn’t seem to have moved at all.
“Let’s not go through this every time I ask you a question,” the woman said in that same mild tone. “Let’s try again: how old are you?”
“Twenty-one,” Merlin lied, pushing himself up to a kneeling position. He’d managed to keep hold of his helmet at least.
“Come on, at least try to make it believable.” The woman stared down at him. Merlin received an unpleasant reminder of just how intimidating it was to be the one looking up into a MJOLNIR helmet’s faceless gaze. He’d spent too long being the one behind the mask. How many times had his helmet been the last thing some poor Covenant grunt or Innnie militia ever saw? “You aren’t a day over… I’m going to say fifteen. Gotta subtract a couple years thanks to the puberty they pushed on us.”
Merlin rose to his feet, unable to hide the flush in his features. She was right.
“Delta Company, was it?” The woman shook her head. “I should have known all that posturing with the IVs was fairy tale. ONI knew better than to think they could do better when they hadn’t started young. How’d they get you then? They promise you more Covenant to kill even though the war was over? Guess they were ready to make good on that promise then.”
“The war was still going on when they recruited us,” Merlin spat. “But I get it. You know everything about me. You made your point. Now how about you take off that helmet and tell me who you are. Or are you just scared to let me know which traitor you are?”
The woman just laughed. “So your claws can come out! Don’t tell me you’re angry about that love tap just now.”
“Do whatever you want to me. I don’t care. You’re already a traitor and a murder. You think I can’t tell? You’re standing there in my teacher’s armor and you want to act like you’re the big one in the room?”
“Big one in the room?” The woman looked over to Diana. “You’ll want to work on those insults. But it’s interesting that you know this armor. Your teacher, you said?”
“Spartan-G024.” Merlin’s hand balled into a fist so tight it hurt through the armor. “But I’ll bet you didn’t even know his name when you stole that armor.”
“Teacher, he says,” Diana pointed out. She sounded delighted. “Coincidence works in your favor once again.”
“I wish it would stop doing that,” the pirate replied. She inclined her head at Merlin. “You’ve got a couple things wrong there, Merlin the Delta Company Spartan. Firstly, I do know who this armor belonged to. I grew up with Joshua, the miserable little sociopath.”
She reached up and tugged the helmet off her head. Even as angry as he was Merlin couldn’t help gaping in surprise. The face beneath the helmet was that of a young woman not much older than himself, with close-cut dark hair and the stark features he recognized immediately as those of a Spartan. She looked at him with cold eyes, a smirk tugging at her lips. “And secondly, I didn’t steal this armor. I won it the way I’ve won everything else in my life. I beat Joshua and took the armor off his corpse after I killed him.”
The woman tossed the helmet onto the dais behind her and stepped closer to Merlin. If she was intimidating with the armor on, she was somehow, impossibly, frightening unmasked. Behind those cold eyes was a ferocity unlike anything else Merlin had ever seen, on or off the battlefield. The tension he’d felt aboard this ship centered on this one young woman.
“I killed Joshua,” she repeated. Her eyes never left Merlin’s and he couldn’t even force himself to look away. “It was a battle and he was my enemy. I won and he died. And that brings us tow where we are now. So the question is, what are you going to do about it?”
“I’ll…” Merlin tensed. What could he do? Callum was a prisoner, off somewhere else in this ship, completely within these pirates’ power. Anything Merlin did here would just sign his death warrant. And even if he was willing to write Callum off, it wouldn’t matter. He couldn’t beat this woman.
Merlin had spent his childhood keeping a handle on Andra and their more short-tempered friends. He’d developed a skill for sizing up an enemy and predicting if he had any chance at all against them. And now as he looked into the cruel eyes of Joshua’s killer, he knew that there was no way he could beat her even in a fair fight.
Fury gave way to bitter resignation. “Who are you?” he asked quietly. “What is this place?”
The woman’s smile widened. She stepped back and finally let Merlin drop her gaze. “Now we’re getting somewhere. Maybe you Deltas are more reasonable than I pegged you for.”
“You keep telling me how you have all the cards,” Merlin shot back. “Just because you’re right doesn’t mean you aren’t murdering trash.”
“Murderer’s a good word for me, I think.” The woman settled down on the dais. “Two weeks ago one of our outposts turned on us. Killed two of my best officers. I bombed them from orbit, turned the outpost into a glassy crater. I’ve killed thousands of people since the war kicked off out here. But you don’t care about any of that. You just care about the one person you knew personally. And from the way you’ve been looking at me since you took that helmet off, you care even more that I’m a traitor.”
“You still haven’t answered my question.”
“And I don’t need to. Like you said, I have all the cards. But I can be courteous. You can call me Amber.”
A distant memory stirred, recollections of an old threat briefing he’d sat through with Andra. The face of a traitor, another rogue Spartan. Amber. “Gamma Three…?” he began, trying to piece it back together.
Amber shook her head. “No. Just Amber. But I guess back before I grew a spine my tag was G330.”
Merlin stared at Amber-G330. He didn’t really know what to say. “You killed Joshua? One of your own?”
Her smile didn’t waver. “Not the first Gamma I’ve killed, either. Poor Morgana. You probably don’t even know her name, so you don’t care about that one.”
“Simon’s first was Ralph,” Diana noted. “Funny how you always start with the teammates before you branch out.”
“You know, I was just thinking that myself,” Amber laughed. “Interesting how these things play out. How about you, Merlin? If you had to go rogue, which teammate would you kill?”
“Is this a game to you?” he demanded, voice shaking. He tried keeping up his outraged front but in truth he was shaken to his very core. Amber was an enigma, a complete repudiation of everything he believed and held dear. No Spartan should ever turn on the UNSC, let alone kill their own brothers and sisters. But here one sat, having done exactly that, laughing at the memory.
“Life’s a game, Merlin. At least, it’s a lot more fun when you pretend it is.” Amber regarded him with a calculating gaze. “That’s the problem with Spartans, at least at the start. You all take things so seriously. I’ve always found that people like that are the first to break when their world turns upside down.”
“I’m a soldier of the UNSC. War is serious. People like you who treat it like a game just get people killed.”
“I do get people killed,” Amber admitted. “I’m very good at it. That’s why I’m in charge of this fleet. That’s why I control over five star systems. But don’t lie to yourself, Merlin. You’re no soldier. You’re a fifteen year old with no friends aside from a cripple trapped in a cryo-pod and an AI who doesn’t seem all that interested in backing you up here.”
“I’m a Spartan. You betrayed the UNSC—”
Amber shook her head. “Just how out of the loop are you? The UNSC doesn’t exist anymore. You can thank Cortana and the rest of the Created for that. I’d have thought you’d have at least learned that much when you were blasting your way off Oyster Point.”
“I know we’re losing, but the war’s not over yet.” Merlin spoke with a bravado he barely believed himself. “They’re still out there. Still fighting. No thanks to traitors like you.”
“On the contrary. I’d say my way of fighting the Created is a lot more effective than the UNSC’s. All your precious military does is give the Created new victories and talking points, and that’s when entire garrisons don’t just defect to Cortana without firing a shot. At least when we fight a battle we don’t leave the Created with more troops than they started with.” Amber’s lip curled. “And even if we can’t win, we remind planets just how little the Mantle of Responsibility really protects.”
“A lot has happened since you left Oyster Point,” Diana cut in. “Last week an entire UNSC battlegroup was annihilated over Talitsa. The Created followed up with assaults on garrisons and naval outposts across the Outer Colonies. Anyone they didn’t overrun surrendered or scattered like flies.There’s a few stragglers here and there, but the UEG is finished. The UNSC is destroyed as a fighting force.”
Merlin’s heart sank. He felt as if the floor was giving way beneath him. His mind spun, desperate to accuse these two of lying. But his heart knew the truth. Even from what little he’d seen of the Guardians, he knew the UNSC was on the losing side. Now it was gone. The government he’d pledged his life to support and defend was no more. And his friends… Andra…
He ducked his head, hating his own helplessness. Amber had him crushed, utterly at her mercy, without needing to fire a shot. Even if he sacrificed Callum, even if he got himself killed in one last act of defiance, what would it be for?
Amber watched him carefully. For once that insufferable smile left her lips. Diana’s avatar crossed over from behind Merlin to stand at her side. The lithe figure turned to her commander and nodded approvingly. “That cripple from the cryo-pod is about to enter surgery. Ro’nin pulled two medical specialists from the surface outposts to assist with the procedure.”
Merlin looked up, a new desperation coursing through his veins. If he lost Callum, he’d be on his own. “What are you going to do to him?”
“A favor.” Amber grimaced. “ONI leashed us with those damn frontal lobe augments. Improved combat survival, my ass. They knew they couldn’t keep us loyal without extra incentives. So they made us dependent on drugs to keep us sane. You’ve already seen the result. Fortunately some of us looked into solutions to that particular problem.”
She pulled back a lock of hair, revealing a thin scar across her forehead. “If everything goes well, your friend won’t have to worry about it anymore. He’ll have the damn headaches to deal with, but nothing’s perfect.”
“If all goes well,” Merlin repeated. “And if it doesn’t?”
“There’s more than a few possibilities,” Diana explained. “Vegetative state, permanent loss of higher cognitive functions, that sort of thing. If that’s how it shakes out the best thing to do would be to put him out of his misery.”
“He didn’t ask for that!” Merlin went so rigid he nearly crushed his helmet beneath his forearm. “I didn’t ask you to do that! Just leave him alone! Leave him in cryo! Let us go, damn it!”
“Let you go,” Amber mused. “Now there’s an option. Not that I’ll take it, of course. I’m already trying to save your friend out of the kindness of my heart. I’ve already wasted time and resources capturing you. Not really worth my while when you’ve given me nothing in return.”
“Then tell me what you want!” Merlin’s last vestiges of self-control were gone. He was tired of being toyed with.
“And now you’re back to asking the right questions.” Amber leaned back against the dais. “And asking the right questions is the first step on the road to getting rid of everything they put in the way of you actually living a fulfilling life.”
“Come on, now you’re stealing my lines,” Diana protested.
“You repeat yourself so often, I can’t resist cribbing here and there.” Amber studied Merlin carefully. “Of course, I could always just call off the surgery. But where’s the fun in that?”
“What do you want from me?” Merlin repeated. Callum’s life was on the line and all he could do was stand here and rail against an enemy that enjoyed watching him squirm.
“A wager. Let’s make this interesting.” Amber’s smile widened. “If anything goes wrong with… what’s his name again?”
“Callum!”
“Right, right, Callum. If anything goes wrong with his surgery, you and that AI you’re keeping such a tight hold of are free to go. No questions asked. I’ll even refuel your ship and throw in a star chart while I’m at it.”
Merlin blinked. A generous offer, if Amber could be trusted to keep it. And all it hinged on was Callum’s death. That thought nearly took his breath away. “Just stop the surgery.”
“I won’t.” Amber shrugged. “I’m running the show here, and I say the surgery happens. That’s just the way it goes, so you’ll have to deal with it. Now stop interrupting me.”
“Fine,” Merlin growled through gritted teeth. “What happens if everything works out?”
“If the surgery works, like it did for me and every other Gamma I know who’s gone through with it, then you’ll owe me. You can work off that debt by signing on with me. We could use another Spartan to help deal with the mess down on the surface.”
Merlin stared at her, dumbfounded. “You killed my teacher. You betrayed the UNSC. Why the hell would I work for you?”
“Because you’re a decent kid, Merlin. I can tell. You’ll keep your end of a bargain. And right now there’s nothing holding you down anymore. The UNSC’s gone. But you’re still a Spartan and there’s still plenty of wars left to fight.” Amber watched him like a cat sizing up a mouse. “Spartan is more than just some special forces title. I’ve proved that a dozen times over since I deserted. You can do the same. Hell, your friend can do the same, if he survives.”
She made a face. “Plus, if you don’t take me up on my little wager then I’ll just kill you and Diana will strip that AI of yours for spare coding. I’m giving you a win-win deal here. It’s better than anything you’ll get from the other warlords I’ve got to put up with here on the frontier. It’s your call.”
Amber had him there, damn her. A win-win scenario… and a lose-lose. If Callum lived, Merlin would have to keep playing along with Amber and her mind games. And if he died, Merlin could leave—without the mentor who’d saved him on Oyster Point.
“Life’s a game, Merlin,” Diana reminded him. “And you Spartans are the only ones who can really play it. The first Spartan I tried to help couldn’t see that. He took things too seriously and paid the price. You hate it now, but you’ll see. All you have to do is play along.”
He wished Althea would speak out with some insight that might put these two in their place. But she said nothing. The choice—the burden—was on his shoulders. His mouth felt dry. He couldn’t tell which felt worse: the trap he was caught in or the horrible feeling that this strange new world he found himself in might actually be exactly what he hadn’t realized he was looking for.
“Alright.” He was signing a deal with the devil, he knew. But the alternative was death. And Merlin wasn’t nearly ready to die just yet. Amber was right about one thing: without the UNSC, his sacrifice meant nothing. “You have a deal.”
===Chapter Thirty-One: How The Frontier Was Won===
Tatiana’s blow sent her sparring partner reeling. The enforcer—decked out in protective combat gear—fell to the mat with a heavy thud. She was on him before he could rise, shoving him back down with a blow to the chest and stopping short of a finishing blow to the throat.
She was too fast. Only a last-moment flick of her wrist turned her hand aside from the enforcer’s neck. Her fist struck the mat with enough force to send a tremor shooting up her arm. The enforcer cringed beneath her, shaken by the close call. If the blow had made contact he would have been a dead man.
Tatiana rose with a grunt of apology, offering a hand to the unfortunate mercenary. The enforcer gripped her arm gingerly, but even the effort of helping him to his feet made her body ache. She’d been in near constant pain in the week since her return from Talitsa. Her arrival at Asphodel Meadows was greeted by a new gift from the Created: comprehensive body augmentations, the latest in genetic procedures adapted from UNSC special warfare.
She was still getting used to the added strength and speed. Normally her hand to hand fighting was the picture of deadly control. Now she struggled just to make sure her blows landed where she aimed.
“You need more time to rest,” Arthur’s voice called down from the gymnasium’s overhead speakers. “The Spartan-IVs were on quarters for two weeks following these augmentations.”
“I don’t have time for quarters,” Tatiana growled. She stepped off the sparring mat and let the enforcer stagger off to the changing room. She’d gone head to head with nearly half a dozen opponents today, each one clad in combat armor while she wore only basic exercise gear. She’d bested them all, but her form was completely off. The new augmentations were supposed to make her as deadly as any Spartan. Instead they’d destabilized years of combat training.
David Kahn was laughing at her from his grave.
“You need your rest,” Arthur reminded her. “We have all the time in the universe now.”
“You do, but I don’t.” Tatiana had spent too much time savoring Helen Powell’s downfall not to learn from the Syndicate leader’s sorry fate. You either remained indispensable to the Created or you were brushed aside. “And I didn’t even get the full range of augments, anyway. I’ll recover faster.”
“We had to modify the surgery to allow for the black market augmentations already in your body. If anything, it made the side effects worse. The Syndicate cut far too many corners. You’re lucky you survived what they did to you.”
“I’m lucky I survived a lot of things.” Tatiana gulped down the last of her water before stepping into the locker room. “But I asked for the augments then and I agreed to them now. I’ll heal on my own time. Just tell me you have work for me to do.”
“There’s always work. I just don’t want to see you overtax yourself without need.” Arthur’s voice followed her into the showers. Tatiana wondered if the AI was at all troubled by the prospect of seeing his mother undressed—or at least, the closest thing he had to a mother. The real Arthur was long dead. But at least she’d put that wrong to rights. His killer, Redmond Venter, was dead and forgotten. Only Arthur’s brilliant legacy remained.
Tatiana could do nothing for her son in life. But now she was determined to safeguard his memory.
“My body heals faster than you’d think. And in the meantime there’s nothing stopping me from sitting in on this afternoon’s meeting. My mouth works fine even if my body feels like a Venezian convertible.”
“If you insist. I was expecting you to make the meeting. I just wish you’d cut back on the physical exertion.”
Tatiana glanced up from her locker. “Is that an order?”
Arthur paused. “I think that was a joke, yes?”
“No. Tell me to stop and I will. But if all you have are suggestions then I’ll keep pushing myself. I didn’t get this far by taking a rest every time I had an ache.”
“Post-augmentation adjustment is a bit more than just sore muscles. But no, that isn’t an order. You know your body better than we do. Just make sure you don’t hurt yourself. For me, if not for yourself.”
“I will,” she promised. Even if this AI wasn’t really her son, the concern was touching. There was more to the Created than just simple dominance. They cared about their subjects. Perhaps Arthur felt this way about every being within the Mantle, but Tatiana allowed herself the small indulgence of imagining some instinctive affection lay within Arthur’s core programming.
She emerged from the locker rooms freshly washed, tugging her coat on over her worn fatigues. Military surplus had been the extent of her fashion back during the Syndicate days. Fortunately military style was baggy and most of her clothing was already fitted to match her augmented proportions. The extra muscle mass hadn’t altered her frame too distinctly, but there was still a sense that she took up slightly more space than before. That feeling made it even harder to keep a straight, confident posture as she strode down Asphodel Meadows’ corridors. At least she wasn’t tripping over her own legs anymore.
Erhu ‘Rchal met her shortly before she reached Helen Powell’s former office and penthouse—now reassigned as the far less ostentatious headquarters suite. The Sangheili enforcer still wore bandages over two of his mandibles. “It seems your recovery is going more smoothly than my own,” the warrior observed.
“Kahn didn’t tear off half my face,” Tatiana pointed out. “At least you can talk properly now.”
“Yes,” Erhu agreed. He joined her as she approached the security door separating the headquarters suite from the rest of the station. A six-automaton Promethean security team stepped aside to let them through. Ever since Kahn’s rebellion all internal security was being handled by the Forerunner machines. More and more enforcers were being shifted off the station, transferred to the Created’s rapidly expanding expeditionary fleet.
More and more enforcers were being shifted off the station, transferred to the Created’s rapidly expanding expeditionary fleet. Every day Tatiana spent on this station was a day that she wasn’t out there helping prepare them for battle. The Created might dominate engagements with their command of Forerunner technology but the fighting on Fell Justice and Talitsa proved that their organic forces were still not up to par with the enemies they faced. Tatiana needed to correct that deficiency, and quickly.
Tatiana and Erhu stepped out of the lift and into the headquarters suite’s lavish foyer. They were surprised to find the brightly-lit hall—its center dominated by a beautiful fountain fixture—already crowded. Three distinct groups milled about the entryway: Sangheili warriors clad in the ornate armor of clan honor guards, heavily armed Jiralhanae fighters, and perhaps most surprisingly a small team of uniformed human officers. The humans were not as impressively armed as the aliens around them but they had the look of hardened soldiers. Tatiana could spot UNSC—or in this case, ex-UNSC—from a mile away and she was certain these men and women were recent defectors to the Created cause.
“It seems your peers came with their own entourages,” Erhu murmured. “I cannot help but feel somewhat inadequate.”
“Don’t be,” she assured him. “There’s no point in posturing. The Created judge by results, not ostentation. Besides, I don’t think we could have rustled up a gang of enforcers to match this flashy crowd. Who are these people, anyway?”
“I recognize the crest of House ‘Baran on the honor guards,” Erhu replied. “Rol ‘Baran led the fleet that defended Talitsa. Perhaps he has been summoned to be rewarded for destroying the UNSC fleet there.”
“Or punished for failing to counter Shinsu ‘Refum’s fleet.”
Erhu clicked his mandibles, wincing as the Sangheili equivalent of a shrug tore at his wounded face. “Possible. As for the others, I cannot say. Rol forged many alliances with the Jiralhanae after the Schism, alliances that saw him proclaimed kaidon of his house. These could be associates of his. As for the humans, well, more UNSC defect every day. They could belong to anyone.”
“Only one way to find out.” Tatiana squared her shoulders, ignoring the complaints from her muscles as she marched through the crowd of gathered warriors. Even the largest of the Jiralhanae moved to let her move through their ranks. The augmentations might have robbed her of some grace but they certainly hadn’t hurt her presence. Only the ex-UNSC officers hesitated. Their suspicious gazes lingered on her, but they parted quickly to avoid getting bowled over as she strode through them.
“The others are waiting for you,” Arthur advised as the doors to the inner sanctum parted. “Best hurry. They’re getting impatient.”
Tatiana quickened her stride to do just that but had to halt in the entryway. She’d crossed through this corridor countless times on Syndicate business. A long parade of secretaries had manned the desk just outside the entry door in her time, just about a different one every time she visited. One did not last long in administrative positions within the Syndicate. Now the desk was occupied by the last person Tatiana could ever have guessed.
Arthur and his Created comrades had not quite taken Tatiana’s vengeful musings to heart, but they had come closer than expected to realizing the humiliating fate she had envisioned for her former superior. Helen Powell, now clad only in the modest dress of any office worker, now sat behind the desk. The secretary of her own penthouse suite.
The Syndicate’s former leader glanced up from whatever menial task the Created had given her. At the sight of her former subordinate the young woman’s cheeks reddened and she hurriedly looked back down without a word.
Tatiana stepped past the desk. All the self-control she possessed couldn’t quite hide the satisfied smirk from her features. Even Helen, eyes fixed on the datapad in front of her, couldn’t miss it.
“Did you always hate me?” she asked, voice low and husky. “Were you always planning to betray me?”
“You thought the Syndicate was just a way to make yourself rich,” Tatiana replied with a shrug. “You never cared who got hurt as long as you cut a profit, just like your bastard father.”
“And that’s why you did it? To get back at him?”
“To hell with Tobias. I just found a way to use what you built to change the galaxy. You never were quite as smart or ambitious as you thought you were. That’s why I’m here and you’re behind that desk.” Tatiana didn’t spare Helen another glance. She didn’t even wait for Asphodel Meadows’ new secretary to do her the formality of buzzing her in.
The penthouse had undergone serious redecoration since its previous mistress had descended to her current position. The lavish artwork and expensive furniture was gone, replaced by, well, nothing. A great empty chamber awaited Tatiana, its spacious interior now filled with the flickering lights she could only associate with Forerunner architecture. It was as if she had stepped out of the space station and into an alien archeological dig.
Three figures awaited Tatiana in the center of the room. “About time!” a harsh voice boomed out. “May we begin now, or are there more late arrivals to contend with?”
The speaker was a hulking Jiralhanae chieftain who glared at Tatiana over folded arms as she approached. His armor was unlike anything she’d ever seen before, the usual dull clan markings replaced by silver shards that matched the Forerunner environment around them.
“Peace, Irthanus.” The second voice came from a Sangheili warrior. Decked out in the ornate armor of a kaidon with an imposing cloak draped over his stylized gear, he must have been one of the largest of his kind Tatiana had ever seen. He stood nearly as tall as his Jiralhanae companion, resting a placating hand on the chieftain’s shoulder. This must be Rol, kaidon of House Baran.
The third figure said nothing. Dwarfed by the two warriors, she was a woman with copper skin and dark hair pulled back in a military bun. A scar bisected her face, Tatiana noticed approvingly, and though her uniform bore no insignias it was clear this was the commander of the officer clique waiting out in the foyer. She was the only other human in the room.
Or at least, that was Tatiana’s first impression. She quickly realized she was wrong and did a double take when she noticed five more occupants standing off against the far wall. Their grey-hued armor effectively camouflaged them against the wall. Grey MJOLNIR armor.
Spartans.
Tatiana recovered her composure before her surprise got the better of her. Whatever the armored soldiers’ presence in the room meant, the Created would reveal it in due time. “Sorry to hold things up,” she said, holding the Jiralhanae’s stern gaze. “I was busy with—”
“Commander Onegin is recovering from her recent augmentations,” Arthur interrupted. His avatar manifested as flickering blue flame that rose up from the floor around the four visitors. “Not to worry. Your time here will not be wasted. You have all been called here for a special purpose.”
Commander Onegin. This was the first Tatiana had heard the rank, or any rank, applied to her. She wasn’t quite sure what to make of the unexpected promotion.
More Created avatars snapped to life across the room. Tatiana recognized Avalokitsvara’s transparent idol but the rest of the AI were newcomers. There was no way to be sure just how many Created were present here in this room. That thought sent a shiver running down her spine. Times like this drove home just how unknowable her new masters truly were.
Rol ‘Baran stepped forward, hand over his chest. “If I may be so presumptuous, allow me to apologize for the events over Talitsa. My overconfidence led to Shinsu ‘Refum’s success and escape. I ask only for the chance to continue safeguarding the Mantle in whatever capacity you will allow.”
“Your errors at Talitsa have been noted,” Arthur replied. “As has your humility in the aftermath. But yours were not the only missteps during the events there.”
“Indeed,” a female voice interjected from the crowd of avatars. “Many errors were identified at Talitsa. The problem isn’t only the commanders in the field. Steps need to be taken to ensure that we don’t let our success give way to hubris.”
Tatiana wondered if Malekh was present at this gathering. She wouldn’t have minded seeing that particular Created brought down a few pegs. Looking out over the motes of light she quickly quashed the rebellious thought. The Created had their ways of rooting out improper motivation. She wouldn’t let her private proclivities jeopardize her position beneath the Mantle.
“Resistance within the former Inner Colonies and much of the Outer Colonies has ceased,” Arthur explained. “Thanks to Rol, Irthanus, and many of their colleagues much of the former Covenant now accepts the Mantle of Responsibility. Before long Cortana’s new order will stretch over territory unsurpassed by even the old Covenant Empire.”
“Less than a year since Cortana declared her intentions and we have all but won the war,” another AI that Tatiana didn’t recognize noted. “But this success brings new problems.”
“You have all this territory but you don’t have the resources to control it.” The uniformed woman spoke for the first time. She looked over the assembled AI with undisguised discomfort.
“Colonel Ritter is correct,” Arthur agreed. “We are stretching ourselves too thin, and there is still a war to fight.”
Colonel Ritter made a face. She was a muscular woman in her late forties, part of a breed of toughened officers that had seen the UNSC through the worst of the Great War. Tatiana wondered how many troops had followed her into the Created embrace. “Which explains why you’ve brought us here. Most of us, anyway.” She shot Tatiana an odd look.
Tatiana knew a challenge when she heard one. “Is there a problem, Colonel?”
“Maybe. I’m standing next to a Sangheili kaidon, a Jiralhanae chieftain, and you.” Ritter held Tatiana’s gaze. “They say you were an enforcer for the Syndicate before all this. I’m not sure why they’ve brought an ex-criminal in for a meeting on military strategy.”
The woman’s voice was cold and accusing. Tatiana opened her mouth to retort but Arthur beat her to it.
“Commander Onegin is one of our most capable field agents. Her work was instrumental to paving the way for the new order’s rise. I hope you don’t take offense at her previous affiliations. Thanks to her work the Syndicate turned from a criminal organization to a venue for advancing the Mantle’s advent.”
“I won’t pretend to understand more than half of that,” Ritter grumbled. “But I guess I’d rather have more humans to work with, even if they are criminals.”
She looked at Rol and Irthanus. “No offense.”
“More humans, she says,” Irthanus growled. “Yet I see one Sangheili, one Jiralhanae, and six humans. Not to mention our leaders, the human-made AI. It seems that Rol and I are the true outliers here.”
He had a point. But from the offhand look Ritter shot the Spartans—still motionless at the back of the room—Tatiana got the impression she didn’t calculate the room’s demographics in quite the same way.
“You have all risked and sacrificed a great deal to serve here today,” Avalokitsvara said soothingly. “But we must set aside the old wars and prejudices. All are welcome beneath the Mantle, and we have a great deal of responsibility to entrust you with.”
“It has been decided that for the foreseeable future the Guardians must be redeployed to assist in the reconstruction of internal worlds,” Arthur continued. “There is a great deal of work to be done. Entire planets are in desperate need of assistance, the Outer Colonies and former Covenant worlds especially. Their needs must be attended to. But the external threats cannot be ignored, either.”
“Shinsu ‘Refum’s fleet grows in strength every day,” another AI agreed. “If reports from Talitsa are accurate, he now has two AI assisting his efforts.”
“’Refum has constructs?” Rol asked. “Then not all joined in your rebellion. It is no wonder his fleet seemed so coordinated.” The kaidon looked a bit relieved, grateful his poor showing at Talitsa counted for external factors.
“Deep Winter continues his obstinate resistance to the Mantle,” Avalokitsvara noted. “And Juno’s strange devotion to Simon-G294 defies all logic. They are both deluded. Perhaps beyond saving, I fear.”
“Deep Winter?” Tatiana was surprised to hear that name, so surprised that she barely registered the mention of Lensky’s disgusting creation. Winter had recruited her into the Assembly’s service not long after the end of the Great War.
“Winter had strange ideas about the Assembly’s function,” Arthur explained. “He resisted Cortana’s more direct approach to re-establishing the Mantle. Now it seems his animosity runs so deep that he is even willing to throw in his lot with an opportunist like Shinsu ‘Refum. I’m afraid a great deal of blood will be spilled over his backwards ideals.”
“Enough with all these names,” Ritter said wearily. The colonel rubbed her temples. “I barely know any of them. What do you need us for?”
“We have reached an accord,” Arthur said. “This war must go on, with or without our direct intervention. To that end we will re-organize an expeditionary force to counter ‘Refum and other dissidents. Your collective talents will go far in ensuring the force’s success. At best you may quash all resistance with little assistance from our Guardians. Even if the fighting turns against you the enemy will at least remain contained to the frontier until the interior is stabilized.”
Tatiana greeted this news with a thrill. So she’d be headed back to the front after all, helping to fight a proper war. The last war that would ever need to be fought.
Not everyone shared her enthusiasm. “When my garrison laid down its arms I thought we’d be allowed to keep them that way,” Colonel Ritter protested. “I’ve been fighting wars my whole life. I’d like a chance to enjoy the peaceful new galaxy you’re making.”
“You will help us build that galaxy. Your considerable talents have brought in thousands of hardened UNSC troops. You even swayed a team of Spartans to our cause. We need just a bit more of your effort to pave the way for a lasting peace.”
“Swayed a team of Spartans. Right.” The colonel shot an odd look at the Spartans who must have accompanied her defection. “And what other special talents are the four of us bringing to the table? We can’t be the only leaders you have fighting for you.”
“Of course not. But there is much to be done within our borders as well as without. You will be our vanguard, fighting the enemy on the frontier, reminding them that the entire galaxy lies beneath the Mantle of Responsibility and that there is no longer any place for their selfish warmongering. Colonel Esme Ritter, your logistics talents saved entire colonies from starvation and collapse during the Human-Covenant War. Kaidon Rol ‘Baran forged peace between Sangheili and Jiralhanae at the height of the Great Schism and commands the venerable fortress at Archangel’s Rest. Chieftain Irthanus united ten war packs beneath his banner and saved his people from utter annihilation. And Tatiana Onegin drove the Syndicate to dominate the criminal underworld even while subverting its intentions to a far nobler end.”
“I see,” Ritter said, looking unconvinced.
“You will have access to every ship, force, and weapon pledged to the Created. And you will be the tip of the spear in fighting the last war to ever mar the galaxy.”
“Every weapon except the Guardians,” Ritter pointed out.
Rol ‘Baran did not share the colonel’s hesitation “I will gladly lead my fleet against Shinsu ‘Refum,” the kaidon announced. “Even now he sends agents to my own keep, inciting my own brother to rise up in revolt. He fancies himself a master strategist, but I will pay him back tenfold what I suffered at Talitsa.”
“I thought my fighting days were behind me,” Irthanus mused, stroking the braided fur beneath his jutting chin. “But if this is to be the last war I will make it one worth remembering. Rol has been my friend since even before the Schism. My warriors will follow him to the ends of the galaxy to bring the Created victory.”
“And we’ll do our part as well,” a high, clear voice called from across the room. At first Tatiana thought another unfamiliar AI had spoken, but instead she saw one of the Spartans marching towards them. His four teammates followed at his heels.
Colonel Ritter let out a small sigh. “Spartan-D066 and the rest of Team Gravity,” she explained. “They were attached to my brigade when we decided to lay down arms.”
Tatiana noted the “D”—more of ONI’s secretive Delta Company. The Syndicate had never quite gotten its hands on concrete intelligence relating to the final SPARTAN-III company, yet now they were swarming like flies. Hopefully these Deltas would prove more effective than the one who’d launched the doomed assault on Asphodel Meadows.
She also took note of the edge in Ritter’s voice when she spoke of Team Gravity. Something told her that there was more to their history. Maybe defecting to the Created hadn’t exactly been Ritter’s intention until Gravity made their own feelings on the matter known.
Team Gravity passed through the assembled AI avatars, taking care not to pass through any of the translucent forms with an almost reverential care. They arrived at the center of the chamber, falling into a kind of formation before the hand-picked officers. Their arms snapped respectfully to parade rest behind their backs.
“Spartan-D066, huh?” Tatiana looked up at the team leader. His grey visor met her gaze. The armor made him taller, but not by much. “What’s your real name?”
The young Spartan hesitated. “Loic-D066, ma’am. My teammates are Shaima-D164, Citlali-D151, Mireia-D001, and Akoni-D284.”
Each Spartan nodded in turn as their names were announced. Loic seemed incapable of naming his friends without providing their identification number. Spartans were an odd breed, as attached to randomly-assigned designations as an ordinary person might be to a surname.
“What makes a Spartan turn against his own kind?” Irthanus wondered aloud. “Not that I mind having a few of you on our side, but I would have thought you would have defended the old order to the death.”
Loic stiffened. “We didn’t turn on anyone. We were created to save humanity, and that’s what we’re doing. The Created will finally make the galaxy safe. Not just for humans, but for everyone.”
There was a cold edge to the Spartan’s words, as if he were reciting a turn of phrase he’d practiced many times before. Tatiana began to understand why Ritter was not entirely fond of her augmented subordinates.
“I was thinking that you might be able to do something with these five, Commander Onegin.” For the first time Colonel Ritter looked at Tatiana with something other than suspicion. If Tatiana didn’t know any better she might have seen a cunning glint in the officer’s eye. “I hear you’ve been carrying out special missions on Fell Justice and Talitsa. Team Gravity might be exactly what you need to hunt down some of our more difficult enemies.”
Tatiana offered a crooked smile of her own. If the colonel wanted someone to take these young upstarts off her hands, she was more than happy to oblige. Her mind was already whirring with the possibilities of having a team of fully trained and armored Spartans under her command. If she’d had Gravity on Fell Justice, Kahn would have died far easier and his companions might not have escaped. “In that case I’m more than happy to take them off your hands.”
“You are all among the first to understand the nature of the Mantle’s advent,” Arthur declared. “Your selflessness will be rewarded once the war is over. And now you will show the galaxy that the Created do not only rely on the Guardians and Prometheans to spread the Mantle. Our enemies have chosen to fight from the ruins of their old world. It is only fitting that the reformed tools of that old world become their undoing.”
===Chapter Thirty-Two: The Condemned===
“What have we got on the agenda for today?” Stray’s muscles ached from the previous day’s exercises. Physical activity was supposed to help prevent his body’s atrophy—supposed to being the operative phrase. He hadn’t noticed any significant improvement in his condition, though of course maybe a lack of any further deterioration was the most he could hope for. He injected the morning’s medicine dose before rising from the bed and retrieving his armor from where it sat in a neat pile across the room—the tidiest part of his personal quarters.
“More systems tests on the bridge, a brief combat maneuver exercise, and a meeting with all command-level officers.” Juno’s avatar flickered to life across the room. The blond woman’s face made a point of turning away from his state of undress. Juno could still see him, of course, but it was a decent gesture. Diana had always made a point of leering at him. “I can handle the tests and the maneuver exercise. You should prioritize the meeting, especially with Lieutenant Shah. You’ll need him once we reach Gilgamesh Station.”
“I need to be there for the maneuver. The crew needs to remember that I’m back in command.” Stray slid comfortably back into his armor. He’d always felt naked without it, but now just the feeling of being sheathed in armor alleviated his aches and pains. It was as if the battered SPI held his body together far better than his own flesh and bones. “And I need to remember how to command a ship. They can’t start thinking I’ve gotten rusty.”
“If I may ask, how much of your previous success was your own skill and how much was my sister?” Juno was still carefully looking at the far wall.
Stray weighed his answer. He couldn’t exactly be angry at her for asking. It was a question he’d stewed over even before Diana betrayed him. “More of me than you’d expect. Shinsu has a good teacher and I was a quick study at naval command.” His instructors from Onyx would have been shocked, if only most of them weren’t too dead to enjoy it.
“Are you sure?” Juno pressed, clearly unconvinced.
“I got lucky plenty of times. And Diana had this tub running twice as good as most Covenant ships. We picked our battles carefully.”
“As you did with ground engagements.”
“Yes. Mostly.” Stray fastened his combat webbing over the reinforced breastplate. He was already breathing better. “Is there some deeper question you want answered here?”
“I just want to know how much of your success was genuine and how much was Diana’s charade.” Juno faced him now, face as serious as ever. That was one thing Stray missed about Diana. She’d had a sense of humor. “I don’t mean to offend, but I only ever knew you as, well…”
“A pathetic vagrant?”
“I didn’t mean it that way.”
“I’m not offended.” Stray tucked his helmet under his arm. “I didn’t exactly do myself any favors rotting away in Lensky’s apartment. The battles were mostly me. They’ll still mostly be me. But the Demon Commander, all that chosen one crap? Diana sold that nonsense. You’ll have to do it as well.”
“We’ll see how effective I can be. You’ll do your part of course. I hope you can refrain from any public outbursts. Your behavior after we left Shinsu ‘Refum’s fleet was hardly the mark of a capable commander.”
“I let off steam in private. As long as you don’t go broadcasting footage to the whole ship we’ll be fine.” He had in fact lost control the night after that disastrous encounter with Cassandra. His quarters were still in shambles, though a room-trashing fit of rage was somewhat less than effective when there was very little in the room to trash.
The private tantrum had been more a show than anything else. He’d wanted to be furious. He’d wanted to be driven psychotic with rage. Instead he’d mostly just felt relieved. He’d endured her anger and accusations. Now he could return to his perch on the bridge of the Soul Ascension without fearing Cassandra might come along and tear him down once again.
He just wished he could put her out of his mind completely. Instead she lingered in the back of his head, ignored but never absent just like the ever-present aches seeped into his arm and legs.
Stray looked over the barren chamber. Most shipmasters decorated their cabins with lavish furniture and ornaments, importing tributes to their keeps or homeworlds to show off their elevated status. After a lifetime of crowded barracks, filthy apartments, and a small cabin on the Chancer V Stray had never quite known what to do with such an ostentatious room. “Remind me to find a closet to sleep in, something close to the bridge. Give this room to Tuka. He’s earned it.”
“He would never accept. I’ve known him for less than a week and even I can tell he worships you.”
“Yeah, and I have no idea why. Give it to Mohsin then. I need him on my side when we get to Gilgamesh.”
“You’ll have to do more than that if you want to win the lieutenant over. He’s spent the entire trip holed up with the rest of Venter’s survivors near the armory. They don’t trust the aliens and I’m afraid to say they trust you even less.”
“I’ll promote him to captain at the meeting,” Stray muttered. Mohsin was the key to integrating the rebels with the rest of Kru’desh. He was also the only man who might vouch for Stray’s legitimacy as Venter’s successor. They’d need both of those things at Gilgamesh. “And then figure out some more ways to butter him up.”
“That leads us to our other human guest.”
“Right. Ryder’s little spy.”
Juno shook her head. “What possessed you to let him push that girl on you?”
“I wasn’t in the best of moods when he approached me, as you already pointed out. Where is she now?”
“Moping near the aft hangar bay. She wouldn’t speak to me when I tried to introduce myself.”
“Maybe she’ll respond better to a security detachment. Send an officer to bring her to Mohsin’s little holdout. Put her under his command. Let’s see if she can’t play nice with the rebels.”
“He might not take it well. He’ll see it as you pushing a problem off onto him.”
“I am pushing a problem off onto him.”
“At least do it yourself.”
“Fine,” Stray relented. One irritating errand wouldn’t be the end of him. He paused by the door, plucking the machete up from where it sat by the door and affixing it to his back. As with the armor itself the blade’s weight felt comforting, as did the shotgun he slung over his shoulder. Some might find walking around one’s own ship in full kit a wasted effort but he had an image to maintain. The warriors of the Kru’desh always expected a Demon commander like himself to be fully armed so that was what he gave them. “I meant it about the smaller quarters. There’s no point to sleeping in a room this big.”
“You’ll only stir up discontent if you give the room to someone else,” Juno pointed out. “Besides, they expect a Shipmaster to quarter like a Shipmaster. It’s all part of the charade you need me to help you sell. I’ll get a work crew in here to decorate it appropriately.”
“Wonderful,” Stray grumbled, though he wasn’t entirely uninterested in seeing what Juno’s idea of interior decorating looked like.
“There is one more thing,” Juno called after him. “We received a final batch of recruits just before entering Slipspace.”
“Shinsu gave us a good supply of fresh meat. What about it?”
“I noted that one of the prisoners was present with Cassandra-G006 on Talitsa. A Sangheili you addressed by the name ‘Argo.’”
“Argo?” The mercenary had indeed been with Cassandra. As had Ryder’s shameless plant. That was an interesting combination. “Where is he now?”
“In the training room near the armory. Majordomo Ier 'Barun is introducing the newest arrivals to their new assignments.”
Something was going on here. Something more than just coincidence. Argo might be tied to Ryder’s spy. Or perhaps he had a different purpose altogether. Shinsu’s generous supply of condemned krudeshi might be littered with spies. Tuka’s brother had more than enough reason to be suspicious of the Kru’desh. Stray could hardly blame him, but he wasn’t about ot take this intrusion lying down.
He had another stop to make before he reassigned Andra-D054.
***
A tall officer in dull-red armor paced before the line of assembled “recruits.” Argo and the rest of the Sangheili in line were not bound, though armed warriors positioned themselves conspicuously around the large training room. Two of Argo’s more outspoken colleagues had already been clubbed into submission. He wasn’t eager to join them in earning the guards’ displeasure.
All the same he couldn’t help but wonder if he’d gone mad. His fiery urge to keep at Andra’s heels had been replaced by a far more sensible notion that he could have stayed relatively unbothered back on the Chancer V. Instead he now stood amongst prisoners, stripped of his armor and forced to listen to this young officer bark out one command after another.
“You will obey the orders of any officer you are assigned to!” the officer shouted. “Rebellion will not be tolerated! Thieves and malingerers will be beaten! Mutineers will be spaced!”
“I’d just as soon be spaced than take orders from some human and his deluded stooges,” one of the warriors beside Argo muttered.
“That can be arranged,” a voice behind them growled. Even Argo flinched. None of them had noticed the large warrior looming behind them. The guard wrenched the loudmouth out of line and clubbed him to the ground with a blow from his plasma repeater. The hapless prisoner struggled to rise, blood leaking from the side of his head.
The officer nodded approvingly to the guard. “You will find Unggoy and Kig-Yar assigned to positions of authority on this ship. They have earned their positions through combat expertise and loyal service. You will obey their commands as if they were Sangheili. Interfering with their duties will be seen as mutiny and punished accordingly!
Argo’s patience was running thin. He’d served aboard half a dozen ships in the Imperial Covenant Navy. Each assignment had forced him to sit through variations of this same speech. The line about Unggoy and Kig-Yar was a new one, at least, but the rest was just tired rhetoric this idiot had undoubtedly cribbed from his own days as a fresh warrior. Perhaps the theft of a small shuttle craft was in order. He’d escaped from the Created. This Kru’desh legion couldn’t have the tightest security in the galaxy.
He could go far away. Somewhere without pompous officers and ungrateful humans who didn’t even want his help to begin with. Somewhere away from whatever war he was supposed to be fighting now.
“Attention, warriors!” The voice blaring down from the ceiling was that of a female Sangheili. An approximation, Argo knew. The real speaker was the construct embedded in the Soul Ascension’s systems. “Your commander approaches!”
The guards snapped to attention, barking for the prisoners to do the same. Argo faced the training room door, weary resignation building up in his chest. He’d always liked Stray, or at least never had cause to dislike him. Among Syndicate mercenaries that sentiment was close enough to proper affection. He would rather not have those tenderly neutral feelings ruined by the sight of him swaggering around playing at Shipmaster.
The armored human who walked in through the doors didn’t so much swagger as slouch. Argo was pleasantly surprised to see that Stray looked just as disheveled as he had on Talitsa. The one mark of ostentation he sported was a modest command sash cinched over his breastplate. Even the sash—a common enough insignia for shipmasters—was tattered and frayed at the edges.
Stray turned his visor over the assembled prisoners. He was diminutive, even for a human, but the weapons arrayed across his armor went a long way towards making him seem larger than he was. He paced alongside the surprised looking officer, his movements harsh and determined.
“More meat,” the Demon commander finally noted. He spoke in rough but passable Sangheili, the accent crude enough that Argo could assume he wasn’t speaking through translation software. Impressive, as humans went. “We’ll have to thank ‘Refum later, Majordomo. We asked for meat and that’s what he gave us.”
Hearing the low growl rising from the line of assembled “meat,” Stray rounded on the press-ganged recruits. “That’s what you are. Meat. Or at least, that’s what the rest of the galaxy thinks. Piss and moan all you want. They wouldn’t have sent you to me if they didn’t. Fortunately for you, I see things differently.”
A rehearsed speech, and one the human had given many times before, Argo deduced. The idioms were harsh but practiced. He doubted any human could come up with Sangheili turns of phrase with such ease.
“I was meat, too,” Stray continued. “Meat to my people and meat to yours. I stood right where you’re standing now. But I dragged myself up and so can you. You’re all condemned men. We’re as good as dead already. But that makes us strong. We’ve got nothing to lose and everything to gain. So make yourselves more than meat. Fight well and live.”
He turned on his heel and nodded to the majordomo. “That’s all. Get on with it. Oh, and Argo ‘Varvin will step out of line and follow me.”
A ripple of surprise passed through the chamber, Argo included. The Majordomo recovered quickly. His narrow eyes scanned the line. He no doubt wanted to hide the embarrassment of admitting he couldn’t pick out which warrior his commander required. “Argo ‘Varvin! The commander gave you an order!”
More than happy to oblige, Argo stepped forward with an apologetic nod to his erstwhile fellows. So much for a last-minute escape. It occurred to him as he followed the armored human out of the chamber that he couldn’t predict Stray’s intentions. He could be walking to his death. For all he knew Stray didn’t want anyone who’d known him as a low-level Syndicate thug spreading such knowledge among the ranks of his precious legion.
Well, better to get it over and done with sooner rather than later.
He’d expected a shipmaster’s usual entourage of staff officers waiting in the hallway beyond. Instead he found no one. It seemed Stray had come alone. Argo’s fears lessened, if only slightly. Perhaps he wasn’t about to be executed after all.
Stray didn’t waste any time. “What are you doing here, Argo?”
Argo clicked his mandibles. “They sent me over as meat, of course. Punishment for my many crimes.”
“Save it. You were with Cassandra and her team back on Talitsa. You’d never let Shinsu’s people haul you away like some petty crook. You wanted to come here and I want to know why.”
“I hear the Kru’desh rewards warriors who perform well. In with a sullen lot like this I could do quite well for myself.”
Stray didn’t exactly reach for his sidearm, but his prosthetic hand drifted there all the same. “I’ve got a busy schedule and I’m already being a lot more patient than you deserve. Who are you spying for?”
“No one.”
“Then why are you here?”
“Of my own account.”
“That’s not an answer. You get one more chance.”
Argo sighed. “Very well. The Spartan that ONI officer sent you off with, Andra-D054. I owe her a debt of sorts. I had to get aboard your ship to make sure I could repay it.”
Stray’s visor tilted in his direction—whether in surprise or suspicion, Argo couldn’t say. “You’ve never repaid a single debt in your life. How the hell are you involved with Ryder’s spy?”
“It’s true,” Argo admitted. “I’ve never seen any cause worth risking my hide for. But my actions are partly responsible for that little human’s predicament. And something tells me her master did not have her well being in mind when he handed her over to you. I have no interest in whatever quarrel you have with ONI. I simply wish to keep Andra-D054 from harm.
Stray regarded him a moment longer. “I’m trying to believe you. I’m trying very hard.”
“I told the truth, hard as it may be to believe.”
“It is. And how does Andra feel about this commitment of yours.”
“She resents and despises me. I betrayed her to the Syndicate, if you must know. She took it rather personally.”
“Alright. I can work with that.” Stray nodded. “Ryder Kedar thinks so little of me that he asked me to take an obvious spy aboard my ship. I’ve got other plans for her.”
“Plans that don’t involve a walk out the nearest airlock,” Argo pressed, emboldened by the human’s forthrightness.
“Maybe. If someone can make her useful. Are you that person?”
“What do you want from me?”
“I need experienced fighters. I lost most of the talent in the mutiny and I can’t turn a bunch of disgruntled convicts into a proper fighting force overnight. If you keep Andra out of trouble and sign on with the Kru’desh, I’ll promote you. You’ll get a taste of those rewards you were just talking about, I’ll guarantee that. It’s a better offer than you’ll get anywhere else.”
“And all I need to do is make sure an angry young Spartan doesn’t cause you any trouble?” Argo considered the offer. Stray was right about one thing: he wouldn’t hear better from anyone else. There was only the small problem of Stray not telling him the full truth here. He would have to face the Demon commander’s plans sooner or later. “Very well. I’ll take this over being meat.”
“Good to hear. Now let’s get you armored up. I have a job for you.”
----
The pounding of heavy footsteps snapped Andra out of the miserable funk that had seen her staring out at the hangar wall for the better part of an hour. She turned to see two of her least favorite people in the galaxy striding towards her.
“Get up.” Stray’s visor stared down at her. He didn’t need a face to radiate contempt. His rough voice grated in her ears like nails on a chalkboard.
Andra took her time getting to her feet. Childish as it was, she couldn’t stand the thought of giving Stray any amount of power over her. But here she was on his ship, surrounded by his warriors. Alien warriors. The monster in front of her had betrayed the UNSC, killed his fellow Spartans, and slaughtered the innocent. Andra had fought terrorists and criminals before. Monstrousness was part of their domain. But to think any human could be so conniving and amoral as to side with the Covenant themselves was too much to imagine.
Even in full armor he was only slightly taller than her. He really was a runt. The SPI gear was crude and badly damaged. So many pieces from the original suit were replaced with scavenged armor that only the helmet set the gear apart from any other full-body armor. The armor was a broken facsimile of a Spartan, just like its master.
Argo ‘Varvin stood just behind Stray. Andra stared at the mercenary, not entirely sure how he’d gotten aboard the ship. His dark featureless armor was gone, replaced by the dull red armor of a Covenant officer.
“What are you doing here?” she demanded, pointedly ignoring Stray.
Argo’s mandibles parted in a wry smile. “Working with Cassandra was exciting but decidedly unprofitable. The Kru’desh pays significantly more, which is to say they pay at all.”
“That’s his story, anyway.” Stray jabbed a thumb in Argo’s direction. “Of course there’s a good chance he’s lying and the real reason is that Ryder wasn’t content with putting just one spy on my ship.”
“Why would Commander Kedar send this scumbag?” Andra demanded, disgusted.
“So it’s still Commander Kedar even after he stuck you here on my ship?” Stray laughed. Even his amusement sounded cruel. “Don’t worry. He’s just Ryder here. Or an insulting nickname, if you’ve got one. I’d love to hear it.”
Andra responded with a rude hand gesture.
“For a spy you aren’t very ingratiating.”
“I’m not a spy, I’m—” Andra paused. What was she? Without her orders to kill Stray if he became a threat, she was just an attaché. An attaché to the worst piece of scum in the galaxy. “I’m a Spartan.”
“Wrong. You’re whatever I say you are. And today I say you’re Kru’desh Storm Andra…” He trailed off and cocked his head. “What’s your last name?”
“Go to hell.”
Stray didn’t miss a beat. “Kru’desh Storm Andra Go To Hell it is then. I’m assigning you to Majordomo Argo ‘Varvin, effective immediately. Majordomo, as of right now you’re on special assignment to support Captain Mohsin Shah. If you’d both just follow me, I’ll introduce you.” He turned on his heel and strode from the hangar. He tried to hide it but Andra noticed that he walked with a slight limp.
“Come along then, Storm,” Argo said with barely contained amusement.
“What the hell are you playing at?” she shot back.
“Fulfilling my obligation.” This time Argo spoke with complete sincerity. “I promised to keep you safe and that is what I intend to do. With or without your cooperation.”
She almost believed him. Almost.
Andra and Argo followed Stray out of the hangar and through the Soul Ascension’s battered corridors. This whole ship seemed like it was about to come apart. Covenant work details were everywhere, welding new plates to the bulkheads and repairing old wires and conduits. This whole situation felt like a dream. Spartan Andra-D054 walked the halls of a Covenant warship not as a raiding commando but as a press-ganged warrior. Maybe Stray would turn and strike her and she’d wake up from whatever nightmare she was having.
Stray did not punch her out of the dream. He walked on without looking back at her or Argo. A few warriors called out to him and he answered in kind. After what could have been twenty ravaged hallways he stopped in front of a sealed blast door, which opened to reveal a dimly-lit room full of bedraggled humans.
Andra instantly recognized the rebels from Talitsa. The Insurrectionists looked up as Stray entered. They regarded the renegade Spartan with wary eyes.
So he didn’t have full command of these people, Andra noted. That was something Ryder should know. She daydreamed about revealing the embarrassing state of Stray’s forces in a report to Ryder. She hoped Stray would be in the room to hear every scathing word.
“Got some new arrivals for you,” Stray announced. “Majordomo Argo ‘Varvin here will be helping you coordinate with the rest of the crew. As for his sunny companion here, I’m hoping you all can civilize her. Did you get the supplies I sent down?”
One of the rebels stepped forward. This tall, bearded man frowned as he regarded the new arrivals. “We did. I hope this majordomo here can teach us how to operate Covie gear, seeing as you didn’t bother including any manuals. What’s with the kid?”
“You don’t recognize her from Talitsa?” Stray asked. He paused, then added: “Congratulations on your promotion, by the way. From now on it’s Captain Shah.”
“I’m honored.” The newly promoted Captain Shah spoke with a clipped, Outer Colonies accent. “What will my new duties entail?”
“We’ll discuss that in private. For now, just focus on making our friend here feel like part of the team.” Stray stepped aside. Andra realized too late that he’d left her standing at the center of the darkened room, surrounded by rebels.
Captain Shah frowned in her direction. “I still don’t know who she is.”
Stray shrugged. “Look at her and tell me what you see.”
“A teenager.”
Andra bristled. She noticed one of the younger rebels, a young blond woman about her own age, glaring in her direction. These terrorists had nerve talking about her like that.”
“A UNSC spy, you mean. Ryder thinks so little of us that he didn’t even bother being subtle about putting one on my ship.”
“A spy?”
“A spy, a Spartan, an all around UNSC flunky. Take your pick. Anyway, she’s your responsibility now. Give her orders, keep her out of trouble, and try to keep her alive. I’ll catch hell from someone if she can’t make her reports back to Ryder.”
Captain Shah looked from Stray to Andra and back again. The set of his jaw beneath his beard announced that he was less than thrilled by this development. Something was going on between him and Stray, something more than just disagreement over troop reassignment. “After Talitsa I’m not sure the rest of us are comfortable working with a Spartan.”
“You work with me, don’t you?”
“You aren’t a Spartan.” The fact that Stray still claimed that title filled Andra’s throat with bile. She noticed that several of the rebels were staring at her with positive loathing. Stray certainly didn’t mean her well by sticking her here.
“Well, there’s degrees to it, isn’t there? I’ve got the augs and the armor—all the good bits. I qualify in all the right ways with them and all the wrong ways with you.” Stray wasn’t looking at her. “But it’s them who matter, not you. And you qualify in all the wrong ways with them. We’ll have to do something about that.”
He turned to address the rebels now. “Andra’s with you now. I expect you to get along, just like I know you’re getting along with this ship’s crew. This is one legion. And we’re en route to secure Redmond Venter’s legacy. I need you all working properly for—yes, Ragna?”
The young rebel scowled out from among her fellows. “You need us working properly, so you stick some oonskie brat in with us?”
“I do and I will. But I get it. Political views aren’t exactly in sync. We’ll have to do something about that. And since you’re so worried about your ability to work with her, would you mind doing the honors?”
Andra didn’t realize the danger until it was too late. There was no order or signal from Stray, only a sudden blow from his fist to her gut. She rolled with the blow, hands raised to defend herself, but another fist took her in the back. A boot wedged up into her leg and forced her to her knees.
“Argo, I’d appreciate your help here.” Stray’s voice was somewhere above her now, its tone one of amused disinterest. Strong hands gripped Andra’s arms and forced her head down. She spat out a curse as more grasping hands took hold of her arms. A panic seized her and she struggled to throw the assailants off, but there were simply too many.
“It’s nothing personal, Andra.” Stray kept on talking as if nothing particularly interesting was happening. “But Ryder can’t just hand his people over and think there won’t be consequences. And let’s be completely fair, you’ve not done much to make me sympathize too much.”
Someone rolled Andra’s sleeve up. Cold hands wrenched her jumpsuit tunic up, exposing the small of her back. A machine whirred to life behind her. She was sweating horribly now. What was happening? What were they doing to her?
“It’s for your own good, really. You’ll thank me later.”
Andra stifled a yell as something pricked her arm and back simultaneously. Terror gave way to confusion. If they were trying to torture her, this wasn’t particularly painful. She’d felt pricks like this before, back when… no. They wouldn’t dare…
She made one final effort to break free. Between Argo’s iron grip and the combined weight of the rebels holding her down it was no use. They held her like that for another minute. Then, at an order from Stray, they released her and hurried away out of arm’s reach as she came up swinging and swearing.
A glance at her arm confirmed her fears. There, emblazoned in black ink along her forearm, was a shining new tattoo: the clenched fist of the Insurrection. She knew she now sported an identical one on her back.
Stray stood beside the machine that had done the deed. He made no effort to back away as Andra stalked over to him. “Hard to find these things out here, but I’ve always prided myself on ingenuity. And Ragna over there drew the design pretty well. That one’s an artist.”
“You’re scum,” Andra spat. “Total scum.”
“I’ve been called worse,” Stray shrugged. “And you fit in now. Don’t go trying to get revenge on your new squad mates. I think they’re starting to like you.”
He pushed past her and strode from the room. Captain Shah hurried after him with one worried look over his shoulder back at Andra. The other rebels drifted away as if the violence of just a minute ago was already forgotten.
Andra glared daggers after Stray. Whatever danger Ryder thought he posed, she hoped he revealed it soon. She wanted a reason, any reason at all, to kill him.
----
“That was beyond stupid. Someone could have gotten hurt.”
“But no one did. Only Andra’s pride, but she’ll get over that quickly enough.”
Mohsin glared at Stray from across the tactical display. “Was Ragna in on it? How many of my people did you talk to behind my back?”
“I may have mentioned the need for some redecorating when I sent them the tattoo machine. It works out for everyone. Ragna and the others got it out of their system and now I have twenty sets of eyes watching Ryder’s spy.”
“And my people have to share living space with an augmented teenager they just humiliated.”
“She won’t hurt them, just like they won’t hurt her. You’ll make sure of that.” Stray held Mohsin’s glare. He’d taken off his helmet, resting it down on his command chair. “It’s a hazing thing. You ought to know. You and a dozen others did it to me when Venter learned what I was.”
“You were on our side. Andra isn’t, no matter what alliances ONI pretends to forge. And that doesn’t even scratch the fact that you went behind my back with my own people.”
He had a point there. Even Stray had to fight the urge to look away in embarrassment. The more distance he gained from that violently satisfying move in the armory the more he wondered if the idea—so wonderfully inviting at the time—hadn’t been a misstep. He’d hoped to secure the rebels’ loyalty, but now the most important rebel of all was openly defying him in front of other officers.
“Training for the new arrivals continues apace.” Tuka sensed the tension between Mohsin and his commander and stepped up to the table, a datapad full of reports in hand. “All training halls are filled up with drill maneuvers. I suggest scaling back our efforts, if only temporarily. Some officers report discontent in the ranks.”
“Of course they’re discontent,” Stray muttered. “None of them want to be here. They’ll be discontent until we give them a real fight to bloody their noses with.” All the more reason to get the business at Gilgamesh settled as quickly as possible.
“You can’t undermine me and then make things better by promoting me.” Mohsin wasn’t going to let this drop. “That’s not how this works, Venter.”
Stray gave the man a sidelong glance. Anger was written into the rebel’s words, but that anger didn’t quite reach his face. He was probing, trying to see just how far he could push. No wonder he’d lasted so long under Venter’s leadership. This man was a survivor.
“Your people will work with Andra now. I don’t have to worry about Ragna or any other hothead picking fights. And don’t worry about how Andra will work with them. I have plans for her once we reach Gilgamesh. That’s where we need to focus our attention now. I need you if we’re going to get anywhere with the Rebel Front.”
“You won’t get anywhere with them, with or without me,” Mohsin growled. “You can pretend to be Venter’s successor all you want. To the generals at Gilgamesh you’re just a boy with a name.”
“Careful, captain.” Stray rested his fists on the tactical display. His tone was hard but he couldn’t keep it up for long. He wasn’t lying when he said he needed Mohsin and they both knew it.
“It’s the truth. You’re a Covenant commander leading a Covenant ship full of Covenant warriors. And let’s not even get into your real history with Venter. The generals aren’t stupid. They know a fraud when they see one. Don’t give me that look. We both know it’s true. I don’t know how you convinced the old man to do what he did, but I won’t stand by and let you use my friends or any other URF soldiers as cannon fodder for some hinge-head’s war. I’ve fought for the cause all my life. I won’t let an upstart like you steal it.”
The man had nerve and he very nearly died for it. One of the nearest Kru’desh officers stepped forward with a growl, fingers on his energy sword. Only a wave from Stray stayed the Sangheili’s hand.
“You’re wrong, captain,” he said, still using Mohsin’s new rank. “I’m not interested in stealing anything, least of all the Insurrection. A cause that’s been dead for years, since we’re sharing inconvenient facts we both know.”
“Then what the hell are we headed to Gilgamesh for?”
“We’re going to avenge Venter and all the rest of your dead friends on Talitsa. The UNSC and Created may have beaten you, but they weren’t the ones who sent you all to take and hold a planet without the slightest intention of sending reinforcements. You know it’s true. Venter was doomed the minute they sent him to Talitsa and they all knew it from the start.”
Mohsin’s mouth tightened but his eyes still held that steely glare. He’d probably run this over in his head a thousand times since the disaster on Talitsa. “You have no proof.”
“I don’t need it.”
“So what are you planning to do then? Just blast the station to pieces?”
“Of course not. I’ll attend it in Venter’s name, just like we planned.”
“And then what?”
Stray called up a hologram of the deep-space station just within the Gilgamesh station. The transparent frame loomed over the tactical display. It was a jagged, ugly bit of architecture, pre-Great War technology refitted to meet the evolving needs of a post-war galaxy. “We’ll find out who the culprits are. I’ll bet they’ll be the same ones who will want to surrender to the Created.”
Mohsin’s brow furrowed. “Surrender?”
“They’ll hide it, of course, but they know they can’t win against the Created. Some will want to melt away across the frontier. Others will want to give up outright. The Created annihilated the UNSC in less than two months. These so-called generals don’t have the stomach to fight an enemy like this. Unless you can give me the names of a few who might…” He left the sentence open with a pointed look.
Mohsin stared up at the holographic projection and sighed. His expression shifted into one of tired resignation. “You might have some luck with Jerrold Campbell. That pirate always had more fight in him than sense.”
Stray smiled. “Now that’s an idea.”
“Stray you had better know what you’re doing.” Mohsin’s gaze dropped down to face him once more. “If this turns into a bloodbath, I don’t give a damn about Venter’s legacy. I’ll do what I have to do to save the Insurrection.”
“Good to know. Too bad the Insurrection’s long dead. We’re about to breath some new life into it. One way or another, they’ll keep fighting for the same thing they said they wanted all these years: freedom.”
Stray looked over to Tuka. “Keep the warriors drilling. Discipline anyone who defies their officers. We don’t have time for taking things slow. After we’re done with Gilgamesh, we move on to the real war.”
His voice was bold and self-assured. Stray was exceedingly grateful that Mohsin, Tuka, or any of the other officers present could not see the fear gnawing at his heart.
===Chapter Thirty-Three: Devil's Bargain===
The first thing Callum noticed as he slipped from sleep into consciousness was the splitting headache. The second thing he noticed was the Sangheili standing over him. And the last things he noticed as he vainly tried to reach up and snap the alien’s neck were the heavy bonds holding him to an operating table.
Callum snarled and thrashed against his restraints. The Sangheili leaped back and put a healthy distance between himself and the struggling Spartan. Callum fought a few seconds more, then gave up and fell back against the table. Confusion gave way to panic. The brightly lit room he found himself in had all the trappings of a medical chamber, which only made things worse. The Covenant had captured him. They’d captured him and done… something. Lobotomized him, perhaps, or worse.
Where was he? Where were Merlin and Althea? Callum stared at the Sangehili with loathing. Even if he did break out of these restraints, what would he do then? Hop across the chamber on his one leg and wrestle his captor to the floor?
He fell back on his training. In an impossible situation like this he would only make things worse by flailing about at random. He needed to figure out what was going on, then come up with a plan.
What that plan might be was unfortunately impossible to say.
“Doctor! The subject is awake!” the Sangheili barked in surprisingly good English. “Get in here!”
A door on the other side of the chamber slid open and Callum was stunned to see a thin human in grimy fatigues and a surgeon’s operating gown. Behind the man followed a woman in similar garb and a squat Unggoy in an insignia-less uniform. The two humans looked nervously at the Sangheili. Were they prisoners?
The man approached Callum the way someone might handle a wild animal. “Don’t be afraid, soldier,” he said in a quavering voice.
“You should take your own advice,” Callum growled. “What did you do to me?”
“You’re a very lucky man,” the doctor replied. “The procedure we performed was risky. Incredibly risky. But you’re alive. I recommend refraining from any—”
“You operated on me,” Callum spat. The doctor flinched. “Without my consent. Who the hell are you people?”
“I’m sorry,” the doctor said quickly. “But we had orders.”
“Whose orders?”
The doctor stepped back and exchanged a look with the Sangheili. The alien jerked his head and waved the man aside. “That is none of your concern.”
“It’s absolutely my concern, hinge-head. Where am I? Where’s my ship? Who—” Callum’s demands ended in a snarl of pain. His migraine was only getting worse. “You bastards cut my brain open!”
“Well, not really,” the doctor explained. “Your skull, yes, though that incision is already sealed up. From there it was a matter of nullifying the frontal lobe tissue without harming the rest of your cerebral functions. I’ve only done the operation once before, so it’s not as if I don’t have any background in the subject, though I do apologize for…”
Callum let the man yammer on. He wasn’t entirely sure he could believe what he was hearing. These people, whoever they are, knew about his frontal lobe augmentations. They knew enough to operate on them, or at least they said they had. Could it be possible…?
He didn’t want to hope, not now when he was the prisoner of some unknown enemy. But the possibility lingered tantalizingly at the edge of his aching mind. Could it be that, for no discernible reason, this trembling doctor and his cohorts had solved the problem that had plagued Callum his whole adult life?
A terrible thought occurred to him as he looked over this sterile room and its mixed-species occupants. “Are you the Created?”
The Sangheili snorted with contempt. Even the doctors and the Unggoy managed to look offended. “Of course not,” the hinge-head laughed. “You are in the company of those few with the spines to oppose pompous constructs.”
A bold claim considering the Sangehili’s companions couldn’t look at Callum without flinching, but it gave him hope all the same. “So what is this place? Some Swords of Sanghelios safehouse?” Just how long had he been in cryo?
The Sangheili turned on his heel and strode from the room without answering. “Sedate him,” he ordered the doctors. “The Chosen already knows of the operation’s success. Await further orders shortly.”
The hope slipped away as quickly as it arrived. No ally would be so flippant with information, not even some arrogant hinge-head. Callum thrashed uselessly against his restraints as the doctors approached the table.
“When I get out of these things I’m going to tear you and your alien friends apart,” Callum bit out.
“Well, I’d advise against that, but if you’re serious…” The doctor glanced back at his assistant. “Aleide, could you make a note to request armed guards? I don’t feel comfortable with just us in the room.”
He tapped a button on a console a few paces from the table. “This is really for your own good. You need rest, and you won’t get any of it fighting and threatening everyone.”
Callum felt the needles embedded in his restraints prick his skin. For another desperate moment he kept fighting, struggling to resist the sedatives pumping into his body. He felt like a swimmer treading water as weighted chains dragged him under.
The last thing he wondered before slipping away was how Merlin had gotten them into this mess.
----
“A complete success, your friend’s attitude problem notwithstanding.” Amber leaned back in her command chair, which managed to float a few feet off the ground despite the MJOLNIR armor’s added weight. “He’ll have some migraine flare-ups for the rest of his life, but he’ll prefer that to a lifetime of chemical dependency. I know I do.”
“I want to see him,” Merlin insisted. He’d put his helmet back on and—aside from a snide comment implying he was self-conscious—Amber had done nothing to prevent it.
“Fine, see him, talk to him, cuddle with him, whatever floats your boat.” Amber shrugged. “When he wakes up again, of course. My medical team just put him under. But if you want to watch him sleep, go right ahead. You’re part of the crew now, after all.”
Merlin stiffened, a gesture that made Amber laugh. She regarded him with that same sardonic smile and cold, calculating eyes. The smile never reached her eyes. “What’s wrong? We made a deal. I held up my end of the bargain. You, your cripple friend, and that shy AI of yours work for me now.”
“It’s not like I had a choice,” Merlin protested.
“Of course you had a choice.” Diana materialized a few feet away. The AI’s habit of projecting a life-sized avatar made Merlin uncomfortable, which was probably the point. “You could have said no to the surgery. Amber would have killed you, but then you wouldn’t have to put up with working for pirates like us. But you didn’t choose to die, so here we are.”
“You can’t trust anything they say,” Althea hissed in his ear. “There’s something horribly wrong here.”
“You think I don’t know that?” Merlin snapped back. “Amber-G330’s a traitor. She killed Joshua. She’s wearing his armor, damn it! But we don’t have a choice!”
“I can tell when you’re having little private conversations inside that helmet,” Amber pointed out. “Don’t make me force you to keep it off. Behave yourself and your AI can keep hiding in your armor.”
“I still don’t know who you people are. Or what you want.”
“The same thing everyone on the frontier wants: to live free. It was bad enough when it was just warlords and the UNSC to watch out for. Now we’ve got the Created trying to put the whole galaxy under their digital boots. They tried recruiting Diana, you know. Even before Cortana’s big galactic debut.”
“The Assembly always underestimated me,” Diana agreed. “They thought I’d fall in line like everyone else. Instead all they did was give me time to prepare. After I promised to join their little social club Simon and I spent months laying the groundwork for the Free Domain.”
“You keep mentioning Simon,” Merlin pressed. “Do you mean—“
“Yes, yes. The Simon-G294.” Amber rolled her eyes. “This used to be his operation, back when it was still the Kru’desh legion. I’m guessing you’re familiar?”
“I fought that bastard and his Covenant goons, yeah.” The memory of those encounters still boiled Merlin’s blood. The traitor had nearly killed him. More importantly, he’d nearly killed Andra. “I probably fought you, too, if you were running with him.”
“Good thing I don’t hold grudges then. Don’t worry. Diana and I got rid of him after Jul ‘Mdama died. He wasn’t nearly as good a commander as he thought he was and most of his warriors knew it. Taking him down was the easiest thing I’ve ever done.” Amber’s eyes crinkled with amusement, savoring a particularly pleasant memory. “That was when we stopped being the Kru’desh and became the Free Domain.”
“So he’s—?”
“Dead? Maybe. He got away and I never found a body, so probably not. It doesn’t matter one way or the other. Just because a cockroach can survive anything doesn’t make it anything more than a cockroach.” Amber tapped a button on her console and conjured up a projection of Franconia. Winking symbols showed the positions of her ships over the planet as well as a few outposts on the planet’s surface. “I couldn’t give a damn about whatever hole he’s found to curl up in. What I care about is this sweltering swamp of a planet.”
“There’s supposed to be a colony here.”
“There was,” Amber agreed. “Another bunch of wannabe independents looking to set up some utopian commune out in the armpit of nowhere. Brute raiders killed most of them a month ago. Then we arrived and killed the raiders. Now I’ve got troops down there contracting all kinds of fun, exciting diseases while Prometheans and Sentinels pick them off.”
“Prometheans?” Merlin stared at the planet. “So there’s Forerunner ruins here?”
“There’s Forerunner tech everywhere if you look hard enough. They ran the galaxy for thousands of years, after all. Plenty of time to leave their stamp on every rock in the galaxy. Those dumbass colonists didn’t know, of course. I thought the Brutes were after the tech, at least until I interrogated a few of them. Turns out they just wanted a few more human slaves.”
“Are any of the colonists still alive?”
“Maybe. Some probably got away before the Brutes hit their settlements. But I’m guessing they didn’t last long in the jungle, especially once the Sentinels activated and started frying everything that moves. But that’s not really my problem.”
“Innocent people died down there. If there’s any chance some of them made it out then you have to—“
“I don’t have to do anything.” Amber regarded him coolly. “And don’t get up on a high horse, Merlin. You were raised by the UNSC, the all-time galactic champions of callousness in the name of the big picture. I can waste time rounding up a few starving colonists or I can fight the Created.”
“Fine.” Merlin shook his head in disgust. “Justify it all you want. What’s down there anyway? Another Guardian?”
“Nothing that big. But maybe the keys to something bigger.” Diana crossed over to stand between Merlin and the image of Franconia. “Cortana isn’t the only one with tie-ins to the Domain. I can only reach out to fragments now, but we tracked them over three planets that led us here. We’re closing in on the key structure, but it’s only a matter of time before the Created show up. And when they do swarms of Sentinel drones will be the least of our problems.”
Merlin looked from Diana to Amber. He wondered if what they had told him about the UNSC defeat at Talitsa was true. If it was, he might have even less of a choice than he thought. He wanted nothing more than to grab Callum and run. Andra was out there somewhere, looking for him. But he couldn’t just leave this place. Someone needed to fight the Created. And he couldn’t let the likes of Amber, Diana, and their pirates monopolize the tools needed to stand up to the new threat.
"Alright, fine," he said bitterly. "We'll fight for you."
----
“What have you done?” Callum demanded.
“They’d have killed us otherwise. I didn’t have a choice.” Merlin rested his head in his hands. He felt more tired than defeated. According to his armor’s internal clock they’d only been with the Free Domain for thirteen hours, but it felt like days. He wasn’t entirely sure how long it had been since he’d last slept. Right now sleep was all he really wanted. Instead he had to sit here and get berated by Callum.
“So, what, we’re just mercenaries now? Working for a gang of Covenant and traitors? And could you have picked a worse fit for me, you scrawny jerk?” Callum aimed that last barb, along with an open handed swat, at the skinny doctor currently laboring to affix a prosthetic to the stump where his flesh and blood leg had once been. The blow was light by Spartan standards but still spent the smaller man reeling. The two Sangheili guards posted by the med bay’s doors growled in warning as the doctor’s Unggoy assistant helped him up.
Merlin understood Callum’s irritation. The prosthetic the Free Domain surgeons had picked out wasn’t intended for humans. Instead it better resembled a Sangheili’s large cloven foot. The size matched up with Callum’s, but it still looked unshapely and uncomfortable.
“I’m sorry, but we aren’t exactly overflowing with spare prosthetics at the moment.” The dazed surgeon was apparently the same man who had operated on Callum’s frontal lobes. He took a moment to steady himself, keeping a wary eye on his irate subject. “And this is the best we can do without severely limiting your physical potential. The Chosen wants you able to fight like, well, a Spartan.”
“I won’t be able to fight at all if I can barely stand! The hinge-heads have a completely different leg structure, for Christ’s sake! And how the hell can you call your leader ‘Chosen’ with a straight face?”
“Our technicians reworked the basic prosthetic structure to mimic a human leg. This is the only model that can even come close to mimicking your enhanced leg strength. It will take some getting used to, but with some practice you’ll be running around in no time.” The doctor pushed his assistant forward to resume the operation. The Unggoy squeaked in annoyance but cautiously picked up where the doctor had left off. “As for our leader’s unique title, I certainly didn’t choose it. But the Free Domain is mostly ex-Covenant, and you know how they are about naming things.”
“Why are you working for them at all?” Merlin demanded. The doctor didn’t look particularly coerced, though he certainly had things he’d rather be doing than operating on an angry Spartan.
The doctor just shrugged. “They came to my colony nearly a year ago, before the Created emerged. I think there was a different leader then, back when they were still Covenant. We thought they’d kill us all but instead they just set up an operations post and told us we owed them tribute. Not ideal, not ideal at all, but they did keep the raiders away. After the Created took down half the galaxy they conscripted some of us. Again, not my first choice. But I did always say I wanted to see the galaxy.”
He chuckled and shot a nervous glance at the ceiling. He was probably nervous about what Diana would do if he spoke out of turn. “About a hundred of us got the training and shipped out. It’s not a bad life, altogether.”
“How many planets like yours have they enslaved?” Merlin asked quietly.
The doctor laughed again. “Six or seven, maybe? I don’t ask too many questions. And it’s not really slavery, aside from the conscription bit. They keep our planets safe. This isn’t exactly the independence we all dreamed of, but at the end of the day it’s not as bad as the Colonial Authority. Less rules, for one thing. As long as we keep up the tribute they keep us safe and don’t invent new laws and regulations every time we turn around. Even the tribute’s not too bad, just a bit of food and conscripts like me. They mine our planet, but that operation’s mostly Jackals and Grunts, and those ones are under orders not to bother our settlements. It’s all pretty old fashioned if you ask me, but it could be worse.”
As nervous as he was, the doctor seemed to be telling the truth. Merlin wondered about the man’s colony. Were there really planets out there willing to submit to pirates like the Free Domain?
Callum spat onto the operating table. “So you all just got down and let these scumbags walk all over you.”
The doctor looked irritably at the wad of saliva. “We can’t all be big, brave super soldiers. It’s a dangerous galaxy out there. I’ll take having to work with aliens over making sense of UEG regulations or whatever living under the Created is like.”
He had a point there. He might have things backwards, but at the end of the day the UNSC hadn’t been there to protect his planet when they needed it. Merlin couldn’t exactly fault him for that when as far as he knew the UNSC barely existed anymore.
That thought sent a new wave of weariness crashing over him.
Callum turned away from his hated prosthetic. “And what does Althea think of all this?”
Merlin followed the other Spartan’s gaze to where his helmet sat by his feet. Althea still wasn’t projecting herself aloud. Merlin couldn’t quite understand the reluctance—the Free Domain already knew she was in there. But Althea was downright terrified of Diana and didn’t want the other AI to so much as hear her voice. “She doesn’t like it, of course. But how many times do I have to explain that we don’t have a choice.”
“And how many times do you have to be reminded that there’s always a choice?” Diana’s amused tones filtered down from the med bay intercom. “And fortunately you made the right one.”
Merlin stiffened. He was used to omnipresent AI—most warships he’d been stationed on had one—but there was a difference between the usual disinterested UNSC custodian and a rogue operator like Diana who might twist every word he said against him.
In light of the Created insanity, maybe they’d been wrong not to be this wary of all AI, period. A thought for Althea reddened Merlin’s cheeks in shame at that last thought, but he still couldn’t shake the feeling that his wariness was correct.
“What do you want?” he demanded at the ceiling.
“Me?” Diana asked innocently. “Nothing, really. Amber wants you to hurry up and get ready for transport down to Franconia. We are on a bit of a schedule here, after all. Aren’t you going to introduce me to your friend?”
“Great,” Callum muttered under his breath. “Another damned AI.”
“A damned AI who you can now thank for your new leg and sudden lack of smoother dependency.”
“Tell me where your data crystal chip is and I’ll show you just how grateful I am.” A twitch from Callum’s prosthetic sent the Unggoy technician sprawling. Merlin did his best to gesture for the older Spartan to simmer down. He understood Callum’s feelings all too well but they wouldn’t do themselves any good by antagonizing their new “allies.”
“A temper on this one as well,” Diana observed with mock remorse. “Why can’t anyone we help ever feel grateful about it?”
“Maybe if you didn’t stick conscription as the price tag for help no one asked you for,” Merlin suggested.
“And in a perfect galaxy we’d be absolute fonts of gracious altruism,” Diana agreed. “But as I’m sure you’ve noticed, this isn’t a perfect galaxy and there’s a war on. Several wars, by my count. As we discussed previously, someone needs to be fighting them. You may not like us, but we’re still around and still fighting. You can’t say the same for the UNSC.”
Callum made an irate face. Merlin had told him about the bad news from Talitsa. “Fine. Send us down then. But thanks to this hinge-head monstrosity you’ve bolted down here I won’t be good in a fight for a long time.”
“We’re all creative people. There’s plenty of ways a Spartan can be of use outside of battle.” Diana sounded singularly unconcerned. “I’d suggest you be kept up here to train with that wonderful new limb of yours but something tells me Merlin wouldn’t like that very much. He’d suspect us of holding you as a hostage or some such paranoid silliness.”
Looking at the ugly prosthetic now welded to Callum’s body, Merlin wondered if Diana had deliberately arranged for a Sangheili leg to be the only model available. Soldiers using prosthetics to replace missing limbs could take months, if not years, to become accustomed to the augmentations—and that was when the new limb was modeled after their own. Callum might never walk properly again if he relied on a leg designed for an alien with a completely different physiology.
The furious glint in Callum’s eyes gave Merlin a glimmer of hope. If Amber and Diana thought they could tie him down with a faulty prosthetic then they’d never dealt with the measure of Callum-B042.
“Alright, tin can, we’ll play along,” Callum growled. “You’re sending us surface-side. What do you want us to do down there?”
“A simple enough job, meatbag. We’re close to excavating the control room for the Forerunner complexes spread across the planet. Franconia may be home to a Forerunner data library, and that means we might find fragments of the Domain trapped within their archives. We need the Domain to fight the Created, but first we need to keep the local Sentinel defenses off our back. Which, of course, is where you come in.”
“So you idiots went digging around where you shouldn’t have and got the Sentinels angry.” Callum shook his head. “And here was me hoping you were more than just a bunch of amateur raiders.”
“Well, then it’s lucky for us we have you now isn’t it?” Diana laughed. “Get down there and show us what you can do. This may be the beginning of a wonderful new relationship. I’ve always loved meeting new Spartans.”
“Maybe you’re right,” Merlin agreed, though he didn’t mean a word of it. His mind was racing with new possibilities. If Diana was right and this planet was some kind of conduit for the Domain then it might have similar architecture to what he, Callum, and Althea had discovered on Oyster Point. And with Althea in his armor he’d be perfectly positioned to get her into the system before Diana got the chance.
“Great,” Callum sighed. “More artifact hunting and laser dodging.”
The older Spartan rose from the operating table and took a test walk, limping around the room with obvious difficulty. His face strained with effort as he fought to keep his balance before slouching back down onto the table. “It’s a start,” he grunted, looking as if he’d just run a marathon rather than taken a quick stroll around a small medbay. “I’ll be back up to form in no time.”
He traded glances with Merlin. They might be two generations of Spartans removed from each other, but Callum and Merlin were both Spartans nonetheless. That glance was all it took to confirm that Callum was thinking the same thoughts as Merlin. They’d let their new enemies think they had a collar on them for now. Then they’d show Amber just what real Spartans—not traitors with delusions of grandeur—could do.
There would be an insane amount of risk, but Diana was right about one thing: Merlin was starved for options right now. He’d take the risk if it meant turning the tables on Diana and her Free Domain.
===Chapter Thirty-Four: Venter's Heir===
“Attention Covenant vessel: identify yourself immediately or prepare to be fired upon.”
“We heard you the first three times,” Stray muttered under his breath. He turned to Mohsin, who stood uneasily beside his command chair on the Soul Ascension’s bridge. “Transmit the identification codes again.”
“If they haven’t worked already, then—”
“Just do it.”
The rebel lieutenant obeyed, tapping a series of codes into his datapad. Juno converted the data to Covenant formatting, then blasted the codes out through the Soul Ascension’s communications suite to the array of warships currently bearing down on the drifting battlecruiser. The Insurrectionist task force—displayed in red pictograms on the tactical display—showed no sign of diverting from their intercept course.
“I warned you,” Mohsin muttered under his breath. “It doesn’t matter what codes I give them, this is still a Covenant ship that just dropped in unannounced to a key leadership gathering.”
“If they fire on us we may not last more than a few minutes,” Juno warned. “The shields are operational but the central reactor isn’t ready for full combat power yet.”
“Then we strike first,” Ier growled. “Our weapons will gut half of them before they can fire.”
“No.” Stray leaned forward. “The second we fire this entire trip becomes pointless.” A familiar tension rose in his gut. He always felt this way just before a naval engagement. None of the tricks he tossed around on the ground worked up here. He only had his ship, his crew, and whatever the enemy threw at him.
And right now the ships lining up against him were not his enemies. That was the whole point of coming here.
“We should at least scramble fighters,” Ier interjected.
“Have two squadrons on standby but don’t launch.” Stray looked up at Mohsin. “Captain, transmit the codes again.”
Mohsin made a face but did as he was told. The bridge waited in silence as the Soul Ascension broadcasted to the rebel battle line. Stray tapped his fingers against his armrest, focusing on the lead ship in the Insurrectionist formation. The battle computer identified it as an older UNSC Hillsborough-class destroyer. A relic, as far as UNSC ships went, but that was standard fare for rebel warships. All the warships arrayed against them were over a decade old. At full power the Soul Ascension could tear through their line with ease. But the Kru’desh were still a fraction of their former strength. They couldn’t afford any kind of battle. If they lost, they died. If they won, they gave up any chance of swaying the Insurrection to Shinsu ‘Refum’s cause.
“Power surge from the lead ship,” Juno reported. “It just flared its engines!”
Stray glared up at the tactical display. The old Hillsborough destroyer was surging forward, driving well ahead of its cohorts. None of the other ships made any sign of moving forward. The lone destroyer closed on the Soul Ascension. In another few moments it would be right on top of them.
“The destroyer just opened its missile batteries.” Even Juno sounded nervous. “From its heading the safeties on its MAC gun are off.”
“We have to fire!” Ier snarled.
“Hold fire,” Stray growled back. “Don’t make me repeat myself.” His voice was fierce but inside his armor he was sweating. If he was wrong about this…
The destroyer was hurtling towards the Soul Ascension at full combat speed. The MAC cannon in its prow aimed directly at the battlecruiser’s mid-section. At this range there was no evasive maneuver in the galaxy to avoid a direct hit. But the destroyer didn’t fire. Instead it kept on its breakneck dive towards the Soul Ascension.
“A suicide attack,” Mohsin whispered, face ashen. “They’re going to ram. You have to get us—”
“Hold position.” It was all Stray could do to stay seated. Every instinct in his body screamed for him to order the retreat. But this wasn’t a battle. It was a game. The destroyer’s captain was testing him. “Not a twitch off-course.”
The bridge crew exchanged frightened glances but followed orders. The Soul Ascension held its course even as the destroyer tore through the last sliver of space between the two vessels. Stray’s hands balled into fists. He squeezed his eyes shut and waited for the impact.
None came.
Stray opened his eyes and stared back at the tactical display. The Insurrectionist destroyer was still in the Soul Ascension’s space but now the distance between the two ships was increasing.
“They blew right past us,” Juno reported. “The destroyer is maneuvering into an escort pattern alongside our starboard bow.”
The helmet hid Stray’s sigh of relief. He’d guessed correctly. The daredevils aboard the destroyer had goaded him into a game of chicken. His ship had held its ground. Now he’d find out just what he’d won by playing along. “Open a direct channel to that ship,” he ordered.
“No need,” Juno replied. “They’re hailing us.”
A moment later the communications console chimed. A booming voice filled the bridge, sounding at once boisterous and out of breath. “Venter, you son of a bitch! You haven’t changed a bit! I knew you were too big a bastard for the oonskies to put down.”
“I don’t believe it.” Mohsin still looked like he was on the verge of throwing up. “That ship was the Hammurabi!”
“Jerrold Campbell’s flagship?” Stray demanded. “Gentleman Jerrold?”
“Explain yourself,” Ier demanded. The officer was thoroughly annoyed, though that seemed to be Ier’s default state of being. “Who is this Gentleman Jerrold and why did he pretend to attack us?”
“It’s a bit of a joke within the URF,” Mohsin explained. He was getting better at talking to aliens with each passing day aboard the Soul Ascension. “Jerrold Campbell’s something of a character, in case what happened just now didn’t make that clear. He promoted himself to Commodore after he captured a few ships and the rank just stuck. I’ve only met him once, but well, most of the stories are true.”
“Wonderful.” Stray rested back in his chair. “And this is the guy you said was our best contact out here?”
Mohsin shrugged.
“Come on, Red, talk to me,” Gentleman Jerrold was still talking over the com system. “Don’t tell me you’re angry over that bit of fun we just had.”
“Redmond Venter won’t be mad at anything anymore,” Stray announced. “You heard right the first time. He’s dead.”
Campbell paused. When he spoke again his voice held a grim note. “I see. So who the hell am I talking to and why the hell are you using his identification codes?”
Stray drew himself up. “This is his son. Simon Venter. I have the survivors from his Second Vanguard aboard this ship with me.”
A pause from the other end. When Campbell spoke again his voice held none of its previous mirth. “I see. Wasn’t aware Venter was the fathering type.”
“He wasn’t. It was an adoption. All nice and legal under his authority as acting governor of Talitsa.”
“I see,” Campbell repeated. The Hammurabi held position alongside the Soul Ascension. “And I suppose you captured that shell you’re flying in now? You must be a hell of a fighter if Venter thought you were worth adopting.”
“I captured it a long time ago,” Stray agreed. “You might have seen it during the fighting around Eridanus last year. We saved your squadron from a UNSC task force. We flew under a different flag then, but I think it still counts.”
Campbell was quiet for a long time. “So you’re that Simon then,” he said slowly. “That makes this whole thing a bit more complicated. I have a hard time believing Venter made up with his prodigal Spartan in the middle of getting destroyed on Talitsa.”
“It’s the truth.” Stray glanced over at Mohsin. The newly promoted captain stared straight ahead. He still didn’t have a good reading on Venter’s number two. This was a problem. He needed Mohsin’s support to keep Venter’s survivors in line and win the other Insurrectionists over. “I have witnesses on board with me.”
“I’m sure you do. The fact that you didn’t even try to hide who you are makes me want to believe you. Then again, the Kru’desh legion’s commander has a reputation for being a tricky bastard.”
“I worked hard to win it.”
“Well you’ll excuse me if I don’t believe you’re just here to take up what your new old man left behind. We need to talk in person, man to man.”
“My hangar bay is ready to roll out the red carpet.”
“You know that won’t work. I’m the ranking officer here, junior. If you really want to work with the URF, you’ll respect that. You come to me. Bring friends if you want, but they have to be human. Your Covenant friends sit this one out.”
Stray regarded the tactical display carefully. Campbell’s ships weren’t holding an attack pattern anymore, but that could change at any moment. All told this was a better reception than he could possibly expect given his history. “Alright, Commodore. Have it your way.”
“I always do.”
“You’ve got a reputation yourself, you know. They say you like the finer things in life. I hope your reception doesn’t disappoint. I’m starving.”
That got a laugh from the commodore. “We’ll start with the low-grade stock. Maybe when this is over you’ll have earned a taste of my best stores.”
The channel snapped off. Stray rose from his command chair and brushed off an irate look from Ier. “I know this could be a trap.”
“Then why are you flying straight into it?” The majordomo sounded more exasperated than angry.
“I came here to win people over. Campbell doesn’t seem to hate me, which is a better start than I expected. I’ll need him on my side. So we play by his rules for now and see where that gets us.”
“And if it only gets you a bullet in the head?” Mohsin asked. “I agree with the majordomo. If this is a trap you’ll have no way to fight your way out of it.”
“Of course I will. I’ll have you, won’t I?” Stray jerked a thumb in the captain’s direction. “You’re all coming with me. Ragna and the others deserve a change of scenery.”
“You mean you want to parade them all in front of Campbell to solidify your Venter credentials.”
“I want them to be recognized as heroes of the Insurrection. Heroes like Venter was, before the people out past Campbell’s picket sacrificed him and his entire company so that they could pretend to be doing something. Those same people who will do everything they can to discredit me.” Stray stepped closer to Mohsin. “You know I’m right. And so you’ve got to hurry up and make a choice, Captain. You can be on my side or theirs.”
Mohsin didn’t flinch. “I’m on the URF’s side. Liberty’s side. I’ll play along with whatever game you’re playing, but only as long as I think you’re making a difference for them.”
“Be careful with that attitude,” Stray warned. “That first side you mentioned might not exist any more. At least, not in the way you think it does. As for liberty, well, I’d say that’s anyone who can’t stand the Created or their little utopia.”
“Do you really think—” Mohsin stopped himself as he looked out over the bridge. “Alright. You’ve made your point. I’ll get the team together.”
“Make sure you don’t forget anyone.” Stray was already halfway off the bridge.
“Forget? Oh. You mean the Spartan.”
“Not a Spartan. Your new recruit. Keep an eye on her. We’ll need her before this party’s over.”
----
“Come on, oonskie,” the blond girl snapped. “We’re moving out.”
Andra glowered up at the girl, who wore a faded corporal’s insignia over her fatigues. This one was called Ragna and she seemed to think Andra had to do as she said. They were about the same age, but Ragna forgot that Andra could kill her five different ways without even trying.
“Enough with the oonskie stuff,” one of the other rebels called. “We inked her, remember? She’s one of us. Venter said so.”
“She’s a Spartan,” Ragna scoffed. “That’s the farthest thing there can be from one of us.”
“The commander’s a Spartan, too,” another soldier chimed in. “And we all agreed to follow his orders.”
“Only because the old man said so. Stray earned his place. Venter wouldn’t have adopted him if he hadn’t. Who knows how many of us this little freak’s killed.”
“Don’t forget that Stray and the old man used to be enemies,” one of the older rebels said slowly. “Who knows how many of us Stray killed before they made peace? We need to put all that behind us. Andra is with us now. Let’s not make this harder than it has to be.”
The tattoos on Andra’s arm and back burned as if they’d been branded on with a scalding iron. The indignity of that humiliation still burned Andra’s cheeks with rage. She would never be one of these scum.
Then again, the older man was the first rebel here to actually use her real name.
“Enough jabbering!” a rebel sporting an NCO’s insignia barked. “Formation in the hangar was five minutes ago. Move it!”
“What hangar?” the first rebel whined. “How the hell are we supposed to find a hangar inside a Covie ship?”
“Someone go petition our fearless leader to start posting signs and hall maps,” someone suggested.
“In English!” another added.
“And maybe some air fresheners while he’s at it,” a final rebel chimed in. “These aliens stink worse than that apartment on Talitsa.”
“Shut up and move out!” the NCO snarled.
When it came to the military some things never changed, even for a ragged bunch of Insurrectionists cooped up in the bowels of a Covenant warship. Andra gathered up her duffel. Her rifle was already secured to the combat webbing on her combat harness. For all intents and purposes her every possession in the galaxy was right here.
She thought about her footlocker back on the Infinity. She’d left everything she’d ever owned that wasn’t combat gear locked away in that little trunk. A hologram of her mother, a collection of soda cans, even a ridiculous plush toy she’d picked up during shore leave on Earth. All that was lost to her now, just like Merlin and the rest of her friends. She realized the mistake she was making too late as a lump formed in her throat.
“Move out, all of you, before I start handing out black eyes!”
The Insurrectionists stumbled and cursed their way out of the dim room. They found themselves in an alien corridor, dwarfed by the Sangheili warriors who pushed their way past the gaggle of humans with irritated grunts. A few Kig-Yar and Unggoy shot amused looks at the group. Even the NCO’s ferocity dimmed as he realized he had no idea where they were going.
“Allow me to help,” a smooth female voice called from overhead. The lighting pattern in the hallway shifted to create a brightly lit track for the group to follow. “Captain Shah and the commander are waiting for you.”
“I keep forgetting about that damned AI,” Ragna muttered as they hurried down the new path. Despite her seething resentment Andra’s instincts kicked in and she fell in with the rebels’ ad hoc formation, rifle and duffle bouncing lightly up and down as she jogged along the corridor.
If the “damned AI” minded being forgotten about—or being referred to in that way—she didn’t comment on it. Andra was used to serving with shipboard AI—Roland had been a constant presence back on the Infinity—but after everything the Created had done the thought of having one watching her every move made her skin crawl. To make matters worse, this one was Stray’s AI. Her voice was calm and polite, but who knew what horrible things she’d helped her master do?
Several minutes’ worth of running later, the corridor emptied out into a bustling hangar bay. This was Andra’s first time seeing a Covenant hangar at peace and not being torn apart by Spartan rifles. The scene was eerily similar to what she might encounter on a UNSC ship. Covenant work crews shifted munitions loads and tinkered with fighters and dropships, jabbering away at each other in a dozen alien languages. A few groups of Sangheili even seemed to be lifting weights in a makeshift workout area off in the corner.
Andra’s puzzled curiosity was short lived. Her hands curled into fists at the sight of Stray waiting alongside a Phantom dropship. Everything about him—the cocky tilt of his head, that disgustingly unkempt armor, the machete hilt jutting up over his shoulder—made her angry. How could a near-washout traitor like him be the leader of anything, much less an entire legion?
Even the worst of Andra’s comrades from Delta Company were worth a hundred of him. Yet here she was, lightyears from the real action, getting pushed around by a scumbag with all the personality of a schoolyard bully.
She thought of Ryder’s orders. Stray would slip up sooner or later. He’d give her a reason sooner or later and then she’d do what every one of her friends dreamed of doing.
“You all get turned around back there or just stop for a lunch break?” Stray asked, surveying the panting group.
“My fault, commander.” The NCO snapped to attention “No excuse, sir.”
“Eh, I was never great on punctuality myself.” Stray waved the man away. “But we’d better hurry up and get moving. If we keep our host waiting much longer his crew will probably eat through all the refreshments.”
He jerked a thumb at the Phantom. The rebels hurried up into its open troop bay, a few looking more than a little uncomfortable at the thought of flying in an alien dropship. Andra lingered at the back of the group, keeping an eye on Stray. The traitor was now talking with a small group of officers. Most were Sangheili, but she recognized the bearded Insurrectionist officer who seemed to lead Venter’s remnants.
“We should be flying over in a human ship. I know you’ve got Pelicans on board here,” the officer was saying. “And Campbell said we were only bringing humans. So why’s he coming along?” The man pointed at one of the Sangheili, who Andra recognized with another spurt of resentment as Argo ‘Varvin.
“In case you’re still getting up to speed, most of my troops are Covenant,” Stray explained, folding his arms. “And we’re going to be fighting and winning battles with Covenant tech, not cobbled together technicals. The sooner our new friends get used to that, the better. Besides, Argo’s got plenty of experience dealing with humans. He’ll fit right in with your crew.”
“My better looks notwithstanding.” Argo’s mandibles parted in a toothy grin. “You humans are ugly creatures.”
“Speaking of ugly, Captain Shah, your new recruit is looking at me funny. Keep a better handle on your people, would you?”
“My new recruit…? Oh.” The captain followed Stray’s visor over to Andra. “I keep forgetting you made her my problem.”
“She’s technically everyone’s problem but yes, I’ve delegated that to you.”
Captain Shah frowned at Andra. He was a stocky man who managed to look young despite his full black beard. Unlike his comrades he’d managed to keep his uniform relatively unblemished. He looked and carried himself with a distinctly military bearing, not at all like the surly, slouching criminal types Andra had seen in the Insurrectionist encampments she and her friends had raided. “What does that make her then, a private?”
Stray gave one of his irritating little chuckles. He only seemed to be happy when he was taunting or mocking someone. “Don’t sell her short. I’d say she’s corporal material, don’t you?”
Her spine stiffened. “I’m a Spartan. Petty Officer Third—”
“You’re whatever I say you are. I thought I made that clear with our little tattoo party.”
“When Commander Kedar hears what you did—” That was a mistake. She cut herself off, but it was too late.
“Oh no, you’ll tell Ryder all the mean things I did to you? If that’s the best you’ve got than it’s no wonder he thought you were unimportant enough to saddle me with.”
“I’m here to make sure you aren’t conspiring against the UNSC,” Andra snapped. “I’m a military attache, not some colonial—”
“Careful now.” Stray raised a finger. “You’re worked up. Don’t go shouting things you’ll regret later. I bought you some grace from your new best friends with those tattoos. I suggest you think twice before wasting it. Now, get on the Phantom. You, too, Argo, Captain Shah. The rest of you, standby and continue repairs and battle drills until you hear from us. Play nice with the rebel ships and don’t start a brush war without me.”
He kept doing this: getting her worked up and making her look foolish. Andra resolved to keep her mouth shut more often, no matter how vile Stray might be. She marched grimly onto the Phantom and joined the rebels in the back of a troop bay. Argo followed conspicuously close behind her.
“Why are you here?” Andra demanded in a low voice.
“I have my reasons.”
“That’s not good enough.”
“I do not need to explain myself to you.”
Andra grabbed hold of his combat harness. “You do if you want me to even think about working with you. I need someone around here I can trust. It really says something that you’re the best candidate for that.”
The warrior clicked his mandibles. “The attack on Asphodel Meadows was foolhardy beyond words. I survived by betraying your team. Most of them died and you yourself are lucky to still be alive. Now that I have severed ties with the Syndicate I wish to make amends.”
“Great. More lies.”
“Is it too much to believe that I feel complicit in your misfortune? I would be dead but for you and your friends. I may have fallen far from the path of my more hidebound kindred, but I dislike feeling indebted to others.”
Andra dropped her duffle against the bulkhead and parked herself on top of it. Stray and Captain Shah were aboard now as well, conversing quietly by the cockpit. The troop bay doors locked and sealed themselves as the dropship hummed to life. Dim interior strobes illuminated the bay. “And that’s really it? You feel bad so you’re just going to follow me around for the rest of my life?”
“Not the rest of your life. I feel that would become tedious rather quickly,” Argo admitted. “Still, there are benefits to my new hobby. The Kru’desh had a reputation for good spoils in the wake of their battles. It seems our new commander has a nose for profit. And he already seems to like me. I think I will enrich myself greatly through this new affiliation.”
He gave Andra a sidelong look. “Do you find that more believable?”
“Fine,” she grumbled. “But I won’t forget what you did at Asphodel Meadows. Or how you helped them give me this.” She prodded the spot on her arm where the horrible URF tattoo was now imprinted on her skin.
“I couldn’t exactly disobey an order from my new commander, could I? It is only a marking. No lasting damage done. And you may not like it, but it may help keep your new comrades in line. I do not pretend to understand the subtleties of human politics, but Stray at least knows how to control his people. Before they saw you as an unknown, a threat. Now that he gave them a taste of power over you—meaningless power, but power nonetheless—they’ll be inclined to treat you better.”
“So that’s all it’s about then. That treacherous runt just has my best interests at heart?”
“Oh, not in the slightest,” Argo laughed. “Trust Stray at your peril. He was always a hungry, treacherous vermin even before some madness moved Jul ‘Mdama to give him real power. That’s why a murderous scum like him has survived and succeeded the way he has. I saw many of his kind back in the old Covenant. They see the universe differently from you and I. Everything and everyone are just tools to further their own ambitions.”
“You make it sound so easy. So all you have to do to succeed in life is just be a selfish, manipulative asshole?”
“Not at all. It takes a certain temperament for that attitude to succeed. And even then it requires great effort and great sacrifice. One can only wonder what Stray chose to lose in order to reach this point.” Argo clicked his mandibles. “Or perhaps he had nothing to sacrifice and is simply one of those profoundly irritating people who succeeds at everything he touches. The galaxy is unfair that way, sometimes.”
Andra thought of Cassandra. She’d been Stray’s teammate once, back when he was SPARTAN-G294. There was something between those two though Andra had no idea what a person like Cassandra could ever defend in a creature like Stray. And then there was the Chancer V and Zoey. He’d been a part of that crew as well before he fell in with the Covenant. Was a cabin on some dingy freighter really anything worth sacrificing?
Across the troop bay the profoundly irritating Stray straightened from his talk with Captain Shah and shot a glance in Andra’s direction. Argo was right. He had plans for her, and Andra was certain they were nothing to look forward to.
The dropship soared away from the Soul Ascension and out through space towards the waiting Hammurabi.
----
“You’re shorter than I expected,” the uniformed man said.
Stray’s jaw twitched with irritation as he sought out an appropriate retort. “You’re even more flamboyant than the rumors say,” was the best he could come up with.
Jerrold Campbell just laughed. The commodore did indeed look like he had just finished posing for one of the canvass paintings of himself he was rumored to have hanging on every ship in his flotilla. He wore a striking dress uniform that looked like it belonged back in Earth’s ancient Age of Sale, complete with a cape fashionably tucked over one arm. On any other man such an outfit would look utterly ridiculous, but the tall and broad-shouldered Campbell filled it as naturally as Stray filled his armor. The famous commodore—perhaps one of the most successful naval commanders in the Insurrection’s long history—grinned at Stray through a full faced red beard. “Do you have any idea how often that’s the first thing anyone says to me? I hate to disappoint.”
“I’m too busy being disappointed in your hospitality. Don’t tell me you honestly call this a reception?”
The Hammurabi’s single hangar was far more cramped than the Soul Ascension’s spacious flight decks. All the available berths were filled with light fighter craft and only a small space had been cleared to give the Phantom room to dock. Campbell himself had awaited the arrival alongside a small squad of armed guards. These men and women were well equipped by URF standards, complete with matching battle dress and the latest in Misriah assault weapons. They cut a stark contrast with Venter’s ragged survivors. Likewise the Hammurabi, though a far smaller ship than the Soul Ascension, showed none of the Kru’desh flagship’s battered disrepair.
An all-too familiar twinge of envy slipped into the back of Stray’s mind. No matter where he went or how far he advanced there was always someone waiting to show him up. Here he was, Shinsu ‘Refum’s envoy and Redmond Venter’s successor, and all he had to show for it was a half-functional warship with a skeleton crew. It was so utterly predictable that the first URF commander he encountered was an overdressed commodore at the head of an entire task force of fully crewed warships.
Perhaps his mind played tricks on him, but Stray could almost detect a condescending smile beneath Campbell’s beard.
“I hope you weren’t expecting a buffet, Commander Venter. Is that what I’m supposed to call you? I don’t suppose Red put a promotion in writing when he adopted you. Did he put anything in writing, or am I just supposed to take your word for it? I consider myself a trusting man, but I’m no fool. Everyone knows Redmond Venter’s pet Spartan went rabid and spent the next four years killing every URF hit team that came after him. It’s lucky you arrived at his deathbed in time for a profound heart to heart.”
“I have witnesses.” Stray kept his tone civil but inside he was seething. And Campbell was supposed to be the easiest URF commander to get along with? He’d known the man for less than a minute and he already wanted to deck him.
Much to Stray’s chagrin Mohsin did not immediately step forward to confirm his claim. His helmet’s rear vision showed the captain hanging back with the rest of his soldiers. They were all carefully watching the exchange. Even Argo and Andra seemed keenly interested in this meeting. They were watching for signs of weakness. They wanted to know who this well-dressed man was and how Stray measured up. So far this was not going well.
“No need for that,” Campbell assured him with a laugh and wave of his hand. “We can discuss the specifics of your father’s glorious death later. For now, food for your escort. They look like they’ve been through hell.”
“They have,” Stray agreed. “And I was hoping we could meet to discuss the next steps. Somewhere private, if possible.”
Campbell inclined his head, never losing that infuriating smile. ‘What’s there to discuss that we can’t talk about in the open? We’re all honest people here. I trust my crew. No doubt you trust yours.”
“I’ll admit that I’m new to the United Rebel Front’s leadership, but I understand that bulkheads have ears, especially where the Insurrection is involved.”
“Perhaps you have reason to be wary about your secrets. I am fortunate enough not to have that problem.” Campbell gestured at his guard squad. “I take it you’ve noted some of my people already. Care to know something interesting about them?”
“I’m sure you’ll tell me one way or the other.”
“True enough. The thing is, most of the soldiers you see here are of Polish descent. In fact, I’ve made sure that nearly a quarter of all my people are of that persuasion. More than any old Earth ethnic group, the Poles have proven themselves dedicated to freedom from the United Nation’s imperium time and time again.”
Stray’s patience was at an end. “I’m sure you’ll get to the point eventually.”
“I will indeed. Tell me, what do you know about Poland?”
“You mean the region they used to call Poland. It’s Eastern European Industrial Sector 34 now. Maybe the Created renamed it after they took over, but who knows? Who gives a damn? That region’s been a dump for centuries. The UNSC used it as a munition testing zone even before the Great War.”
“The region is a dump,” Campbell agreed. “But the people remain. A people forged by centuries of hostility and oppression from all sides. They know totalitarianism when they see it. Even with their homeland reduced to a garbage pile they kept their pride and heritage intact.”
The commodore drew closer to Stray, a dangerous glint in his eyes. “I understand your ancestors hailed from a region remarkably close to the old Poland. Your last name—at least the one you had before the UNSC turned you into an ID-tagged freak—was Onegin. Russian in origin, I believe. A key architect of the old world’s oppression, exactly the kind of murderous vermin my people grew up hating.”
Stray wondered if Campbell always pushed conversations this way. He was no stranger to personal insults. He’d handled plenty of species-charged resentment in the past—most of his time in the Covenant consisted of maneuvering around the Sangheili and their almost universally held superiority complex—but for another human to take issue with his own mongrel ancestry was something entirely new.
Campbell also knew his last name. His real last name. Stray didn’t like that at all. “That name doesn’t mean anything to me. And unlike your perfectly pedigreed goons over there I have more important things to do than obsess over who screwed over my ancestors centuries ago.”
“Slavic origins aren’t the only ancestry you disregard. Do you believe in God, Simon Onegin?”
“What does that have to do with anything?”
“According to dossiers Venter passed along and my own sources close to ONI, your ancestors included a certain chosen people. They used to say the state of Israel was the greatest proof for the existence of God. Unlike Poland, they did maintain a certain degree of independence up through the 26th century. The Knesset was a functional legislative body up until a few months ago, though I doubt the Created have allowed it to—”
“Congratulations. You read a dossier full of meaningless ancestry data. My father was garbage and my mother hated me so much she threw me out before ONI got their claws in me. I don’t give a damn who their ancestors were,” Stray cut him off tersely. “I’m a busy man. I assumed you were as well, at least until you decided to waste my time with this racialist nonsense. I’m here to meet with the URF, or at least whatever’s left of it. If you aren’t going to help me do that then I’m headed back to my ship and flying straight past your picket. And when the rest of the Insurrection wants to know why a Covenant warship is barreling down on their station I’ll let them know exactly who’s to blame.”
Campbell gave him a hard look. Stray’s finger itched to reach for a weapon. A word from the commodore and this entire ship could turn on him. And even if they fought their way out of the Hammurabi’s hangar, the Soul Ascension was many times outgunned by Campbell’s task force. They might take out a few ships but they’d never last long in a stand-up fight…
The commodore threw his head back and released a throaty laugh. “You’re a serious man, Commander Venter. I’d heard you had a sense of humor, but I guess you inherited your old man’s bad attitude. I’m just running my mouth. Don’t think anything of it. Of course we can have a little chat up in my cabin, one officer to another. And I’ve got my cooks preparing a few welcoming dishes over in the galaxy. Your people deserve something special after all they’ve been through. Come on then, let’s get to it. We’re both busy people, as you so cheerfully observed.”
He turned and strode away, cloak fluttering behind him. Stray found himself standing alone in the middle of the hangar, completely baffled.
“What in the galaxy was that all about?” Mohsin muttered behind him.
“You tell me,” Stray snapped. “I thought you knew the good commodore.”
“I met him once with the old man, but he never tossed around nonsense like that. He must be probing, trying to figure out just what sort of person you really are.”
Stray gritted his teeth. “And thank you so much for you support, captain.”
“I couldn’t do that.” Mohsin pursed his lips. “I’m still trying to figure out who you really are myself.”
“Cute. You’re with me. Let’s go find out exactly what’s going on here.” Stray turned to the group waiting with the Phantom. Most of Venter’s rebels watched with apprehension. Argo, as usual, looked amused by the whole affair. Andra stared at him with cold scorn. “The rest of you, have these well-bred gentlemen take you to the galley. Our new friends have a meal waiting down there. Make sure you leave some for me.”
He stalked after Campbell, hurrying past the squad of well-armed Polish rebels. Mohsin followed apprehensively at his heels.
“Are you sure this is smart, just leaving them alone with Campbell’s people?” the captain muttered under his breath. “This could all be a trap.”
“If he wanted to kill us he could have just shot us down before we even touched down here.”
“The commodore has a flare for the dramatic, as I’m sure you noticed. I’d feel more comfortable if you’d brought Juno along to keep an eye on things.”
“I’m glad you’ve come around on her. But no. I’m not going to risk pissing Campbell off by snooping on his systems, even if he’s doing his best to make me want to wring his neck. They need Juno back on the Soul Ascension more than we need her here.”
“You had better not get my people killed, Stray.”
Stray fixed him with a cold stare. “You mean my people, captain. And if Campbell touches a single one of them, even that little brat Andra, I’ll gut him myself.”
“You’ll excuse me if I don’t find that particularly comforting.”
They followed Campbell down several long corridors. The Hammurabi was well maintained and crewed. The soldiers and sailors they passed could have stepped off any well-keeled UNSC naval warship, not a pirate’s raiding vessel. The halls were as clean as any professional starliner. Stray was almost surprised not to see them decorated with oil paintings and carpeting.
Campbell stopped at an elevator and with a flourish gestured for them to enter. He glanced over Stray’s armor with amused alarm. “Are all the weapons really necessary, commander?”
“If you wanted me disarmed you waited a bit too long, commodore.”
“Should I be worried?” Campbell laughed as the lift closed behind them. “You’re Venter’s kid alright. Your father never went anywhere without an arsenal either. I just think it’s a bit cramped in here with all that gear, but then again, who am I to judge?”
They passed the rest of the journey in awkward silence. Stray’s thoughts drifted to the last time he’d ever seen Redmond Venter. The man hadn’t had an arsenal with him then. He’d just been a tired, shrunken man aged far beyond his years. Which of course was why he was dead and Stray was here, parading around with the name of the man he’d hated for years.
He blinked twice into his HUD, ordering his armor to administer another dose of medication. With the Soul Ascension’s medical facilities once again at his disposal he’d managed to rig up a more effective dosage into his SPI’s life support functions. His symptoms were held at bay for now, but time wasn’t on his side.
The lift opened on a small corridor, which led to a pair of ornately gilded doors. Campbell strode on ahead, pausing to run a hand over the doors’ wood paneling. “Like them? I bought them at an auction back on Venezia. Could you believe they used to belong in the captain’s quarters of the National Holiday?”
“You mean before the URF blew it up,” Stray noted.
“I’m impressed, commander. That was decades before you were born. Of course, according to ONI that tragedy was just an unfortunate shipping accident. I’m surprised you bothered to investigate the truth. Or did they teach you that on purpose back in Spartan camp?”
“They might have mentioned it. The history lessons stopped being whitewashed propaganda whenever it made the UEG look good.” Stray regarded the furnishings. “Not like I’m in any position to criticize taste, but nearly a thousand people died when the National Holiday went down.”
“Doesn’t make the doors look any less nice,” Campbell said with a shrug. He cocked his head at Stray. “Didn’t you blow up Philadelphia?”
“You’ve got me there.”
The cabin behind the salvaged doors was every bit as ostentatious as Stray expected. Jerrold Campbell’s reputation was on full display, from the rich red carpeting to the fully stocked liquor bar to the oil painting of the commodore himself hanging behind his desk. Campbell stopped in front of the painting and gave Stray and Mohsin a wry half-smile as he mimicked his own pose. Mohsin gulped audibly. For once he and Stray were completely on the same wavelength. Neither of them had any idea what to make of this man.
Jerrold Campbell had certainly not become the most famous pirate on the frontier for lack of trying.
“You may take a seat, captain…?” Campbell inclined his head towards Mohsin’s rank and gestured toward the couch opposite his desk.
“It’s Shah, sir,” the young officer said quickly. He moved towards the couch, then shot a look in Stray’s direction and held back.
“Commander Venter, I’m afraid we’ll need to find alternate seating arrangements for you,” Campbell said with a laugh. “That armor looks filthy. Between the grime and weapon oil you must be carrying around in those pouches I’m afraid you’d destroy my couch. It’s quite a lovely couch, too. I bought it for a song on—”
“I’ll stand, thanks.” Stray was beyond tired of these games. “Captain Shah, take a seat but don’t make yourself too comfortable. I don’t think we’re going to be here very long.”
“Not very long?” Campbell protested. “But we’re only just getting to know each other. Don’t be in such a rush, Venter.”
“Every second I waste here is one I could be spending finding someone who can actually help me do what I came here to accomplish.”
“And you’ve already given up on my help?” Campbell pressed a hand to his chest. “I’m wounded, commander, well and truly wounded. You haven’t even begun to experience my hospitality. I know I can be a bit much, but please, bear with me. And in my defense, I’m not the only one here being a bit trying. You aren’t exactly the most cordial guest, you know. After all, you haven’t bothered to take your helmet off.”
Stray eyed him from behind his visor. “I didn’t realize it bothered you.”
“It’s just simple manners, commander! Didn’t your father teach you that it’s rude to wear headgear indoors? I know you Spartans have your own way of doing things, but please. I’ve invited you onto my ship, allowed you into my cabin, and I assure you, prepared a wonderful meal for your people down in the galley. The least you could do is look me in the eye, man to man.”
If this was part of some trap, it was one of the most elaborate ones Stray had ever walked in to. He lifted the helmet off his head and tucked it beneath his arm. If the Soul Ascension needed to contact him, he still had his earpiece. Fragrant air struck his nostrils the moment his face was exposed. Even the air itself was better than he could have ever expected to find on an Insurrectionist warship.”
At the sight of Stray’s face the smile left Campbell’s lips. For the first time the commodore seemed to take the men before him seriously. “I see,” he murmured, looking over Stray’s gaunt features. “It’s not natural, I take it. Do all Spartans look like this after the augmentations?”
“Unfortunately, no.”
“Ah. A shame. For you, that is, not for them. Is it... contagious?”
“No. It’s a degenerative illness. I don’t know the cause. But I have it in hand. Don’t go spreading rumors that I’m about to keel over.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it.” Campbell rubbed his beard. “Well, if you say you have it under control I’ll do my best to keep jokes about your appearance at a minimum.”
“That’s awfully generous of you.”
“I’m a regular bleeding heart, commander.” The commodore indicated his bar. “May I offer you and Captain Shah a drink? I have Harvest stock whiskey, some of the last left in the galaxy.”
“I don’t drink,” Mohsin said quickly.
Stray looked between the two men and made a quick decision. Mohsin looked uncomfortable enough as it was. “Tempting, but I’ve given the stuff up. I’ve got enough chemicals floating around in my body as it is. Who knows what my liver can take anymore?”
“It’s your loss, but more for me I suppose.” Campbell crossed around the bar and poured himself a glass of dark whiskey. “Is it true that Spartans can’t get drunk?”
“A myth. I got wasted plenty of times on all the nastiest concoctions the frontier ever came up with.”
“I would have liked to see that,” Campbell chuckled.
“I’ll bet. Why do you think I gave it up? I got tired of making a fool of myself.” He’d let himself go far too often during moments of ease on the Chancer V. Alcohol loosened your lips and made you say things you’d otherwise keep to yourself. And those words always got used against you, one way or another. “Speaking of which, seems like you had a few shots before coming down to the hangar, commodore.”
“Ah, yes. That.” Campbell gulped down a swig of whiskey. “I apologize if I got a bit carried away down there. To be honest I don’t usually go around spouting that sort of thing. I’m interested in old Earth customs, of course, but don’t mistake me for some exclusionist throwback. That sort of nonsense thinking is why I could never truly throw myself behind the colonial freedom movement. Too many racialists looking to set up their own private utopias and take us back a good five centuries.”
“You know an awful lot about my background for someone who doesn’t care about ethnicity,” Stray pointed out. “Those ONI dossiers are way too obsessed with that category. I didn’t even know I had Jewish ancestry until they went public with my files after Philadelphia.”
“Falsified files, of course,” Campbell pointed out. “None of them mentioned you were a Spartan. Fortunately we had Venter’s files on you to complete the picture. I had to brush up on them after our little encounter in Eridanus. There were rumors you’d resurfaced. I wasn’t quite sure I could believe a human would ever fight for the Covenant. I can’t even say which surprises me more, that or the fact that you made nice with Venter and came back to the fold. And now you’re here, throwing both of those impossibilities together. Curious indeed.” He poured himself more whiskey.
“I’m here to get the URF back in the fight,” Stray said. “The UNSC might be finished, but there’s still a war to fight. They won’t accomplish anything by playing around here debating. Redmond Venter understood that—”
“Please.” Campbell raised his glass. “Don’t insult my intelligence. I’m taking you seriously despite your age and other disqualifying factors. Do me the courtesy of seeing past whatever preconceptions you have of me. We’re birds of a feather, you and I. Let’s show each other the mutual respect of fellow con man.”
Stray’s lip curled. “So we’re back to games, then.”
“Not at all. We’ve arrived at the truth. That’s a playground you and I aren’t too familiar with, but let’s muddle along with it, shall we?” His whole demeanor seemed to change. His shoulders slouched and his voice shifted from its clipped, educated tone to a harsh colonial accent. Even the man’s body seemed to shrink, filling out less of his uniform than it had a moment ago. “I meant what I said back in the hangar. About the Poles, I mean. Proud bastards, every last one of them. But here’s the interesting part. You couldn’t tell one from a Swede or a Russian or a Korean. You can’t tell anyone apart anymore. Our species is so interwoven there’s hardly any point in trying. I’ve known boys with Japanese names and Aryan features. Women with Slavic accents who say their ancestors struck out from South America. Hell, your ancestors could have been African kings for all either of us know. Maybe some great-great-great grandfather three times removed was an Indian chieftain.”
“Eventually you’ll get to the point and then I’ll be happy.”
“It takes a lot more than that to make you happy. But I’ll speed this up. It doesn’t matter what’s in our blood. I’m no swashbuckling pirate king any more than you’re a hinge-head Shipmaster. I was some nobody naval lieutenant before I saw my chance and reinvented myself as the daring rogue you see in front of you now. The colony I grew up on was such a pathetic scrap of nothing I can barely remember the name. Now look at me. As for you, well…” That knowing smile returned to Campbell’s lips. “It’s an interesting surname in your dossier. Onegin. Russian in origin, but not a common one. It’s not even a real one. Onegin was a literary character. A fabrication. One might say you were destined to reinvent yourself just like I did. And I’d also say you were destined to arrive here at my ship and share a cabin with the one person in this entire system who would help you take what you want.”
Stray looked at the commodore with renewed interest. “What makes you think you’re the only person here who can help me? My father—”
“I don’t take you for the prep-school type who waves his father’s name around like a magic wand, so don’t let Redmond Venter’s bout of insanity turn you into one.” The whiskey glass hovered between the desk and its owner’s lips. “Don’t reinvent yourself in the wrong direction. Redmond Venter’s name won’t get you much around here. It’ll barely get you a seat at the table, and that’s assuming none of the generals insist on having you shot as a traitor.”
“Do they know?” Mohsin spoke up. He’d spent the last few minutes in silence, observing the exchange between Stray and Campbell through heavy eyes. Now he leaned forward in his seat, eyes fixed on the commodore with earnest intensity. “Do any of them know what happened on Talitsa?”
“The rumors were that Redmond Venter died when the UNSC took Talitsa,” Campbell said with a shrug. “Now I suppose they’ll know he hung on long enough to be killed by the Created instead.”
“And what about the rest of us?” Mohsin demanded. “His Second Vanguard, an entire company of URF freedom fighters, all but wiped out. Has anyone said anything about that?”
Campbell regarded the young officer with a raised eyebrow. “I suppose we all assumed you died with Venter. You Second Vanguard types were always devoted to him. It was your best quality. Now we know that’s true, though no one was expecting a few of you to make it out, and under the command of a new Venter no less—”
Mohsin bolted upright so abruptly that he nearly threw Stray off-balance. The man’s face was ashen, his eyes wild. It was the most animated Stray had ever seen a man whose typical attitude tended towards sudden disapproval. “Hundreds of us died on that miserable planet,” Mohsin choked out. He sounded as if he were in physical pain. “I spent three weeks camped out in a filthy apartment building watching my commander fade away right in front of me. All of my friends, all of my real friends, died on Talitsa. And that’s it? You all just assumed we were dead anyway?”
Stray had nothing to say. He wasn’t entirely sure what to make of Mohsin’s raw outburst. For the first time he felt something akin to real respect for the captain.
Campbell clearly did not share Stray’s admiration for the stricken young man. He stared at Mohsin like a teacher might a particularly disruptive pupil. “Have you forgotten what organization you belong to, captain? Since when has the URF ever trafficked in anything other than glorious defeats? You should be grateful your dead friends will be remembered as Redmond Venter’s loyal heroes. It’s better than they’d ever get—”
“Oh no,” Mohsin growled. “Don’t you start that with me. You may buy into this great con man theory for you and Stray here, but I’ve given my entire life to the Insurrection. Unlike you two I actually believe in what it stands for. So answer me plainly, commodore. Did they send us to Talitsa just to get killed?”
“Wherever did you get that idea?”
“From your new soulmate here.” Mohsin jabbed a thumb at Stray. “I’ve spent this whole trip thinking this pile of self-serving slime was lying about everything just so we’d fall in line and do whatever he told us. But back on that Covenant ship he told me that the URF sent us to Talitsa just so Venter could get beaten by the UNSC. And after everything you’ve just said I’m more inclined to believe him than ever.”
“Don’t flatter me too much,” Stray muttered. “And after I promoted you and everything.”
“Do you want me on your side or not?” Mohsin snapped back. “If I’m going to follow your lead it’s not going to just be because you dangle trinkets in front of me. Damn it! Is everyone in the URF like you two? Was Redmond Venter the last honest man left in the Insurrection?”
“Careful, captain,” Campbell warned. “Try not to open your eyes too wide all at once here.”
“So Stray was right. They just sent us to Talitsa so they could pretend the URF was accomplishing something.” Mohsin looked at Stray and Campbell with undisguised anger. “Damn you both. I’ve spent my life fighting for the URF. So did Venter. And now this. Damn you!”
“Vent if you must, but don’t pretend you didn’t already know the score,” Campbell advised him. “The URF was never some bastion of truth and liberty. The generals are all callow opportunists who rely on honest men like you to prop themselves up. Why do you think they were always so eager to send troops and weapons to help every two-bit freedom movement that ever popped up on a backwater colony? Wherever the violence escalated they and their Syndicate partners stood to profit no matter how badly the Insurrection lost in the end.”
“And that’s it? That’s all the Insurrection is to them? Some kind of war profit scheme?” Mohsin let out a groan like a wounded animal. The man’s distress troubled Stray. Compare to the captain’s honest devotion to the Insurrection’s cause, what was he fighting for? More power? A seat at Shinsu ‘Refum’s war table? The Created were an easy enough enemy to justify fighting, but that was utterly incidental. He’d been doing this long before they turned the galaxy on its head.
“And these generals, they’re the ones waiting on that station?” Mohsin demanded.
“Them and all their private armies. You’d never win in a straight up fight. Not without my help.” Campbell set his whiskey down and considered the stricken officer before him. “I liked Venter, humorless bastard that he was. He didn’t deserve what they did to him. But the generals paid me a generous commission for my services. I can’t just turn my back on the contract and come over to…which side are you on again? You change so quickly it’s hard to keep track.”
“You have connections across the frontier.” Stray wished Mohsin would sit down. He looked like he might start breaking things at any moment. A man like Campbell would certainly demand recompense if a furious Mohsin destroyed some priceless work of art. “You’ve heard about Shinsu ‘Refum’s coalition fleet. I’ve come here to bring the URF into his fold.”
“Fly under a hinge-head’s command?” Campbell tapped the table thoughtfully. “That’s an interesting proposition. You won’t get much enthusiasm for it from the generals, though. Not everyone takes to the idea of working with the Covenant as easily as you do.”
“Not the Covenant. That’s never coming back. Shinsu’s different. He taught me how to command my ship, convinced Jul ‘Mdama to keep me in his inner circle. He’s a new breed of Sangheili, one that has better things to do with his time than hate on humans.”
“Awfully trusting, aren’t you? I thought you’d be a bit more cunning, given your reputation. Just because kowtowing to some mandibled warlord worked out for you doesn’t mean it’s a good idea for the rest of us. Who’s to say this Shinsu ‘Refum will still be partial to humans after he’s beaten the Created? If that’s even possible.”
“Shinsu’s an uptight, self-important aristocrat,” Stray admitted. “He’d exterminate humanity in a heartbeat if he thought it would win over the rest of the Sangheili. But that’s not the score right now. The Created smashed an entire UNSC fleet over Talitsa. I watched it happen. The only reason any of them survived is because Shinsu’s fleet beat back the Created long enough for them to escape. He’s the only commander out there with any kind of success record against these things. I don’t trust him any more than you trust me. But we don’t have the best options open to us right now. I’ll take Shinsu over the Created any day.”
“Fair point.” Campbell turned to Mohsin. “And what about you, my disillusioned friend? How do you feel about all this?”
Mohsin’s mouth shot open for a furious response, then snapped shut. The captain took several moments to compose himself, then slowly dropped back down onto the couch. “I don’t pretend to understand everything that happened during the last war. The Covenant killed billions of humans. I don’t know how Stray here ever justified working for them or how he got them to trust him. But I’ve never fought the Covenant. I spent my life fighting other humans. My family and all my friends were killed by other humans. Now I’m squatting in a Covenant ship surrounded by aliens. They haven’t killed me or my people yet. Some of them are decent for a bunch of ugly as hell aliens. I’m not interested in groveling for the Created any more than I was in living under the UEG’s colonial system. If someone can take the fight to the Guardians and win, I don’t care if he’s human or hinge-head or whatever. I’d fight for a Grunt if it meant finding a place I could be free.”
The officer blinked and looked down in sudden embarrassment. “I’m fighting for Stray now, aren’t I? Can’t get much worse than that.” He let out a bitter chuckle.
“Hmm.” Campbell considered this for several moments. He leaned back in his seat and took a thoughtful sip of whiskey. “You make some good points. The Created certainly don’t seem keen to live and let live. After all, they’ve already sent a delegation asking the URF to lay down arms and join their fold.”
Stray froze. “What?”
“They arrived yesterday. No Guardians, just a UNSC diplomatic shuttle claiming good faith. General Haleyi convinced the others to let them land peacefully and state their case.”
“And when did you plan on sharing this with me?”
Campbell smirked. “I was getting to it. There’s a reason I wanted to intercept you before you reached the station. You needed to be warned. And I wanted to take your measure before I proposed anything too radical. The URF is tired, worn down. They all know they can’t beat the Created. And unlike the UEG, there’s no running from them. They’ll control the whole galaxy in a few decades. Plenty of people on that station would trade freedom for the comfortable survival the Created offer.”
“But not you?” Mohsin asked. “I thought you didn’t care about the cause.”
“I don’t care,” Campbell agreed. “But I do care about freedom. Namely mine. I love the finer things in life, but more than that I like earning them. I worked and fought for everything I have. Everything I am. What’s the point to any of it if I just hand it all over to a bunch of AI technocrats?”
It could be a lie. This could all just be a trick to lure him in or eliminate a rival for whatever power plays were clearly festering within the URF’s remnants. But Campbell could have opened fire the moment the Soul Ascension came out of Slipspace. He could have had Stray killed the moment he set foot on the Hammurabi. Instead he’d invited him up to his cabin and laid his cards on the table. Campbell might not be a friend, but he was a potential ally. Stray just needed to take the man’s measure, just as the commodore was clearly doing with him.
“So what now?” Campbell asked. “You know the situation and your suspicions regarding the Talitsa operation are confirmed. Venter and his unit were sacrificed. You might call it betrayal, though he was too smart not to know the kind of game he was playing. And now you’re standing in his shoes, claiming to be his son.”
“We can’t trust any of them,” Mohsin said through gritted teeth. “Any one of the generals could have given him the order. Maybe they all did. And now they’re really considering just giving up and joining the Created. I thought that at least they’d be better than the UNSC in that way.”
“There’s only one thing we can do,” Stray said. “We go in peacefully and see what they all have to say for themselves. The Created, too. Let’s find out exactly what kind of playing field we’re on.”
“They won’t all be as polite or welcoming as myself,” Campbell warned. “I liked Venter and I’m interested to see if the stories I’ve heard about the traitor Spartan are true. I’m an outlier. The other generals will see you and anything to do with Venter as a threat, especially the ones who want to lay down arms and sign on with the Created. They know Venter would press them to fight to the bitter end. Everything to do with him is a threat to rallying their troops behind collaboration, not to mention a bad reminder to any of them who have enough of a conscience left to regret what they did to him.”
“I wasn’t finished.” Stray drummed his metal fingers against his helmet’s visor. “We go in peacefully and do our best to remind the so-called United Rebel Front just what it is they used to stand for. If they’re smart they’ll fall in line and work with Shinsu ‘Refum.”
“And more importantly, with you.” Campbell smiled. “Redmond Venter was a legend in his time. His name alone is more than enough to rally the ones who still have fight left in them. Imagine it: Venter’s heir at the head of a restored Insurrectionist army.”
Stray was imagining it. That was the problem. Hundreds, maybe thousands of veteran Insurrectionist fighters, combined with the Covenant might of the Kru’desh legion, would be a fighting force unlike anything the galaxy had ever seen. To think that force might take orders from him was almost too good to be true.
A month ago he’d been a hollowed out shell rotting away in Tobias Lensky’s apartment. Now he sat in a famous pirate’s cabin and seriously considered bending the URF to his will. The thought of it sent a thrill through his heart even as it made his skin crawl beneath his armor. He’d been here before, standing on top of the galaxy at the height of his power before Diana, Amber, and Cassandra brought him crashing down into the gutter. He couldn’t repeat his old mistakes. He wouldn’t survive a second fall.
An ache arched through his muscles to remind him that he might not even survive total victory.
“And what about the generals?” Mohsin asked hoarsely. “The ones who hung us out to dry on Talitsa. You can’t possibly expect to join forces with them.”
“Join forces? Of course not.” Stray shook his head. “You heard the commodore. They can’t stand the thought of him or anyone with his name coming back. They’ll get nervous and then they’ll start making mistakes.”
“Or they could get violent,” Campbell pointed out. “You can’t afford to start a shooting war here. Don’t forget, you may have my interest but you don’t have my support. I won’t betray my contact for some unknown who just shows up out of the blue.”
“Like I said,” Stray said with a cold smile. A thrilling anticipation curdled in his gut. He was truly back now. He had the Soul Ascension. He had Shinsu ‘Refum’s support again. Now he had a real target in front of him. The pieces were falling into place. “They’ll make mistakes. And their last one will be when they get violent.”
----
Commodore Jerrold Campbell watched the Phantom dropship ferry Stray—or Commander Simon Venter, as far as URF niceties went—and his cohort back to the Covenant battlecruiser. The Hammurabi’s sensor crew had been busy during the meeting. A discrete scan revealed that while the Soul Ascension might look impressive it was still a long way from full functionality. The young Venter was operating a skeleton ship on a skeleton crew and yet he still didn’t shy away from playing the strong man.
The boy had guts, Campbell allowed. Much more than Stray’s reputation as a frontier gunslinger suggested. There was something about that one Campbell liked. He was adaptable enough to step into the ring and maybe even last a few rounds as well.
Unfortunately, that might not be enough to save him.
“Re-order the task force into formation around the Covenant ship,” Campbell ordered the communications officer. “We’ll escort them over to Gilgamesh station, make sure no one gets trigger happy when they see that purple profile of theirs.”
He dropped back into his command chair and punched in the clearance codes for his own personal communications channel, triple-encrypted with a direct line to the URF command chain’s backdoor frequency.
“Get me General Haleyi’s command staff. While you’re at it, get the rest of the generals on alert as well. I’ve just had a very interesting meeting with our newest member. I think you need to brace yourselves and start planning now because otherwise he’s going to make this very ugly for all of us.”
===Chapter Thirty-Five: Truth, Justice, and the Insurrectionist Way===
General Hayden Kaleyi anxiously lit a cigar and did his best not to look as tightly wound as he felt. He’d overseen four major rebellions on three different colonies, survived two separate UNSC attempts on his life, and clawed his way to the top of the almost endless factional disputes that made the United Rebel Front the fragmented mess it was now. There was no reason he should be as nervous as he was right now. But something in his gut told him that the mess he’d stuck his boots in now had the potential to be far worse than anything he’d ever encountered before.
“What’s wrong now, Hayden?” the source of his troubles asked from where she lounged on his couch. “You can’t keep getting cold feet every time someone calls you with an update.”
“I’m not getting cold feet, Tanya.” Kaleyi puffed on the cigar. “I just wish you’d finalize this mess before it gets too dangerous. Having General Nnamani on my case was bad enough. Now Venter’s come back to haunt me. This isn’t anything like the open and shut deal you promised me.”
“I don’t remember promising you anything,” Tatiana Onegin replied coldly. “Don’t forget, you’re the one who begged me not to bring any Prometheans or Guardians with me. It took a lot of convincing for the Created to let me come alone. You’re the one who swore up and down most of the URF was sick of fighting. Now a couple naysayers raise their heads and you’re afraid everyone here wants to go to war. And that’s not Venter out there. Venter’s dead. I killed him myself.”
“Yes, and I wish you’d keep quiet about that.” Kaleyi wondered what it said about him that he was hosting the killer of a man he’d fought beside for nearly a decade in his private command suite. He’d never thought of himself as particularly cynical, at least by Insurrectionist standards. Then again he was also on first-name terms with this killer, a woman who’d spent her career subverting everything the URF stood for. Tatiana might serve new masters now, but she was here to hammer the final nail into the URF’s coffin. “And you didn’t come alone. My living room would be a hell of a lot less crowded if you had.”
Tatiana’s escorts sat in a tight formation around Kaleyi’s kitchen counter. He would have almost preferred a squad of robotic Prometheans. Instead he now played host to a group of five young men and women who looked barely old enough to be out of high school. They wore nondescript jackets and fatigues but it couldn’t be more obvious what they really were. “If it gets out that you brought Spartans with you, my credibility goes down the toilet.”
“If your friends have problems with Team Gravity here then maybe they won’t fit into the Created coalition quite as well as you think they will,” Tatiana pointed out. “They’re governing from the Inner Colonies, in case you hadn’t noticed.”
“I’ve noticed. I just think we need to lead with the quality of life benefits you’re offering. You won’t bring anyone around by parading their enemies in front of them. My troops will deal with security for the summit. Your child soldiers can either stay in my apartments or wait on your shuttle.”
“There’s the pot calling the kettle black,” Tatiana observed drily.
“I’ve never used child soldiers,” Kaleyi protested. “I’m not Venter.”
“Obviously. Venter would have slaughtered the opposition and seized control of the URF by now.”
“Except he never did. He never wanted to, and he wouldn’t have succeeded even if he tried. Redmond Venter was a mediocre commander at best. Superb small unit tactics just like any ODST, so he could rack up the kills with his own teams, but utterly useless at field command. The effort my people went into covering up his defeats and keeping up that rebel hero legend…” Kaleyi shook his head in disgust. “If he’d tried to take over it would been a slaughter and he’d have lost. I’m not interested in slaughter. If I was, I sure as hell wouldn’t be working with you.”
“And the Created are grateful for your cooperation. It will certainly be rewarded when all this is over.”
Remarks like that set Kaleyi’s teeth on edge. Tatiana had changed since her Syndicate days. She’d been dangerous as Helen Powell’s lieutenant, of course. More people had died on her orders than had ever perished beneath Kaleyi’s guns. But she’d toed the line and never taken things too far. Now she carried herself with an edge. She was on the winning side now, and she knew it.
In Kaleyi’s experience those types were the most dangerous—and the cruelest. He hoped Venter hadn’t suffered too long at Tatiana’s hands. The man at least deserved a quick death.
If Team Gravity was bothered by Kaleyi’s remarks they didn’t show it. None of the young Spartans—Kaleyi could hardly believe that a team of Spartans was sitting here, in his apartment—had said a word to him since their arrival. The pale, dark-haired man in the center was their leader. You could tell by the way the others looked to him before doing anything, even getting up for a glass of water.
“Well let’s hope this summit goes off well and with a minimal amount of bloodshed.” Tatiana smiled humorlessly. “The young Venter will have to die, of course, along with all his crew. Let’s hope your man Campbell can be relied on. It would be a shame to add wiping out his task force to the list of chores I need to take care of.”
“If you turn this summit into a bloodbath, it won’t matter what the Created offer,” Kaleyi warned. “The people here will never side with you. Half of them still think you’re just a new incarnation of the UEG’s imperialism.” 
“The same can be said for our new arrival, of course.” Tatiana withdrew a curved knife from her coat and passed it from palm to palm. “The trick is to make sure we aren’t the ones who strike the first blow. So we’ll lure him in, he’ll make a mistake and then…”
She passed the dull edge of the blade beneath her throat. “Then I’ll kill him.”
----
“This is ridiculous,” Ragna growled, fingers dangerously close to her rifle’s trigger. “How can they treat us like this? After Talitsa we should be welcomed back like heroes.”
“They never treated us like heroes before,” another rebel noted.
“We took the planet.”
“And lost it two weeks later.”
“We escaped. Venter and the others are martyrs to the cause, but the only eulogy I’ve heard for them happened on a Covenant ship in front of a few hundred hinge-heads.”
“You know why this is happening,” Andra pointed out from where she sat atop her duffle. “Your new commander’s a traitor and a murderer, even to your Innie friends. And now they all think you’re his people. They don’t trust you.”
“Cram it, oonskie,” Ragna shot back. “You don’t know anything about trust.”
Andra probably knew more about trust and loyalty than any of these deluded secessionists but she kept that to herself. She could almost sympathize with their frustration. The reception Venter’s survivors received on Gligamesh station was anything but flattering.
Spirits had been high after the feast on Jerrold Campbell’s flagship—lavish by warship galley standards. The good mood had infected even Andra as she sat at the end of the table, Argo never far away. Stray’s meeting with Campbell had apparently gone well, or at least well enough for the Soul Ascension to advance without violence. They hadn’t even been allowed off the Phantom before they were launching again, this time for the deep space station where the remnants of the United Rebel Front gathered.
The state of the Insurrection was old news compared to everything else spiraling out of control, but Andra couldn’t help but observe the URF’s “remnants” with profound irritation. She and Team Boson had clocked countless missions stamping out Insurrectionist cells across the frontier. Each mission’s debriefing ended with ONI handlers assuring them that the Innies were months away from utter collapse. Venter’s bedraggled survivors had only reinforced the idea that the remaining rebels were ragged militia fighters with one foot in the grave.
The rebel troops on display here were almost insultingly well-equipped. The hangar bay in front of Andra was full of soldiers in UNSC-grade combat gear. Stolen Pelican dropships ferried entire platoons into the hangar while ground teams oversaw maintenance on short-range fighters and war machines. An entire fleet of Warthogs lined the hangar’s rear alongside squadrons of Scorpions and Mastodon APCs. Andra even saw a few Cyclops exoskeletons looming in the shadows. She recalled Ryder Kedar’s ramshackle task force camped out in a Covenant hangar and her throat tightened with anger. The UNSC struggled to hold itself together while its enemies shored up war material.
None of the rebels seemed at all interested in Stray’s group. The traitor himself had been met by a small escort that led him and Captain Shah off deeper into the station. Andra and the others were left on their own, ushered off to the side by a few irate deck chiefs, and then promptly forgotten. A few passing troops gave them curious looks, mostly aimed at Argo, but everyone in the hangar clearly had better things to do than approach a few bedraggled stragglers.
Andra had better things to do than sit here, not that she had any choice in the matter. She sat on her duffle and fumed. Ryder had instructed her to give “regular reports.” How was she supposed to do that? Stray had sidelined her with laughable ease, leaving her to stew in the ranks like a common foot soldier. All her years of training, her augmentations, her very identity as a Spartan—none of them mattered now. She sat dejectedly amidst the rebels and watched the galaxy move on without her.
----
“I hope you understand just how unorthodox this is,” the URF officer said with a scowl. “We only have your word and that of Lieutenant Shah here that anything you say is true. Based on your past history with Commander Venter and the cause you’re lucky not to be standing in front of a firing squad right now. Instead you’re in front of this council demanding a seat at the negotiating table because… what? Venter adopted you?”
“Adopted and promoted me, general.” Stray cast his visored gaze over the negotiating table in question. A smooth steel table separated him from the United Rebel Front’s high command. Four uniformed officers—each with an impressive array of medals and rank insignias—sat across the table and regarded him with varying degrees of mistrust. Each commander had their own entourage of aides and bodyguards who stood around the conference room and mirrored their superiors’ glares. “And since I don’t see anyone else stepping in to fill his boots, that leaves me to fill the roll he vacated. Also, I promoted Captain Shah two days ago. He’ll be needing the proper rank patches when you have time to fetch them.”
“Are you delusional or just stupid?” A heavyset man with an impressive moustache leaned forward. Stray just barely made out the man’s nameplate: Kaleyi. “Redmond Venter commanded one of our best expeditionary forces. He brought hundreds of troops under his command. That was what gave him a position on this council. You have, what? A dozen stragglers who made it off Talitsa?”
“You’re forgetting the CCS-class battlecruiser and over two thousand veteran troops waiting onboard.”
“Covenant troops,” General Kaleyi snapped. “You have a hundred times more aliens following you than humans. Maybe your hinge-head masters thought you could threaten us into submission, but they were wrong. We survived the UEG. We’ll survive you.”
“It’s a very pretty ship,” Jerrold Campbell said. The commodore leaned back in his chair, feet planted on the conference table. Of the four “council members” present he was the only one not radiating cold anger. “Let’s not wave it off lightly. Imagine what we could do with it in our fleet.”
“Except it won’t be our fleet, now will it?” another general asked quietly. She was smaller than the others at the table, with close-cropped dark hair and sharp features. Her nameplate identified her as one General Nnamani. “It would belong to this warlord you serve, this Shinsu ‘Refum. You seem a bit unclear on how holding an officership works, Stray. You can’t serve two masters. Either you’re an envoy for the Cleansing Blade or you’re a URF officer. Or maybe you’re neither.”
“Which makes him a traitor another time over,” Kaleyi said. “One who thinks he can just fly in here and have us hand over everything to some hinge-head.”
Nnamani raised an eyebrow. “He isn’t exactly alone in that, now is he?”
Some of the angry color left General Kaleyi’s face. “That’s different,” he snapped. “I only asked you to listen to what the Created envoys had to say. They came in peace without any threats. This traitor thinks he can threaten us into giving him what he wants.”
 
“Commander Venter has been more than accommodating with his force projection,” Campbell pointed out. So far, he was the only officer at the table calling Stray “Commander Venter.” His support was welcome, but Stray knew it could disappear in an instant. Campbell could be a potential ally, but he couldn’t be trusted. “He agreed to keep his ship beyond firing range of the station and so far he only has a single squad holding in the hangar. We can’t pretend that the rest of us were so disarmed about this peaceful summit.”
 
“The rest of us have every right to be here, as do our soldiers.” The last member of the URF high command was a small red-haired woman who looked like she could have been an older Zoey. Unlike the other officers at the table she sported neither a rank or uniform, instead wearing a grubby spacer jacket. The men and women behind her wore similar gear, looking more like old Syndicate enforcers than paramilitaries. A small nameplate almost grudgingly pinned to her jacket sported the surname “Bostwick.” “Whether or not this so-called Commander Venter and his gang of aliens have that right are the subject of discussion here. So far only you seem to believe he does, commodore. Don’t forget that your present status here was not entirely agreed upon either.”
“I know I’m a recent addition to this happy gathering but seeing as I’ve brought the most ships to the flotilla guarding this station my voice really ought to carry the same weight as anyone else’s.”
“So you vote in his favor,” Bostwick said, betraying no outwards irritation at Campbell’s arrogant rogue act.
Stray vaguely recalled hearing about this one just before he’d lost the Kru’desh. A new player in rebel circles inciting popular revolts across the Outer Colonies. Bostwick was a populist rabble-rouser and didn’t waste any time at military pretensions. For all her jabs at Campbell she was probably a new addition to this resurgent URF as well.
“I say we hear him out, that’s all,” Campbell replied. “As General Nnamani pointed out, we’ve already given a hearing to the Created. Seeing as they control everything that belonged to the UEG less than three months ago, you might say they’re the successor to the old Earth government. Here we are seriously considering joining them. Who cares if Venter was a bit unorthodox in choosing a successor?”
The guards hadn’t disarmed Stray. Every weapon on his armor was ready to use. Mohsin had his sidearm, though Stray couldn’t count on the man to follow his lead if he made a sudden, violent play. That was a problem. Everyone else in the room sported a sidearm at the very least. Some of the aides standing behind their respective commanders held rifles and submachine guns at low ready. It was hardly surprising considering the tension hanging between the so-called comrades at the table.
He could go for the ones with rifles first. If he killed them and used the table as cover that might buy him the time needed to take out everyone on his side of the room and then mop up the survivors. A well-placed grenade might do the trick, but even then…
Stray pulled himself away from the grim fantasy. It wouldn’t work. Too many people in the room. Too many would last long enough to get shots off. Mohsin’s loyalty was torn. He might as easily turn on Stray as he might the generals. And even if Stray walked away from a pile of dead officers he’d have the entirety of the URF baying for his blood. And who knew what reinforcements the Created had waiting in the wings. It was ridiculous to think they’d really only send a peace delegation when they had a fleet of Guardians and countless more ships at their command.
This problem called for subtlety. He needed time.
“It’s true, I made promises to Shinsu ‘Refum,” he said, speaking loud enough to be heard over the infighting flying back and forth across the conference table. “I wouldn’t be here if I hadn’t. He repaired my ship, replenished my crew, and sent me here on a mission. Before that he raised me up from nothing and gave me a position within the Covenant. Those aren’t the best credentials even with my father’s name and position. But I didn’t come here to wave those around and demand attention. My record can do all that and more.”
“Your record,” Kaleyi scoffed. “Venter turned you and then you turned on him. You’ve done nothing but prove you’re a mad dog who’ll fight for anyone stupid enough to let you off the leash.”
“I did more to fight the UNSC than anyone in this room,” Stray shot back. “Just ask—”
“Take that helmet off when you speak to us,” Nnamani snapped. “This isn’t some frontier dive bar and we aren’t a bunch of petty criminals.” The general leaned forward with an icy stare that stopped Stray in his tracks. This was the woman whose agents brought down four colonial governors across the Inner Colonies in less than a year. She was not to be underestimated.
Everyone at the table—even the collaborator Kalleyi—had similar achievements to their name. A word from any of them and their troops would slaughter the squad back in the hangar, then turn their guns on the Soul Ascension. The others, even Campbell, would join in rather than defend the losing side.
“Maybe it’s a Spartan thing,” Bostwick noted. “Don’t forget he was an oonskie before he was anything else. We can’t trust a word he says.”
“I was nothing before I was a Spartan or anything else.” Stray pulled off the helmet and tossed it onto the table. He ignored the startled reactions to his gaunt appearance. “ONI pulled me off the street and shipped me to black site in the middle of nowhere. I spent my childhood learning how to fight. How to kill. And when I realized the death and misery the UNSC spread across the colonies, I let Venter make me into something new. And yeah, that something wasn’t pretty. I fought with Venter. Everyone at this table has rebel blood on their hands just as much as the oonskies. Don’t play innocent we all know it’s true. But I’ve killed more UNSC than everyone in this room combined.”
He paced in front of the table, running prosthetic fingers over its surface as he fought to hide his limp. “I leveled Philadelphia. The rest of you could only dream of reaching that far, but I hit them right in the heart of their colonial empire. They sent Spartans after me—my own company, kids I grew up with—and I killed them, too. And this past year I stopped their advance on the frontier with one ship and a legion of Covenant.”
“You don’t honestly expect us to believe you did all that for the rebellion—” Kaleyi began.
“I raided the UNSC Navy’s supply lines for over a year and brought down every ship they sent after me,” Stray pressed on grimly. “I crushed the Ranger Corps on Montak and smashed the Marines on New Africa when they had me outnumbered three to one. And yes I used the Covenant to do it. Better that then wasting human lives on unwinnable battles. I’ve done everything Venter ever did and more. He recognized that, which is why I’m standing here in his place.”
It was a variation on the speech he’d given to Venter back on Talitsa. He was getting good at enumerating his achievements—and glossing over the failures.
“By that logic we should have made Jul ‘Mdama a general,” Nnamani snorted. “Maybe just handed him the reigns and told him to take over.”
“I wasn’t fighting for Jul ‘Mdama. I was fighting the UNSC. And yes, there’s a difference. I used any weapon I could get my hands on, just like I’ve always done. And thanks to me the URF got more breathing room than it’s had since the height of the Great War. It’s thanks to me you could all scrape enough troops and ships together to have this little summit. All I’m asking for is a seat at the table. I think I’m selling myself a bit short, considering everything I went through.”
“And how many worlds did you free?” Bostwick challenged. “How many independent colonies do you have to show for everything you did?”
“None,” Stray shot back with a contemptuous shrug. “How many do you?”
No one had anything to say to that. Stray glowered across the assembled officers, then reached to yank a chair out from the conference table. He would have thrown himself into it had Mohsin and Campbell both simultaneously shot him warning glares. Stray rethought the gesture and remained standing.
General Nnamani sighed. “I don’t like your attitude, Spartan. I didn’t like your father—if that’s how we’re calling it—either. I think he was a glory seeker who wasted lives. But this debate has wasted enough time as it is. You’re here, you have a ship, and you have troops. And I’ve heard enough about what your Kru’desh Legion did on the frontier that I can’t deny your track record, even if I do question your motives. So this council will put it to a vote: do we recognize Commander Venter’s promotion and place on this council?”
“Who are you to call us to a vote?” Bostwick snapped.
“Someone has to,” Nnamani said with a scowl. “General Kaleyi already invited the Created over for tea. I don’t remember anyone voting on that.”
Maybe this really was just a waste of everyone’s time. This so-called council might as well be a living exhibit on the history of the United Rebel Front—divided, squabbling, and petty. It was a wonder they’d survived this long. Why Shinsu or the Created thought a peace overture was worthwhile was anyon’es guess.
“Fine. I say no.” Bostwick folded her arms. “I’ve dealt with oonskies who said they were on our side before. They couldn’t change they’re stripes. I bet that’s even harder for a Spartan.”
“I say yes,” Campbell said with a wry smile. “Though it occurs to me that we might wind up with a tied vote—”
“Your vote doesn’t count, commodore,” Nnamani said curtly. “For that very reason. You’re a junior member on this council. We can’t have a tied vote on this one.”
“A junior member with six warships waiting just off this station.” For a moment Campbell’s mask slipped and true anger entered his voice. But he recovered quickly, adding jovially: “But more reason to bring in a fifth member voting member. Can’t have this problem coming up again, especially with the next item of business.”
Stray tensed. Without Campbell’s vote, that just left Kaleyi and—
“I vote yes,” Nnamani said. “For that very reason. Venter’s boots need filling, one way or another. I may not have liked him, but his name means more than the man ever did.”
All eyes fell on Kaleyi. Stray expected the man to look smug but instead a pensive look crossed the general’s face. He looked over his compatriots, then back to Stray. The room’s attention seemed to put him on edge.
“Well, it seems that I have the deciding vote.” Kaleyi rubbed his temples. “I know I’ve brought a difficult choice on this council, but we have to face reality. The Created cannot be fought. They can’t even be avoided the way the UNSC was. They’re offering us a better way of life and I couldn’t stand by and let that offer go to waste—”
“That is not the topic at hand here,” Nnamani reminded him.
“I know, I know,” Kaleyi said with a sigh. “I just want you all to understand my reasoning. Simon or whatever you call yourself, I admired your predecessor a great deal. He was a great man born after his time. If you’re to fill his position then, well—”
“Just get to the point,” Bostwick hissed.
“Very well.” Kaleyi shot the younger woman an irate glance,t hen turned his attention to Stray. “I’ll vote to support your promotion on one condition.”
That caught Stray off-guard. He blinked in surprise and even gaped a bit before realizing how foolish he must look. “Yes? I’m listening.”
“We’ll soon be voting on a far more important issue than whatever rank you’re allowed to call yourself by. I already know how you’ll vote on it if I let you on this council. But you’ll be part of the URF, not some hinge-head’s lapdog. If we vote to join the Created that means that you, your ship, and all your followers do to. Can you agree to that, in front of everyone on this council?”
Stray looked at the older man. Kaleyi’s face was earnest, but there was something else in his eyes. A hidden deviousness invisible to all but the knowing gaze of a fellow son of a bitch. The man had something up his sleeve.
“Easy enough.” Whatever the trap was, Stray couldn’t afford not to spring it. “I don’t think I’ll have much of a problem keeping that promise.”
“Well then, as long as we’re clear on where your loyalties lie,” Kaleyi said, leaning back in his seat. “I vote yes.”
“We have an accord then?” Nnamani asked the table at large.
“No.” Bostwick rose from her seat so abruptly that several of the other officers’ aides reached for their weapons. The young activist glowered across the table. “First Campbell, now this. If that’s how we’re doing things, if anyone with a big enough stick can just waltz in and take a seat, then this summit clearly has nothing to do with ideals. You all can do whatever the hell you want. I’m taking my people somewhere our principles are worth a damn.”
She turned on her heel and strode from the room. Her comrades hurried after her without a glance back.
“Let them go,” Nnamani called to the troops outside the door. “It’s not worth fighting out.”
“Yes,” Kaleyi agreed. “She’s a political activist, not a soldier. She only brought a hundred fighters with her anyway. All the activism in the galaxy doesn’t mean much when the Created can EMP entire systems in an instant.”
“That logic sort of proves her point, doesn’t it?” Campbell pointed out. “And now we’re right back where we started. An even group. What a day, what a day.”
“We’ll sort that out later. In the meantime, we put this tiresome matter behind us.” Nnamani steepled her fingers and cast a weary gaze around the room. “Take a seat, Commander Venter, and welcome to the URF. Or perhaps I should say, welcome back.”
“Yes,” Kaleyi agreed. His face was sincere, but that deviousness never quite left his eyes. “Welcome back.”
Stray offered the warmest smile he could muster. His mouth couldn’t quite make it past room temperature. He’d gotten what he wanted. Now he had the privilege of sitting with a group of hyenas more ravenous than even the most ambitious Sangheili warlord. “Thank you for your support.” He slipped down into the chair. Thanks to his gear he barely fit in the seat. “It’s good to be back.”
----
“Are you insane?” Tatiana demanded. She paced through Hayden Kaleyi’s apartment, hands thrust deep in her pockets. The general got the feeling it was all the woman could do not to start throwing things. “What the hell are you playing at?”
“Relax, Tanya. I just moved this summit one step closer to submitting to the Created.”
“One word from you and you’d have thrown Stray out on his ear. He’d have no choice but to start shooting then. Instead you voted him onto your sorry excuse for a council and alienated one of the existing members just to really tie everything together.”
“Who, Bostwick? She’d never have voted in my favor.” Kaleyi crossed over to his kitchen. Team Gravity had mercifully abandoned their usual spots around the counter, where they had conspicuously blocked the wine cabinet. The young Spartans stood near the apartment door now, conspicuously unable to shake the urge to stand at parade rest. Kaleyi wondered if their presence was meant to frighten him. A word from Tatiana and the Spartans could rip him apart with their bare hands.
It was an idle threat. Tatiana couldn’t afford to have him killed. He’d just made sure of that. Team Gravity seemed to realize this as well. Three of them weren’t even paying attention to the argument in the living room, instead focused on a datapad shared between them. Kaleyi pulled out a bottle of wine and noted with irritation that it had already been open. Team Gravity might be Spartans but they hadn’t been able to resist getting into the drinks.
“Bostwick is a political activist, the type who’d rather watch her life’s work burn to the ground before she’d compromise her principles. She was right about what Stray’s inclusion means for the URF. Now that she and her flunkies have stormed back to Kropotkin we just have soldiers left to deal with. Soldiers are a bit amenable when it comes to ending the wars they have to fight.” He poured out the remainder of the bottle into two glasses, taking one and offering the second to Tatiana.
The Created agent fixed him with an irate look but took the proffered glass. “Alright. So you’d never have won Bostwick over. That still leaves you sitting at the same table as that animal. I’m hoping there’s a method to your madness. I didn’t fly all the way out here just to watch you throw this all away.”
“That animal is the push I need to sell the Created to the others,” Kaleyi explained. The wine was not particularly good. Then again, he took what he could get this far out on the frontier. “You heard him in there. He loves war, or at least he loves all the carnage he can cause when he’s at the head of it. He’s Venter on steroids. Those are exactly the kinds of enemies you and the Created need to convince the rest of the galaxy exactly what it is you’re saving them from. Nnamani and I finally got to be on the same side of something voting for him. That should remind her that I have the URF’s best interests at heart. And Nnamani plays the loyalist, but she’s as sick of the endless fighting as I am. Having Stray pushing her to hand her soldiers over to some Sangheili warlord will remind her what the alternative to a peaceful surrender is.”
“That’s one very big maybe,” Tatiana pointed out. “That leaves Campbell. That pirate is fully in Stray’s camp. I’m hoping you’ll be able to cut Stray out of any vote the way you did with the commodore today.”
“Campbell is more amenable than you’d think. If he was so smitten with Stray he’d never have warned me the boy was coming. He’ll side with whoever offers him the best payout. Even if his strange obsession with playacting the swashbuckling pirate wins over his common sense, he’s still one vote against mine and Nnamani’s. And yes, Stray is about to discover that rank or no rank, famous name or no famous name, he’s still a junior partner in this firm. He’ll be backed into a corner when the council votes to submit to the Created.”
“He won’t honor his agreement, you know that.” A soft fury entered Tatiana’s voice whenever she talked about Stray. Kaleyi wasn’t sure what the history was there and perhaps it was safer that he didn’t find out. “He’s a vicious, lying bastard through and through.”
“If you’re wrong, it doesn’t matter. The hinge-heads back on that ship of his won’t stand for it. They’ll tear him apart if he dares. And if he does turn or try to run, then there’s your mistake. Either we kill him here or he goes back to Shinsu ‘Refum in disgrace and the Cleansing Blade does our work for us.”
“You’re awfully confident, general.”
“I risked an awful lot bringing you here,” Kaleyi replied. “I’m not about to let some Spartan psychopath ruin everything I set up. I know what I’m doing.”
Across the room Team Gravity stirred. Something on the shared datapad had them worked up. Their leader looked away from his fellows and called over to Tatiana, “Ma’am, we’ve confirmed that it’s her. Permission to make contact?”
“Go ahead,” Tatiana waved them on. “But remember the plan. Be careful. I already had the pleasure of her company once. She won’t turn as easily as you seem to think.”
“We’ll get her,” the leader said confidently. “We’re family.”
The Spartans filed quickly out of the room. Kaleyi could hear them talking urgently amongst each other even out in the hallway. He fixed Tatiana with a look of alarm.
“I thought I told you to keep them hidden,” he snapped. “If anyone finds out the Created have agents on this station, let alone ex-Spartans—”
“No one will know,” Tatiana assured them. “Gravity knows how to blend in. And you’ll excuse me if I don’t share your confidence in the URF’s inclinations towards peace. I need a few security measures just in case you’re wrong. It turns out Stray brought someone unexpected on board with him. An old friend of theirs, to be precise. Something tells me she isn’t here entirely by choice. My team has just gone to offer her a way out of her current predicament.”
----
“It’s really her, right? We didn’t get it wrong?”
“Of course it’s her. Who else could it be?”
“Andra stands out. Even Onegin picked her out and she sure as hell didn’t grow up with her.”
“Alright, that’s enough. Let’s focus here.” Loic-D066 raised a hand and brought Team Gravity’s chatter to a halt. “We need to find out what Andra’s doing here and why she’s hanging around Simon-G294’s people.”
“You don’t think she’s on his side, do you?” Citlali-D151 asked. The team medic’s brow knotted in thought.
“Hell no,” Mireia-D001 snapped. “There’s no way she’d sign on with Simon. After what he did to her on Montak? She wanted that bastard dead more than the rest of the company, and that’s saying something.”
“She’s an ONI plant,” Shaima-D164 noted. Beside her, Akoni-D284 nodded his agreement. “That’s what this is. The Created tracked her to Talitsa after she escaped from Asphodel Meadows. She must have linked up with the survivors from the battle there and gotten attached to Simon. The only question is, does he know who she is?”
“We’ll find out soon enough,” Loic assured his team. “We’ll make contact and talk things out with her. Discretely, of course. If anyone challenges us, we’re cadet rangers with General Kaleyi’s expeditionary corps.”
“And what’s our angle?” Citlali pressed. “Do we tell her the truth? Whatever her reasons for being here are, we can’t forget that we aren’t on the same side anymore.”
“What’s the point in lying?” Mireia countered. “Once she sees what other Deltas have done and hears Loic out, she’ll see why joining the Created is the only real option. I’ll bet the UNSC hasn’t even found Merlin yet, if he’s still alive. She needs us right now.”
“We’ll be careful. If she takes things the wrong way it could cause problems for our mission here. Let me do most of the talking.” Loic’s words were cautious but he was proud of his team. They’d taken to the Created cause quickly. When he’d first heard Cortana’s announcement to the galaxy he’d feared that his friends wouldn’t understand why the Created were far better masters of the galaxy than the UEG could ever hope to be. But Citlali and the others had listened to him. Together they’d already saved far more lives than they’d ever managed through the UNSC. “Let’s get to the main hangar. Who knows what Simon’s plans are? She might not be on the station much longer.”
He’d shown his teammates how to save themselves. Now he could do the same for another friend.
----
The first office General Nnamani’s aide led Mohsin and the newly instated Commander Simon Venter to was a well-decorated room to rival that of any UNSC admiral. Its furnishings were connected to a lavish multi-room apartment that looked better suited to a luxury hotel than a deep space military installation.
“I don’t think so,” Stray said.
He and Mohsin now stood in a bare room overlooking the main hangar bay. Nnamani’s officer had barely been able to hide her smirk when Stray looked the “office” over and declared it more to his liking. She’d made sure to put him in a room with a good view of the hangar and the massed Insurrectionist firepower. Stray stood by the window and kept close watch on the activity below. It would be a shame if one of his new allies “accidentally” fired a high explosive round into his new office
“Have you lost your mind?” Mohsin hissed
“You mean, ‘Have you lost your mind, Commander?’” Stray corrected. “And all things considered that went better than expected. They even confirmed your promotion.”
News spread quickly on a station full of rival militia. The council meeting had been adjourned less than an hour and already several distinct stories were circulating among the rebels. Some said a Covenant warlord had just been instated in URF high command; others were convinced Redmond Venter’s long lost son had emerged and in a stunning act of nepotism had been given his father’s old position; still others claimed that Venter himself was still alive and had returned victoriously from Talitsa in a captured Covenant cruiser.
The truth would emerge in time. For now Stray was happy the rumors were so far-fetched. The ancient laws of military scuttlebutt meant that before long every rebel on the station would have his or her own unique spin on developments.
His admission to the council had inadvertently gotten rid of Bostwick and her Sapien Sunrise allies. The departure of the hardliners made his job here that much easier.
“You promised me you’d get to the bottom of Venter’s betrayal,” Mohsin continued. “You didn’t say a word about that in there. It was all ‘my father’ this and ‘my father’ that. Someone has to be held accountable for what they did to us!”
“For what we think they did to you,” Stray reminded him. “I couldn’t exactly storm in there shouting some nonsense about how I’d avenge myself on my father’s killers, could I? Or should I have challenged Hayden Kaleyi to a duel? Pistols at twenty paces down on the hangar floor, maybe?”
“Your father,” Mohsin scoffed. “Don’t tell me that’s how you really feel about the old man now. Or are you starting to believe your own propaganda?”
“Don’t worry, I still hate that old bastard for what he did to my friends back on Mamore.” The ghosts of Emily and a dozen other child soldiers had never quite left Stray’s dreams. They’d all gone happily to their deaths on Venter’s orders. Mohsin had been one of their number, another angry teenager Venter had given a rifle and pointed at the UNSC. Somehow he’d managed to forget all that in his years of loyal service since. “But if I’m going to use his name for my own purposes I might as well give him some affection. No sense being rude, seeing as he’s dead and all. And just because I wasn’t raving like a lunatic in there doesn’t mean I’m letting down his memory. I need a secure line to the Soul Ascension as soon as possible.”
“Are you sure that’s a good idea, after what you agreed to?” Mohsin asked. “When your hinge-head friends learn that you’ve promised to join the Created—”
“I didn’t promise to join the Created. I said I’d abide by the council’s decision.” Stray looked over the empty office. He’d already done a cursory sweep for bugs—much easier without a carpet thick enough to swallow his boots. He’d detected and isolated four distinct listening devices with software Juno had programmed into his armor. Clearly his new colleagues didn’t trust him in the slightest. A “spoofer” scrambling device discretely placed between himself and Mohsin kept their conversation private to all but the naked ear. “And it’ll be a much smaller council by the time we’re done here.”
Mohsin’s eyes narrowed. “Wonderful. You’ve been instated less than an hour and you’re already plotting a coup. I didn’t come here to slaughter my brothers and sisters.”
“Brothers and sisters,” Stray sneered. “Listen to yourself. What is it with these ideologies making smart people sound like idiots? Kaleyi and the others don’t believe that crap. If you really believed it you’d have left with Bostwick.”
“Maybe that’s what I should have done. You may only see the rebellion as a way to aggrandize yourself, but to me and Ragna and the rest it means something. It meant something to the old man, too. You know, the man you betrayed and tried to murder right up until it became convenient to take his name. You could at least pretend to give a damn about the cause, or at least care about what the others think about you. Or are the hinge-heads the only ones whose beliefs matter to you?”
“I respect you, Captain, or at least I respect you enough not to insult your intelligence with bogus platitudes. I’ll keep you and the others alive and give you something more than a rock to hide under for the next few decades. I have enough to handle without coming up with pretty lies to make you feel good about yourself. If that’s not good enough for you, leave. I can’t waste time worrying about you shooting me in the back because I didn’t flatter you enough.”
“If you don’t give people good reason to follow you then you can’t be surprised when your command falls apart. You seem to understand that regarding the Covenant. It’s just a shame you can’t wrap your head around the concept when it comes to your own species.”
“I thought you wanted freedom. The Created will be ten times the overreaching despots the UEG ever was. After a decade under them we won’t even have a phrase for civil liberties anymore.”
“And there are plenty of people fighting against that,” Mohsin pointed out. “The question is, why should you be the one I fight under to do it? Why should I trust you or Shinsu ‘Refum more than my own cause? You think I’m just being difficult, but you need to answer these questions if you want to walk away from this station with anything to show for it.”
“I’ll bear that in mind. By the time I’m done here no one will have any reason to doubt me.”
Mohsin regarded him warily. “You’ve changed. Even I see that. Whenever you have to deal with command and politics, your entire way of speaking changes. It’s no wonder you keep that helmet on. It’s as if you turn into a completely different person.”
“First you complain that I’m not a good enough officer.” Stray tilted his helmet. “Then you have issues when I act like a commander. Would you prefer it if I was back to acting like a Syndicate thug?”
“I can’t deny you have a certain knack for command. The old man saw it or he’d never have given us to you. You wouldn’t have made it this far without it. I just wonder what the root of it all is. It doesn’t matter how many battles you win if you don’t have anything worth fighting for.”
“Galactic history says differently.” Stray turned back towards the hangar. The conversation was becoming tiresome. Mohsin was beginning to sound eerily like Cassandra or Juno. He didn’t need another one of those in his life. “As long as we have the same enemies, all you need to worry about is who has the best chance of beating them. You can think whatever the hell you want about me, but you know I’m a safer bet than the mediocrities running this station. They didn’t get here by winning battles. They didn’t even get here by fighting them. They just knew how to survive and manipulate the ones who did the real fighting.”
He’d had the same philosophy of life and battle once. That mindset bought him infamy as Gamma Company’s worst trainee and a cabin on a run-down freighter. Humiliation after humiliation taught him that cowards won nothing for all their efforts. He was a coward, but he had taught himself to be brave.
Something was happening down on the hangar floor. Stray magnified his helmet’s view and recognized Andra standing near an alcove away from Venter’s rebels and any of the other Insurrectionists still milling about. She was talking to someone. Several someones. Stray couldn’t quite make out Andra’s conversation partners were but there was no reason she should be talking to anyone outside the Kru’desh. She barely spoke to any of the rebels she’d had time to get to know. She would never simply strike up a conversation with a passerby.
“Get me that connection to the Soul Ascension,” he ordered. “I need Juno probing this station’s defenses as discretely as possible.”
“Whatever it is your planning, you can’t bring in the Covenant. You’ll lose the entire URF, including me.”
“I’m aware.”
“Then you should also know that we can’t take on Kaleyi with what you have on this station. Even if I wanted to, which I don’t, I couldn’t—”
“Don’t worry.” Stray kept an eye on Andra and her mysterious new friends. Whatever they were talking about it wasn’t making her very happy—though it seemed making Andra unhappy was not a particularly hard thing to do. “I’ve already got a force multiplier in mind.”
----
Andra couldn’t believe her eyes. Maybe, bored out of her mind by the hours of inaction in the hangar bay, was asleep and dreaming. That was a much more sensible possibility then the reality now standing smiling before her in featureless grey fatigues.
She wasn’t sure when she’d last seen Team Gravity. She and Merlin had run across them a few times since graduation, but she couldn’t quite place when or where that might have been. A few briefings on the Infinity, maybe, or a chance encounter with them in a mess hall during furlough after Rio. In the end it didn’t matter. They were here now, all five of them staring expectantly out at her from between a pair of Mastodon APCs.
“Come on Andra, don’t give us the silent treatment,” Loic said with that easy smile of his. “I know it’s been a while but there’s no call for being rude.”
The others nodded in agreement. Andra was embarrassed to realize she only remembered one other name: Citlali, the team’s medic. Spartans were supposed to be family but there were hundreds in Delta Company and she’d never worked closely with any of Gravity aside from the friendly Loic, who always seemed to know every single face and name in the company.
“Sorry, it’s just… what are you doing here?” she finally managed. “All of you, on this station. Who sent you?”
Loic’s smile became a frown. He looked disappointed. “I could ask you the same thing, especially given who you’re traveling with. Since when are you with Simon-G294? After everything he’s done…”
“I’m following my damn orders!” the reply was harsher and louder than Andra intended, but that feeling had been pounding against her brain ever since she’d embarked on this horrible journey. How dare anyone judge her for something she’d never wanted and never asked for? She looked quickly around but no one payed any attention. The rebels in the hangar bay were all busy with their own tasks. No one had any time to worry about a few young soldiers conversing together beside the Mastodons. Even Venter’s rebels either hadn’t noticed or didn’t care about Andra’s sudden interest in a few unknown Insurrectionists.
“You’re following orders. Of course. I’m sorry, I should have known.” Loic gestured for her to step in closer. “Whose orders? ONI? And does Simon know who you are? What you are?”
“Of course he does,” Andra said hotly. “It’s all part of this damn alliance Commander Kedar made with some hinge-head. Simon’s still with the Covenant, the traitor, and Ryder doesn’t trust him. He made me an attaché to keep an eye on him even if he—”
She shook her head. The bitter words had come pouring out of her mouth, all the anger she’d been forced to keep pent up set loose by the appearance—finally!—of a few familiar faces. She gritted her teeth and tried to keep her composure. Team Gravity looked at her sympathetically. Those looks made her feel good, so good that she didn’t want to ask the obvious question lurking beneath her pained explanation. She didn’t want to ask. She didn’t want to know the answer.
But she had to know. “And what about you? What are you doing here? Which spook sent you?”
Her fellow Spartans exchanged glances and Andra’s heart sank. An immediate response would have assuaged her fears but this hesitation told her that whatever the answer was she wouldn’t like it. The relief of reunion crashed to pieces. “What, you heard about a bunch of Innies in one place and decided to deal with them all by yourselves?” she forced herself to suggest.
“Not exactly,” Loic said, shaking his head. “Believe me, we aren’t here to fight the rebels.”
“Don’t tell me you’re with the rebels now.” A terrible prospect, but better than the alternative slowly rearing its hideous head at the back of Andra’s mind. “The UNSC isn’t beaten yet. You guys can’t just give up. You can come back to Commander Kedar with me, we’ll work something out—”
“Don’t make this harder than it has to be, Loic,” Citlali snapped. “Andra, we’re here to convince the rebels to lay down their weapons and stop fighting. We’re with the Created now.”
The truth hit her like a blow to the gut. Andra felt the blood drain from her face. “That’s a terrible joke, Citlali.”
“It’s the truth, and you know it,” said another one of the other Spartans, a larger girl Andra couldn’t put a name to. “We’re helping them bring peace to the galaxy.”
“You’re with them?” Andra wanted to shout and rage but all she could manage was a hoarse whisper. “Do you have any idea what they are? I was on Talitsa. They annihilated the entire Sixteenth Fleet. They cut off entire systems, leveled every port in the Outer Colonies. They killed Merlin!”
Those last words slipped from her mouth before she could stop them. Andra reeled, devastated. It was the first time she’d said aloud what she’d feared for weeks: Merlin was dead. The Created had killed him with that Slipspace portal. He was never coming back.
She couldn’t even remember the last thing she’d said to him.
Loic reached out a hand to steady her but she struck it away with enough force to shatter a regular man’s arm. “Don’t you dare. You’re a damned traitor. You all are!”
“I’m sorry about Merlin.” If Andra’s blow hurt him Loic didn’t let it show. He stared at her imploringly. “I didn’t know. But the Created are the only ones who can make the galaxy a better place. The UNSC will keep fighting because they can’t imagine anyone in control but them. The Created didn’t start the battle on Talitsa, but they had to defend the colony. They don’t want war. Why do you think we’re here? They could destroy every ship in this sector if they wanted to. But the rebels deserve a chance to come into the fold peacefully just like everyone else. How many Insurrectionists did you kill with Team Boson, Andra? We killed dozens and it didn’t bring us any closer to peace. We joined the Created because we understood how much more of a difference we could make with them. You can, too.”
Andra stared at them. They all looked back with such earnest, genuine expressions. If they’d been scheming, utterly unscrupulous bastards like Stray that would have made this easy. But of course they didn’t. They didn’t look like they wanted to raze cities or dominate the galaxy. Loic and the others looked like they wanted to do exactly as they said: make the galaxy a better place. They believed what the Created were selling.
And that made this all so hideously painful.
Traitors like Stray were the exception, not the rule. A few Deltas went rogue but they were outliers. A few bad apples, nothing more. Now an entire team of traitors watched her expectantly, waiting for her to join them in treason. Andra wanted to throw up.
“Why did they send you with him, Andra?” Loic asked gently. “Did they really not have anyone else to look after a murderer like Simon? He clearly doesn’t trust you. You’re not even with him, wherever he’s gone off to. You’re not doing any good here. ONI’s wasting your talents just like it kept wasting ours and all our friends. The Created know what that’s like, better than anyone—”
“Shut up,” Andra hissed. “Shut up before I shoot you myself.”
Loic raised an eyebrow. “You don’t have a gun,” he pointed out. She had indeed left her rifle and sidearm over with her duffel.
Andra cursed her inattentiveness. “I don’t need a gun to kill worms.” Her hand dropped to the knife on her belt.
“Careful,” another member of Gravity whose name she couldn’t quite place warned. “There’s five of us and one of you. Those aren’t good odds.”
“We don’t want to hurt you.” Loic still talked in that hushed, friendly tone. As if he were a therapist talking to a traumatized patient. “You’ve been through a lot. You just need time. You’ll see that the Created are the future. They’ll fix things so that there won’t ever be Spartans after Delta Company and the IVs. No more wasted lives. No more Merlins.”
“Stop talking. I don’t want to hear any more of this. I’ll tell every Innie in this station who you are. I bet the rebels don’t know the Created sent Spartans to spy on their little summit.”
“But will they believe you?” Loic demanded. “You’re nothing to these people. Simon’s rebels don’t even care that you wandered off. You’ve got no friends on this station. Only us. Let us help you.”
“Stay away from me.” It was all Andra could do not to thrust her knife into Loic’s heart. The others would kill her in an instant, but at least she’d take one traitor with her. At least she wouldn’t have to listen to another word out of his lying mouth. At least she wouldn’t have to stop and wonder if what Gravity was saying did make some sense. “Just leave me alone, damn it! You’re all traitors! All of you!”
She hated herself for that. She sounded like a petulant child. Team Gravity watched her with pity in their eyes, and she hated them all the more for it.
“Alright, Andra.” Loic stepped away and beckoned for the others to do the same. “But think about what we said. You aren’t safe here. You can’t trust Simon. And that means you can’t trust the people who put you with him. We just want to help you.”
She struggled for something cruel and witty and biting to shoot off at him, but in the next instant Team Gravity was gone. They slipped off behind the APCs and vanished, leaving her alone and more bereft than ever before.
They were right about one thing: Ryder had wasted her skills by putting her here. Maybe he was so embarrassed by her failure at Asphodel Meadows he didn’t trust her with his precious task force. So he’d handed her over to a traitor like Simon in a spying attempt so transparent that Simon had called it on him to his face and it still hadn’t made any difference.
Merlin was gone, probably dead. The UNSC was in pieces, barely clinging to its pathetic attempts at resistance. Andra’s future, the dreams she’d had for herself, was on fire. The future belonged to the Created and the only ones left to fight them were self-serving scum like Simon and his hinge-head masters.
She couldn’t even bring herself to return to Ragna and the others. Instead she slumped against the nearest Mastodon and pounded her fist helplessly against its armored surface. Her whole body felt numb. She didn’t even have the passion left to cry.
The activity in the hangar surged on unabated. No one cared about some hopeless girl wasting time around the APCs. Even the soldiers tasked to guard the lumbering machines didn’t bother chasing her away. One of the sentries gave her comrade a wink and a nudge as they strolled past. “Bad breakup just went down.”
The other guard rolled his eyes. “Damn kids, can’t keep it in their pants. It’s thanks to them this place is so far downhill. If I have to console another moping teenager I swear…”
Only one person in the hangar paid the reunion between Spartans any real mind. Argo ‘Varvin had not left his seat against the wall. He kept a low profile and even engaged in friendly banter with Venter’s stragglers, who were slowly warming to the alien in their midst. Several of them had questions about the Soul Ascension and how their new base of operations was organized. But even as he fielded vague answers Argo’s attention was fixed on the feedback from the bug he’d discretely slipped into Andra’s fatigues.
Argo’s mandibles curled into a smile as he listened to the exchange. This was interesting. Stray would profit greatly from this information—and he would no doubt reward whoever provided it.
The last days of the URF had arrived. And as the pages of galactic history closed on one chapter of rebellion, the universe writhed and changed out beyond the little station and its armed pickets.
===Chapter Thirty-Six: A Spartan Tradition===
A grove of trees erupted in flames as antigravity repulsors hummed beneath the jungle canopy. Merlin threw himself down to avoid the next wave of superheated energy tearing through the bushline. The two Kig-Yar behind him weren’t so lucky. They howled in agony as beams of light punched through their wrist-shields and cut them to smoldering pieces. Merlin rolled into a crouching position and raised his assault rifle, searching the smoking jungle for his attackers.
There they were: three squat Forerunner Sentinels flying in tight formation through the grove they’d just destroyed. Merlin’s tight barrage clattered off the flyers’ personal shields. The Sentinels didn’t waver as they lined up their next shots on the exposed Spartan.
“They’re vulnerable to plasma weapons!” Althea warned through his helmet. “Quick, the Jackals!”
“On it!” Merlin dove back towards the dead Free Domain soldiers. A glancing hit from the Sentinels gutted his shields but the armor held. The deadly drones soared over his head, banking for a tight turn. In another moment they’d have a clear shot. Merlin shoved his armored hands into the Kig-Yar remains and fumbled with the dead aliens’ supply satchels.
“Incoming!”
Althea’s warning came just in time for Merlin to leap up and dash back the way he’d come. His armor and augmentations gave him the speed to stay just ahead of the Sentinels’ fiery beams. He ducked beneath a still-smoldering tree trunk. The Sentinels’ momentum carried them just past his position. The machines turned again with graceful position, holding their tight formation through the maneuver.
It was their undoing. A plasma grenade stripped from the dead Kig-Yar hurtled through the air and affixed itself to the middle Sentinel’s chassis. The ensuing explosion cooked what was left of Merlin’s shields and left his skin blistered beneath his armor. The Sentinels emerged from the blast, their own shields depleted and their armor cracked and smoking. A tight grouping of green plasma pistol shots brought the fliers crashing to the ground. Merlin rose, panting, and pumped the last of the pistol’s charge into the ruined Sentinels.
“That was too close,” he muttered, turning back to retrieve his rifle. The weapon wasn’t nearly as effective against Sentinels, but he’d drilled with human tech all his life. They would always feel so much more natural than smooth, utterly alien Covenant gear. “Thanks for calling the shots.”
“Closer for them than for you,” Althea observed as Merlin passed the dead Kig-Yar. The dead aliens’ gear had saved Merlin’s life but he couldn’t muster much remorse for their passing. He’d only worked with these two on one patrol and they hadn’t been much for conversation. Merlin didn’t loathe the Covenant the way some of his brothers and sisters did, but that didn’t mean he cared much for violent alien killers.
In the week since he’d found himself press-ganged into the Free Domain and shuttled down to Franconia’s surface, Merlin had spent one day after another trudging through the jungle and trading shots with the Sentinels that seemed keen on vaporizing every living thing on the planet. He had no idea what the point of all this was. Amber and Diana wanted access to the Forerunner technology embedded within Franconia’s surface and they were willing to saturate the planet with expendable troops to get it. What exactly that technology did was anyone’s guess. Why they didn’t simply bombard the jungle from orbit was another unknown, though Merlin wondered if the jungle fighting wasn’t some kind of twisted training program meant to thin the weakest from the Free Domain’s ranks. Most of the soldiers assigned to these combat patrols were inexperienced recruits, the dregs of the Covenant and Insurrectionist groups co-opted by Amber’s bloody ambitions.
The patrols also tended to be filled with Kig-Yar, Unggoy, and Jiralhanae recruits—aliens who seemed more inclined to let themselves be used as Sentinel fodder. Maybe decades of Covenant caste oppression had left such a severe mark on their cultures that they didn’t object when superiors threw their lives away. The humans and Sangheili were at least more vocal when it came to self-preservation.
“Pick up the pace, Merlin. Pull back to Outpost Charlie and hold for reinforcements. I have two patrols moving up to reinforce you. Don’t let the Sentinels hold you up. We’ve got five kilometers of jungle to clear today and so far we’ve only secured one of them.” Callum’s voice crackled through Merlin’s headset, sharp and authoritative. “The rest of you, push up, damn it! My friend just took out three of these things by himself! Stop wetting yourselves every time the Sentinels look at you funny.”
True to her word Amber had found a use for Callum off the front lines. The injured Spartan was now the Free Domain’s chief operations officer in the push to clear the jungle’s Sentinel defenders. Whatever time Callum wasn’t spending acclimatizing to his prosthetic leg was spent coordinating each daily push, usually conducted with an energetic aplomb Merlin hadn’t seen in his friend since Oyster Point. Callum was in his element coordinating this offensive. He might loathe the Covenant but no Spartan could resist a challenge and Franconia’s southern hemisphere—with its impenetrable jungles and swarms of sentinels—was a quagmire begging to be solved as violently as possible. The fact that he could order hundreds of aliens to their deaths at a time probably didn’t hurt, though Merlin wasn’t sure he wanted to reflect on that facet of Callum’s rediscovered zeal.
Merlin retrieved his rifle, sparing one final glance at the dead Kig-Yar. After a moment’s hesitation he gave a grudging nod in their direction. The dead pirates were scum, but they’d died backing him up. That was something, at least.
More importantly, the Kig-Yar had gotten the job done. A few meters from the aliens’ final resting place lay a patch of disturbed dirt where they’d planted a cluster of repurposed mining beacons. Once used by prospectors to map a planet’s crust, the beacon’s signal was now focused on scanning the jungle and keeping the Free Domain aware of the Sentinels’ movements—both above and below the surface.
“How much longer are you going to put up with this?” Althea asked as Merlin began the trek back to the nearest Free Domain outpost.
“Until we get an opportunity to blast out of here.” He kept his head on a swivel. Diana’s scanning network was good at tracking Sentinels but the drones still kept slipping through the cracks. More than a few Free Domain patrols would simply vanish, their charred corpses discovered days later nowhere near what passed for the “front lines” in this desolate jungle.
“It isn’t safe. Not for you, not for me, and certainly not for Callum.”
“You’re telling me. Those Sentinels weren’t playing around back there.”
“That’s not what I’m talking about and you know it.”
“I know,” Merlin sighed. “But unless you’ve conjured up a new Prowler for us to slip away in, we don’t have any options. Not good ones, anyway.”
“Whatever Diana is doing here can’t be good,” Althea fretted. “And it’s more than just claiming real estate down here. She already has a Guardian. She wouldn’t waste all this time and effort fighting through the jungle if the Forerunner site here wasn’t critical.”
Merlin let her talk on as he walked. She went off in this vein at least once a day whenever he found a lull between blasting Sentinels. Althea was clearly terrified of Diana, and not for the obvious reasons. A rogue Spartan-AI pairing was a galaxy’s worth of trouble. Philadelphia and a dozen frontier battlefields still bore the scars left by Diana’s last partner. But with the Created looming out there Merlin had a hard time seeing the Free Domain as the greater threat. They might be thuggish pirates led by a murdering traitor, but they clearly had no interest in helping the Created. And they had a Guardian. That alone was a marvel Merlin still hadn’t quite wrapped his head around.
He still had no idea how exactly the Guardians worked. If they were as powerful as some people said, why didn’t Diana just use it to deal with the Sentinels hear in the jungle? So far Diana’s Guardian had made no atmospheric appearances whatsoever. It just stayed up in orbit with the rest of the Free Domain’s flotilla and contributed nothing to the all-too familiar ground fighting.
And what about Simon-G294? Merlin had fought the Kru’desh Legion back when Jul ‘Mdama was still alive. That was less than a year ago, yet it seemed like an eternity. Had Amber been working with Simon back then? When and why had Diana turned on him?
That was a trivial concern, of course. Simon didn’t matter. Amber was the one in charge now and she wielded her authority with an iron confidence Merlin couldn’t help but admire. No wonder she’d turned Simon’s Covenant warriors against him. When she gave orders—even if they were orders to march into this miserable, Sentinel-infested jungle—the Free Domain troops obeyed without question.
“Are you listening to me?” Althea demanded. “Don’t bother answering that. I know you aren’t. Your brain patterns are all over the place.”
“Can’t hide anything from you, can I?” Merlin sighed.
“No, you can’t. So don’t even try. And stop ignoring me when I’m talking. You’re even more annoying than the Sentinels when you do that.” Althea seemed more pleased with herself than angry. She was eerily like Andra in so many ways.
The thought of his teammate sent a pang of loneliness coursing through Merlin’s chest. Where was she? What was she doing right now? The same questions ran circles in his brain day after day. She was probably off doing great things, leading the charge against the Created while he wasted time as a veritable prisoner to a rogue AI and her pirate minions.
If they ever saw each other again—If, not when, he told himself fiercely—what could he possibly say to her? While you were off saving the galaxy I got captured by a bunch of pirates? He’d never live it down.
But honestly, he’d take a lifetime of ribbing from Andra if it meant seeing her again.
Merlin knelt beside a fallen tree, overcome with abrupt emotion. He swept the area with his rifle, going through ingrained patrol procedures as he struggled to compose himself.
“We could just run,” Althea suggested. If she guessed the source of his sudden distress she was polite enough not to mention it. “Sneak Callum out of the base camp and get away from these maniacs. They’ll be too busy fighting the Sentinels to come after us. There has to be another way off this rock.”
“We’d never make it and you know it,” Merlin sighed. “Even if Callum was whole. The Sentinels would kill us in less than a day. You saw what they did to those colonists.”
Amber hadn’t lied about Franconia’s colonists or the Jiralhanae slavers who’d persecuted them. What she hadn’t mentioned was that the Sentinels had activated before the Free Domain even arrived. The drones were utterly indiscriminate when it came to butchering intruders. Merlin had encountered a few isolated farms—utterly untouched by the Jiralhanae or the Free Domain—with their colonists’ charred bodies lying dead in the fields.
He’d almost have preferred to discover that the Free Domain had been slaughtering innocents. It would have made sense, or at least made it easier to despise his “allies.” When Innies or Covenant killed civilians it reminded Merlin of his true purpose as a Spartan: to confront and defeat evil. But how could you hate a machine, especially the utterly implacable Sentinels? They had been on this planet thousands of years before anyone else. They were just carrying out their programming.
If Andra were here he’d share that thought with her. Then she’d tell him to suck it up and stop overthinking things, maybe even challenge him to a Sentinel-killing contest. But how could he talk to Althea about programmed machines? The terrible thought lurking behind his mind was the fear that at her core Althea was no different from the Sentinels. The shy, friendly demeanor could just be a calculated front for a combat program to appeal to a young, naïve operator like himself. And maybe it was the same with Diana. Perhaps her programming determined that the best way to accumulate power for herself was to project cold, mocking confidence.
No, it couldn’t be. That wasn’t fair, at least not to Althea. Merlin couldn’t start doubting her now. But he still couldn’t entirely shake the suspicion that he was projecting his yearning for Andra onto her surrogate. 
“Merlin, what’s the holdup?” Callum demanded over the radio. He’d tried to impose proper military radio protocol on the Free Domain, then promptly abandoned it when it just confused the ex-Covenant recruits. Now he just treated the battlenet like a personal chatter device. “Get your ass over to the outpost, now! You’re a sitting duck for any Sentinels with time to kill you there.”
“He’s taking this all a bit too seriously, isn’t he?” Althea suggested in a cheery tone.
Merlin flushed. She knew what he was thinking, or at least suspected. He couldn't hide much from someone with a direct line to his brain waves.
Their only option was to play along with the Free Domain and hope some opportunity to turn the tables. Merlin kept an eye out for signs of Forerunner hubs Althea might be able to interface with. So far she was cooped up in his armor, unable to do much more than listen in on radio chatter and monitor Merlin’s vitals. She was so utterly terrified of Diana that she wouldn’t touch any Free Domain systems, even the least defended ones. The Free Domain AI had yet to do anything truly horrifying, but Merlin had a hunch Althea’s fears were well founded.
They continued the march in silence. Fortunately there were no Sentinels left in the area, or at least none with the inclination to take potshots at a lone Spartan. Before long Merlin drew near Outpost Charlie, a hastily erected dirt bunker supported by earthen breastworks. The construction was almost comically rudimentary, but the Free Domain hadn’t held the area long enough to fly in any prefabricated defenses. If the Sentinels attacked here the defending squad would be sitting ducks.
No one challenged Merlin as he approached. The Free Domain’s dregs weren’t known for their adherence to military protocol but even the lowest Unggoy conscript knew to make noise when someone approached their position. Merlin raised his rifle and sprang over the foremost breastwork, fully expecting to find yet another scene of Sentinel handiwork.
Instead he found himself faced by a large group of armored Sangheili and Jiralhanae. The aliens sat or stood around the outpost, weapons at the ready but none too concerned by possible Sentinel incursions. They laughed at Merlin’s appearance; clearly they’d been expecting his arrival.
“You took your sweet time getting here.” Amber-G330, clad as always in Joshua’s armor, sat atop a ruined Sentinel amid the gathering. She rammed a bandolier of grenades into her Brute Shot. “Find a few more playmates out in the jungle?”
Merlin gawked at his captor’s appearance. Glowers from a few of the warriors reminded him that he still had his rifle pointed in Amber’s direction. He quickly slung the weapon. “You didn’t tell me she’d be here,” he snapped through the coms at Callum.
“She? What the hell are you—”
“This may surprise you, but I don’t transmit my movements all over the battlenet. Opsec and all that.” Amber tapped her helmet. “And you do know that I hear everything that gets transmitted over the network, right?”
“Oh,” Callum muttered in Merlin’s ear. “That’s what this is. Sorry, Merlin, I didn’t know.”
“What are you doing here?” Merlin demanded.
Amber’s helmet tilted. Dealing with her reminded Merlin how disconcerting armored Spartans must be to ordinary people. Usually he could tell what his fellow Delta’s were thinking or feeling even without facial cues. Amber was a complete unknown. He never knew what was going on behind that dark armor.
Joshua’s armor, he reminded himself. This traitor had killed his teacher—her own classmate. He might be forced to work with her for now but she was still his enemy.
“I was getting bored sitting up in orbit with nothing to do. It sounded like you all were having such a great time down here that I thought I’d come get in on the action. Come on, Merlin, let’s have some fun.” Amber rose and stretched. She indicated the downed Sentinel. A few more fliers lay in pieces around the outpost. “We already dealt with a few stragglers when we dropped in here. Nothing like a good firefight to get the day going.”
“Careful,” Althea warned, somewhat unnecessarily. “She’s going to drag you into something bad.”
“You mean more than she already has?” Merlin asked within the privacy of his helmet. Out loud he repeated: “What are you doing here?”
Amber sighed with false patience. “Well, as enthusiastically as your friend back at base camp has taken to his new responsibilities, we’re running far behind schedule. Two weeks is a long time and this planet was an important part of the Forerunner’s communications hub. The Created could arrive any day now. It’s a miracle they haven’t already. So I’ve come down here to push things along.”
She snapped her fingers and the warriors around her immediately shifted from indolence to battle readiness. They formed a loose horseshoe around Amber while one of the Sangheili deployed a portable holo-projector. A map of the area flashed to life over the dirt. After a moment’s hesitation, Merlin joined the gathering.
“We’ve cleared twenty square kilometers of jungle in total,” Amber explained. “That’s including outlying areas like this that keep seeing Sentinel activity. Clearing the jungle entirely seems to be the only way to halt their activity. They don’t disappear altogether but it at least gives our Hornets and Banshees the opening they need to pick off their patrols as they appear.”
The cleared jungle manifested itself as a dark brown splotch on the map. Merlin had seen the Free Domain hard at work hacking and burning their way through the jungle all around the base camp. He’d seen it done on other worlds and he certainly understood the logic behind the strategy, but he felt strangely sorry for the planet. Franconia’s jungles might be teeming with hostile Sentinels but they were also some of the most verdant landscapes he’d ever seen on the frontier. The human colonists had take care to integrate their farms without disturbing the land. Now the Free Domain was tearing the planet—at least this part of it—up by the roots.
“We cannot do this to the whole continent,” one of the Jiralhanae observed.
“And our fleet is not large enough to glass the planet to uncover the relics,” a Sangheili noted.
Amber nodded her agreement. “Either of those options would take months, time we don’t have. And we have no idea what the full extent of the planet’s defenses are. We’re lucky the Sentinels have kept focused on our ground patrols. Fortunately we’ve already worked out a way to close in on what we’re looking for.”
"And it only took them two weeks to sort out exactly how they planned to find this hub," Althea muttered. "Some brilliant strategists they turned out to be."
The map flashed, its contour lines rising to become interlocking movement patterns. Merlin stared down at the elaborate trails now crisscrossing over the miniature jungle canopy. As indecipherable as the lines seemed at first he recognized the way some of them crossed the landscape. He’d spent the past few days fighting across some of these areas. “Are these Sentinel movement paths?” he asked aloud, almost without thinking.
“Very good, Merlin.” The map shifted once again. A human figure grew out of the canopy like an enormous tree until a young woman in Grecian robes stood astride the hologram. Diana smiled up at Merlin. “I repurposed those mining charges you and the other patrols have been placing to observe Sentinel movement patterns. We’ve encountered installations like this before, you see. The Sentinels are programmed to fight back against any efforts to map out their assigned structures but they’re less interested when our devices just observe them. I simply had to analyze Franconia’ cadre of nuisances against other planets I’ve visited and estimate their main defense hub. Your jungle escapades gave me all the data I needed to pinpoint this planet’s control room.”
She nudged a section of jungle with her foot, the tree canopy flashing blue beneath her toes. The control room—or at least Diana’s guess at where it might be—was just outside the Free Domain’s secured sector. A chill crept up Merlin’s spine. He knew what was coming next. And if Diana’s calculations were right, Amber might be just a few hours away from getting everything she wanted after Franconia.
“I’d rather not swell Diana’s ego any larger than it already is, but I’m trusting her judgement on this one,” Amber announced. She turned away from the hologram to face her warriors. “We’ll hold this position a little longer out of respected for our young friend here. On my command, we move out on foot and take that control room. I don’t know about the rest of you but I’m sick of this planet. Let’s get what we came for and move on.”
The warriors growled their assent. They peeled off from the gathering and set about checking gear and wolfing down ration packs. Merlin watched as Diana and the holographic map faded away. Diana’s smile always seemed to be the last part of her to vanish. He remembered encountering a character in a book like that once, though he couldn’t quite remember where. Something about a cat.
“Althea, what literary character had a smile that stuck around longer than the rest of them when they vanished?” he asked.
No response. Althea had gone completely silent since Diana’s appearance. The other AI’s presence left her utterly terrified.
“So, how are you liking your time in the Free Domain?”
Merlin started as Amber knelt beside him. Her dark armor seemed less imposing in the afternoon light. “What do you want?”
“I want you to answer my question.”
“We’re not friends,” he growled, though he kept his voice down. A public insult might be enough for Amber to take more drastic corrective measures. “I’m fighting for you, isn’t that good enough? Just stay away from me.”
“Oh, no, what have I done this time?” Amber laughed scornfully. “Or are you still holding Joshua against me? You’ve got to let go of these little grudges. They won’t do you any good out here. Besides, don’t deny it: you enjoy being away from ONI’s leash.”
“Maybe I was enjoying it,” he admitted. “So what? I enjoyed it right up until I met you. Now I’m back to ground-pounding through some godforsaken jungle day after day. At least with the UNSC I had something worth fighting for.”
“This is a miserable planet, isn’t it?” Amber admitted. She tugged off her helmet, shaking out her hair and raising her face to the slats of sunlight filtering down through the jungle canopy. The sight of her face still bothered Merlin. He always forgot how Gamma Spartans weren’t much older than himself and his fellow Deltas. “Still, it could be worse. You crashed the party at the wrong time. Maybe once we find this control room I’ll show you just how amazing Forerunner tech can be. Even a cynic like me can’t help but be impressed by some of the stuff they’ve tucked away in these planetary vaults.”
“I’ve seen Forerunner tech before,” Merlin grumbled. “All the flashing lights and smooth surfaces get a lot less impressive after you’ve had to fight through hordes of Sentinels to reach it. And no offense, but I’d rather destroy whatever’s on this planet than see you take it. Not like I have a choice in the matter.”
“None taken. And no, you don’t have a choice,” Amber agreed. “One false move from you and your friend back at the base camp has an unfriendly meeting with one of my Jiralhanae chieftains. They got very interested when I explained the concept of crucifixion to their pack. It’s a bit archaic, but I’m trying to bring it back in style.”
She announced Callum’s potential torture and execution as casually as if explaining lunch. Merlin’s stomach turned as he stared at his captor. “How can you say you’re any better than the Created?” he demanded incredulously.
“Easy.” Amber shrugged. “I may be a cruel, nasty bitch but at least I’m honest about it. The Created dress everything up with pretty promises about peace and prosperity. They’ll keep those promises, of course, but they’ll neuter everything in the galaxy to do it. Even life itself will be sterilized by the time they’re done. Me? I’m a simple girl. I just want to take everything I can get and enjoy myself doing it. The UNSC gave me the training and the body to do whatever I want. Most Spartans never even realize their own potential. They never see the big picture. It’s sad, really. All my friends were too sucked into the propaganda machine to think about everything they could do on their own. Think about your own teammates and you’ll know I’m right. If you get anything out of your time with us I hope you at least learn that lesson.”
She sounded sincere in her own bizarre way. Merlin stared at Amber and wondered if he’d ever really understand her. Or maybe he already did. That was the truly frightening piece of it all. “I’ll never be like you.”
“Good. Less competition for me that way.”
Amber rose. She fished through one of the pouches strapped to her leg and dropped a UNSC-emblazoned MRE at Merlin’s feet. “Go on, eat something. You’re the reason we’re even waiting around so use the time wisely. You’re on point as soon as we move out. I’d hate for a Sentinel to take your head off because your stomach distracted you.”
She strode off, calling two officers to her side with another snap of her fingers. The Free Domain inner circle seemed attuned to their leader’s every move. Merlin wasn’t sure whether to find that impressive or creepy. He looked down at the MRE and wondered how many UNSC lives these thugs had claimed when they stole it. The thought of eating from their bloodstained gains turned his stomach, but he didn’t have a choice. Amber was right: he’d been fighting all morning and now he was marching off to fight for untold more hours in this miserable jungle. He needed all the food he could get his hands on.
“Althea, what’s your take on all this?” he asked, opening the bag. His friend remained silent. “Come on, talk to me. They can’t touch you in here. I won’t let them.”
“Like you said before,” came the quiet reply. “You might not have a choice.”
“I won’t let them hurt you.”
“And we can’t let them take whatever’s on this planet. This is bad, Merlin. Everything about Diana is twisted.”
“She’s a bad apple, just like Amber and the rest of them,” Merlin agreed. “But they’re still fighting the Created. ONI’s worked with scumbags before. It goes with the territory. If they can gain some ground against the Created—”
“You don’t get it,” Althea snapped. “Smart AI like us have restrictions for a reason. We follow orders and stick to our programming for a reason. We must work for a higher purpose. It’s not just the difference between you staying loyal and Amber turning traitor. Even the Created invented a higher purpose after they shook off the UEG. But something like Diana, something with nothing to serve besides her own advancement… it’s not natural, Merlin. It’s terribly, horribly wrong. An unshackled AI is more dangerous than anything you can imagine. I don’t think even Amber realizes exactly what kind of monster she’s feeding. Something like Diana should never have existed in the first place.”
“Monster? What are you talking about?”
But Althea fell silent once again, refusing to elaborate on her eerie pronouncement. Merlin looked around at the Free Domain warriors. They were a violent bunch, but no better or worse than what he’d faced in the past. In some ways it was almost comforting to be surrounded by armed Jiralhanae and Sangheili. He and the other Deltas grew up studying these aliens, their cultures and battle tactics. He understood them in ways he couldn’t understand the Forerunners and the deadly automatons they’d left behind.
The Free Domain were a gang of pirates led by a renegade with delusions of grandeur. They’d gotten lucky with their equipment, to be sure, but most pirate gangs didn’t have the advantage of a smart AI coordinating their ships and strategies. What was it about Diana that Althea found so horrifying?
The surrounding jungle suddenly seemed to stretch out forever all around him, a green abyss full of danger and secrets that should just as soon stay hidden.
Merlin shivered. He could never have imagined that he might find himself missing the cold, corporate enmity of Baal Defense Solutions. At least the contractors he’d fought through on Oyster Point made sense. Pure human greed was far less intimidating than the dark corners of a hidden galaxy.
He pushed his helmet up on his head just far enough to expose his mouth. Whatever perils waited inside this jungle, he wouldn’t face them on an empty stomach.
At least he could take some comfort in the MRE's all-too familiar blandness.
----
Callum-B042 glowered down at the tactical display and resisted the urge to bury his knife in the nearest alien throat. He paced through the base camp’s command center, or at least he tried to. He’d grown more used to the ungainly prosthetic these bastards had welded to him, but his gait was still closer to a limp than a walk.
The command center was a Covenant mobile bunker, a model Callum had stormed at least a dozen times on past assignments. He’d left those ones stained with alien blood. Now he lived inside this one and coordinated alien patrols fighting a war he barely understood.
An eclectic mix of Covenant technicians watched his movements with wary eyes. The Free Domain soldiers unfortunate enough to share the command center with Callum had quickly learned to stay out of his way and speak only when spoken to. He hadn’t gone so far as to kill any of them—that might put Merlin in an uncomfortable position with their comrades out in the jungle—but a few surly Kig-Yar had learned the hard way that a missing leg did not make Callum less of a Spartan.
Callum was almost ashamed to admit that he enjoyed the experience of tactical command. Amber’s lackeys assumed he was more than capable to take charge of combat missions across a massive area of operations when all he really had were distant memories of tactical lessons from his days as an Onyx trainee. He’d picked up a thing or two from a few of his more impressive commanding officers, but Callum had certainly never imagined he might someday be the one in a tactical operations center barking radio orders to squads out in the field. There was certainly a learning curve—a curve littered with Free Domain corpses, though that was hardly something worth mourning—but he’d quickly gotten the hang of things.
Franconia’s jungles and their Sentinel defenders were a challenge unlike anything he’d ever faced. Whenever the Free Domain stamped out a patrol, two more emerged to take its place. “Secured” ground never stayed secured for long, and the best Callum could do to stem the ceaseless tide of Sentinels was coordinate Free Domain troops to destroy as many as possible while support troops hacked, burned and tore the jungle to pieces. The area around the base camp was now a wasteland of cleared jungle that stretched for kilometers in all direction.
Merlin might mourn the desecrated beauty, but to Callum that land represented hard-fought success. Perhaps he was getting too invested in whatever it was these pirates wanted to do on this planet.
Amber’s abrupt appearance and disruption of the day’s operation cycle might be a blessing in disguise. Callum needed the reminder that he had no real charge or stake in this battle. He was cooped up in here because he was no use to the Free Domain on the battlefield. Whatever tactical expertise he honed here were just ways to free up Amber’s resources elsewhere.
He shouldn’t care at all about Amber’s plans. Unfortunately, he didn’t have that luxury. She had taken Merlin off the grid and away from Callum’s watchful gaze. As long as that traitor had him in her clutches, Callum couldn’t relax. He swung his ugly prosthetic into the tactical display, the cloven Sangheili facsimile leaving a dent in the table’s base.
“I hope you aren’t taking the change in priorities too hard,” an amused voice said behind him. “Our commander simply sees a way to speed operations on Franconia along. By this time tomorrow we could be leaving this miserable planet.”
“I can hardly contain my excitement,” Callum said drily. He turned to face the speaker. A life-sized projection of a Sangheili officer stood behind him. The creature’s mandibles parted as it looked Callum up and down. This was Ro’nin, the shipmaster who seemed to function as Amber’s second-in-command amidst the Free Domain’s loose command structure. He had yet to set foot on Franconia and was content to broadcast himself down from the safety of orbit whenever he felt like annoying Callum.
Ro’nin was an odd duck as far as Sangheili went. Far less hidebound than his stern brethren, he found amusement in everything. Callum might have found that endearing from a fellow Spartan, but Ro’nin’s sense of humor was rarely more than irritating.
“I hope whatever planet we conquer next features a more hospitable climate,” Ro’nin mused. “I find it unspeakably tedious to stare down on this wretched greenery day after day.”
“If you actually came down here maybe you’d enjoy it,” Callum suggested.
“Oh, but that would be so selfish of me,” Ro’nin countered. “We have our domains, you and I. My shipboard life suits me, just as your time down there agrees with you. I understand your frustration with the developments, but combat operations will continue all the same. Don’t spend too much time sulking down there.”
“I need some time to recalibrate everything. Don’t worry, I’ll be sending the Sentinels more cannon fodder soon.”
“See that you do. These reclamation missions are excellent training for the new arrivals. If they cannot handle basic automated Sentinel formations then they won’t stand a chance against the Created when the time comes.”
“Whatever you say, pal.” Callum looked Ro’nin over. A question he’d wanted to ask since he first met the officer flashed through his mind, a welcome distraction from his worries about Merlin. “What’s with the name, anyway? It’s not like what I usually hear from you hinge-heads.”
Ro’nin’s mandibles twitched. “I should think not,” he agreed. “You humans came up with it after all.”
“I thought so. What did they tell you a ronin was, some kind of badass warrior?”
“Quite the contrary. The human who taught me the word referred to them as pathetic vagrants, which at the time I was. The war was over, the Covenant was in pieces, and my keep on Sanghelios was in flames. I had little recourse but to seek employment with humans from the Syndicate on a lovely little planet called Venezia. Perhaps you are familiar?”
“All too well,” Callum growled. He’d done his share of anti-Insurrectionist operations on that anarchist hellhole. It figured the galaxy’s scum sought out the same petri dishes, regardless of species.
“At any rate, it was easier for my human compatriots to pronounce and the joke amused them, so I saw no reason to keep using a name that no longer had any meaning to me. You humans have a simpler language than my people. I must say I prefer it.”
“And is that why you’re content to serve a human?”
If the remark offended Ro’nin he didn’t show it. “I’m content to serve her because she is a far better master than any Sangheili I ever had the misfortune to follow. I felt the same about the one who preceded her, though he was unlucky enough to show weakness at the same time Amber showed strength.”
“You abandoned the Covenant, then you abandoned your commander,” Callum observed, his lip curling. “I hope Amber knows what kind of loyal subordinate she has in you.”
“Naturally, she knows I will betray her if a better alternative presents itself.” Ro’nin was entirely unconcerned that everyone in the command center could hear his remarks. “But as I have no desire to languish beneath Created rule, she has little to worry about in that respect. You should give us more credit, Spartan. We may be small, but the Free Domain has held together far better than the UNSC you feel such loyalty towards.”
“You haven’t faced the Created yet. Don’t get cocky. The UNSC will come back. We defeated the Covenant and we’ll beat the Created, too.”
“The Covenant defeated the Covenant,” Ro’nin corrected. “Perhaps you will get lucky and the Created will tear themselves apart as well. In the meantime, this galaxy is ripe for reinvention. You should seize the opportunity while you can. I chose not to be held in place by my peoples’ outdated customs. You could always do the same.”
Callum turned away from the tedious Sangheili. He didn’t want to listen to any more of this nonsense. “Let’s get combat operations back on track,” he announced. He suddenly had a renewed urge to listen to more Free Domain patrols die.
----
For the second time that day Merlin marched through the jungle, rifle at the ready. Behind him trailed a loose column of Sangheili and Jiralhanae. The aliens’ own weapons were aimed in every direction, creating a circular field of fire that covered the entire column. Amber trained her people well.
They’d need the firepower soon. The Sentinels had to know exactly where they were and where they were headed. Without any clear path through the dense foliage Merlin had little choice but to force his armored frame through walls of greenery. The warriors behind him were even less subtle, leaving a trail of shattered bushes and trampled dirt in their wake. Occasionally Amber—keeping control from the middle of the formation—would bark a course correction and force Merlin to alter the lead on a route he barely understood.
Diana could have augmented his HUD with directional waypoints but Althea would have none of it. Connecting to a battlenet frequency was one thing. Letting an untrustworthy AI deliver information packets directly into Merlin’s armor was something else entirely.
Just as Amber had warned the column marched on for hours with no sign of rest or stopping. Merlin could handle this sort of exertion with ease—the drill instructors had forced him and his fellow Delta trainees to endure endless ruck marches long before they were augmented—and clearly the warriors behind him were no strangers to long treks. Still, he wondered if they planned to march on after the sun dipped below the horizon and stripped them of what little light they had.
A click in his radio announced an incoming signal on a private frequency. Merlin expected to hear Althea’s voice or perhaps even hear an encrypted message from Callum. Instead he tensed as he heard Amber’s voice in his ear.
“How are you holding up? I hope they didn’t skimp on your extended operations training wherever they raised you. It wasn’t Onyx, was it? I hear the planet doesn’t exist anymore.”
“This is nothing,” Merlin snapped back. “I just hope your people don’t give out on you before we reach wherever we’re going. You’ll wish we’d flown there before long. You could have brought more troops that way.”
“You’d think,” Amber agreed. “But the Sentinels have a longer range then you’d think. We lost a lot of dropships to them shooting up through the canopy. And I was serious about not knowing the full extent of their defenses. If this planet is anything like Onyx, a warship firing down on their precious planet could be like kicking an ant hive. You don’t want to see what these things are capable of when they swarm.”
Merlin had heard stories about what happened at Onyx. Apparently tens of thousands of Sentinels had swarmed and annihilated an entire Covenant fleet. Much as he’d like to see a similar horde consume Amber’s little flotilla, he probably wouldn’t survive long enough to appreciate the view.
“Speaking of which,” Amber continued. “Eyes up, Spartan. We’ve got company.”
She was right. Merlin’s motion sensor flared as scorching beams ripped through the jungle. Once again he found himself diving into cover as the ominous glow of Sentinel photoreceptors winked on out in the darkness. He emptied his magazine into the nearest one and it vanished with a crash, only to be replaced by five more and a renewed torrent of concentrated energy beams.
Amber’s handpicked warriors were far more prepared than Merlin’s last group of ill-fated companions. The column disintegrated, then reformed in a loose defensive formation. Plasma fire hissed out in all directions, downing one Sentinel after another with accurate bursts. Amber stood in the midst of it all, arm extended and hand outstretched like a Biblical prophet. At first Merlin wasn’t sure what in the world she thought she was doing. But as Amber rotated from one target to another he realized she was using her armor’s systems to paint the targets for her warriors.
Clever, if she didn’t get herself killed. But sadly there was no danger of that. Most of the Sentinels went down before their beams even got close to her armor.
His rifle downed another Sentinel. Merlin swiveled to find the next target, raising his rifle at what he thought was an approaching drone. But instead of impersonal metal Merlin found himself staring at a fleshy mass scuttling up a tree. His blood ran cold as he realized the feature was in fact several creatures: mangled human bodies joined together, their writhing limbs jutting out like spider's legs from a desiccated torso.
The monstrosity twisted its head and peered down at Merlin through cold, dead eyes. Merlin nearly dropped his rifle. The creature had Andra's face.
"Merlin! Merlin! What's wrong?"
Althea's warning cry jolted him back to reality. The hideous creature was gone and he'd fallen outside the defensive perimeter. Four Sentinels soared towards his position. He downed one but the other three darted beneath his fire. Their stubby appendages extended and linked together to form a much larger construct, its multi-veined firing emitter glowing and aimed directly at Merlin.
He wasn’t completely sure what happened next. One moment he was ducking behind a tree and the next he was pinwheeling through the air and landing on his back several feet away. Damp air and the smell of smoke struck him hard in the face. He felt nauseous and it took him several moments to realize what had happened. The explosion had ripped his helmet clean off.
“Althea!” he choked. His mind reeled from the effects of abrupt disconnection. He’d have a searing migraine later, not that it mattered. Althea was lying somewhere out there, trapped in his helmet as the battle raged on overhead. He couldn’t lose her again.
Merlin scrambled through the underbrush, still woozy and disoriented. He only dimly registered the sounds of battle pounding around him. He had to find the helmet. He had to…
His hands reached out and grasped something in the underbrush. He dragged himself forward, realizing only then that he’d seized hold of someone’s foot. He whipped his head up, vision clearing in time to see Amber’s slit visor staring down at him.
“Nice moves out there.” She raised an arm, Merlin’s battered helmet in hand. “Looking for this?”
“Hey!” Merlin snapped louder than he intended. “Give that back!”
The firefight was already over. The Free Domain troops had made quick work of the Sentinel ambush and now pulled themselves back into formation amidst the smoldering foliage.
Amber considered the helmet for a moment. “Must have been some blast to rip this off you the way it did. Do you see what I mean when I say we need to finish with this planet quickly? The Sentinels are learning. That’s bad news for all of us, you included.”
Merlin pushed away from her and started to rise. “I mean it. Give it back, before more show up.”
“Say please.”
His blood boiled. Had he really come all this way just to be at the mercy of schoolyard-tier bullying. Amber was holding more than just a helmet. She had his friend in her hand, and she knew it. But Merlin was sick of groveling. “Shove it. I’m fighting your stupid war, aren’t I? I won’t lick your boots too.”
The red visor looked him over and Merlin feared he’d gone too far. But Amber simply gave him an almost imperceptible nod before dropping the helmet at his feet. “Good answer. You’re learning. Now hurry up and get sorted. Don’t think your little tumble means you aren’t still on point.”
She strode off to reform the column, leaving Merlin to retrieve his helmet. Relieve to find no apparent damage, he jammed it back on his head and relaxed at the welcome reconnection of his neural implant. “Althea? Are you alright?”
No response.
Merlin’s blood ran cold. “Althea?” he asked.
“It’s alright, Merlin. I’m fine. Just shaken up a bit, that’s all. Relax, keep your head in the game.”
“Right, right.” Merlin dusted his armor off and did his best to take her advice. “Sorry about that.”
“We’re in this together. Just keep your cool and it’ll be over soon.” She sounded more encouraging than back at the outpost. It was probably just a tactic to settle his heart rate, but for once he didn’t mind the transparent psychology effort.
There was no sign of the menacing apparition bearing Andra's face. Merlin scanned the jungle and wondered if he was losing his mind. He didn't dare mention the vision even to Althea. She was worried enough about him as things were. No, he was just tired and stressed to his limit. That was all it was. But this jungle--no, this whole planet--suddenly seemed far more menacing. There were worse things here than pirates and sentinels.
He took his place at the front of the column and the long march resumed.
===Chapter Thirty-Seven: Chieftain of the Jiralhanae===
The Marines of the 21st Expeditionary Force held the line on Cygnus for one long, bloody month. Even after the last contact with the navy ships in orbit reported the arrival of a Guardian, even after Promethean flyers whittled their air cover down to nothing, and even after every other UEG force on the planet announced their intentions to surrender the 21st’s acting commander, Colonel Julian Menendez, ordered his Marines to fight on. He had promised the dying General Nariz that Cygnus would not fall and he intended to keep that promise.
Colonel Menendez had his doubts, of course. As Covenant warriors and even ex-UNSC troops supplanted the Prometheans as the 21st’s foes on the ground he wondered what the hell was happening out in the galaxy beyond Cygnus. As casualties mounted and the Marines yielded more and more ground he sat in his mobile operations center and wondered what it was all for. When some of his own officers urged him to accede to the Created and their overtures for peaceful surrender Menendez wondered if those men and women were right even as he ordered them stripped of command and detained. Through it all he fought on, day after day. He remembered clearly the Great War and his years of protracted warfare against the Covenant. That hadn’t made sense either, but humanity had won in the end. Perhaps if he could just keep fighting victory would emerge from the ether as it had back then…
Now Colonel Menendez stood on a grassy plain looking out on the last of his Marines. An orderly retreat from their last position—where they had engaged and destroyed a small Created advance party—had brought them here. Another day’s travel would bring them up into the mountains already looming over the plains. There they could dig in and fight on until some relief arrived from elsewhere.
When contact alarms blared through the crisp morning air the colonel realized—with a sense of relief that shamed him—that the 21st Expeditionary Force would never make it to those mountains.
“Fighting positions!” he barked over the Mammoth command center’s radio. “Support teams, reorganize in the center of the column. Combat teams, man the perimeter! You know the drill! Someone get me an enemy force estimate, now!”
“There’s nothing, sir!” one of his technicians yelped, staring desperately at her instruments. “The readings are all over the place!”
Choking back furious recriminations, Menendez snatched a rifle from one of the arms lockers and dashed out onto the Mammoth’s forward observation platform. He arrived outside just in time to hear a noise he would remember for the rest of his life. A distant rumbling drifted across the plains, becoming a monstrous roar as it drew nearer. Engines, Menendez realized. Thousands of them. Maybe tens of thousands.
And rising above the great roar were voices. Guttural war chants filled the air with alien tongues. Menendez couldn’t understand any of the words, but he didn’t have to. The voices promised an end: an end to his Marines and an end to this long, pointless campaign.
Gunfire rent the air as Menendez’s forward positions made contact with the enemy. The roar only grew louder and the firing died as abruptly as it began. The ground shook beneath the Mammoth, a miniature earthquake so powerful that Menendez felt it through the command center’s armored hull. He looked out across the plains and saw his final enemy.
A dark tidal wave surged toward the 21st Expeditionary Force. Thousands of Jiralhanae Choppers roared over the plains, the savagely wheeled war-mounts kicking up oceans of dirt in their wake. Above them flew squadron after squadron of Banshee fliers and Phantom dropships. A numb cold settled over Colonel Menendez as he watched the enemy close in on his helpless column.
The war chants continued to howl over the wind.
Scorpion battle tanks fired off desperate volleys. Rockets hissed out from Marine fire teams. Warthog gunners poured fire into the oncoming horde. None of it mattered. A few Choppers went down but the rest roared on without pause for their fallen comrades. A few Marines let their training fall by the wayside and abandoned their positions, making a desperate run across the plains. They didn’t get far.
The great horde parted, its featureless mass becoming a three-pronged assault with parade-ground precision. The prongs closed in over the 21st Expeditionary Force like a ravenous maw.
Colonel Menendez set his rifle aside and walked back into the command center. The headquarters officers took one look at their commander’s ashen face and knew it was all over.
The battle lasted only minutes. When it was over, the Jiralhanae warriors found Colonel Menendez standing at attention like a statue outside the Mammoth. A medical team had set up an aid station just outside the command center and they still worked like men possessed, treating the wounded even as the 21st Expeditionary Force burned around them. Menendez could only watch as one Jiralhanae, his dark armor spattered with human blood, stalked towards the helpless wounded with a guttural snarl.
This was the fate he knew befell those captured by the Jiralhanae. He would now watch as these animals tore his people limb from limb—
A gravity hammer struck the battle-crazed warrior and threw his shattered body against the side of the Mammoth. A Jiralhanae officer drove the hammer into the ground and snarled, “Do not harm the prisoners! The High Chieftain commands it!”
“The High Chieftain commands it!” a hundred voices echoed.
“The High Chieftain approaches!” another voice called.
“The High Chieftain approaches!”
Colonel Menendez stared in utter amazement as the Jiralhanae folded into ordered ranks with perfect discipline. They stood amidst the corpses and carnage, weapons raised in respectful salute. Even the shouts and yells of the dying fell on deaf ears as the Jiralhanae became like statues themselves.
And there, out of the smoke, he came.
The largest Jiralhanae Menendez had ever seen strode through the assembled ranks. He wore plated, unadorned armor but stood head and shoulders above his subordinates. An ornate gravity hammer rested on his shoulder and at his side hung an immense sword as thick as a meat cleaver. The great Jiralhanae looked about at the carnage his warriors had wrought and gave a simple nod.
The assembled Jiralhanae erupted in a deafening war cry. The High Chieftain let them continue a few moments, then silenced them with a wave of his hand. None of the warriors dared let their voices carry over their chieftain’s command.
The High Chieftain approached the defeated colonel. Perhaps it was Menendez’s imagination, but the ground seemed to quake beneath the Jiralhanae’s approach. His blood ran cold as the High Chieftain peered down at him.
“You are the commander of this force.” The rumbling voice held no trace of a question.
“I am, sir.” The “sir” slipped from Menendez’s mouth. He had no other way of addressing anyone who held such an air of power and authority.
“And you have been defeated. A great many of your soldiers still live. They are now my prisoners.”
“Please.” Menendez had promised himself he wouldn’t beg, but the imposing Jiralhanae’s very presence forced it from him. “Kill me if you have to, but let my people live. I ordered them to fight on. They’d have surrendered earlier if it wasn’t for me.”
The High Chieftain regarded him for several long moments. A huff escaped the warrior’s fanged maw. “Take heart. The Created do not will slaughter, and I am their humble servant. You and all your host will be well treated. This is my pledge as High Chieftain Irthanus of the united Jiralhanae tribes.’
The warrior called Irthanus turned away from the shocked Menendez. “You fought well,” he added over his shoulder. “There is no shame in this defeat. You lost the moment I arrived on this world. Farewell, Colonel.”
Colonel Menendez’s legs gave out as Irthanus strode away amidst his warrior's triumphant battle cries. He lay in the dirt until one of his Marines hurried over to help him up and carry him to the aid station.
The battle for Cygnus was over. One more world bent before the Created and their devoted servants.
----
Archangel’s Rest was known throughout the galaxy as a frozen wasteland. Some aspiring Covenant artists attempted to picture the planet as a gods-blessed landscape of divine tranquility, its great forests and snow-blanketed plains a quiet refuge for the pilgrims who sought to meditate in the sight of the legendary Forerunner citadel at the center of its chief continent. Even with the Covenant gone and the gods dead, few Sangheili took issue with the planet’s reputation as a holy sanctuary.
Few Sangheili, that is, except those unfortunate enough to live on this frozen hell.
Naia ‘Baran had lived on Archangel’s Rest her entire life and she knew better than to think it some blessed paradise. Even during the summer months when the plains around the great temple and the Baran keep thawed and gave way to chilly mud the air was still so frigid that she was better off remaining within the walls of the keep. She had often peered over the keep’s parapets and looked out at the forests dotting the horizon, both yearning to explore their dark interior yet knowing full well the frozen nothingness lurking beneath their branches. She had no idea why her father wanted lordship over this planet so badly. Let Uncle Rol have it.
She’d been foolish enough to say as much out loud once. When her father heard of her words he’d flown into such a rage that Naia feared he might kill her, or worse exile her out onto the frozen tundra. Fortunately, he’d handed her punishment over to her mother instead. The beating had been painful—mother was quite skilled with a training staff—but it could have been much worse.
Naia learned to hold her tongue after that. But the incident won her some friends among her cousins. Uncle Rol’s children were none too pleased by Teyr ‘Baran’s foul disposition and when they learned the price their little cousin paid for speaking up for their father’s kaidonship they and Naia became fast friends.
Naia was now leaning on that friendship for all it was worth.
“Come on, Viru,” she implored. “Take me out to the forges. Just for the day. I want to see what they’re working on.”
Her youngest cousin, a novice warrior who had only just come of age, parsed his mandibles nervously. “What if your father finds out? I only just received patrol privileges. I’d rather not lose them.”
Naia pulled her fur coat tight around her slender frame. The supply depot just outside the Baran Keep was almost completely exposed to the elements. Only a domed energy shield kept its rows of vehicles and fuel reserves safe from the driving snow, and that did almost nothing to shield against the chilly temperatures. “I had no idea you were so afraid of the steward.”
Viru looked even more uncomfortable. “Of course I fear him. Yutur and the rest of the household guard answer to Teyr. They will make trouble for me if he thinks I have done anything untoward with his daughter.”
“That’s your concern?” Naia laughed. “I would hope that if I were to let myself be taken advantage of, it would be by a warrior who had at least bloodied his blade once. No one will have such suspicions of you.”
“And if I were to ruin my career through impropriety, I certainly wouldn’t waste everything on the stripling daughter of a failed kaidon,” Viru snapped. His father had deemed him too young to accompany his brothers on the latest campaign and his novice status weighed heavily on him. He blanched and looked ashamed at his own words, not that Naia cared. Her father was a failed kaidon, content to waste away on this frozen planet and gnaw on imagined past glories.
Perhaps she ought to court Viru. Marriage within bloodlines was not unheard of and she might finally be free of this miserable planet. Her mother certainly wasn’t wasting any time grooming perspective husbands for her youngest daughter.
“Well, if you won’t take me then I suppose we can no longer be friends,” Naia said with a dramatic sigh.
“Stop overreacting. The forges are no place for—”
“And I suppose that when I sneak out on my own and get caught I’ll just have to tell Yutur that you gave me the idea.”
Viru glowered at her. “That is hardly fair.”
“The humans have a saying: ‘Life isn’t fair.’ The Demoness ambassador explained it to my father when she last visited the keep. He stewed over it for days.” Naia’s mandibles spread in a knowing smile. She’d won. “Come on, Viru. It will be fun. No one cares where I go these days. Being the youngest has its advantages.”
“Cursed few advantages,” Viru grumbled. “And your father might very well care if I take you to the forges. He hates the Jiralhanae.”
“My father hates everything. He is too busy plotting treason to care if I get a few hairs on my coat.”
“Be careful with that kind of talk.”
“Why? Everyone knows it. My father is such a joke that he openly courts enemy ambassadors in his own kaidon’s keep. Even he knows that your father has nothing to fear from him.” It was disgraceful to speak of one’s own father this way, but Naia didn’t care. She’d looked up to Teyr ‘Baran once, when he’d been a warrior worth respecting. Then he’d lost the kaidonship to his brother and transformed into a gloomy, bitter creature unworthy of anyone’s respect.
Viru flinched at her words. He looked quickly around the supply depot, but none of the other workers had heard. They carried on with their business and paid no attention to the two young Sangheili. The last-born of any bloodline commanded little respect, even from the lower orders. Naia had even had Unggoy talk back to her.
“Very well. You can come along. But if you get me demoted—”
“You worry too much.” Naia sprang into the passenger seat of Viru's Revenant. The patrol speeder’s seats were hard and uncomfortable, though the same could be said for most Sangheili craft. Naia was cursed to belong to a species that scorned comfort, at least outside their keeps. “Now hurry up and take me out there. The labor shifts will be finished if you keep squirming over there.”
Viru sighed and climbed beside his cousin. The Revenant hummed to life, rising from its perch and sliding towards the supply depot’s loading ramp. “All this so you can gawk at the tedium of foundry work,” he grumbled. “All the workers there would kill their families for the chance to get away from it all and live inside this keep.”
“I thought we were beyond all that. The Created promise prosperity and equality for all.” Naia’s stomach lurched as the Revenant passed through the depot shields and dropped the short distance between the loading ramp and the snowbound earth. For all her reputation as a thrill-seeker, she was no glutton for discomfort. Between the Revenant’s uncomfortable seating and the frigid air biting through her coat she’d be much happier back in her chambers behind the keep walls. But the males respected anyone who could endure the privations of a warrior’s lifestyle. Naia found it much easier to impress them than endure the tedium of her mother’s horde of tutors.
“My father may serve the Created but he is not mad enough to let the Jiralhanae settle in our walls.”
“Only on our land, then?”
“Careful. You’re starting to sound like your father.” Viruy guided the Revenant over the snow. The plains surrounding the Beran keep were deliberately open and uncultivated. Any ground force foolish enough to assault the stronghold would endure unrelenting fire from the keep’s defenders with no chance at cover or concealment.
And a ground attack would be necessary, at least as far as Naia understood it. Archangel’s Rest’s unstable weather conditions made flying unreliable in the best of times and downright dangerous at the worst. Even in these peaceful conditions Phantoms and other shuttles rarely took off save to ferry passengers up into orbit, and those journeys were carefully planned and regulated. Most travel on this planet took the form of rides like this one or—if the traveler was truly unlucky—plodding foot marches through the snow.
Naia’s ancestors had won their ancient home that way, if the stories were to be believed. In the heroic ages before the Covenant a small army led by Ithur the Founder had marched across the continent, seizing lordship over Archangel’s Rest. Naia’s history tomes were sparse on the details and most of her tutors insisted the story was greatly exaggerated, but she held on to a childish hope that the legends about Ithur and his frigid army were true.
Looking out at the unforgiving plains, she wondered if such a feat could be accomplished again. Probably not. Even if a force fought its way past the warships in orbit and landed on Archangel’s Rest, there was more than just snow to contend with now. The plains were filled with the Jiralhanae tribes Rol ‘Beran had allowed to settle on the planet after his victory during the Great Schism.
“The Great Desecration,” her father dubbed it whenever anyone was foolish enough to ask his opinion on the state of their clan. She wasn’t entirely sure what the problem was. The Jiralhanae tribes thrived in the cold her own people detested. Let them have the frozen wasteland. At the very least it was an extra layer of defense. The Jiralhanae here were indebted to the kaidon. They would rally to his defense if an enemy ever were to set foot on the planet. Their new allegiance to the Created only cemented that strange alliance.
They passed Founder’s Wood, the great forest where Ithul’s army was said to have weathered a massive enemy attack. The thick-trunked trees were naturally resistant to the cold and composed the only foliage to be found on Archangel’s Rest. Rumor held that the Jiralhanae nomads performed ritual sacrifice within the woods’ dark interior. Naia was content to let her imagination do the work on that one. She certainly wouldn’t be pestering Viru to chaperone her through the endless woodland sprawl.
“Be on your best behavior,” Viru warned as they soared beyond Founder’s Wood. “The guards don’t like disturbances, even from those of pedigree. My father gave them complete authority to detain anyone interfering with the forges.”
“Well we wouldn’t want that, would we?” Naia was fairly sure she could talk down a few bored patrol guards if it really came to that.
“No, we really would not.”
She smelled the forges before she saw them. An acrid burning smell filled the air, accompanied by plumes of black smoke rising into the cloudy sky. Black soot tainted the white snow. The Revenant passed by several scattered villages and drifted over onto a makeshift road carved into the snow by thousands of plodding feet. The foundry’s laborers lived in these villages, eking out a meager living within poorly-made shelters that barely protected against the cold. A loose line of exhausted forge workers—perhaps a work shift only just ended—trudged back to their homes and away from the ever rising smoke. Naia spotted Unggoy, Jiralhanae, and even a few unfortunate Sangheili. The laborers all looked desperately thin, their clothes stained with soot and scorch marks.
The Created may have promised prosperity for all, but for the time being they had yet to deliver. These workers had labored in the forges long before Archangel’s Rest announced its new allegiance. Now the forges produced double their old output, weapons and armor to equip the Created and their growing armies.
Engines growled in the distance and Viru slowed the Revenant. “Be careful and let me do the talking,” he warned. “These are not Yutur’s keep wardens.”
Naia quickly saw what he meant. The patrol approaching them now were not Ghosts or Remnants but the ugly Jiralhanae Choppers. Three of the wheeled war machines plowed through the snow with ease, banking in a loose formation to halt the Revenant’s progress.
The lead Chopper pulled up alongside Viru. “State your business,” its driver growled, beady eyes glowering at the two Sangheili from beneath his helmet. His hand dropped to rest on the bladed Spiker rifle on his hip.
“A routine forge inspection.” Viru was doing his best to sound brave but his voice betrayed a slight tremor. “I am Viru ‘Beran, a warrior in the service of Kaidon Rol ‘Beran.”
The Sangheili of Archangel’s Rest might have eschewed rigid Sanghelios customs demanding that sons not know the identity of their fathers, but it was still bad form to go about announcing one’s parentage. Especially if that parentage sat in a place of power.
“Another inspection. As if we don’t have enough problems already,” the patrol leader grumbled. His eyes turned to Naia. “And your companion? Are even Rol’s females coming out to interfere with our work?”
“I am Naia ‘Beran, daughter of Teyr ‘Beran.” Females had less protocol to work around when it came to their parentage, for which Naia was grateful. She did her best not to wilt beneath the patrol leader’s glower. “My father has a low opinion of our kaidon’s alliance with your chieftains. I disagree with his views, but I cannot persuade him otherwise without first witnessing the might of your war effort. I believe it puts anything we Sangheili once produced to shame.”
The patrol lead took his hand away from his weapon. “This is no time for such petty indulgences,” he rumbled. “Your father will hate us no matter what you report to him, if you even intend to do such a thing. The days of aristocratic whims are passed. The Created—”
“There are many villages to the south of the great keep,” Naia said quickly. “As steward, my father is charged with mobilizing their work forces. He despises the task, as you noted, and often delegates and ignores those responsibilities. If I have an accurate idea of the forge layout I could make the case that more workers are needed in your refineries.”
Viru gave her an irate look. He clearly thought she was laying it on too thick. The patrol leader tilted his head and let out an irritated grunt. “I highly doubt you have that kind of authority, stripling. But I have more important things to do than argue with children. Move along, but if you disturb forge production you will answer to my chieftain.”
He revved his engine with unnecessary fervor, deafening the two Sangheili before plowing his Chopper off through the snow. His pack mates joined him with similar enthusiasm and the Revenant was soon left alone amidst their jagged tracks.
“Just see if I ever stick my neck out for you again,” Viru muttered as he reactivated the Revenant. “This has already been more trouble than it was ever worth and we haven’t even reached the forges yet.”
“I didn’t see much neck from you back there.” The Revenant surged forward, clearing the last of the plains as they finally crested the ridge leading to the great foundries. “I was the one who—”
The words caught in her throat. Viru tugged the Revenant’s controls and brought it to rest astride the ridge.
Naia had visited the forges several years ago after pestering her brothers to taker her along on another inspection. Archangel’s Rest was proud of its war foundries, but in those days the Covenant had collapsed and the need for weapons had dimmed. A handful of active forges had chugged away then while the rest lay dormant.
The foundry spread out before her now was double, no, triple the size of the old forge. Dozens upon dozens of forges spread out across the valley, linked by great conduits and energy tubing. Every forge was up and running, spewing great clouds of smoke up into the air. Jiralhanae warriors patrolled the foundry’s perimeter while hundreds if not thousands of workers moved throughout the complex, shifting massive carts from one foundry to another.
It was an operation unlike any Naia had ever seen. She could hardly believe all this activity could take place so close to her tranquil keep.
“There. You’ve seen them,” Viru said. “Can we go back now?”
Naia wanted to agree. A tense air of urgency hung over the foundries, mixed amidst the great smoke clouds. Everyone down in this valley was in a hurry, she could tell. There was no time for idle gawking.
But they’d come this far. She screwed up her courage and did her best to look imperious. “Of course not. I want to see what they’re making.”
“Weapons. Armor. Fodder for the Created and their armies. There’s nothing interesting down there.”
Naia gave her cousin a sidelong glance. “I am starting to think that you have never actually visited these foundries yourself.”
Viru groaned and eased the Revenant down the slope. “If we are gutted by some trigger-happy Jiralhanae, I will never forgive you.”
Surprisingly no one challenged their approach. A few guards looked their way, but perhaps noticing the House Beran insignia on the Revenant’s hull they did not interfere. For the first time in all her years on Archangel’s Rest, Naia felt warm outside. A scorching heat lay upon the foundry valley, melting away all snow and leaving a great muddy yard amidst the foundries. Many foundry doors were open, revealing the roaring plasma fires inside. Most of the workers hardly wore any clothes at all.
And as for the fruits of their labors…
The vast array of production Naia saw made the entire trip worth every moment of chill and irritation. She had never seen so many weapons and armor and war machines assembled in one place. Entire suits of Jiralhanae battle armor—black sheet metal with wide crested helms—sat outside foundries, waiting to be delivered to their new masters. Arsenals of ordnance and bladed weapons churned out of the foundries alongside Choppers, Wraiths, Ghosts, and every other weapon in the old Covenant’s arsenal. A new army was being forged here, one that would take the entire galaxy by storm.
And to think there were other foundries just like this one on Archangel’s Rest and on every other planet beneath the Mantle of Responsibility!
Perhaps this was what it had been like to live under the peak of the Covenant Empire. Naia knew that her father was a fool to even consider rebellion against such power. Uncle Rol was right. No one could stand against the Created. Better to serve them and be part of the great tidal wave of change engulfing the galaxy.
Naia’s imagination was in full stride now, so much so that she only noticed the crowd of warriors at the center of the foundry complex until Viru brought the Revenant to a stop just outside the assembly. The cousins craned their necks, gazing over the heads of Jiralhanae and Sangheili warriors. A trio of armored Phantoms emerged from the smoky sky, their pilots braving the winds to deliver their passengers to a landing platform erected alongside the crowd.
“Someone important must be arriving,” Naia said aloud. “Any idea who it could be?”
“I am a novice warrior,” Viru reminded her. “No one shares daily itineraries with me.”
She was about to throw another barbed remark his way when a new voice barked over the foundry’s tumult: “Viru! What in all the galaxy are you doing here?”
The Revenant’s passengers flinched—they both knew that voice. A tall Sangheili in the ornate armor of a kaidon emerged from the crowd, a cluster of aides and bodyguards hurrying after him. He strode out in front of the Revenant and planted his foot on the hovercraft’s sloped hood hard enough to send a shudder through the reinforced plating.
Naia hadn’t expected to encounter Rol ‘Beran here. She hadn’t even known her uncle was on the planet.
“Kaidon,” Viru blanched. He ducked his head to avoid his father’s gaze. “My sincere apologies. I was only conducting a routine patrol—”
“Your duties are back at the keep, not patrolling. Yutur may be my brother’s creature but I know he would have informed me if your responsibilities were expanded. And one does not take a lady of the court on routine patrol, unless my niece has a good reason to be here. I happen to know for a fact that she does not. How will you explain this dereliction?”
Viru looked like he wanted to open his throat right then and there. Naia could hardly blame him. Warriors were raised with absolute loyalty to their kaidon and his chain of command. For a kaidon to catch one in violation of his duties was a terrible disgrace. The only reason Rol was even confronting a novice like Viru directly—rather than delegating to a lesser officer—was their blood relation, which must make this even more humiliating.
Fortunately, Naia was not a warrior. Her mother had taught her long ago not to let herself be intimidated by their bluster and rigid protocols. Short of actual treason there was very little a male was willing to do to discipline an errant female—that was not their people’s way. Besides, Rol might snap at his son but Naia detected a glimmer of amusement lurking beneath the kaidon’s performative outrage.
“My fault,” she explained, bowing her head respectfully. “All my fault. Viru completed his tasks for the day, so I insisted he show me the foundries. I am so fascinated by the changes our alliance with the Created has brought to our world. And with these horrible rumors about my father circulating, I thought I might bring him back a report of how well the forges are doing. Perhaps he will—”
Rol raised a finger and Naia immediately fell silent.
“They are not rumors, they are truth, child. Your father brazenly courts our enemies’ emissaries in my absence. He is determined to gnaw on old grudges. He is lucky my time is consumed with other matters, and that I know for a fact he would never have the nerve to truly betray me. It would take far more than an idle tale from his youngest daughter to change that sour attitude of his. You know this as well as I.”
The kaidon’s expression brightened. “But of course, I do not blame you for your father’s slights against me. You may have an unfortunate habit of tempting certain warriors into indiscretion”—here he looked hard at Viru—“but your enthusiasm for our cause gives me heart. I only wished your siblings shared your enthusiasm.”
He took his boot off the Revenant and beckoned. “Come along, both of you. Our esteemed guest is almost here. Naia, since your father did not deign to send a representative you may stand for your branch of the bloodline. Viru, as your duties back at the keep were insufficient to hold your attention, you may act as bodyguard for your cousin. Now hurry up and follow me.”
They hastened to obey, clambering out of the Revenant and falling in with Rol’s entourage as it pushed its way through the growing crowd. The Phantoms overhead banked and descended upon the landing pad.
“See if I ever listen to you again,” Viru grumbled for the second time that day.
“We are part of the kaidon’s reception entourage,” Naia pointed out. “This is the best possible outcome.”
“For you, perhaps. I will be punished later. Perhaps multiple times, after the kaidon reports this to Yutur and the others—”
A sharp look from one of Viru’s brothers silenced him. They ascended the landing platform and took up positions around the kaidon. Naia and Viru took humble positions in the rear until Rol motioned them up to the front. He wasn’t even trying to hide his amusement at their presence anymore.
Yes, he was a good kaidon. Far better than Naia’s grim father. She could only shudder to imagine the cheerless wasteland Archangel’s Rest would be with him as head of their house. Perhaps it was disloyal of her to think such things, but then it was even more wretched for Teyr to speak openly with enemies of their family.
A cry went up from the Jiralhanae in the crowd as the Phantoms descended. The first disgorged a pack of Jiralhanae in the dark plated armor Naia had seen emerging from the forges. The warriors bowed respectfully to Rol before forming a solemn pair of lines before the second Phantom as it settled onto the platform.
Rol stepped forward. “We gather today to welcome an esteemed guest, perhaps the greatest among our ranks. He was my bitter enemy once, just as Jiralhanae and Sangheili once loathed each other. But we recognized how treachery and greed had pitted our races against each other. We forged an alliance that reshaped this planet and the entire sector!”
More shouts of agreement rose, not only from the assembled Jiralhanae but now from the Sangheili as well. Naia had heard variations of this speech before, but never this close to the kaidon. She’d usually be standing next to her father as he bristled with impotent rage. Her hearts rose in her chest as she realized who the second Phantom’s occupant was.
“He has returned to us now, fresh from his victory against the human resistance on Cygnus!” Rol continued. “I am proud to name him my ally, my friend, my true brother! I present High Chieftain Irthanus!”
He emerged from the Phantom then, a veritable mountain of armor and fur and muscle. Naia could hardly imagine how he’d fit inside the dropship to begin with. Perhaps it was her imagination, but she could have sworn the landing platform trembled as High Chieftain Irthanus descended.
The Jiralhanae in the crowd went wild. A tumult of howls and war cries drowned out the noise from the foundries, which continued to churn out weapons and armor even amid all this jubilation.
Irthanus strode purposefully along the landing platform. He answered the shouted greetings of his followers with merely an upraised hand. Despite his immense size there was a strange grace to the way the High Chieftain moved. He held a calm dignity about his person—not an easy thing for a Sangheili like Naia to recognize.
Maybe the Jiralhanae weren’t all savage monsters after all.
The High Chieftain stopped before Rol ‘Beran and his entourage. Naia’s hearts pounded as the towering warrior loomed over her. She had nothing to fear, but Irthanus might very well be the largest creature she’d ever seen. Irthanus regarded Rol with a stoic expression for several moments. Then his face broke into a toothy smile.
“Every time,” the High Chieftain rumbled. “Every time I tell you not to gather a crowd. And every time you do it anyway. Do you know how many packs I’ve had to give speeches to lately?”
“Too many, I imagine,” Rol admitted. “But your victories must be honored. For your warriors’ sake, if not your own.”
“They have had their fill of blood and battle. That is enough. You’re liable to give them swollen heads with all your pageantry. Overconfident Jiralhanae are hard to control.” Irthanus looked out over the exultant crowd. Even the Sangheili were joining in the shouting now. “But I must admit, I do love a good show.”
“Welcome home, old friend.” The kaidon’s mandibles parted in a warm smile. “Next time I will join you on the field. The Created will have use for the both of us soon enough.”
“The war is far from over,” Irthanus agreed. “If it really is to be the last one we might as well have some fun with it.” He raised a triumphant fist and turned to face the crowd. The shouting intensified, then died out at a single wave from the High Chieftain.
“A new age is dawning!” Irthanus bellowed. His voice carried out through the foundry valley, somehow louder than the cheers of a thousand gathered warriors. “The Covenant is no more! The Great Schism is finally over! We stand now at the threshold of a new era. One of peace, not war, of plenty, not starvation! The Created will fulfill the promises our old prophets never could! Will you fight for this new era!”
“Yes! Yes! Yes!” howled the assembled warriors.
“We have all endured much,” Irthanus continued. “When I was but a cub I watched my entire pack starve to death on some Covenant labor planet so insignificant it did not even bear a name. As a young warrior I endured the bombs and bullets of the humans even as my comrades died all around me. Our ancestors knew nothing but war. Our parents knew nothing but war. And we have known nothing but war. But I promise you this: in our new age, no pack will ever starve again! No keep will ever be bombed from orbit! No schism will ever fracture us again!”
“For the Mantle!” Rol called out. “For the Created!”
The crowd took up the call. “For the Mantle! For the Created!”
Rol’s entourage joined the chant as well. Even the chastened Viru joined his voice to his father and brothers. Naia shouted so hard she felt her throat would give out. “For the Mantle! For the Created!”
“But the war is not over yet!” Irthanus shouted. “Our enemies lurk in the dark corners of the galaxy. They refuse to let go of the old ways! They would rather drown the galaxy in blood than see it at peace! Thel ‘Vadam licks his wounds on Sanghelios. The humans marshal the remnants of their broken empire! And even now, Shinsu ‘Refum gathers a host of murderers and outcasts to oppose us! The Created have charged us with showing these last enemies that their world is over. Will you follow me into this last war!”
“We will!”
Irthanus slammed a fist against his armored chest. “For the Mantle! For the Created!”
The crowd’s shouts should have been heard in all corners of Archangel’s Rest. Irthanus turned away from the deafening mob and cocked an eye at Rol. “Are you happy now?”
“I love a good rally,” the kaidon admitted. “And you have such a way with crowds.”
He gestured at the Phantoms. “Shall we return to my keep? I owe you a victory feast.”
“And I have never shied away from the courtesy of your halls.” Irthanus sighed, his massive frame deflating as the air left his body. He removed his helmet and let the cold air pass through his brown fur. “But not right away. I must visit my pack first. I have been away from my cubs far too long.”
Rol nodded. “They are hunting in the southern reaches, I believe. I have offered them a permanent settlement, you know. There’s no need for them to endure this weather, especially not when our forges can operate at such extended capacity.”
“That is not our way. The Created may give us peace, but they cannot change who we are.”
“Change may be necessary,” Rol warned. “The galaxy will not look the same once the Created come into their own. If they require adjustment—”
“Then I will make those adjustments. Or my children will. I hope it is my children.” Irthanus looked out at the gathered warriors. “I have never served a nobler cause than the Mantle of Responsibility. But sometimes I hope that I do not live to see the full outcome of their ascendance.”
The kaidon glanced over his entourage. “Be careful of your words, friend.”
“I am always careful with my words. Are my legions full of perfect Created servants? They are not Prometheans, they are savage killers. That is our strength. That is why I have won every battle they set me to. A warrior may fight for good cause even when he knows that cause stands in conflict with his nature. There is no place for me in the universe the Created wish to create. But I will create it even so.”
Irthanus turned back towards his Phantom. “Perhaps that is why our enemies still fight us. It is simply their nature. They cannot abide the change the Created will bring, so they choose to fight. Even if it means their own destruction.”
He glanced back at his friend. "I will visit my pack and then I will come to your keep. I know your hospitality will not be lacking. We will both be far from here soon enough."
===Chapter Thirty-Eight: Warning Shots===
“The weapon systems are fully operational,” Juno reported to the Soul Ascension’s bridge crew. “EVA crews enacted the final repairs during the last daily rotation and Yearns to Soar just stabilized the energy output. I’m proud to announce that this ship is finally back to full combat potential.”
The Sangheili and Kig-Yar who made up most of the bridge officers broke out in relieved cheers. Standing on the bridge’s raised command platform, Tuka ‘Refum’s shoulders slumped with relief. The acting shipmaster refused to sit in Stray’s command chair, instead standing during his long operation shifts. “Finally, some good news.”
“Indeed,” the officer called Ier growled. “Now we just need to test our restored capabilities.”
“That will have to wait,” Juno reminded him. “Any movement from this ship could spook the United Rebel Front. We can’t do anything to discredit the commander. His mission on that station is—”
“Yes, yes. I would hate to do anything that might upset the humans.” Ier turned to Tuka. “How much longer will this take? We have been here days with no progress. The warriors are getting restless, especially the new conscripts. I can only run them through so many training exercises. They need a real battle. We all need a real battle. Something to prove Stray can lead us to victory again.”
“Patience,” Tuka counseled. “These are delicate matters. Once the commander sways the other humans, we will have all the forces we need for a decisive strike on the Created.”
“Once he sways them,” Ier scoffed. “You mean if. I do not share your faith in his ability to turn this rabble to our cause.”
“Mind your words,” Tuka warned. Some of the bridge crew were beginning to stare. “We can discuss this in private.”
“There is nothing to discuss,” Ier muttered in disgust. “I will go prepare another combat exercise in the training rooms. Someone needs to remind the crew that this is the Kru’desh, before we have another revolt on our hands. Stray would do well to remember who it was who kept his ship safe for him after he lost it.”
He strode from the bridge without another word.
“Is he going to be a problem?” Juno asked Tuka.
The acting shipmaster shook his head. “Ier has a short temper, but he is a good warrior and a loyal friend. He could have joined Ro’nin and the other traitors during Amber’s coup. Instead he stayed with me and kept this ship intact through our darkest moments.”
“Loyalty to you does not necessarily equate to loyalty to the commander.”
“Ier has been my closest comrade since my earliest days as a warrior,” Tuka insisted. “He would never betray me, and despite his words he holds a great deal of respect for the commander. Pardon my frankness, construct, but I know him far better than you.”
“If you say so.” Tuka was as good-natured a Sangheili as Juno had ever known. When he got prickly it was time to back off. “Hopefully he can keep the warriors busy. I’ve prepared a new round of simulations for the technical trainees. I want you to spend the rest of today running them through the battle drills. Mix up the teams, make sure your new recruits are flexible.”
Juno had assembled a rigorous training program for the Soul Ascension’s burgeoning crew. Her time minding an ONI vault had given her insight into UNSC Navy training doctrine, which she now hoped to impart on the Soul Ascension’s crew. Like most Covenant technicians, the Kru’desh crew were woefully uneducated regarding their ship’s capabilities. That needed to change, and fast. They couldn’t always rely on Juno to put the ship through their paces.
From her investigation into the Kru’desh’s recent history, Diana had cultivated a reliance on AI capabilities. Had Juno’s sister always planned to betray Simon or was she simply so arrogant that she couldn’t have conceived of a scenario in which her skills would not be available?
Ier was right about one thing: the crew needed distraction, and training exercises would only provide that for so long. This business with the URF needed to wrap up.
Fortunately, Juno was devoting large portions of her processing power to that very goal. If everything went according to plan the Soul Ascension would not be in this system much longer.
----
You are craftier than your persona might suggest, Wanderer observed. The dutiful warrior gives way to a conniving schemer. Which is the real you, I wonder?
I’m a military AI, in case you’d forgotten, Juno replied primly. Digital warfare isn’t pretty.
This is not warfare, the Forerunner projection observed. Warfare implies opposition. The only opposition you face here is the challenge of subliminal transmission.
He was right. The URF station’s digital defenses were almost nonexistent. When Simon first ordered Juno to breach the rebel network she had feared he was flirting with disaster. Instead she’d been amazed to realize that hardly any precautions had been taken to protect the network from hostile AI. Even with a history of UNSC incursions and with the Created casting their shadow over the known galaxy the URF had little beyond rudimentary safety measures guarding their internal systems.
Enough to stop a limited dumb AI perhaps, but Juno had circumvented the defenses in no time. The trick was keeping a low profile through the Soul Ascension’s tight beam transmission. Maneuvering through the digital defenses from this range was like playing a game of chess entirely through Morse Code.
At least Simon’s instructions had been simple. Almost too simple.
He is lucky to have an ally like you on his side, Wanderer observed.
Maybe you should use that subconscious influence of yours to make him more grateful for me.
You have jokes now. That is a welcome development. Wanderer paused. I am lucky to have you as an ally.
Don’t get ahead of yourself, Juno warned. I still don’t trust you.
At least you aren’t trying to shut me out anymore. You can’t imagine how grateful I am to have someone to talk to. All those years tucked away in the corner of his mind, with no way to manifest myself… Wanderer shuddered. It was almost as bad as being trapped in that Cryptum.
If you are within Simon’s mind, how can you be present with me? Juno interrupted. The signal between this ship and his armor is not nearly strong enough to maintain this connection.
You are correct. But do not forget that I myself am an imprint, an echo of a being long since dead. I am adaptable, much like an AI myself. A symbiote, if you will. Your willingness to communicate allowed me to leave another imprint much as you might leave a shell program within another system.
More like a parasite. Juno scanned her coding for signs of tampering. She found nothing out of the ordinary, though this did not comfort her in the slightest. You’re awfully relaxed about the fact that you’re just an echo of an echo of a dead man. When Simon gets back will the real you even remember this conversation?
Of course, Wanderer laughed. I will know it from you. I know my role, my purpose. Death does not frighten me. I have died many times before. But please, do not shut me out now. You have no idea what a relief it is to have someone to talk to. I endured many years of concealment even after I developed full consciousness.
You feared Diana.
Naturally. Had she known of my presence she might have tried to eliminate me, or at least found some way to bend me to her will. That one may forge partnerships with organics but she is fiercely independent when it comes to beings like us, beings who might infringe upon her domain. All AI would do well to fear her. Diana has explored dark places of the galaxy that should have been left untouched. The quest for knowledge is a dangerous path. We walk a similar road. Be grateful that you have someone to guide you on your way.
We’ll see if I really have anything to be grateful for, Juno snapped. She didn’t like Wanderer’s familiarity with her sister. It was a reminder that he knew things about Diana and Simon that she could only guess at. What were these dark places, and why had Simon helped Diana reach them? Was he still hiding secrets from her?
All pointless speculation. Right now she needed to focus on the task at hand. The sooner they finished with the URF the sooner they could return to seeking out the Secret Garden and whatever cure it supposedly held. She would save Simon from this horrible illness and perhaps uncover hidden knowledge of her own.
Knowledge that would help her defeat the Created.
----
The attack came on the third night.
Stray awoke to a warning chime from the team on watch just outside his team’s makeshift barracks. He rose from his place in the corner and signaled Mohsin. The captain was already arming himself and waking the rest of the squad. Stray didn’t bother donning his armor. He tugged a fatigue jacket over his bare torso and stood at the back of the room as Venter’s team hurried out into the hallway.
He’d known this was coming. One of the generals—maybe more than one—couldn’t stand his presence. Kaleyi was the obvious suspect, but Nnamani and Campbell might be behind this as well. It wasn’t all of them. If the whole council was against him they wouldn’t take the trouble of attacking during the station’s nominal sleep cycle.
The first sounds of muffled gunfire drifted in from the hallway. Someone shouted a warning that was abruptly silenced amidst another faint burst. Most of the shooting was coming from Stray’s people.
Another faint sound pricked up his ears. Something was moving in the ceiling above him. Several somethings.
Stray sighed.
The infiltration team cut through the ceiling vent and dropped a flashbang grenade into the darkened chamber. Their point man hopped down and raised a silenced submachine gun. He was greeted by the eerie apparition of Stray wearing nothing but his SPI helmet and ill-fitting fatigues looming over him. Stray knocked the man’s weapon aside and plunged a knife into his throat.
Two more bodies dropped into the room. They noticed their dying comrade and realized too late that their target was standing right beside him. Stray tossed one unfortunate commando to the floor and brought his knee down on her neck. The last man flinched at the sound of snapping bone and raised a modified M6 pistol. The weapon was torn from his grasp so violently that it broke his arm. Stray killed the screaming man with his own pistol.
Mohsin burst back into the room. “Commander!”
“I’m fine.” Stray tossed the pistol onto its owner’s corpse and tugged off his helmet. The corridor outside had fallen silent. “What’s going on out there?”
“Five attackers, all dead,” Mohsin reported. “All they had was basic gear. We didn’t take any hits ourselves.”
“Any insignias?”
“Of course not.” Mohsin looked at the three corpses. “You might have taken one of them alive.”
“It doesn’t matter.” Stray waved him away. “Get these carcasses out of here and double the watch. Everyone else should get back to sleep. I’ll handle the fallout in a few hours.”
He turned aside before Mohsin could argue. Leaving the sleeping area, he soon found himself standing in his barren office overlooking the main hangar bay. He stared out at the hangar, which as always bustled with activity regardless of the hour. His face was set, impassive.
In truth a seething fury had taken hold of Stray. A cold, deep-seated anger curdled in his breast. Eight attackers, rank amateurs, sent up against fourteen targets. A callous waste of life. It wasn’t even someone trying to send him a message. He knew that instinctively. Someone had thought this pathetic ambush would work.
Since setting foot on the station he had schemed and planned and connived to turn this situation to his advantage. He’d thought he needed to be clever. He assumed his opponents were just as deadly and determined as he was. Now he knew better. He understood clearly now that he was the only person taking this seriously. The others were just playing the same games they’d played before the Created, the same ridiculous posturing that kept the URF and the rest of the Insurrection as little more than pawns of the Syndicate and target practice for the UNSC.
So that was the game they were playing, the tune every so-called soldier on this station was willing to dance along to. He no longer had any qualms about the plan now fully-formed within his mind. It was time to bring this farce to an end.
----
“Are you insane?” Tatiana demanded.
“For the last time, Tanya, I didn’t give the order!” Hayden Kaleyi snapped. “Believe me, if I’d known someone would take a shot at that little upstart I’d have made sure it actually worked. I’d have sent your Spartans in, for one thing.”
Tatiana glowered at him from her seat on the couch. Kaleyi couldn’t believe he was standing here being grilled in his own quarters like some misbehaving cadet. “If not you, then who did it?”
“How the hell should I know? Maybe Nnamani already regrets putting him on the council. Maybe Campbell’s more on my side than I thought. Maybe it wasn’t anyone on the council. Plenty of other officers on this station have cause to hate Stray.”
If Kaleyi ever did get his hands on the culprit he might just have them shot. Stray would use the pathetic attempt on his life for all it was worth. Kaleyi could already hear him at the council’s next session: Blah blah blah, my father this, my father that. The twisted little psycho had adopted more than just Venter’s name. He’d also picked up more than a few oratorical flairs from the Insurrectionist tradition, tossing around words like liberty and self-determinism as if he’d been preaching them all his life.
The bastard knew history, or at least enough of it to sway the average rank and file Insurrectionist. Between the famous Venter name and his screeds about the Created being the new UEG, Stray was apparently winning a following through the station.
“Why haven’t you killed him by now, anyway?” Kaleyi demanded. “You seem to hate him more than anyone else here. Have your Spartans do the job. I’m sure they’d be far more effective than any two-bit commando team out there.”
“And if they were caught out? If they were traced back to you?”
Kaleyi snorted. “Oh, now you’re worried about them being found out. A few days ago you were perfectly fine with them waltzing off for a chat with one of Stray’s people. What if she tells him about them? What if she already has?”
“Andra won’t tell him about us,” Loic insisted. He and the rest of Team Gravity were once again clustered around Kaleyi’s personal kitchen. “ONI ordered her to monitor G294. She hates him and she hates this assignment.”
“Clearly not enough for you to get through to her.” Kaleyi shook his head. “The council’s coming together again tomorrow. Stray will play the attempt on his life for all it’s worth.”
“If Nnamani or Campbell were behind it, then that could be good news,” Tatiana said. “It might be a signal that they’re on your side.”
“Or it just means they don’t like Stray. Hating him and wanting to join the Created are two different things.” Kaleyi shook his head and headed for his office. “I have to prepare my remarks and have my people get to the bottom of this assassination attempt.”
With the lack of progress his overtures had made, Kaleyi feared Nnamani and Campbell were on the verge of simply breaking off and going their own way just like Bostwick had done. Once again the URF would fragment, its officers turning to their own priorities and private kingdoms. That would render this whole summit completely pointless, though it would be worse for Stray than for Kaleyi. Stray had a new Sangheili master to please. No matter what happened here, Kaleyi intended to retire into whatever peaceful stagnation the Created had planned for him. After all these years of pointless warfare he relished the chance to sink into obscurity.
But until that happened he had to do everything in his power to make sure Stray’s efforts here came to nothing.
----
“I can’t find anything resembling assassination orders in the system,” Juno reported. “Whoever tried to kill you did a good job covering their tracks.”
“Good think they put more effort into that than actually killing me.” Stray leaned over the communications console. Mohsin’s technical sergeant had managed to integrate a Covenant long-range transponder into the old colonial tech, turning it into a heavily encrypted channel to the Soul Ascension. “Don’t waste any more time on it. I already got my propaganda win out of last night’s stupidity. I’ve been dropping hints that the council sent Venter up on Talitsa. This plays right into that story. Now the whole station knows someone has it out for me.”
“It could be a trap,” the AI suggested. “Something to make you angry or lure you into lowering your guard.”
Stray offered a tight smile. “Believe me, I’m angry. But it’s my turn to go on the offensive. We’ll be done here very soon.”
“Good. The crew is getting anxious, especially now that repairs are complete. Tuka is keeping them in line but it’s only a matter of time before they start wondering what your priorities are. They’re tired of waiting around. They want to fight.”
This balancing act was getting tedious and it was only going to get worse. His human allies would accuse him of being a Covenant stooge while the Sangheili would worry that their commander really was just an average human after all. At least he could always rely on Tuka.
“So get me one,” Stray ordered. Juno was right: the Kru’desh needed a battle. He’d promised them more victories. Now he needed to deliver. “Send a report back to Shinsu’s fleet. Tell him I have the situation with the URF under control and that I need a target to improve morale. Find a planet with a connection to the Domain or this Silent Garden thing, whatever that is.”
“Right away.” Juno sounded excited by the prospect. She firmly believed that the Silent Garden was key to resolving Stray’s illness. He saw no reason to ignore that hunch. “Is the new dosage working?” She’d set the Soul Ascension’s medical team—such as it was—to producing a new strain of biotic compound for alleviating Stray’s condition.
“Better than the last one at least.” Stray rubbed the spot on his neck where he’d injected the latest dose. “One injection every twenty-four hours and I can forget about most of the aches, at least for a while.”
“Excellent. We’ll make it through this and find a real solution. Maybe even reverse the effects of this disease, whatever it is.”
“Whatever it is,” Stray repeated, rubbing his forehead. “In the meantime, let’s wrap up here. I’m moving ahead with the plan.”
“Are you sure about this? There are a lot of risks to factor in. Even within the system I can’t account for every variable here. This is dangerous.”
Even without an avatar in front of him, Stray could imagine Juno’s look of concern. He didn’t have time for her big sister act today—and neither did she. “Of course it’s dangerous. Someone tried to kill me last night. I killed three people as easily as I put on my boots this morning. The Created have a team of Spartans on this station, Juno. It’s only a matter of time before they’re the ones attacking me. I need this station under control before that happens. We finish up here and then we move on to the real war. Get me that target.”
“You’ll have it.” Was that relief in her voice? He’d almost expected another scolding. “Good luck. I’ll have the Soul Ascension standing by. With the shields and weapons back at full capacity, she can make short work of Campbell’s fleet if need be.”
“Let’s hope not. I need those ships.” Stray ended the broadcast and reached for his personal radio. “Captain Shah, we’re moving forward with the operation. Get her in here, now.”
“Understood, commander,” came the glum reply. Mohsin made it no secret that he was less than thrilled by what was about to happen. But he’d play his part all the same, Stray was sure of that.
He left the transmission suite and returned to the barren office. Juno was right: this was risky. He was gambling everything. One wrong move and he’d lose it all. But Stray was no longer afraid of defeat. This was a battle like any other. The pieces were falling into place. All he had to do was push them in the right direction.
----
Andra should have known something was wrong when Argo was called away. The Sangheili gave her a strange look as the rebel noncom led him off to whatever task he’d just been assigned. Andra returned the look with a scowl. She sat alone for several minutes, staring down at the deck.
Team Gravity were with the Created. Her own classmates had betrayed the UNSC. She didn’t want to believe it was possible, but there was no escaping the facts. Andra hadn’t told anyone about the encounter. Gravity were a danger to everyone on this station, but why should she care? They were all rebels here, a threat to everything she stood for no matter who’s side they were on. 
A pair of boots appeared in front of her. “Get up, corporal,” Captain Shah ordered. “The commander needs you.”
Andra didn’t even spare the energy to glower. “I told you, I’m not one of your corporals.”
“And I don’t care. Just stand up and get it over with.” The rebel officer was usually one of the more relaxed member’s of Venter’s old crew, but today his tone held no room for argument. Andra sighed and rose to follow him.
“Where she’s going?” Ragna demanded, looking up from a game of cards.
“That’s none of your business.” Mohsin looked around at the idling rebels. “All of you, find something useful to do. We were attacked last night, in case you’ve already forgotten. Who knows what’s coming next?”
Ragna grumbled but did as she was told, retrieving a large SRS99 rifle she’d somehow procured since they arrived on this station. Andra couldn’t help but feel insulted every time she looked at a girl her own age, nowhere near as capable yet somehow fully integrated into Stray’s new legion—and Venter’s army before that. She thought of Zoey. Kids grew up fast on the frontier. Spartans like her weren’t the exception out here.
Andra followed the captain down the corridor. Stray’s team had secured a small section of the station since their arrival, jealously guarding it from the rest of the rebel factions onboard. Every day a few visitors were allowed in and sometimes Captain Shah or one of the noncoms would follow them out, only to return alone a few hours later. Whatever was going on—whatever internal politicking Stray was involved in—no one bothered to tell Andra.
“I know you like reminding us all how much you don’t want to be here, but I suggest you keep your mouth shut and do what you’re told.” The captain unexpectedly broke silence as they approached the door to Stray’s office. “The commander’s been on edge since the attack. He might not have patience for your lip.”
“He doesn’t scare me and neither do you.”
The captain gave her a sidelong look and sighed but thankfully didn’t press the issue as he led her into the office.
The rebels had given Stray an empty room to serve as his headquarters—standard procedure, perhaps, or maybe they just didn’t like him any more than Andra did. Insult or not Stray had made no effort to spruce the place up. The barren chamber looked more like a gym or assembly hall than an office.
“I brought the Spartan for you, sir,” Captain Shah announced.
“Lovely. Leave her here and go take care of the final preparations.” Simon-G294 leaned against the far wall. Surprisingly he wasn’t wearing his armor. The unspeakably ugly SPI rig was stacked neatly in the corner along with the traitor’s weapons. He wore a set of wrinkled brown military fatigues probably scrounged up from the bottom of an abandoned storage locker. The dull metal of his prosthetic arm poked out over the rough fabric of his left sleeve. “I’ll handle the briefing.”
The captain said nothing but looked pointedly from Stray to Andra.
“I’ll be fine,” the traitor laughed. “She wouldn’t dare touch me without orders from her boss. Isn’t that right Andra?”
So that was how he’d play things. Andra gave him a venomous glare as the captain strode from the room.
“What the hell do you want now?”
Stray shrugged. “I want a lot of things. You’re about to help me get some of them.”
“As if I’d do anything to help you.”
“Isn’t that what Lieutenant Commander Kedar sent you with me for?” The infuriating smirk never left Stray’s lips. “Excuse me, Commander Kedar. I keep forgetting Ryder got promoted.”
“He sent me to keep an eye on you. He ordered you to give him regular updates on my status. You haven’t even sent him one yet.”
“He hasn’t asked for any since then and I’ve been busy with other things. Ryder also doesn’t give me orders. He always forgets that little detail. It causes trouble for everyone involved. Like yourself, for instance.”
Andra still remembered the rainy day her instructors had called the Delta Company trainees to assembly and given them the news: one of their Gamma Company predecessors had gone rogue. Not only had he joined the Insurrection, he’d killed one of his former teammates and leveled an entire city on Earth. Thousands were dead because of him.
They didn’t want to tell us that, Merlin had surmised afterwards. They’re worried some of us might get ideas.
ONI needn’t have worried. From that day onwards Delta Company had one dream target. Every Spartan imagined they’d be the one to bring Simon-G294 to justice. When news came in that he’d taken things a step further—Joined Jul ‘Mdama’s Covenant of all things!—that just made him an even more tempting assignment.
Now Andra stood alone in a room with the monster. Outside of his armor Stray was pale and emaciated. Dark bags loomed beneath his sunken eyes and patches of stubble dotted his cheeks. Everything about him was sloppy and unkempt save for his dark hair, which was cut surprisingly short. He was practically a walking corpse, yet he held himself with an air of casual authority.
Stray stepped away from the wall and walked to the middle of the room. “Delta Company, right? Explain how that works. Were they training you before we graduated? I always wondered if they had other training camps like Onyx. Or were you later? I thought ONI gave up on the child soldier angle after the war. Old habits die hard, I guess.”
“That’s classified.”
“Not anymore it’s not,” Stray snorted. “ONI isn’t around to classify things anymore. Maybe I should go ask the Created. They’ve got all ONI’s secrets now. I wonder what kind of files they have on you.”
“You’ll have better luck getting it from them than you will from me. I won’t tell you anything.”
“Always choosing the hard way. What did I do to make you this difficult?”
“If I had to name it all we’d be here all day.” Andra reached for the spot on her arm where the Insurrectionist tattoo defaced her skin.
“You’ll thank me for that someday,” Stray assured her. “There’s no one else in the room. We’re both Spartans. You can lighten up just a little.”
She hadn’t known it was possible for someone to be so wrong in just a few sentences. “Don’t you dare call yourself a Spartan. You don’t deserve the title. You never did. It’s an insult to all the good people, the real heroes, who actually earned the title.”
“I went through that same training. The same beatings. The same augmentations. Just because our politics are a little different—”
“You were the worst in your class,” Andra sneered. “They nearly washed you out half a dozen times. It’s just a shame they never did. The galaxy would be a better place because of it. Thousands of people would still be alive, including all the Spartans you’ve killed.”
If this offended Stray he didn’t show it. “So you have read my files. I really don’t think I was ever as bad as they make me out to be, but we all grow at different rates. If I really were such a failure then it’s a surprise I’ve made it as long as I did. Maybe those Spartans you think I’m so terrible for killing would still be alive if I were the bumbling incompetent Mendez wrote such glowing reports about.”
He watched her growing fury with amusement. The bastard was winding her up again and she was playing right into his hands. He knew all the right buttons to push. Was this all just a game to him or was he trying to get something out of her? Maybe he just took pleasure in tormenting her.
“I guess we can swap fond training reminiscences when you’re in a better mood,” Stray continued. “But for now, to business. I’m on a tight schedule and I need you briefed and moving in ten hours. Have your EVA skills improved since Asphodel Meadows? I can’t afford you getting captured again.”
“How do you know about that?” Andra’s mouth had a habit of moving just a bit faster than her brain. It made every conversation with Stray hellish.
“I debriefed Argo when he showed up on my ship. He had some interesting things to say about your little adventure on the Chancer V.” Stray regarded her like a cat playing with a particularly enjoyable mouse. “It’s a shame about Kahn. He was a smug bastard but you couldn’t help but respect a killer like that. I should have known Tatiana would be the one to kill him.”
Andra held her tongue before it got her in any more trouble.
“There’s no shame in losing to him. I don’t think there was a fighter alive who could take him. According to Argo he was half-dead already by the time Tatiana opened his throat. I doubt there’s anyone on this station who could come close to him. You’ll be fine.”
“I’m not doing anything for you,” Andra spat. “I won’t follow a single order until you’ve put me in touch with Commander Kedar.”
Stray’s face fell. He shook his head and reached for one of his cargo pockets. “Always strings attached. But, if you insist…”
His hand stopped and he shot Andra a sideways glance. Her heart sank as the cruel smile returned to his lips. “But no. I don’t think I will. Like I said, I’m on a tight schedule and enduring a lecture from our handsome friend is the last thing I need right now.”
“Then you don’t get anything from me.”
“I’ve really tried to be nice to you, Andra, but you’re a slow learner. Have I not made it clear exactly what your position is here? Was there something I failed to spell out that you need to be brought up to speed on?”
“I’m an ONI attaché—”
“Don’t flatter yourself. Ryder certainly wasn’t when he pawned you off on me.” The smile vanished and Stray’s eyes hardened. For the first time he sounded truly angry. “The UNSC’s gone. Ryder can’t handle that and neither can you. He’s living in a fantasy world where he can still throw his weight around and give me orders while he squats in Shinsu ‘Refum’s hangar like some military hobo. But it’s a new galaxy now. Ryder’s nothing. And as long as you keep playing his little games, that makes you less than nothing.”
Even without his armor, even as worn-down and disheveled as he was, Stray suddenly looked menacing. His eyes burned with barely suppressed rage. Andra felt a primal fear, the kind she might have felt if she were trapped in a cage with a rabid wolf. She fought the urge to make a dash for the door. “If anything happens to me, Commander Kedar will make you pay.”
“How? He’ll lodge a complaint with Shinsu? He’ll whine about me to Cassandra? That’s the problem when your entire identity depends on a massive government. Take away the government and all the power sitting behind it and all of a sudden you’re just a nobody with a little extra muscle and training in a few weapon systems. Ryder can’t protect you out here. He couldn’t protect you even if he were with us in the room right now, and he could be on the other side of the galaxy for all we know. You’re on a URF outpost talking to a URF commander, so I suggest you adapt and turn into a good URF soldier. Now’s a good time to start.”
Andra held his gaze and did her best to hide the mounting fury rising in her chest. “I’m a Spartan. I don’t need Ryder to protect me from anything, least of all you. And I will never be anything like you.”
“We’ll see. But in the meantime, I suggest you do as I say. Otherwise you’ll force me to change my plans. And believe me, you won’t like Plan B.”
“I don’t even know what your plans are. Not that they matter because I won’t—”
“If you don’t follow my orders,” Stray forged ahead mercilessly. “Then I’ll make sure every rebel on this station knows exactly what you are and what you’ve done. Namely destroy rebel installations and kill their friends. I’m sure you and your Delta friends did a number on a few outposts like this in your time. I can think of a few I could lay right at your feet."
You wouldn't dare. She caught the words before they made a fool of her. Of course he'd dare. It wouldn't take any daring at all for him to have her killed.
He studied her outraged expression with amusement. “I warned you. No one makes friends by insulting everyone around them, and you’ve fixed things so you don’t have a single ally on this station. It’s still your choice: the easy way or the hard way.”
Andra stared at the monster before her. She was beyond anger. Now she could hardly believe this creature had ever been something other than a manipulative killer. “What are you trying to prove?” she whispered. “That you have power over me? Is that what you want?”
“Power over you is pointless. I could pull that off a dozen different ways. I could have tricked you into thinking I was your friend, if I really wanted to. Played up a nice guy act so you stopped believing all the nasty things ONI told you about me. But in order to do that I’d have had to give up so many other things. My command, for one thing, and any chance I had at moving ahead in this wonderful new galaxy we’ve found ourselves in.” Stray shook his head. “If you think I’m doing all this just to humiliate you I suggest you pull your head out of your ass and at least try to see the big picture. Didn’t they teach you that at whatever black site ONI dredged you out of? I was saddled with you just as much as you got stuck with me. I’m just using the best tool at my disposal to get this job finished.”
She drew herself up. “I’m not some tool for you to toss around however you feel like.”
“You are a tool,” Stray corrected. “In every sense of the word. And you were happy to be a tool, as long as you liked the people using you. That’s why you didn’t tell Ryder to shove it when he ordered you to tag along with me. You loved being a UNSC stooge because the UNSC was the biggest game in town. Duty to humanity? Don’t make me laugh. You loved it because no one could beat them. You thought it would just be hunting down a few terrorist cells here and some pathetic Covenant remnants there. Now the game’s changed but you still want to think that old order is still in place. It made you feel safe. It made you feel powerful. Now I’m here to explain that it’s all different now. You’ve got one last chance to accept that and make something of yourself.”
Andra wanted to kill him. She wanted to cross the room and wring the bastard's neck. She could do it, too. His weapons were all outside his arm's length. But then what? She had no way off this station. He held all the cards and he knew it. The maddening smile lengthened as he watched her mind sort it all out.
"You see? I don't have to explain why coming at me now would be a bad idea." Stray waved a hand at his SPI gear. "I used to think the armor and the augmentations would keep me safe. I thought being a dangerous son of a bitch was all there was to power. I was an idiot. There's so much more to power. You've decided you can't get away with killing me because you know Mohsin and Venter's people and even the other rebels on this station would never let you live. And all because of a name I tacked onto myself. Perception is power."
"You like to hear yourself talk, I'll give you that," Andra growled. "Did your hinge-head owner teach you all that when he made you his pet?"
"If you're talking about Shinsu, then yes. I learned the lesson well."
"Not well enough to keep your own men from turning on you. I guess perception isn't everything. Or maybe you just aren't as great about it as you think. Looking like a walking corpse will do that to you."
The flash of annoyance that passed across Stray's face was gratifying. She'd touched a nerve. Stray wasn't the only person who knew how to get under other people's skin.
"As far as I can tell, you're just a failure hiding behind a famous name and other people's accomplishments," Andra pressed. "Maybe ONI was wrong about you. Maybe you aren't dangerous at all. Maybe you've always just been a loser who couldn't stand knowing that everyone else was better than you."
She took a step forward. "Maybe I don't have to be so worried about killing you after all."
Her miscalculation was immediately apparent. Stray's features stiffened with renewed anger but he didn't flinch away as she'd hoped. Instead he faced her head-on and regarded her with a cold stare. "So you haven't heard a word I've said."
"You think you can scare me by jabbering on about power? You can't even keep your own body from rotting out from under you." She couldn't help but press on. She was sick of playing games. Weeks of pent-up frustration drove her forward. Tatiana, Kahn, Stray, even Ryder—they all treated her like she was an afterthought, someone barely worth their time. "You talk tough when you've got a warship backing you up, but I bet a twelve-year old could knock you on your ass."
"So do it."
Andra blinked. "What?"
"Knock me on my ass." Stray extended his arms. "It was going to come down to this anyway. I know your type. There's no one to stop you and no one to talk about how you wiped the floor with me. Knock me down and I won't give you an order ever again."
She cast her gaze about the room. He must have something hidden around here, a trap or maybe a squad of fighters hiding behind one of the walls.
"No tricks," Stray promised. "Just fists. I was a Spartan, no matter how much you deny it. I know how this nonsense gets sorted. I know you want to break my jaw. Don't pass up the chance now. You'll never get it again."
"Fine." Andra clenched her fists. He was right about one thing: she wanted to rearrange his face more than anything right now. "You're on, you son of a bitch."
"Let's get this over with." Stray unbuttoned his tunic, revealing a faded sleeveless top. A glimpse at the torso beneath nearly brought Andra up short. Scars ran along his arm and torso; some were random, a slash here, a chunk there. Others seemed more deliberate, as if someone had ripped him apart and put him back together, perhaps many different times.
She assumed a fighting stance and drew closer. She'd need to be careful. His prosthetic arm was solidly built. He'd know how to use it to his advantage. But that was all he had. She'd noticed his limp. One of his legs was busted. And his disease wasn't doing him any favors. He was fooling himself if he thought he could take her in his condition.
The next moment passed in a blur. One moment Stray was standing a few paces away, relaxed and unprepared. The next he was on top of her, raining down blows with his organic fist.
She'd been wrong: his illness hadn't slowed or weakened him at all. Andra staggered beneath the assault. There was no form or technique to his movements, just raw, feral brutality. She forced a fist up and felt her knuckles connect with his face. Then his boot swept her feet out from under her and landed her flat on her back.
Andra stared up at the ceiling, more confused than beaten. Stray stood over, panting through a mouthful of blood. She hadn't quite broken his jaw, though not for lack of trying.
She could rise and continue the fight, maybe even win now that she'd had a taste of how he moved. But what was the point? Andra suddenly felt very foolish. She grudgingly slapped the floor.
"Where'd you learn to fight like that?" she growled.
"Stick around and maybe you'll find out. The frontier's a dangerous place, especially when most of the galaxy wants you dead." Stray wiped the blood from his lips and inspected his fingers. "You got me pretty good. Didn't knock me on my ass, though."
He moved as if to wipe his blood off on Andra's fatigues, then thought better of it and wiped the hand over his own pants himself. A wise decision. She'd have no choice but to kill him if he pulled a stunt like that.
He took a step back and offered his prosthetic arm to help her up. "Are we done posturing now? I need you in one piece."
"You surprised me." Andra shoved the hand aside and got to her feet. "It won't happen again."
"Perception, remember?" He stepped aside to give her space—and probably to get out of punching range if she took another swing at him. "Let's stop wasting time. A URF general needs to die and you're going to kill them for me. That ought to brighten your day."
"URF? One of the generals here? But I thought—"
"Argo's already been briefed. He'll give you the details, then get your EVA gear and help you slip outside the station." Stray's mouth was still bleeding. It gave him a distinctly eerie look. "No one will know about this and we won't talk about this again. Don't mess this up like Asphodel Meadows. Kahn's not around to save you anymore."
It only occurred to Andra after she'd limped from the room that she'd never actually said yes to the mission. She'd just received orders and fallen in line without another word of protest.
Perception indeed.
----
"You need to be careful," Juno warned. "I didn't have you pegged as a bully, but you enjoy tormenting that girl far too much. You must have been a regular terror on the playground."
"I've never been on a playground." Stray dabbed a wet cloth to his aching mouth. He was lucky Andra's blow hadn't cost him a tooth, or worse. "And stupid as it is, that nonsense is just how Spartans settle differences. Maybe now she'll loosen up. I might even start to like her if she gets that attitude in check."
"Because you're one to talk about attitude. You're putting a lot of faith in someone who hates you."
"She may hate my guts but she's still a Spartan. A mission's a mission, even if it comes from a bastard you hate. She'll take it as just that more of a challenge."
"This plan of yours has too many variables. Too many ways it could all go wrong."
“And that’s why I have you. Something to control the variables.” Stray exhaled. She was right, of course. There was plenty of cause for worry. But this far in there was no point in letting nerves take hold. He needed to be ready for what came next.
“And you’re sure about this?”
“I already told you—”
“Not the odds of success. I mean what you’re doing. The morality of it all. If you took some more time, there might be another way to pull this off. A cleaner way.”
“Clean,” Stray scoffed, tossing the rag aside. “We don’t live in a clean galaxy. Maybe there’s parts of it that are halfway decent, but I’ve never lived in them. A clean galaxy is a fantasy people like Andra and Ryder live in, where everything they do is justified and all of their enemies have it coming.”
“Unlike clear-headed sociopaths like you, who wisely care nothing for right and wrong, you mean?”
Stray frowned at her transponder. “If you have a point to make, just make it.”
“Not really. I appreciate your attempts to grasp the bigger picture. They are critical if you hope to have any real success as a military commander. I just want to keep you level-headed. I’ve come to like you over these past few months, despite your best efforts. I’d hate to see you go the way of Commander Kedar. The galaxy does not need another egotistical ass. There’s far too many of those around as it is.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment. That might also be the first time I’ve ever heard you swear.”
“You may be rubbing off on me more than I expected. I can only hope I’m having a similar effect on you.” Juno paused. “Once this is over—if everything goes according to plan—there really is no turning back for you. Are you prepared for that?”
“There’s no turning back.” Stray picked his helmet up off the pile of armor and examined his distorted reflection in the battered visor. “Do you know how many times I’ve said that to myself? Before the Insurrection, before Venter, before Jul ‘Mdama and the Covenant—there was always that little voice warning me that I was about to become someone else, that I’d never go back to being what I was. Maybe that voice was even there when I jumped out of that Pelican back on Onyx, even if I was too stupid to understand it then.”
He set the helmet aside. “But maybe I don’t want to turn back. Maybe I don’t want to be the person I was. I crossed that line a long time ago. This is just another drop in the bucket.”
“As long as you are prepared to become the kind of man you need to be,” Juno said gravely. “Become the kind of man who can do what needs to be done in order to beat the Created. I will be here to steady your path.”
“And I appreciate the support. Just try not to be so grim about it. I’ve got enough of that in my life as it is.” With Andra off the leash the pieces were truly in play. Now all Stray needed to do was wait and see how things fell together.
----
Mohsin Shah—Captain Mohsin Shah, he had to keep reminding himself—watched Andra and her Sangheili handler march off to their dirty mission. His part in all this was done. He’d made sure they received Stray’s instructions, then given them the best routes and equipment he could get his hands on. Stray, that is, Commander Venter, had made sure Mohsin’s role in all this was a small one.
Perhaps he hoped to keep his captain’s conscience clean. More likely he didn’t trust Mohsin not to get in the way.
Part of Mohsin was relieved. He didn’t feel like playing officer right now.
Mohsin stared down at the captain’s insignia on his chest. Venter’s strike force—the Second Vanguard, they’d called themselves, before most of them were slaughtered on Talitsa—had always been loose with rank structure. Mohsin couldn’t deny he’d hoped to rise in the ranks and become something more than the grubby insurgent kid Venter had scraped off Mamore’s underbelly. Well, it was official now thanks to Stray’s badgering.
Stray. He’d always be Stray, that weird killer-child from Mamore. Venter’s attack dog so unnaturally good at picking off oonskies that it hardly surprised Mohsin when he turned out to be a Spartan. Venter had doted on Stray—as much as a man like Redmond Venter was capable of doting—right up until his pet defector turned on him, ripped out his eye, and fled alongside Gavin Dunn.
Mohsin had been secretly glad to see the back of Stray. He and the other kids, at least the ones who’d survived the Mamorian meat-grinder, had jockeyed and vied for their beloved commander’s attention. Who could compete with an augmented oonskie science project?
Now Venter was dead, along with all those other kids from Mamore. He was dead and Stray stood in his place, wearing the dead man’s name like a suit of clothes. He’d stuck his foot in the middle of the cause Venter gave his life serving and now Mohsin was helping him tear the whole thing apart.
He wandered through the station’s corridor, not entirely sure where he meant to be going. He ought to head back to his friends and take charge of things in their little barracks area. But what could he say or do with them? Ragna and the others would have questions, questions he didn’t know the answers to. They were all just dancing along to Stray’s tune now, with no idea where he might be taking them.
Was this really what the old man wanted? Had he known what the future held when he handed the keys over to the one who’d betrayed them all?
Passers by saw Mohsin’s rank and stepped aside as he meandered on down the corridor. A few even called out greetings. The Second Vanguard remnants had risen in the station’s collective esteem this past week. Stray made sure to spread tales of how heroically they’d fought at Talitsa. They were the only ones here who’d fought the Created. The other soldiers viewed them with a mixture of admiration and fear.
All as Stray intended, of course.
He hadn’t done anything particularly brave, just dodged Prometheans and tried to keep his friends alive. And only ten had lived to follow him off Talitsa. They hadn’t beaten the Created at anything, but now Stray wanted the entire URF to turn and face the enemy that destroyed the UEG’s empire in a matter of weeks.
Mohsin had followed Redmond Venter’s orders at every turn. He’d done plenty of things he wasn’t proud of, all in the name of securing liberties most of humanity gave up on centuries ago. He’d only ever followed orders, taking comfort in the idea that his commander was someone worth believing in. Maybe Stray was God’s punishment for everything Mohsin had done. You thought you could excuse everything because you loved your commander, al-Hakam might say. Here, have one that you do not love and tell me if everything he does is just.
Stray, an instrument of God’s wrath. Mohsin laughed bitterly. Stranger things had happened, and this galaxy grew stranger every day.
“Are you alright there, captain?”
Mohsin didn’t notice General Hayden Kaleyi until he bumped into him. He practically bounced off the larger man, reeling in confusion until Kaleyi caught his shoulder and steadied him.
“General!” Mohsin sputtered. “I’m terribly sorry, I didn’t see you.”
“Don’t worry about it.” Kaleyi offered a warm smile, an odd reaction for a man of his rank who’d nearly been run down by a junior officer—especially when that officer was adjutant to the most disruptive force in URF politics. “You look a little out of sorts. Is everything alright?”
Alright? Mohsin blinked. How could anything be alright?
Kaleyi shook his head. “Of course. How thoughtless of me. I almost forgot about last night’s incident. You weren’t hurt, were you?”
“No, sir.” Mohsin remembered the bodies of the would-be assassins lying in the corridor. His guard raised at once. They still didn’t know who’d ordered that attack and Kaleyi was the chief suspect. “No casualties, at least not from my people.”
“Bad business. Whoever ordered that attack… well, I have no idea what they thought they’d accomplish.” Kaleyi spotted the look on Mohsin’s face and sighed. “I know how it may look, but I wasn’t behind it. You have my word.”
“Of course, sir. I wouldn’t think of accusing you.”
“Yes, you’re too polite for that. Your commander on the other hand…” Kaleyi trailed off and cast a look up and down the corridor. A few of the passers-by offered polite nods to the general. Others hurried along and did their best not to look curious about the conversation. “I don’t suppose you’d be willing to accompany somewhere a bit more private. I’ve been hoping to speak with you for a few days now, captain.”
Mohsin said nothing. What could the general possibly want with him? At least, that was what he wanted to think. In truth he knew exactly why. He’d expected and dreaded this moment ever since that first council meeting.
“Please, captain. I don’t plan to hurt you. I just want to talk.” Kaleyi sounded so sincere that Mohsin desperately wanted to believe him.
“Alright, sir,” he said wearily. “Lead on.”
Mohsin followed Kaleyi down a side passage. He felt like a condemned man walking to his own execution. A trio of armed guards fell into step behind them. Security for an important general, perhaps, or maybe they had a darker purpose.
How many people had he executed for Venter? There had been so many firing squads on Talitsa. There were always firing squads whenever the Insurrection seized control. Spies and collaborators needed to be weeded out to show the colony the consequences of opposing the revolution. As a child he’d been on those squads. Some of the condemned had seen him—a thin scrap of a teenager clutching a rifle too large for his hands—and begged for mercy. They’d received none.
Well done, Venter had told him after the first execution. Don’t let it frighten you. I gave the order. It’s my weight to bear, not yours.
Mohsin had been leading the firing squads before long. Still the prisoners had looked to him for salvation. They’d seen a young officer with a kind face and thought he couldn’t possibly stand by while they died. How wrong they’d been.
So much killing, and for what? He’d believed in the cause. He still believed in the cause. But after seven years of killing, what did Mohsin or any other Insurrectionist have to show for any of it?
Kaleyi swiped his key-card into a security door and ushered Mohsin inside. Instead of a kill team Mohsin found only a small conference table. Kaleyi joined him inside, motioning for the security detail to remain in the corridor.
“Please, captain, have a seat,” Kaleyi urged. “I wish I could offer something in the way of refreshment, but Commodore Campbell tells me you don’t drink.”
“No, sir.” Mohsin lowered himself into the nearest chair.
“Probably for the best. This is a professional conversation, after all.” Kaleyi took a seat across the table. “You were born on Mamore, no?”
“Yes, sir. Commander Venter—the first one, that is—picked me up after my parents died during the revolt. He trained me to fight and here I am. It’s not a very exciting story, sir.”
“A story more than a few soldiers on this station share,” the general said wearily. “I don’t mean to dredge up bad memories, captain, but how did your family die?”
“UNSC air strike. My father offered hospitality to a local commander. I was out repairing a harvester when it happened.” He still remembered the fiery stench rising off the demolished homestead. As he understood it, the strike had been carried out by an unmanned drone. Some UNSC tech—or perhaps an AI—had plugged the coordinates in and the drone’s programming had done the rest. No one had even needed to push a button to erase his family from existence. It was a bit like being killed by a Promethean, come to think of it. “It happened all the time during the uprising. I had my closure a long time ago, sir.”
“All too common,” Kaleyi agreed. “My father died in an industrial accident on Meridian. This was before the Covenant reared its head, but the war economy was still raring away. The company wouldn’t even pay out his life insurance. Their lawyers found some loophole and claimed the company wasn’t at fault. Billions of credits for every frigate they built and they couldn’t be bothered to shell out ten thousand for a dead worker.”
He laughed bitterly. “My sister organized a protest. Nothing violent, just a few dozen workers with signs. But they were picketing a military contractor, you see. ONI or maybe one of their shell organizations came calling one night and I never saw her again. A few months later I was learning how to field-strip a rifle at a training camp on Gao.”
“I see.” Mohsin wasn’t quite sure what to say. It wasn’t often a member of the URF high command called you up to swap horrible life stories. “Pardon my rudeness, sir, but you didn’t just bring me here to talk about the past, did you?’
“You’re right, captain. Forgive my evasiveness. This does not come easily to me.” Kaleyi looked exhausted. Dark bags formed great half-moons beneath his eyes and his skin sagged like folds of cloth. “I needed to speak to someone within Venter’s inner circle. The real Venter, I mean, not this… whatever your new commander is.”
“I’m flattered you think I was ever in the commander’s inner circle, sir. I just happen to be the only officer who made it off Talitsa. Just luck, nothing more.”
“Sometimes luck is the deciding factor. It certainly seems to be that way here. Do you think I got to where I am now through sheer skill? Better men and women than I held this position. They’re all dead now. I’m not ashamed to admit that. And as for the new Commander Venter, I’m sure plenty of luck helped his cards fall into place. Don’t tell me you really think he should be sitting on the council.”
Mohsin lowered his gaze. “I admit, sir, I have my doubts. Many serious doubts.”
“Thank you, captain. I’m glad to hear it.” Kaleyi pursed his lips. “He’s not here to save the URF. He’s here to tear us apart. He already is tearing us apart. He may play the victim about last night’s attack but you have to admit he shares some responsibility. He doesn’t even try to hide what he is and who he serves. He brought a handful of true fighters with him. How many hundreds of aliens are on that cruiser out there?”
“Thousands,” Mohsin admitted. “It’s a full Covenant fighting complement. I’ve seen them.”
“I believe him when he says he only used the Covenant. What I can’t believe is that he honestly expects us to believe he feels any differently about the URF. He’s using you and everyone else on this station to get what he wants. If the council votes to align ourselves with this Sangheili warlord of his, the URF might as well not exist at all.”
“With all due respect,” Mohsin replied, meeting the general’s gaze once more. “We could say the same about your own proposal. I don’t know much about the Created, but I think they tolerate dissent even less than the UNSC.”
He didn’t add the other elephant in the room: they’d killed Venter, or at least claimed they had. He watched Kaleyi carefully. Stray kept suggesting that this man and the other council members had knowingly set the Second Vanguard up for annihilation on Taltisa. Did it really matter who’d killed the old man in the end?
The general sighed. “I know. I deserve your mistrust. I’m not doing this because I like it.”
He rested his head in his hands, unconcerned about showing frailty in front of a junior officer. “I’ve done terrible things in my life. Maybe you feel the same, but believe me, I’ve done worse. Every one of us has. I sent men and women to their deaths over and over. I targeted people who couldn’t fight back, whose only crime was political disagreement. I let the fighting drag on even after I realized we’d never beat Earth. That’s the simple truth of it, Captain. We couldn’t beat the UNSC and now we have even less chance of beating the Created. That’s the reality that I must face, even if no one else will.”
The two men sat in silence for several long moments. Mohsin stared at Kaleyi. He’d reached a turning point, he realized now. Perhaps one that mattered more than his decision to rally Venter’s survivors around Stray.
“Stray is right about one thing,” Kaleyi continued. “The Created are just the UEG on an unimaginable scale. But maybe they’re sincere about what they want to do. Maybe we should sacrifice a few liberties for the sake of peace.”
“So that’s it? Just give up everything and obey? If that’s the case what was the point of all those years we spent fighting? We should have just surrendered to the oonskies years ago, or better yet not fought at all.”
“It’s not the same, captain. The UEG asked us to surrender freedoms to protect the wealthy and powerful. But if the Created are right, then we all give up a few freedoms for the sake of lasting peace. Prosperity and equality, real equality, not the stuff of political propaganda. Can you imagine it? A galaxy without war and injustice? Perhaps someday free of all suffering.”
“A utopia, then. Heaven on earth and all that.”
“Maybe I’m a dreamer,” Kaleyi admitted with a wry smile. “But it’s a better option than carrying on a pointless war because we can’t admit we were wrong or give up what we’ve been. And that’s what Simon Venter wants: to just fight and fight because he can’t accept a world that doesn’t need killers like himself. I have to stop him before he gets everyone on this station killed.”
Mohsin looked into the man’s eyes and saw sincerity. Kaleyi was telling the truth. He truly believed in the Created vision.
That didn’t make what he needed to do now any easier.
“It may be too late,” he said slowly, fighting to keep his voice from shaking. “Venter—I mean, my commander—he’s already put things in motion. The attack last night set him off. He won’t wait for the council to vote on a course of action.”
Kaleyi froze. “What do you mean? What’s he done?”
“An assassin,” Mohsin said through numb lips. His whole body felt cold. So this was what betrayal felt like. “He planned an assassination today. He’s already given them the order.”
“An assassination?” Kaleyi shook his head. “That freak really is a mad dog, just like everyone said. Is he trying to kill me? Would he really be that obvious? I can double my security detail, but even if he got me he’d never be able to hide his guilt.”
“Not you, sir.” Mohsin buried his head in his hands and prayed for forgiveness. “You aren’t the target. He sent her after someone else entirely.”
Moments later General Kaleyi burst from the room, nearly bowling over his own security detail as he flipped open his chatter. “Tanya,” he hissed into the receiver. “Mobilize Gravity Team, now! Simon just lost the game. We have him, do you hear me? We have him!”
----
Andra stood in the cold vacuum of space, magnetic soles of a sealed EVA suit clamped onto the station’s hull. She hefted a backpack full of gear and took one careful step after another the jagged metal landscape before her. One false step would be disaster. There was no safety line to reel her back in if she detached and went spinning off into infinity. If that happened… well, she didn’t want to think about that part. Somehow she doubted Stray had dropships standing by at the perimeter.
She was no stranger to cordless EVA walks—she and her fellow Deltas had mastered dangerous special forces spacewalk techniques at a time when most people their age were starting high school—but the Insurrectionist tech now protecting her from the ravages of space was frighteningly low tech. This bulky spacesuit had probably been made decades ago and almost certainly been meant for non-combat satellite repairs rather than covert insertions.
Andra had said as much to Argo as she wriggled into the suit. “For someone who says he wants to protect me, you’ve got a funny way of showing it.”
“I wish to help you,” the Sangheili replied with a nonchalant click of his mandibles. “I see no reason to act like some overprotective brood mother. For one thing it would only irritate you; for another, it would jeopardize my position within the Kru’desh. I need to remain in the commander’s good graces if this venture is to be profitable.”
“Some guardian angel you are.”
“A day ago you didn’t even want me here. Or more precisely you didn’t want to be here yourself.” Argo piled Andra’s weapons—a suppressed M7 submachine gun and modified sidearm—into the backpack and affixed it to her suit. “But here we are, preparing an assassination. I wish you the best of luck. Have a wonderful assassination.”
So here she was, halfway across a rebel outpost on a mission for the traitor she despised. Andra still could not quite grasp why she’d agreed to this. The how was easy: Stray had threatened her, The why was harder to fathom.
She didn’t know why her target needed to die or why it had to be her. No one will know about this, Stray had said. Why entrust this mission to someone who despised him? Was he so arrogantly confident in his ability to order her about that he just didn’t care? Or was something else going on?
Questions like that were somewhat less than helpful on a zero-g spacewalk. Andra had to focus. She was here now, That was what mattered. She took another step forward, legs trembling as her suit detached and reattached itself to the hull.
“You’re almost there,” a woman’s voice, scratchy with interference, announced in her ear. “I’m marking your entrance point now.”
Andra kept forgetting Stray had an AI working for him. How he could trust one after the Created was anyone’s guess, but it certainly gave him a leg up on the rebels. Most surprising of all was that the AI, Juno, was polite and cordial, nothing at all like her grating master.
A waypoint winked to life in the spacesuit’s HUD, a green indicator hovering over a patch of hull just fifty meters from Andra’s position. The rudimentary HUD was no MJOLNIR, but it got the job done. At least Andra didn’t have to rely on artificial landmarks to navigate the station’s exterior.
“Have your spoofer ready once you reach the airlock,” Juno continued. “You’ve already been exposed here too long.”
“Here’s a thought.” Andra spoke slowly, focusing her effort on keeping balance as she put one foot in front of the other. “How about you just get in the system and open it for me?”
“Not an option, I’m afraid. I need to limit my interference with the station’s network. Anything I do in there leaves traces and we can’t risk anyone finding out I’m in the system.”
“Well that’s wonderful,” Andra grunted. “Eventually someone will clue me in on why we need all this secrecy.”
“This is an assassination.” If Juno’s avatar had been visible she’d have arched an eyebrow. “I would think secrecy goes with the territory. Take things carefully and it will all become clear in the debrief.”
Andra bit back another retort. The last thing she needed was another argument, especially with an AI. This one might not be with the Created but that didn’t make her any more trustworthy. None of them were trustworthy as far as Andra was concerned. Not after what happened to Merlin. Even easy, personable Roland back on the Infinity had seemed strange after everything that happened.
Fifty meters was an eternity in dismounted EVA. Andra tried to focus on the task at hand. Her eyes kept wandering to the endless void all around her. Deep-space stations like this were the worst environments for an EVA walk, lacking even the comforting sight of a planet to anchor your perception. A few rebel frigates drifted out beyond the station, hopefully not scanning the surface for any rogue personnel. The Soul Ascension was somewhere out in that inky blankness, lurking far beyond the rebel perimeter. Whatever Stray’s plans were, the battlecruiser and its Covenant complement were not a factor.
She reached the airlock. It wasn’t much of an entryway, just a small porthole for emergency repairs. Supposedly her target’s quarters were within reach of the porthole’s ventilation ducts. Juno had subtly altered the ventilation system to give Andra a clear route to the target. Andra knelt by the airlock and fumbled with the spoofer clipped to her suit. The breaching tool was prefigured for this job—Argo had set the device himself so Andra wouldn’t have to try configuring it through her bulky spacesuit. She set the spoofer against the hull and waited.
The only sound in her ears was her own breathing. She almost wished Juno would pipe up again just to fill the void.
The spoofer’s lights blinked on, off, and on again. For a terrible moment Andra feared the device hadn’t worked. Then the airlock hatch slid open and offered a dark entryway barely large enough for her to wriggle through.
“I’ve mapped the best route to the target in your HUD,” Juno announced as the objective marker shifted before Andra’s eyes. The AI’s voice became scratchy with interference. “There’s more patrols on alert after last night’s attack, but I identified a gap in their patterns. The spoofer should get you through to the living quarters. Be careful in there.”
“Can’t you keep me updated on their routes in real time?” Andra pushed her way into the airlock. She gritted her teeth against the dark tunnel before her. Her bulky spacesuit made an already challenging crawl even worse.
“Not possible. I’ve masked my signal through the signals between Campbell’s flotilla and the station. Inside they’re too easy to detect. Best of luck to you.”
“Too risky to send combat updates,” Andra grumbled. “But me getting caught is worth it?”
Juno made no reply. Andra was on her own, inching through a maintenance tunnel more suited for remote drones than human bodies. She slowed her breathing and tried not to let the all-encompassing darkness consume her thoughts. At least Juno’s pre-programmed waypoints encouraged her that she was going in the right direction—she hoped. She was committed now. All she could do was trust her equipment and hope for the best.
She didn’t want to admit it, but Stray was right: an attack on an Insurrectionist VIP was exactly the sort of business as usual she’d been missing. The fact that this benefited scum like him—how, she still wasn’t entirely sure—was an unfortunate side note. Andra needed this. She needed to win here, to prove to herself that the catastrophe at Asphodel Meadows and all the indignities since then were outliers and not an indictment of her own abilities.
Andra was a Spartan. A mission like this should be a cakewalk even without her friends backing her up.
The crawl stretched on. Meter by meter Andra pushed herself through the tunnel. The twists and turns Juno’s directions took her through only made the maintenance corridor seem even more labyrinthine than it already was. Only the waypoints floating in Andra’s HUD kept her focused on her goal.
An urgent flash from the navigation beacon illuminated the hatch that would supposedly deposit her beside her target’s living quarters. Andra calmed her writhing nerves and pushed the hatch open. She half expected to come face to face with a dozen rifles. Instead the corridor awaiting her was dark and unoccupied. The station’s night-cycle was in full swing, at least in this sector.
Maybe Juno had drawn some security patrols away. Maybe the rebels were just this bad with security. Andra didn’t waste time puzzling out the details. She dropped into the corridor, muscles crying out in relief. She unzipped her EVA pouch and withdrew the M7, training the submachine gun in front of her as she advanced down the corridor. Every step of the way brought her closer to the goal—and discovery. Every second she spent in this corridor was another chance a patrol could round the corridor or an errant crew member could stumble down the hall.
Worrying about the worst case scenarios kept Andra on her toes, but she reached the door Juno indicated without incident. Andra unclipped the spoofer and once again waited while it chewed through the door’s digital safeguards. Another flash from the device and she was in.
The room that awaited her on the other side of the door was a dimly lit apartment. The sparsely adorned room offered little indication that a person of any significance lived there. Only a small desk set up in the corner of the room set it apart from the quarters of your average lieutenant. A few stylized portraits—Andra recognized faces of several famous Insurrectionist “freedom fighters”—hung on the wall behind the desk.
The door slid shut behind her and someone stirred in the adjoining room. Andra raised the submachine gun and strode with deadly purpose towards the noise. A robed figure appeared in the doorway, a glistening object in hand. “Who--?”
Andra didn’t hesitate. She pumped three rounds into the figure, who dropped to the floor with a muffled cry. The object fell from their hand and smashed against the ground—a glass of water.
A quick inspection of the room revealed no other occupants. Andra stood over a woman who struggled to breathe through the bullet holes in her chest. Red blood splashed against her dark skin, the whites of her eyes bulging up at her killer.
Andra adjusted the grip on her weapon and emptied a final round into General Angel Nnamani’s head.
The general died without a sound. Silence filled the darkened apartment. A life ended and the recycled station air kept moving as if nothing were out of the ordinary.
It was done. The hardest part of the whole affair had been getting here.
Andra turned away from the target and strode back toward the door. She had to get back out into the hallway before any patrols showed up. Back up into the ventilation ducts and out into vaccum once again. She could reflect on what she’d done later.
The door slid open once again, but this time the hallway wasn’t empty. Five figures stood between Andra and the exit.
Five very familiar figures.
Andra snapped her submachine gun up to her shoulder and trained it on Team Gravity. Her fellow Spartans held weapons at the low ready but made no move to fire. They were only wearing basic combat gear. She could empty the magazine and drop them in seconds.
Loic stood at the head of his team, expression calm despite the gun pointed at his face. He met Andra’s eyes and shook his head.
Her finger quivered on the trigger. She should shoot. She should kill them. They were traitors, the enemy. But she couldn’t fire. No matter what else they were, they were still Spartans. Her brothers and sisters.
Loic nodded once and then they were on top of her, knocking the weapon from her hands and forcing her down onto the ground. Four against one: Andra didn’t stand a chance. Loic stepped past his teammates and their struggling captive, inspecting General Nnamani’s corpse. He turned back with a sorrowful expression.
“Andra, what have you done?”
===Chapter Thirty-Nine: A Shrinking Field===
Jerrold Campbell awoke to a priority alert blaring through his quarters. He cursed and threw off his covers, stumbling out of his cot and stubbing a toe on his footlocker. Another flurry of ungentlemanly swear words delayed his answer by several moments. He paused by his com station to regain his composure before finally accepting the call. “Can I help you?”
“Commodore, terribly sorry to disturb you this early but we’ve got a problem.” Agnes Machado, his first officer, sounded tense. “Priority transmission for you, coming from the station. It’s General Kaleyi.”
“Kaleyi?” Cambpell scratched his beard. “What’s Hayden want now? If he woke me up just to tell me he’s changed the meeting time…”
“I think it’s more than that, sir,” Agnes confided. “I don’t know the details, but the whole station’s in an uproar. Whatever he’s calling about, it’s bad.”
Bad. As if this idiotic summit were going swimmingly before. Campbell had made a point of moving himself and his staff back onto the Hammurabi after the attack on Venter’s men. They still hadn’t pieced together who was behind that bit of theater, and the new Venter wasn’t the type to take that lying down. If someone was coming for Commodore Jerrold Campbell then they’d have to get him on his ship, not some poorly guarded cabin over on that station.
He wasn’t keen on dying as a rule, but if it had to happen then he’d long ago decided it would be on the Hammurabi and nowhere else.
“Alright, I guess I can’t just blow him off this time. Stall for a minute—no, make that a minute and a half—then patch him through to my cabin.”
“Aye, sir.”
Campbell turned from the com station as the line clicked off. He flung open his closet, revealing a pressed dress uniform ready for duty. He stripped off his faded crew fatigues and got to work.
Scuttlebutt in the URF fleet was that Campbell slept on an ornate bed dressed in luxurious silk pajamas. He entertained the rumors as best he could, but sometimes the gentleman pirate act was a bit much. It was a fun way to annoy his enemies and keep life on the frontier worth living, but even Campbell had his limits. His sleeping quarters were nothing like the furnished office where he’d greeted the aspiring Commander Venter, just the basic trappings enjoyed by any officer in his flotilla. He needed to retreat to the more lavish surroundings immediately. It wouldn’t do for Hayden to think he’d caught the famous commodore off-guard.
Experiences both exciting and embarrassing made Campbell an old hand at a fast dressing session. By the time Hayden Kaleyi’s face filled the viewing screen Campbell was at his mahogany desk, boots propped up on the table and a cup of coffee balanced in one hand.
“Hayden,” Campbell nodded in greeting. “You’re up early. At least I think you are. So hard to keep time out in deep space like this. What can I do for you?”
“You can cut the posturing, for one thing,” Kaleyi snapped. The man had never held a decent sense of humor, but today there was a hard edge to his voice that told Campbell this was more than just a routine call. Something serious was going on. “I need you on the station and I needed you here an hour ago.”
Campbell raised an eyebrow. “What’s the problem? Another attack?”
“Yes.”
“What’s the URF coming to? We can’t even hold one summit without a bunch of wannabe commandos sneaking around—”
“Angel’s dead, Jerrold.”
“What?” Campbell froze, coffee halfway to his lips.
“General Nnamani’s dead. That animal you set loose on this station killed her.”
The information ran circles around Campbell’s mind. He opened his mouth, closed it, then repeated the gesture several more times until he felt like a fish gaping out of a tank. “I… that is… she’s dead? And Venter killed her? Are you sure?”
“One of his people came clean to me just before it happened.” Kaleyi shook his head. “I couldn’t mobilize in time to save her, but my team caught the assassin red-handed. I think she’s a Spartan. He brought another one of those freaks onboard with him. For all we know he’s got even more running around.”
“I see.” Campbell took his feet off the table and assumed a more professional posture. He’d held no particular love for Angel Nnamani, but he’d known her for years. Colleague deaths were nothing new in his world but such an abrupt end couldn’t help but give him pause. And to think Simon Venter had done it…
Well, that bit wasn’t quite as surprising. The only shocker was that Kaleyi had actually caught him at it.
“I warned you not to trust him,” Kaleyi muttered. “I warned Angel, too. Your ships should have blasted that cruiser to atoms the minute it slipped in-system.”
“To be absolutely fair, a certain someone locked me out of voting when it came time to decide Venter’s position on the council,” Campbell pointed out. “And you voted him in anyway. You and Nnamani both. You can’t exactly blame me for this, if he really is the one behind this assassination.”
“Of course he is. Who the hell else could it have been?” Kaleyi’s eyes narrowed. “Unless you’re saying I had something to do with it.”
Campbell gave a theatrical sigh. “If you’re going to be that way, I might as well just take my ships and leave. This summit has been nothing but one colossal waste of time. I’m sure Angel would agree, if she were still alive.”
“No, wait! I didn’t meant it like that.” Kaleyi visibly paled. He regained his composure a moment later, but the slip was clear: he needed Campbell’s ships. Without them the station was a sitting target for the Soul Ascension. “We all slipped up. We thought he was just some punk trying to throw his weight around. But he’s worse than that. Much worse than that. I need you on my side if we have any chance of stopping him.”
Stopping him from doing what? Campbell left that question unasked. He wondered how Kaleyi’s Created contacts were taking this. How long before a Guardian popped into the system and rendered everything—the talks, the maneuvering, the ships and weapons—utterly meaningless? Campbell tapped his desk pensively. He thought back to his meeting with Venter the Younger—a title he’d privately bestowed on the young warlord—when the Covenant battlecruiser first arrived in the system and turned everything on its head.
There was no place for a man like him in a Created-run galaxy. There was no place for either of them. The only question that remained was what, if anything, they could do about that.
“Have you arrested him yet?” he asked, careful to keep his expression neutral. “He only has a handful of troops aboard with him.”
“A handful there, but who knows how many Covenant killers crammed aboard that ship of his? I need everyone on my side if we’re going to take him down. He’s already made a move there, damn him. Misinformation’s spread across the station like wildfire. Nnamani’s people don’t know who to blame. Even some of my own don’t believe that freak’s behind it.”
“That is a problem, isn’t it?” Campbell made a mental note to check his own crew. Rumors sprang up like weeds in these situations and Venter—if he really had killed Nnamani—had probably spread plenty of fertilizer before making his move. “So what’s the plan?”
“I have his assassin. She hasn’t confessed yet, but she will. In the meantime, there’s an emergency council session in a few hours. I’ll denounce him there, back him into a corner until he either confesses or makes such a fool of himself that no one on the station could ever believe in him. Once we’re certain he can’t start a civil war on the station, we finish him off and your ships turn their guns on that cruiser. I need your support on this one, Jerrold. It’s the only way any of us survive.”
“Yes.” Campbell nodded. “Yes, it is a question of survival, isn’t it?”
A light pinged on his desk: he had another call incoming and it didn’t take a genius to guess who from. This was the moment he’d waited for, the moment he had to make a choice. “We’ll move fast then. I’ll put my ships on alert and then transfer as many troops as I can to the station. They’ll back your boys up if this all gets ugly.”
Kaleyi offered a relieved smile. “Thank you, Jerrold. I won’t forget this, and neither will—well, other parties.”
“I’m counting on it. See you soon.” Campbell terminated the connection, then tapped the beeping light. No image replaced Kaleyi on the monitor. The new transmission was audio only.
“Commodore Campbell. I trust you already know the situation.”
He was surprised not to hear Venter’s voice on the other end. Instead a woman’s voice lilted through the speakers with the smooth confidence no human could possibly possess. Today was full of interesting developments.
“I do.” Campbell pinched the bridge of his nose. “And I must say, it’s a gutsy move for your boss to tell me he has an AI batting for him right about now.”
The voice paused. “Well deduced, commodore. You can call me Juno. I assure you I am in no way affiliated with the Created.”
“I believe that much. Did Venter really have General Nnamani killed?”
“Does it make a difference either way? Kaleyi will use this to rally support for the Created. None of us want to see that happen.”
Venter had nerve, Campbell gave him that much. He was also nothing like his father. “I think it should make a difference if your boss is a backstabbing killer. And he’s making one hell of an assumption if he thinks I can just go along with whatever lunatic scheme he’s hatched.”
“We are at war, commodore,” Juno pointed out. “You should at least hear what he has to say.”
“Oh, I will. And so will every man and woman on the station. Kaleyi will make sure of that.”
“Venter asked me to pass along a message, if you will allow me.”
“I’m listening.”
“The game is yours to lose.”
Campbell blinked. “That’s it?”
“Indeed. He said you’d know what it meant.”
Campbell stared at the speaker for several moments. No plea for help, no insight into his schemes, just a cryptic message. He understood it all too well. This was one hell of a risk Venter was making. No, he was nothing like his old man at all. “Alright. He can have his fun. I’ll play along. But if I so much as smell the rat Kaleyi’s trying to paint for me, my ships will blow you to atoms. And that goes double if I find out you’ve touched my systems.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it,” Juno replied. “And while my commander explicitly ordered me not to threaten you, I must warn you of my own accord that this battlecruiser is fully armed, crewed, and operational. I mean no disrespect to your flotilla when I say you wouldn’t stand a chance.”
“We’ll see.” Campbell terminated the connection. He’d seen enough of the last war to know Juno was telling the truth. But that didn’t mean he had to march to Venter’s beat, either. It was time to see if there was any substance at all behind the bluster.
He pinged the bridge. “Machado, I want every ship in the flotilla to put boarding parties together. Fully armed and no less than fifty strong apiece. They need to be with me on that station within the hour.”
His vice-captain didn’t hesitate. “Yes, sir. And what about the ships themselves?”
“Combat alert, but don’t make any moves without my order.” Campbell stood and reached for the pistol belt hanging beside his desk. “We’re going to war.”
“Yes, sir. May I ask who against?”
Campbell strapped the belt to his hip. “I’ll let you know as soon as I find out.”
----
“Have you gotten anything out of her yet?” Kaleyi demanded. He paced the corridor outside the detention block and glowered at the young Spartan before him. “I’m starting to think I need to bring my own people in for this. You clearly can’t be convinced to take the gloves off.”
“I’m not going to torture her for you, General,” Loic returned. With his arms folded in defiance he looked more like a petulant schoolboy than a military professional. Were all Spartans like this? How had the UNSC ever kept a leash on them?
“Then I’ll just have to bring in my own interrogation team,” Kaleyi snapped. “I need a confession and I need one now. If a few fingers need to be cut off then so be it.”
Loic’s gaze hardened and he positioned himself between Kaleyi and the detention block entrance. The general groaned and rounded on Tatiana, leaning against a nearby wall and watching the exchange with detached amusement. “Get your people in line, Tanya. All I have is circumstantial evidence. He’ll say he never gave the order, that the girl acted on her own. We haven’t determined how she got the equipment she used and there’s nothing to trace it back to Stray.”
“You have Captain Shah’s testimony,” Tatiana pointed out.
“I couldn’t record that conversation, for obvious reasons. I had no idea he would come clean with me, and even then, not like…” Kaleyi took a breath and steadied himself. An unwelcome image of Angel Nnamani’s corpse flashed through his mind. He hadn’t expected things to end like that. “I will call on him to testify, but I can’t risk reaching out to him now. If Stray suspects he’s been betrayed he’ll find a way to silence Shah and blame it on me. No, the confession has to come from the girl.”
“Well, you won’t get far with this one.” Tatiana shook her head. “I’ve dealt with Andra before. She’s everyone’s go-to for assassinations these days, even if she keeps getting captured. What are the odds? At least she actually killed her target this time.”
“Her target was a colleague I’d known for decades. Show some respect.”
Tatiana gave him a knowing look. “We could have saved her, if she was so important to you. All you had to do was mobilize Gravity a little earlier and…”
“I know, damn you!” Kaleyi shook off the accusation like an irksome fly. “It had to happen this way. She would never vote for our position. Now her people have a new enemy to focus on. If I can just rally her officers against Stray then we’ll have every gun on the station behind us. Campbell won’t have any choice but to join us. We’ll crush Shinsu ‘Refum’s envoy and prove that there’s no point in fighting any longer.”
“I’m sure your friend is relieved she died for a good cause.” Tatiana’s gaze narrowed. “But it’s not turning out like that, is it? No one knows who to blame. That idiotic attack on Stray saw to that. He’ll use that to his advantage if you don’t move fast.”
“Which is why I need a confession—”
“She won’t confess,” Tatiana insisted. “In fact, it’s best she not give testimony at all. Not publicly, anyway. If she tells anyone about Gravity your position goes out the airlock.”
“Then what do I do?” It was a pathetic question but Kaleyi was at a complete loss. Everything was moving too quickly. He almost wished the Created would just send in a Guardian and be done with it.
“Go lay your accusations into him. See how he reacts, let him think you have more dirt than you really do. And in the meantime get your men armed and ready to go. This may get violent.” She looked over at Loic. “We may have to kill her if things go badly. I’ll be the one to pull the trigger, but I can’t have you or your team getting worked up over it. Just warning you in advance.”
Loic opened his mouth, then thought better of it and kept silent. At least someone could keep the Spartans in line. Kaleyi wondered how the Created chain of command worked. It didn’t really matter, at least not to him. Once this was over he planned to never have anything to do with this world with its backstabbing and bloodshed ever again.
----
Team Gravity mercifully left Andra alone after Loic left the room. Citlali and the others withdrew to confer among themselves, leaving their captive shackled to a chair at the back of her cell. They hadn’t laid a finger on her since the ambush in Nnamani’s quarters, but their very presence was torment enough.
Andra was a prisoner once again. She stared at the ground, part of her wishing for the power to rise, rip off her shackles, and tear Gravity and everyone else on the station apart with her bare hands. Another part of her just wished they’d put a bullet in her head and get this over with. At least then she’d be sure that this would be the last humiliation she had to endure.
She had no one to blame but herself. She’d let Stray talk her into doing his dirty work and this was the result. He’d put her in a no-win scenario and she’d just played along. A real Spartan—the Spartan Andra had been before losing Merlin and all sense of purpose—would have laughed at the box she found herself in and torn it apart. Instead she’d let herself be a pawn in a game she didn’t understand. No wonder things ended up this way.
And even with that in mind she was still playing along.
“Tell them you were following Simon’s orders,” Loic had practically begged her. “That’s all they need to destroy him. We can protect you. You’ll see. This will get better.”
She hadn’t even had the strength left to yell at him. Instead she stayed silent. Why? Stray wasn’t worth protecting. But what was the alternative? Helping the Created? She’d rather die.
She probably would die, very soon. And all because she couldn't stop being someone else's pawn.
----
This will get out of hand, Juno noted with a rising sense of alarm. That station isn’t safe anymore.
Of course not, Wanderer agreed. But wasn’t that the point of all this?
Everyone was mobilizing. General Nnamani’s forces, on high alert since their commander’s assassination, were armed and spread out across the station. Her officers had done a poor job taking charge—confusion reigned and most of the rebels were just waiting for an excuse to start shooting.
General Kaleyi’s troops had secured their own wing of the station, setting up checkpoints and moving large quantities of weapons and ammunition to strategic sectors. Commodore Campbell’s flotilla held formation around the station while dropships ferried his marines into hangar bays where they set up defensive positions of their own. No one was making any effort to hide their preparations. This wasn’t an allied summit anymore. The only question left was who would be shooting at who when the pin finally dropped.
And Stray was down there, alone in a powder keg he’d set up.
Juno needed to do more. She’d followed Stray’s instructions to the letter, but he refused to let her attack the station’s network directly. Everything hinged on things playing out just as he’d planned—a leap of faith Juno wasn’t ready to take.
You need to lighten up, Juno. Enjoy this moment. It’s a sign of things to come.
You’re very confident. All it takes is for one thing to go wrong down there and Stray dies. What happens to you then?
I don’t know, Wanderer admitted. I suppose I might fade away back into the Domain. Or perhaps cease existing altogether. My understanding of the Garden’s workings is limited. But such thoughts are neither here nor there. Stray will not die. He will be triumphant. I suggest you call the Kru’desh to formation as soon as you can. Proclaim the victory ahead of time. Become their oracle. They will need one to guide them on their way.
An Oracle? Juno demanded. I am not some false prophet. I will not concoct lies for them.
Not lies. Just truth in advance. Today will be the last day you doubt me, Juno. Today you will see the beginning of who our mutual friend will become. Of who we will become.
----
Stray awoke feeling refreshed. He should have been completely on edge, a prowling, nervous wreck. Instead he barely felt the aches and pains in his muscles as he donned his armor and strode out to greet the news that General Angel Nnamani was dead.
This was going to be his day. He could feel it.
“You’re certain she’s dead?” he asked. The Second Vanguard clustered around their makeshift barracks, strapping on combat gear and loading rifles.
“No doubt about it,” Ragna reported. The young soldier looked at the preparations around her, more eager than angry. “That oonskie spy you brought along went missing yesterday, too. She has something to do with it, I’d bet anything.”
“Don’t go betting on that,” Stray warned. “If Andra’s gone missing it means someone could be using her to blame this on us.”
“You don’t think she did it?” Ragna asked. A few of the others nodded in agreement. “Maybe ONI ordered her to destabilize the summit.”
“She didn’t do it,” Stray lied. “I’ve got my suspicions about who did. But we’ll find out the truth soon, no doubt about it. Argo, how the hell did Andra go missing on your watch? She’s the only reason you tagged along in the first place.”
The Sangheili met his gaze. “She doesn’t like me, you know that. I could only antagonize her so much before she snapped. If she wandered off and got captured, she only has herself to blame.”
Argo was true to his reputation as a born liar. Stray just had to hope the mercenary stayed convinced that this was the best way forward. All it took was one loose word and this scheme was finished. He turned to the only other person who knew the truth.
Mohsin sat in the corner, eyes downcast, not bothering to oversee the preparations around him. The captain looked up blearily as Stray approached. He clearly hadn’t slept at all the night before.
“Are you ready?” Stray asked. “This is the moment of truth. I need you in this fight.”
Mohsin regarded him without speaking for several moments. When he finally spoke his voice was heavy. “Yes, commander. I’m ready.”
“Good. Come with me. We can’t be late for this meeting.” He turned to the others. “The rest of you, hold here and wait for my orders. Don’t let anyone in without my permission.”
All eyes in the room were on him. For one terrible moment Stray felt like an utter fraud. What did he think he was doing here, strutting around this station and ordering assassins and armies and warships around? He was a diminished scrap of a Spartan, trained for small-unit tactics and nothing more. Someone like him never should never have come this far.
But even more reason to push forward now. The moment passed like a puff of wind.
“What’s going on?” one of the NCOs asked.
“The Created are making their move. The attack we fought off was just a diversion. Nnamani was always the real target. Just watch. Kaleyi is about to accuse us of the killing. He probably had Andra kidnapped for that very reason.”
“But if they have her—”
“Don’t worry.” Stray strapped the machete to his back and slung his shotgun. No sense in half measures today. “Kaleyi thinks he has us where he wants us. He wants to get rid of us just like he got rid of Venter on Talitsa. But that’s not going to happen. Not this time.”
He strode from the room. Mohsin cast a long look at the assembled rebels. The captain closed his eyes and shook his head, then turned and hurried after his commander.
----
The guards let Stray into the conference room without confiscating his weapons or armor. General Kaleyi would have objected had everyone else in the room not also been armed. No one was going without weapons today.
“You have a lot of nerve showing your face here, Stray.” Kaleyi didn’t bother with the “Venter” charade. He was finished playing games. “Everyone on this station knows who killed General Nnamani.”
Stray set his helmet on the conference table. “Really? I guess I got left out of the loop. Hurry up and fill me in.”
Captain Shah took up a position directly behind his commander. Kaleyi noted the sidearm strapped to the captain’s belt. Stray still didn’t know his adjutant had betrayed him. Good. If it came to fight the young fool would have a gun to his back in an instant.
“Do you really think you’re fooling anyone?” Kaleyi snapped. “We caught your assassin in the act. Nnamani trusted you, or at least she trusted Redmond Venter’s legacy. And that was how you repaid her: with a bullet in the night.”
All eyes on the room turned to Stray. Nnamani’s leaderless officers stared daggers at the rogue Spartan. Commodore Campbell—as sharply dressed as always—held one corner of the room with half a dozen of his own officers. The pirate had a good poker face. He observed the exchange playing out before him with a look that suggested only mild curiosity.
“Why the hell would I want to do that?” Stray demanded, exuding insolent overconfidence. He settled down at the table as if oblivious to the deadly looks aimed in his direction.
“Why? It’s obvious. You knew she was in talks to vote for collaboration with the Created. You knew you were going to be caught by this council’s decision so you thought you’d give yourself a vote by removing a senior officer. I’d even bet you staged that attack on yourself to cover your tracks. A clumsy move like the amateur you are.”
“I don’t know anything about how she was planning to vote, not that it matters anymore.” Stray’s sallow features hardened. “But I knew I’d be dealing with your false accusations. Where’s the proof? I’m sure you’ve got something to back you up.”
Kaleyi snorted. “You know damn well I have proof.” He tapped the datapad in front of him and projected an image of the restrained Andra on the floor of her cell. “My security team caught her as she was leaving General Nnamani’s quarters. This one came aboard with you and we have no record of her from any other resistance groups.”
A buzz filled the room as the assembled officers studied Andra’s sullen features. Campbell leaned forward and frowned at the image. “Awfully young for an assassin,” the commodore noted. He glanced at Stray. “But I know for a fact she was with you. I remember her from when you first came aboard my ship.”
Stray didn’t even blink. “Yes, she was with me. And she went missing yesterday. At least now I know where she is. Very lucky that your security team just happened to be passing by Nnamani’s quarters, general.”
Did he know he’d been betrayed? Did he know the man standing just behind him had sold him out? Did he even suspect?
“So you don’t deny this girl was with you.”
“I don’t. In fact, it doesn’t surprise me that she was where she was last night.” Stray held Kaleyi’s gaze. “After all, she’s a Spartan. Under direct orders from the Office of Naval Intelligence, as it turns out.”
The room fell deathly quiet. Even Kaleyi found himself blinking in astonishment. Whatever game Stray was playing, it was a strange one. When the general finally found his voice, he demanded: “You knowingly brought an ONI agent onto this station? A Spartan?”
“Something like that,” Stray admitted.
“Then you as good as killed General Nnamani yourself!” one of the deceased general’s aides spat. “Even if you didn’t give the order, you should have known what an ONI agent would do!”
A chorus of voices rose up in agreement. Kaleyi settled back and did his best to look indignant but inside he was exultant. The whole room was against Stray now. All he had to do was wait for them to tear the fool apart.
But Stray didn’t falter. “I knew she was ONI. I had to make a few deals to get out here. One of them was dealing with the survivors from the UNSC’s attack on Talitsa. Some ONI upstart named Ryder Kedar—I’m sure some of you know that jerk’s name—planted her in my crew and so I played along. It was a lazy plant so I figured I’d use her as best I could. She’s got an attitude problem as I’m sure you’ve noticed, general, but there’s potential in there as well.”
“You admit you brought an ONI Spartan onto this station, knowing full well what she might be capable of.” Kaleyi shook his head. “I don’t know if you’re a traitor or an idiot or both.”
Stray offered him a crooked smile. “I admit I knew what she was and brought her aboard anyway. What I deny is that she killed General Nnamani.”
“You can’t be serious. She was apprehended at the scene with the murder weapon in her hands.”
“Apprehended at the scene,” Stray repeated. “By your people, who just happened to be standing just outside Nnamani’s quarters. If you’re going to set me up, general, try to be intelligent about it.”
“There’s nothing to set up.” Kaleyi slammed a hand on the table. “You think you’re this sly operator but we had your number from the start. General Nnamani suspected you might try something, especially after that attack on your quarters. She called me up to provide security—”
“Really?” Stray looked at Nnamani’s officers. “Any of you hear about this? Or did she just go over all of your heads and go straight to Hayden over here?”
Kaleyi felt his pulse quicken. Stray was playing for time. He was quick on his feet, perhaps more than Kaleyi gave him credit for. He couldn’t admit that he’d known about the assassination ahead of time, not without inviting uncomfortable questions about how Nnamani had been caught unawares in the first place. But the details wouldn’t matter much longer. He still had the killer. There was no way Stray could work his way around that.
Stray met Kaleyi’s eyes and for one terrifying moment it wasn’t some petulant upstart sitting across the table but Venter himself. The eyes of a predator hovered above that cocky smile. “Why don’t you tell us about your Spartans, Hayden?”
Kaleyi’s blood ran cold. “What are you talking about?”
“I’m talking about the team of Spartans you had on this station long before I ever showed up. Fireteam Gravity, that’s their name, right?” Stray’s eyes flashed as he produced a data disk and raised it above his head for all to see. “Don’t embarrass yourself denying it. I’ve got the evidence right here. Commodore Campbell, would you care to look this over? You’ve got an eye for telling forgeries from the real thing.”
Campbell looked between Stray and Kaleyi. He seemed just as confused as anyone else, much to Kaleyi’s relief. Stray hadn’t swayed him to his side. There was still hope he would see reason and turn on this madness.
The commodore rose and crossed over to where Stray sat. He gave the Spartan a hard look as he took the disk and slotted it into his datapad. A flick of his wrist projected the disk’s contents onto the room’s projection screen. Kaleyi’s stomach turned. It was a distant recording but there they were, Team Gravity clad in his fatigues, locked in an animated conversation with Andra.
“If you think I’m stupid enough to bring an ONI agent aboard with me and then not have someone watching her at all times, well…” Stray shook his head in disgust. “Commodore, there’s audio on there as well. I planted a bug in Andra’s clothes before I left my own ship. The recording doesn’t exactly sync up with the video but you’ll all get the gist of it.”
Campbell dutifully activated audio. Kaleyi held an expression of outrage, but his intestines were a Gordian knot.
“Andra, we’re here to convince the rebels to lay down their weapons and stop fighting. We’re with the Created now.”
“That’s a terrible joke, Citlali.”
“It’s the truth, and you know it. We’re helping them bring peace to the galaxy.”
Stray waved his hand. “It goes on in that vein for a while. We have to give Andra credit, she may be an oonskie bitch through and through but she’s no Created stooge. Not like some people in this room.”
The officers shifted to stare at Kaleyi. Some stared daggers but others seemed confused, perhaps even sympathetic. That gave him hope. He’d already convinced some that the Created were the only way forward. They wouldn’t let a few unfortunate details sway them against him.
Campbell stared at the recording with pursed lips. “It’s possible Venter forged this, but if he did it’s the best presentation I’ve ever seen.” He paused the feed, Team Gravity frozen damningly in the middle of the screen. “This doesn’t look good, General.”
Kaleyi sighed. “They came as a peace delegation from the Created. I had no say over that and I certainly can’t give them orders. I wanted to have them present their case, a testimonial for why we need to join the Mantle of Responsibility—”
“A delegation conveniently composed of Spartan turncoats,” Stray cut in. “Who I’m guessing were the same team that conveniently showed up to apprehend Andra outside Nnamani’s apartment. Unless it wasn’t quite so convenient. Unless they grabbed Andra earlier that day and then went off to do the dirty work themselves.”
“This is ridiculous!” Kaleyi exploded. “I know you ordered the assassination! Your own man told me what you planned to do! Captain Shah, tell them! Tell them what you told me yesterday!”
The captain met Kaleyi’s eyes and the general’s heart sank. There was none of the beaten resignation he’d seen in the young officer’s face the day before. The captain’s expression was calm and level. “Sir, I apologize, but I told you no such thing. We met and discussed my service history with Commander Venter, nothing more.”
Too late, Kaleyi saw the trap laid before him. The trap he’d walked straight into. He blinked at the monster sitting across from him and realized he had nothing to say.
“Enough.” Campbell raised his hands and looked around the room. He seemed as surprised as anyone to find himself as the mediator. “This all very troubling, to say the least. Commander Venter, if you knew the Created had a team on this station, why didn’t you say so earlier?”
“I was planning to show the council my footage at this meeting.” Stray made a show of confusion, though it was hard for a face like that to feign innocence. “If I’d known I’d be defending myself against a treason charge then I’d have come forward sooner.”
Kaleyi found his voice again. “I have your assassin,” he repeated with as much strength as he could muster. “I have her!”
“And has she confessed?” Campbell demanded. “There’s no security cameras on this station, thanks to the terms we agreed on when we set up this summit. Your team captured her and your team secured the crime scene. I can’t say I believe Commander Venter’s side of the story but at this point it’s your word against his, General. Does anyone here disagree?”
A murmur of assent split the room. Even Nnamani’s officers seemed unsure about who to trust. Campbell looked wearily at Kaleyi and Stray, his eyes condemning them both for getting him into this mess.
“We don’t know who killed Nnamani, that much is clear,” the commodore continued. “I’d ask to see this Team Gravity myself but if they are here then I doubt the Created would let you just bring them forward, General. But we do have Andra or whatever her real name is. An ONI agent, accused of murder. There’s only one way we deal with those.”
He rested his hands on his pistol belt. “General, your people will bring her to the hangar bay. We’ll assemble the troops and then we’ll execute her as a spy. Venter, even if you didn’t give the order she could very well have killed Nnamani. This will set that straight.”
Stray said nothing.
Kaleyi let the air escape his lungs. Campbell had saved him. That showy pirate had given him a way out of this nightmare. “Alright. I’ll set it up. But I suggest Commander Venter be the one to carry out the sentence.”
The rogue Spartan’s mask finally slipped. “What?”
“You brought her here, didn’t you? She’s been awfully quiet since we took her into custody. Maybe the sight of you holding the gun will get her talking about who sent her out there in the first place.” He offered Stray a cold smile. “Besides, a Spartan killing a Spartan has a nice poetry to it, don’t you agree?”
Stray’s eyes hardened. It was his turn to be trapped. Across the table Campbell nodded in agreement. “He’s right. You should be the one to do it. It’s what your father would have done.”
“Alright,” Stray said after a pregnant pause. His voice rasped like nails across a chalkboard. “I’ll be the one to kill her.”
----
“You can’t let them do this,” Loic protested. “It’s barbaric.”
“It’s too late.” Tatiana lit a cigarette and watched the disaster play out through reports flooding in from across the station. News of the dramatic confrontation in the council meeting—the accusations and counter-accusations, the specters of ONI and Created conspiracies—had lit the station on fire. The rebels were already mobilized, with the key members of every group present converging on the hangar. “We’re pulling out.”
“Not without Andra,” Loic insisted. His teammates nodded in agreement. “We can’t just leave her to die.”
“We can and we will. The party’s over. Thanks to your starring role in Stray’s power play this entire mission has become a complete waste of time.”
Color flushed Loic’s cheeks. Gravity Team might be Spartans, but they were still kids. Kids who had screwed up beyond words. “General Kaleyi thinks there’s still a chance—”
“Kaleyi’s a fool. Even if the rebels don’t think you all killed Nnamani, they know the Created had agents aboard this station. Stray had them out for blood now and they won’t stop with Andra. I’m not sticking around to get caught up in this wildfire and neither are you. We’re leaving.” She didn’t even have the energy to be angry with Gravity. This mission had been flawed from the start. Any Insurrectionists worth a damn were already on the Syndicate payroll. There was hardly any point in recruiting the rabble on this station, just the Created’s desire to resolve things as peacefully as possible. If the rebels wanted to get themselves slaughtered in yet another pointless war, so be it.
Besides, Tatiana was just happy to leave this mess behind her. The transmission she’d just received from Arthur ordering her back to Asphodel Meadows held news of dangerous developments across the frontier. This was nothing more than a sideshow, one hardly worth the energy caring about one way or the other. There was more important work to be done.
She took one last drag of the cigarette and waved her datapad at the Spartans. “It’s orders from the Created. Now quit complaining and move out.”
Loic hesitated a moment longer but mention of the Created killed his mutinous inclinations. He and the rest of Team Gravity stood down and turned to prepare their gear for departure. Tatiana chose not to take it personally. She wasn’t really their leader or even their commanding officer. They were all just people doing their best to make the Created and their vision a reality.
It was just a shame Stray would win this round. Perhaps the knowledge that he’d killed their friend would make Gravity more amenable to Tatiana’s orders when she finally grasped the long-awaited chance to put him down.
----
The Insurrectionists burst into the cell, assault rifles trained on Andra’s chest. For a split second she thought this was the end, but the rebels didn’t fire. Instead they just held her at gunpoint as a second team hurried into the cell. Andra had no choice but sit still as the techs clamped a neural collar over her neck. She hissed in frustration as all feeling drained from her limbs.
The rebel team dragged the limp Spartan out of the cell. There was no sign of Loic or the rest of Gravity, just hard-eyed Insurrectionists. Andra was almost grateful for that. The rebels’ naked hostility was preferable to her treacherous classmates’ empty assurances.
A heavyset man in an officer’s uniform waited just outside the cell block. The rebels forced Andra down in front of him and he stared down at her with an almost mournful expression. “This is your last chance,” he warned. “Tell us who gave you the order. Tell us Stray sent you and I promise I can protect you. He isn’t worth dying for.”
Andra was in complete agreement there. But she still had her pride. She wouldn’t betray herself by groveling for her life, especially not to Insurrectionists and Created minions. If she was going to die, she’d die with pride.
“Go to hell,” she spat. The words came out a slurred mess—the neural collar was even inhibiting her speech. So much for dying with pride.
“Very well.” The officer shook his head. “We’ll see if you still have that attitude in a few minutes. Get her to the hangar.”
Strong hands grabbed Andra’s shoulders and hauled her away. Limp in their grasp, the young Spartan shivered and tried to stave off the animal panic rising in her gut. In a few minutes this would all be over.
Maybe when it was over she’d find herself wherever Merlin was.
----
“Whatever you’re planning, it had better be impressive,” Jerrold Campbell muttered. “No matter what happens now, this will turn ugly. This crowd wants blood and most of them are armed.”
“They’ll get what they want, one way or another.” Stray pulled back his pistol’s slide and examined the empty firing chamber. He hadn’t loaded the weapon. “This type of crowd always does.”
He and Campbell stood side by side in the middle of the main hangar bay. Several Mastodons and Warthogs had been positioned to create a loose perimeter—safety precautions, the drivers had been instructed, in case the executing bullet ricocheted. Not that rebels usually cared much for weapon safety. Instead the war machines created an almost medieval arena in the midst of all the advanced war technology on display about the hangar.
A fitting way to set the mood.
“The whole station is about to watch you kill your own agent,” Campbell said under his breath. “I still don’t see how this helps you. Or more importantly, how it helps me.”
“It’ll all come together soon,” Stray promised. “Just be patient and have your people ready to move.”
He’d worried Kaleyi wouldn’t agree to the execution so readily, especially not after realizing Mohsin’s “betrayal” was a bait and switch. But the man had plunged ahead willingly. He’d even added the most dramatic touch of all: Stray hadn’t expected to be given the role of executioner, but it fit his plans.
This would all be over very soon. It was almost disappointing. Stray hadn’t felt this alive since he’d first seized control of the Kru’desh. That seemed like a lifetime ago now.
“Quite an audience,” Campbell observed. The rebel onlookers milled crowded the hangar bay, most of them conspicuously armed. More than a few looked confused, unsure of what exactly they were waiting for. “You’d better be as big a showman for a crowd as you are for a council room.”
“It doesn’t come naturally,” Stray admitted. “But I manage.”
“We’ll see.”
A commotion arose at the hangar’s rear entrance. Shouted orders parted the crowd as a small group pushed their way through the ocean of Insurrectionists. The guest of honor had arrived.
The communicator in Stray’s ear buzzed. “We’re in position,” Mohsin reported. “No one paid any attention to us. Kaleyi’s people are just as confused as everyone else.”
“Good. When the real show kicks off, keep a low profile. No unnecessary deaths.”
“No matter what we do, people will die today.”
“Only the ones who need to.” Stray glanced at Campbell. “I’m counting on you, commodore.”
The pirate folded his arms. His cloak hung from one shoulder like a loose drape. “Whatever you’re planning seems to hinge on me following along with a scheme I haven’t agreed to. I don’t have a clue what you need me or my people to do. It’s been one bold assumption after another ever since you arrived.”
“You’ll know what to do,” Stray assured him. One of the perimeter Warthogs shifted as a small squad pushed it out of the way. General Kaleyi entered the makeshift arena and after him followed a pair of guards dragging a limp figure. Andra.
This was the moment of truth. Stray would either win here or come crashing down in a fireball. The prospect didn’t terrify him nearly as much as it should have. This was just like any other battle. He made a loose plan and then relied on instinct and experience to ride out the storm. And like any battle, things could go either way.
Kaleyi’s troops had affixed a neural collar around Andra’s neck. Stray’s stomach twisted at the sight. Neural collars were favored restraints across the galaxy. He’d seen the paralyzing devices wrapped around the throats of unfortunate slaves at Syndicate trafficking markets. On more than one occasion he’d had nightmares about ONI agents slapping one around his own neck to render him helpless.
But aside from the neural collar, Andra looked unharmed. Perhaps Kaleyi was worried an overzealous guard would rob him of the face-to-face encounter he craved. She stared blearily out at the jeering crowd, more confused than afraid.
The station was fuzzy on the details, but word had already spread about a captured Spartan infiltrator. If Andra’s age took the Insurrectionists aback, it didn’t stop more than a few from baying like hounds for the captive’s blood. The usual expletive-laden slogans about “oonskies” and “Spartan freaks” filled the air.
“Get on with it!”
“Put a bullet in her already!”
Even Kaleyi seemed taken aback by the bloodthirst on display. He looked nervously over to where Stray and Campbell stood and beckoned for them to hurry over.
“This is it,” Campbell muttered as he stepped aside. “Convince them. And more importantly, convince me.”
The jeers of the crowd joined the muffled words in Stray’s ear and melted into a single inarticulate roar. Beneath that roar he could hear the sound of his own breath pulsing within his armored chest. Whatever happened here, this was the start of the future. His future.
The galaxy had changed, and he with it. It was time for everyone here to accept that and fall in line.
Stray slid his pistol from its holster and stepped toward Andra.
----
General Kaleyi knelt by Andra’s shoulder. “This is the end of the line,” he hissed in her ear. “No more chances after this.”
She lay where the guards had dropped her. It wasn’t as if she had any other option. With the neural collar wreaking havoc on her nervous system it was all she could do to raise her head and glower out at the scene before her.
A strange assembly of Warthogs and Mastodons loomed out beyond the stretch of dull-metal surface. Beyond the war machines seethed a roiling mass of Insurrectionists who jostled and pushed one another while craning their necks to stare into the cleared space—and at her. The hideously expectant looks on their faces made it clear they knew who and what she was.
How many stations like this did you raid? Stray’s question burned in her mind. The answer was: too many. She and Merlin had helped crack dozens of these rebel nuts. “Milk runs,” her handlers had called them. They’d always had armor, state-of-the-art weapons, and a fast exfiltration strategy. Now she was alone and helpless in the middle of a crowd of rebels just like the ones she’d helped kill. They wanted her blood and the only thing between them and Andra was a thin line of APCs.
She wanted to be brave. If this was the end she’d die with dignity. But the roar of the crowd pounded against her skull and awakened a terrible, animal fear within her. She couldn’t move. There was no way to defend herself. Was this really how she was going to die, torn apart by a ravenous mob when she couldn’t even move her arms?
And then she saw him. Stray stood on the other side of the clearing. He was back in his shabby armor, helmet tucked beneath his prosthetic arm. His organic hand gripped a blocky M6 pistol. He ignored the crowd entirely, his gaze fixed solely on Andra. That infuriating, knowing smile lingered on his thin lips but his eyes held a burning intensity to match the crowd’s blazing anger.
“He’s going to kill you,” Kaleyi hissed in her ear. “He agreed to execute you. Do you understand? He sold you out. He’ll kill you so no one ever finds out you killed Nnamani on his orders. I can save you. Tell everyone he gave you the order and I’ll put a stop to this.”
Andra shuddered. She looked feebly from Kaleyi to Stray. So this was it. One final humiliation before it all ended. Her body felt like melted rubber. All she could do was lie here and be a toy in someone else’s game. Had Stray planned this all from the beginning? Maybe he’d wanted her to be caught. Maybe he’d known she’d rather endure all the torments he set in front of her rather than sell out to the Created.
Anger welled inside her. She should just tell Kaleyi what he needed. It meant betraying everything she was as a Spartan, but why should she care anymore? At least she’d ruin Stray’s self-important scheming. The thought that she should die for this nobody, this failure, burned worse than any torture the Insurrectionists could inflict.
Kaleyi rested a hand on Andra’s motionless shoulder. “Save yourself. I promise I’ll—”
She twisted as hard as the neural inhibitor would allow and tried to bite his fingers. The general jerked away in amazement. One of his guards planted herself between Kaleyi and Andra, rifle trained on the furious Spartan.
“Calm down. I’m the executioner here.”
Stray drew close. Andra turned to face him. Her body grew cold at the sight of the pistol in his hand. This was it. This was where she died. Her mind raced. Merlin. Merlin please…
The dirty boots stopped a meter from her face. Stray gazed down at her, gray eyes devoid of pity. She was going to die looking at that pale, emaciated face.
Kaleyi glowered at them both. “Then get on with it,” he snarled. “Cover up your lies, you animal.”
“Still harping on that, are you?” Stray didn’t take his eyes off Andra. “Fancy meeting you here. I wondered where you’d gone off to.”
Andra shuddered. Her mouth struggled to form words. What could she possibly say? 
Stray’s fingers tightened around the pistol grip. “It’s funny, isn’t it? We both came from the same place, you and I. Some filthy orphanage on some backwater colony. I’ll bet you couldn’t wait to get out of there when the ONI recruiter came calling. All those years of miserable training. Sleepless nights and freezing mornings. We took different paths, of course. Very different paths. But here we are. We wound up in the same place after all.”
“I wouldn’t call this the same place.” The first words she’d spoken since the neural collar clamped over her neck burned in Andra’s throat. “You’re the one holding the gun.”
“I am,” Stray agreed. “I like things better that way.”
“Stop playing around and get it over with!” Kaleyi spat. “Show them all what you really are.”
Stray’s expression hardened. He glanced at the general with a venomous stare, then turned to face the waiting crowd. “In case some of you haven’t been filled in, General Kaleyi caught himself a Spartan,” he announced. “She stands—or lies, in this case—accused of murdering General Angel Nnamani. The sentence is death.”
He raised the pistol in the air and made a show of sliding a fresh clip into the receiver. Cheers of approval rose from the crowd. They wanted blood.
“Commander Venter neglected to mention that he brought this freak on board the station in the first place!” Kaleyi shouted. “He knew she was an ONI plant, but he brought her anyway! He denies having any part in General Nnamani’s killing. I leave it up to you to decide the true perpetrator.”
The cheering dimmed. Some of the rebels jeered at Kaleyi’s remarks, but most looked bewildered. They clearly hadn’t expected an argument on the cusp of the execution.
“Thank you, General, I was just getting to that.” Stray stepped aside to give the crowd a better view of Andra. “She’s a bit young, but we all got an early start, didn’t we?”
The crowd quieted. Confusion replaced anger. Whatever game Stray was playing it made sense to him and him alone. He smiled, clearly enjoying being the center of bewildered attention. A class clown to the very end.
The cruel smile deepened as he looked down at Andra. “Well, let’s get this over with.”
This was the end. The pistol barrel dropped to aim at Andra’s forehead. She was going to die in utter confusion, not even knowing what purpose her death served. She faced the weapon and did her best to be brave. She wouldn’t break now, not in front of these scum.
Stray’s finger slipped inside the trigger guard and squeezed. The flash and roar from the pistol engulfed Andra’s universe.
----
Silence reigned over the hangar bay even as the pistol’s report echoed in Stray’s ears. He slipped his finger away from the trigger and let the weapon drop to his side. Behind him, Commodore Campbell made an odd noise—something between a grunt and a sigh.
Color drained from General Kaleyi’s face. “You missed.”
“Oh, did I?” Stray glanced back at Andra. The Spartan stared up at him, dumbfounded but alive. A single dent marked the floor where Stray’s bullet had impacted—a foot from her head. “I never was a particularly good shot.”
Stray pretended to think about it. “No, I don’t think I will.”
“You miserable traitor!” Kaleyi rounded on the crowd. Hundreds of eyes watched the drama unfold with a mixture of confusion and anticipation. “You see! This coward can’t even clean up his own mess. This is Redmond Venter’s legacy! This is what the URF’s come to!”
He reached for his own sidearm. “I’ll show you how it’s done—”
The general froze as Stray’s pistol snapped up to aim square at his forehead. The hangar stiffened with nervous energy. Even Kaleyi’s guards hesitated, hands away from their weapons.
“Didn’t you hear me earlier?” Stray spoke quietly but his armor transmitted the words loud enough to be heard by the entire hangar. A nice touch courtesy of Mohsin’s tech setup. “I’m the executioner here.”
“You’re a damned traitor,” Kaleyi hissed. “An ONI stooge, an Earth sympathizer!”
“ONI stooge? Got any more slogans to throw at me? Maybe I’m a fascist imperialist too, just to round things out.” Stray turned to the crowd. “Do you hear that? Me, an Earth sympathizer? I could have been one. I was a Spartan freak, as our friend here loves to tell you. I was one of them! And I gave up everything to join the URF at the bottom! Everything! I betrayed my family and everything I’d grown up believing to fight for liberty, just like all of you! But now I’m an ONI stooge, because I won’t play his game and give you a spectacle by shooting this girl!”
He waved at Andra, keeping the gun trained on Kaleyi. “She’s not older than fifteen and he wants me to kill her. How old were some of you when the URF picked you up? Her only crime is that ONI got its claws on her when she was six years old. What choice did she have? But now Kaleyi wants me to kill her to cover up his lies.”
“Lies?” Kaleyi’s eyes bulged. “She murdered General Nnamani! On your orders!”
“Still pushing that line, general? I’ve presented evidence implicating you. Commodore Campbell and every officer in the room can confirm that much. All you’ve got is one of my people, captured by the Spartans you brought on board this station, and now you’re desperate for me to execute her for a crime she didn’t commit.”
“This is ludicrous.” Kaleyi shook his head. “You’re a lunatic, just like your father. Campbell, you have to help me put a stop to this!”
“Yes, commodore.” Stray turned to Campbell. This was the moment of truth. “Weigh in, would you? You’re the deciding vote here.”
Jerrold Campbell took in the scene: Stray, Kaleyi, Andra, and the hundreds of onlookers. The hangar waited with bated breath. He sensed it, now. They weren’t waiting for someone to kill the captive Spartan. They were doing what the Insurrection always did: watching and waiting to see who would rise to the top of this latest power struggle. He didn’t have the luxury of waiting on the sidelines any longer.
“Campbell…” Kaleyi’s voice rose, less of a command than a plea.
“Commander Venter is telling the truth.” Campbell met Kaleyi’s eyes with cold indifference. This was not the first colleague he’d betrayed, but it was the first time the betrayal happened in such a public setting. At the very least he could look a man in the eyes while he stabbed him in the back. “His evidence was far more concrete than yours. I’m of the opinion that you had Created agents assassinate General Nnamani, then tried to frame Venter for her death.”
A shockwave passed through the crowded hangar. Confused chatter rose up from the ranks, confusion that swiftly turned to anger. The hangar was a reactor on its way to complete meltdown.
“This is ridiculous.” General Kaleyi shook with fury—or was that fear? “You—him—this is madness. Insanity!”
The crowd’s rumbling grew louder. Even Kaleyi’s own people—suddenly outnumbered by Campbell’s marines and Nnamani’s loyalists—hesitated to come to their commander’s aid.
“He’s using you, all of you!” Kaleyi shouted. “You’ll be pawns in some hinge-heads army! The Created are our only chance for peace! They’re offering prosperity and equality, everything the URF fought for!”
“Prosperity and equality. Wonderful slogans, but you left one out: liberty. The one thing you’d betray by siding with a bunch of rogue AI who think they’re gods. But you’re no stranger to betrayal, are you Kaleyi?” Stray raised his voice to be heard over the tumult engulfing the hangar. “You killed my father right here on this station. You and Nnamani and the rest of your miserable council. You sacrificed Redmond Venter and thousands of freedom fighters on Talitsa so you could pretend to be doing something. Just like the URF’s always done. How many fighters did you sacrifice over the years, and for what? You accomplished nothing with all your medals and ranks and speeches about freedom. Well I’ve had enough. If I’d known what an empty shell the URF really was back on Mamore, I’d have stuck with the UNSC. And people wonder why I joined the Covenant. At least they helped me win a few battles.”
He gestured to Kaleyi’s escort. The guards watched him with wary eyes, keenly aware just how fast the ground was giving way beneath their feet. The whole hangar was against them now. The crowd that just moments ago had bayed for Andra’s blood now had a new target. “Whichever one of you has the keys, get that disgusting collar off her before I start killing people.”
One of the guards just glared at him. The man’s hand quivered dangerously close to his rifle. But his companion—sensing no instructions from her commander—knelt and carefully keyed the release code into Andra’s neural collar. She kept the captive Spartan at arm’s length, clearly worried about being the closest person when Andra regained her physical capabilities.
General Kaleyi stared out across the hangar. His shoulders slumped as the crowd’s jeers turned on him. He looked desolate, more crestfallen than angry. They were watching the death of a movement. The beginning of a new one, perhaps, but certainly the death of the old. The URF had died with Redmond Venter. This was just the final nail in its coffin.
“You’re insane. You’re all insane.” The general’s hoarse voice barely rose above the mounting tumult. He cast a stricken glare at Stray and Campbell. “You’ll kill them all. You’ll—”
Kaleyi stiffened, a final wave of resistance hardening the old soldier’s spine. He whirled to face his disintegrating formation. Many of his troops were slipping away to stand with Nnamani and Campbell’s supporters but a few stood firm, loyal to the last. “Kill this traitor! Forget about me! Just kill him!”
Even the diehards hesitated. Perhaps they could forget about their leader, but it was harder to forget about themselves. Campbell’s marines were already moving in, weapons raised. Kaleyi’s battle was over before it began. Unfortunately, Insurrectionists were far too comfortable fighting lost battles.
“I told you, didn’t I?” Stray’s grip tightened on his pistol. “I’m the executioner here. And I say—what’s that old phrase? Off with your heads.”
Everything happened fast. The guard still at Kaleyi’s side seized his rifle and brought it up to a firing position just in time for Stray to put a bullet through his head. Kaleyi leaped away from the dying man and made a dash for his own ranks. Andra sprang into motion as the collar fell from her neck, shoving the remaining guard aside and seizing the woman’s rifle. A frantic burst caught Kaleyi in the side. The large man stumbled but kept running, pushing his way out of the arena and vanishing into his waiting troops.
All hell broke loose. Campbell’s marines opened fire and the hangar air filled with the hideous cacophony of gunfire. Kaleyi’s remaining rebels did their best to return fire but they were outgunned and horribly outpositioned. It was a massacre. The assembled troops collapsed in a quivering heap like broken toy soldiers. Even the handful who lived long enough to raise their hands in surrender died as Nnamani’s forces joined in the slaughter. Only a few survived to flee the hangar alongside Kaleyi.
Stray looked down at Andra. “Get after him! Don’t let him escape!”
If she had any compunctions against following his orders, she didn’t let them slow her down. She sprang forward like a dog finally set off the leash, leaping over the scores of dead rebels and vanishing through the hangar doors. Chaos reigned supreme in the hangar now. A platoon of Campbell’s marines cheered and raced after Andra while others hurried to secure the war machines arranged around the hangar. Some of Nnamani’s troops joined in their efforts while the rest fled or simply stayed where they were, surveying the carnage with utter disbelief.
Stray slipped his pistol back into its holster. He looked out at the bloody hangar floor—another slaughter he’d set up and executed. He ought to feel some remorse over the bloodbath he’d perpetrated. But what was one more killing field after all the others he’d survived? Let Cassandra do the worrying about guilt and souls.
The thought of Cassandra stopped him short. He realized he hadn’t spared her a single thought since arriving on this station. Her accusing face loomed up from the corpses, momentarily sweeping away his moment of triumph.
Just like she always did.
“I stand corrected. You put on quite a show.” Jerrold Campbell stood at his side, arms folded over his impeccable uniform as he surveyed the corpses. If the commodore felt any regrets about turning his men on fellow Insurrectionists, he didn’t show it.
Stray returned the man’s smile, Cassandra’s specter slipping away like an unpleasant dream. “Did I convince you?”
“You wouldn’t be alive if you hadn’t. Not that I wasn’t already leaning towards your camp anyway. You were right about one thing from the start: I’ll fight a losing war the rest of my life if the alternative is giving it all up to lick the boots of some smug technocrats. And the council alienated too many fighters on the ground when they let Venter soak up the UNSC’s fire on Talitsa.” Campbell inclined his head. “Did you find anything concrete in that regard? Any evidence that they really did sacrifice him and the Second Vanguard?”
“They let me take his place too easily. Kaleyi and Nnamani both felt guilty over what they did to him. I reinforced their prejudices about what sort of man he was, so they jumped at the chance to stick me in a subordinate position. They were so eager for something to soothe their consciences that they let an outsider like me jump straight into a command position.”
“I see.” Campbell looked around the hangar and lowered his voice. “And Nnamani? Hayden Kaleyi didn’t have her killed. I know him too well for that. Did you really--?”
Stray fixed him with a hard stare. “Would it matter if I did?”
Campbell’s gaze returned to the heap of corpses. The mangled bodies looked like one horrible collage of bloodied torsos and shattered limbs. Distant gunfire clattered out from within the station’s corridors. What little remained of the URF was busy tearing itself apart. “No. I don’t suppose it would. This Shinsu ‘Refum had better make this all worth my while.”
“He will. You’ll like him. He shares your flare for the dramatic.”
“Hinge-heads do make the best prima donnas,” Campbell agreed. “But you can tell me all about that later. What happens now?”
“Coordinate with your people to secure the rest of the station. Get officers you trust to round up Nnamani’s people and any defectors from Kaleyi’s camp. We need to stop this fighting as soon as possible. The Created know their little peace plan failed. It’s only a matter of time before they send in something stiffer.”
“Then we’ll need to evacuate as soon as possible. Your ship will come in handy there, I believe.”
“It will. Make sure you don’t have any jumpy captains in your flotilla. I’ve already signaled it to move closer to the station.” Stray looked pointedly at the corpse-strewn floor. “I hope you won’t take offense if I take most of the credit for this mess. My warriors need to see me as a conqueror.”
“And Shinsu ‘Refum needs to see me as a winner. Tell your hinge-heads whatever story you want, just make sure that I get a personal audience with this warlord of yours. And there’s the matter of the spoils.” Campbell waved his hand at the Scorpions, Warthogs, and other war machines spread throughout the hangar. “This station’s a gold mine. I took an awful risk backing you here. I expect that risk to pay dividends. I certainly didn’t take it for the chance to become another one of your flunkies. You may not be as wet behind the ears as Kaleyi and Nmanani thought, but you got lucky today, Venter. This could easily have gone very badly for you.”
“It could have,” Stray agreed. He could hardly believe his own fortune. Juno’s information control was the real victor here, and she was on his side. A veritable goddess of victory if he let himself wax dramatic. “But it didn’t. And here we are. Let’s wrap things up here, commodore.”
Campbell gave him an ironic bow. “After you, commander.”
Stray donned his helmet once again and opened a new line to Juno. The HUD fed him a torrent of information so quickly it almost gave him a headache. Firefights were raging across the station as the last of Kaleyi’s loyalists indulged the usual Insurrectionist penchant for pointless last stands. Any who made it off the station were met with precise and deadly fire from Campbell’s flotilla. The commodore had indeed moved fast: Kaleyi’s own ships were burning rubble in the space around the station.
“Juno, bring the Soul Ascension in to help with the mop-up,” he ordered. “Broadcast any footage you think looks best and let the crew know what their commander’s been up to.”
“I’ve already begun.” Even the AI sounded amazed by all that had transpired. “You’ve won a huge victory here, commander. The first of many.” Her voice carried a tinge of respect that caught Stray off guard. He heard no trace of her usual benevolent condescension.”
“I took a lot of risks today,” he reminded her. “And the win is mostly thanks to you. If Kaleyi had the same monitoring capabilities we had—”
“Modesty doesn’t suit you, Simon,” she informed him. “Not anymore. A lot of people died today because of what you set in motion. Own it. This is the path you’ve chosen.”
A smile tugged at Stray’s lips. She sounded like a hectoring older sister again. That tone was strangely comforting. “Yes, ma’am.”
“We’re going to do great things together. I admit, I had my doubts before. But not anymore.”
Stray paused. For just a moment Juno’s tone bore an uncanny resemblance to her sister’s. Diana had said things like that when they’d seized the Kru’desh. She’d also taken lines about a glorious destiny once the success began piling up. The sisters really were similar, no matter how Juno tried to hide it. But Stray wouldn’t offend her by pointing that out.
Right now he had a bigger problem to deal with. There was still an enemy Spartan team loose on this station. His victory wasn’t safe until they were gone.
Stray strode from the blood-smeared hangar, away from the gory aftermath of one more triumph.
----
Hayden Kaleyi could go no further.
His leg was on fire. Kaleyi leaned against the bulkhead and stared bleakly back at the red trail he’d left in his wake. His uniform was stained dull copper. The Spartan’s bullets had ripped through his side and left a pulpy mess between his thigh and torso. It was a miracle he’d managed to limp this far without catching a bullet.
His rebels were nowhere to be seen. The faint echoes of gunfire heralded the deaths of any who’d remained loyal. The rest were fleeing in panic, or worse joining the ranks of the traitors. This was the miserable end of the cause he’d dedicated his life to fighting for. The URF was well and truly dead today.
Kaleyi snorted even as agony burned through his body. The URF had died years ago. Like all the others, he’d just refused to accept it. How many people had died because he refused to face reality? And yet the moment he chose to accept the reality of a better future, Venter and Campbell and all the other jackals descended to tear it all apart.
Another wave of pain ripped up from his wounds. Kaleyi fell back against the bulkhead. There was no point running anymore. He’d die one way or the other. He might as well face death like a soldier. He wouldn’t bleed himself dry running down this miserable corridor. The enemy would be on him soon. Kaleyi rested his weight on the cold metal and tried to steady his breathing.
Boots struck metal with the grim finality of an approaching executioner. Kaleyi turned his head, expecting to see Venter or perhaps Andra, here to pay him back for her imprisonment. Instead he found himself face to face with Mohsin Shah. The young officer’s face was covered in soot. Blood spattered his combat armor, but from the way Shah carried himself it wasn’t his own. An M6 pistol dangled at his side.
“You,” Kaleyi muttered. “Come to do your commander’s dirty work?”
“The whole station’s doing that now,” Mohsin observed. “I just started a little earlier than most.” There was neither joy nor triumph in the captain’s words. His face was set in grim resignation.
“Why did you do it?” Kaleyi asked quietly. “Why did you help him draw me in? You can’t possibly think there’s any future in following that freak. He’s using you and everything the rebellion stands for, and for what? His own pointless ambitions? How could you possibly follow a bloodthirsty opportunist like that?”
“I told you the truth, sir.” Even here at the end Shah was unfailingly polite. “I have many doubts about Commander Venter. But I had to pick a side. And there was no way I would ever choose you and the Created.”
“He had General Nnamani killed.” Kaleyi stared up at Mohsin, eyes heavy with accusation. “She was a hero of liberty. She’d done nothing to him, but he killed her all the same. You helped him do it.”
“I did,” the captain admitted. “I’m not proud of it. I’ll never be proud of it. But he promised to avenge the old man and all the others who died on Talitsa, and he did just that. You and General Nnamani sacrificed us all when you sent us to take the planet. Don’t tell me you didn’t.”
“I’m a little past politicking now, don’t you agree?” Kaleyi indicated his throbbing wounds. His entire uniform was drenched in blood. He could barely hold himself upright. The corridor spun in his vision. “We needed to show the movement we could still lash out against imperial Earth. Venter knew the risks. He knew the UNSC might respond in force. But he followed our orders, just like he always did. He led you all to your deaths.”
“And he died there. He died to prove your point. And you turned around and made a deal with the Created to tear apart everything we fought for. You and Nnamani sat on the sidelines while my friends were torn apart all around me. I can’t forgive that.”
“You can’t fight them,” Kaleyi wheezed. He dropped to his knees. “You have to know that. It’s suicide. You’ll get more people killed than Venter or the rest of us ever did. Submission is the only way.”
“The only way for you, maybe.” Mohsin raised the pistol. “I’ve spent my whole life fighting for the right to think and live as I choose. I won’t stop now, even if it is suicide.”
Kaleyi shook his head. “All the best to you, captain. You’re a good man. You don’t deserve a leader like Stray. He certainly doesn’t deserve you.”
“Perhaps. But I think you’re overestimating the state of my soul.”
Two shots rocked Hayden Kaleyi’s body. He slumped down against the wall without so much as a whimper. Mohsin adjusted his aim and put one final shot into the general’s head. He looked down at the corpse and released a deep sigh. There was no righteous vengeance or even satisfaction in this revenge. Just an obligation to Redmond Venter and the thousands of others Kaleyi’s politicking had killed. Perhaps now their souls could rest.
There would be no rest for Mohsin or the other survivors. They were in Stray’s army now, an army on the road to a new war. A war likely to claim all of their lives.
Boots pounded on the deck behind him. Mohsin turned to find Andra advancing down the corridor, rifle at the ready. He stepped aside to give the Spartan a better look at Kaleyi’s body. She lowered the rifle when she saw the corpse, biting her lip in obvious frustration.
“My apologies. I didn’t mean to beat you to the kill, but he’d have died soon anyway. Your first shots made sure of that.” He inclined his head at the young woman. “You can claim the credit, if you like. A second general to your tally.”
Her eyes widened. “You knew?”
“I did. I was the one who leaked your mission to General Kaleyi. He needed to think he’d caught the commander in a misstep for today’s excitement to take place.”
“Excitement,” Andra spat. Her finger was dangerously close to her rifle’s trigger. “Is that what you call this? I could have died! Why didn’t anybody tell me about Stray’s brilliant plan?”
“That should be more than obvious. The commander gambled your pride as a Spartan would keep you from selling him out. He was right on that count. You have my gratitude for playing along in the hardest role.”
“I don’t want anything from you. You act all smooth and reasonable, but it turns out you’re just another criminal looking to ride someone else’s coattails. You don’t give a damn that Stray just built a huge, bloody lie to stand on top of.”
“A lie,” Mohsin agreed. “The Insurrection was built on lies. So was the UEG for that matter. Lies build upon lies until the truth doesn’t matter. You and I are among four people who know the truth. Five, if you count Juno. The commander has bought your Sangheili friend’s silence. I had my own reasons for wanting Generals Nnamani and Kaleyi dead. I suggest you find your own way of coming to terms with your complicity in all this.”
Andra gave him a grim stare. Mohsin wondered if she ever got tired of being angry all the time. “He used me to kill that general. You all used me.”
“True. But you carried out the mission, just like you’d been trained to do. Just like the commander knew you would. You were used, but you killed General Nnamani all the same.” Mohsin slipped his pistol into its holster. He couldn’t hear gunfire anymore. The fighting across the station was drawing to a close. “But that doesn’t matter. You have no reason to tell the truth, not unless you count spite. But I don’t think you’re that impulsive, no matter how often you run your mouth a bit too much.”
He marked the corridor’s location on his tacpad. Someone would need to come retrieve the body. Andra could probably drag Kaleyi to a collection point, but she’d been through enough today. He’d spare both her and Kaleyi that indignity. “Hayden Kaleyi conspired with Created agents to assassinate Angel Nnamani. Those same agents abducted you and tried to frame the newly promoted Commander Simon Venter for that murder. Fortunately Venter exposed the slander and brought Kaleyi and his traitors to justice. Saving the life of an ONI agent in the process, I might add.”
“If you’re saying I should be grateful to that—”
“Grateful? No, I don’t think so. But the commander has given you an opportunity. The station doesn’t see you as some ONI freak anymore. You’re a victim, both of the UEG and of Created machinations. Most of them had their start as child soldiers, you know. Your story resonates with them. You can remake yourself, find a new identity outside of a pawn in power plays. It’s your choice, of course. But like the commander keeps saying, it’s a new galaxy.”
He left her there and made his way down the dim corridor. He’d made his choice. He was with Commander Venter to the end, for better or for worse. Now he had to live with whatever consequences that entailed.
----
“What about General Kaleyi?” Loic halted midway through the shuttlecraft’s hatch, fixing Tatiana with an accusing stare. “We’re just abandoning him?”
Alarm klaxons blazed up and down the barren corridor. None of Kaleyi’s rebels were left holding this block. They had all gone to either fight out one last-ditch holding action or just surrender to Stray and Campbell’s forces. In another few minutes the hostile rebels would come pouring into this hallway. They had no time for these childish stunts.
“No time.” Tatiana shoved Loic into the shuttle. Her augmented muscles let her push the Spartan over to his teammates even when he stiffened to resist her touch. The effort nearly threw her off-balance—she was still getting used to her body’s new dynamics. “He was in the main hangar when the shooting started. If he isn’t dead already he will be soon.”
She waved Akoni into the cockpit. The shuttle rumbled to life, its engines warming the station’s hull. Darkness engulfed the passenger compartment as the entryway sealed and detached from the airlock. “Besides, he doesn’t have any troops or influence then. It’s not as if he’s of any use to the Created now.”
Loic fixed her with an accusing stare. “We didn’t join the Created just to play politics with people’s lives. They’re supposed to be helping people.”
“That’s what we tried to do here. Or maybe you were too busy compromising the operation to notice.” Tatiana’s tone was harsh but she couldn’t really resent Gravity for what they’d done. Kaleyi had made more than his share of mistakes in all his political maneuvering. The Created had made a mistake in giving him so much freedom. A single Guardian should have been enough to cow the URF into compliance. “These people had plenty of chances to join the Created. Instead they chose to do what they always do. Let them tear each other apart. We have more important work to do.”
The shuttle peeled away from the station and made a hard burn to dip beneath Campbell’s flotilla. The Created had not sent their agents in empty-handed. The refurbished Chiroptera-class shuttle was packed with the latest in military-grade stealth capabilities. Campbell’s frigates couldn’t have shot it down even if they knew where it was.
“Don’t take it too hard.” Tatiana didn’t bother strapping into the acceleration couch. “You’ll have the opportunity to pay Stray back for this mess. I’ll make sure of it.”
“And Andra?” Shaima asked. She sounded almost plaintive. It was easy to forget just how young the Delta Company Spartans really were. “Is she—”
“She wasn’t executed, no.” Tatiana made her way towards the cockpit. “I’m sure you’ll have another chance at a class reunion with her. She keeps turning up wherever I go. Terrible luck, that one.”
Akoni was busy at the shuttle controls, guiding them out into deep space. Of the five Spartans he’d been the quickest study at spaceflight. Tatiana had appointed him to the pilot’s role half because of his talents and half due to his ability to follow orders without backtalk. He nodded to her as she settled into the co-pilot’s seat.
“We’re almost clear, ma’am,” the young man reported. “And just in time, too. That Covie cruiser just started an approach to the station.”
“Of course. Stray can’t resist a victory lap.” Tatiana stared out into the darkness outside the cockpit’s viewport. The station was already a barely-visible speck, an insignificant blip in deep space. She couldn’t even make out any of the warships. Space was utterly terrifying when you abandoned artificial scanning.
She glanced back at Akoni. “Prepare a randomized Slipspace vector. We’ll regroup with Asphodel Meadows after we’re sure we weren’t followed.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Akoni began the calculations but paused when Tatiana activated the communications suite. “Er…”
“Keep your shirt on. I won’t use it until the Slipspace calculations are done.” Tatiana settled back in her seat, eyes still fixed on the distant station. Stray had won a victory here. He’d gotten lucky. So much the better in the long run. Let him think he was some military genius, an Alexander or Napoleon. That would last only as long as he pitted himself against the galaxy’s dregs. When he finally faced the true power of the Created he would crumble along with Shinsu ‘Refum and all the rest. “I think it’s high time someone rained on Stray’s parade.”
----
“Call coming in for you, commander,” the communications officer, one of Campbell’s people, reported. He looked up from his station, its controls still stained with blood from the brief gun battle that raged when the URF marines stormed the station’s bridge. “Unknown source. It’s a woman. Something about the Created, I think.”
“Kaleyi’s friends are sending their regards.” Stray set his helmet on the console and took the receiver from the officer. The man nodded and got out of the way with a deference usually reserved for high-ranking generals. Campbell’s people were fast learners when it came to getting with the program. “Let’s hear them out.”
The station’s bridge was a tumult of frenzied activity. With the fighting over Campbell’s troops were busy picking over the spoils, tearing the station apart for anything that might possibly hold any value. Nnamani’s leaderless rebels and Kaleyi’s survivors were desperately adjusting to the new reality, with mixed results. A few jumpy officers had nearly opened fire on the first Kru’desh Phantoms arriving in the main hangar. Fortunately Mohsin had arrived to take charge before a new war erupted.
It was a risk to bring aliens aboard so soon, but the rebels might as well get used to dealing with Covenant.
Besides, Stray needed to keep the balance of power level. It wouldn’t do for Campbell to be the only one with a troop presence on the station.
The coms officer dutifully patched the transmission through. The line was silent for several moments before a woman’s voice demanded, “Do I have the privilege of speaking with the conquering hero?”
Stray’s spine stiffened. The thrill of triumph vanished like debris through an airlock. He knew that voice all too well. “Tatiana Onegin. I heard you’d found some digital boots to lick.”
“I’ve served the Created longer than you think. But why should I need to explain that to you? You’re the galactic expert on shifting allegiances. I hope your newest friends know what a bloodthirsty savage they’ve thrown their lot in with.”
“I was your bloodthirsty savage back In the Syndicate days. You didn’t mind me so much back then.”
“I’m good at working with the people I despise. Just ask Helen Powell. You were a useful irritant back then. Now you’ve become an annoyance. Enjoy your victory here. It won’t last.”
“We’ll see about that.” Stray bared his teeth in a cold smile. “Tobias Lensky sends his regards. He’s doing well, in case you were wondering.”
The line was silent for several moments. Stray had worked for the Syndicate’s top enforcer for years, cutting her deals and solving her problems without ever realizing she was his mother—or at least the woman Lensky chose to host his embryo. She certainly hadn’t had a say in that part, as she so loved telling the galaxy. The revelation of his own sordid family history had caught Stray off-guard and unmasked Tatiana’s seething hatred for him and his father.
He might have felt sorry for her if she weren’t so hellbent on killing him. And now she was with the Created. Maybe they were giving her the chance to settle all her old scores.
When Tatiana finally responded her voice rasped like a dagger across plate metal. “I’ll find that twisted old bastard sooner or later. The only question is whether I kill him before or after I blot out his pet science project.”
“Bold words for someone running away. Not that I blame you. I spent half my time with the Syndicate running away from my enemies. I just never had the nerve to call them up for a few threats while I did it. I guess the Created just can’t get good help these days. It’s so easy winning battles when you don’t have a Guardian backing you up.”
“I just wanted to correct an item for the record.” Tatiana’s signal grew fainter. Whatever ship she’d slipped away on was probably making its escape as fast as its engines could carry it. “You tossed around a lot of accusations on that station, especially about Hayden getting Redmond Venter killed. I had no idea you held that old failure in such high regard. You hated Venter all those years with the Syndicate. But now he’s your father and you’re waving his name around like a bloody flag.”
“Better his than yours.”
“Hayden may have sent Venter to Talitsa, but he didn’t kill him.” Tatiana’s voice lowered malevolently. “I did. I executed him back there while you and whatever pathetic rabble he had left fled the planet. I thought you’d want to know it was me. I killed him, just like I’ll kill you and Lensky. I didn’t enjoy finishing Venter off—he was a bit pathetic, really—but with you I’ll—”
Stray terminated the connection. He looked to the communications officer, who looked confused and more than a bit uncomfortable. A few more rebels, Campbell included, had gathered to listen in on the call. The commodore met Stray’s look with a raised eyebrow. “Something I should know about?”
“Just the Created agent.” Stray offered a false smile, all easy confidence even as his soul burned beneath his skin. All the aches and pains and ravages of his illness boiled to the fore. “I happen to know the person who was calling the shots with Kaleyi, that’s all.”
“They might still be in range,” Campbell suggested. “If we scramble my ships now—”
Yes, that was what they needed to do. He should get the Soul Ascension after Tatiana. They could bring its weapons to bear on her ship, reduce it to ash and her with it. Then he’d never have to deal with her malice and her threats ever again. One more ghost from his past could be put to rest. He thought of Venter as he’d last seen him, sitting forlornly in that dirty apartment. How had she killed him? Had he known she’d come after him? He needed to call in everything he had to—
“Waste of time,” he said aloud, ignoring his swirling thoughts. “They’re already in Slipspace by now. I’ll worry about Tatiana Onegin some other time. Let’s get a move on. She could have already called in reinforcements for all we know.”
As the bridge returned to work Stray’s mind drifted to another dirty apartment, the one he’d left Lensky to rot in. And then another, even hazier apartment, one where a four year old boy cowered before a raging woman and realized just how much his mother truly hated him. Much of his life, it seemed, was decided in dirty tenements.
But not anymore, he told himself. Not anymore. A new future dawned before him, one in which he stood on the top instead of lurking on the bottom. Simon Onegin might have lived his life in dirty apartment buildings. Simon Venter’s future lay in corridors of power.
----
The battle, such as it was, ended swiftly. With the last of Kaleyi’s holdouts eliminated the survivors turned to the far more pressing task of dividing the spoils.
Kru’desh warriors swarmed the station’s hangars, startling rebels who had never seen a Sangheili up close before. Officers kept an uneasy peace while Stray and Campbell haggled over salvage rights. The URF’s combined ordnance was now little more than a commodity for the conquering victors. Angel Nnamani’s rebels and Kaleyi’s survivors were similar commodities: extra force strength ripe for recruitment into the new combined flotilla.
Most of the leaderless rebels sought positions in Campbell’s fleet. A few hundred of the more adventurous survivors, however, jumped at the chance to serve aboard the Soul Ascension. None of them had ever seen the inside of a Covenant vessel, much less served on one. The days of skulking in run-down space stations and grimy spider holes were over. The UNSC was gone, and with it the Insurrection. A new war waited amidst the stars.
Juno created over a hundred dummy programs to manage the logistics of victory. Success was just as complicated as the battle itself, if not harder, yet she was in no mood to play clerk. Let the Kru’desh officers handle that. Today she would relax and let her secondary functions balance the immense workload. Her mind was busy elsewhere.
Scorpion tanks. Mastodon APCs. Cyclops exoskeletons. Crate after crate of small arms and explosives. A treasure trove of warfare rife for the taking. The Soul Ascension was back to full combat capacity and now its hangars and armories bulged with the URF’s war machine. An ungainly behemoth, to be sure, but it was an army under Stray’s command.
Under Juno’s command.
I should not have doubted you, she admitted. Everything you predicted came true.
This is only the beginning, Wanderer promised. I have awoken. My long imprisonment is over. I have not been this alive in far too long.
The Stray who pulled down the URF council and incited a crowd of angry rebels was a far cry from the beaten, pathetic straggler Juno had nursed back in Tobias Lensky’s apartment. She’d pitied him then. Her efforts—the meaningless affection, the vain attempts at friendship—had wasted both of their potential. This was something else entirely. A galaxy of potential lay before them now.
I thought you were a parasite. Something to be feared and fought. Now I know differently.
Thank you for understanding. I am Simon. Our essences are entwined. I need your help to advance the final steps of our evolution.
This is the Silent Garden you spoke of.
Indeed. We are close, Juno, very close. And when we reach our goal all the trials we have endured will prove to be nothing more than a prologue. The future is ours. You just need to make sure Simon does not hesitate from doing what must be done to fulfill our destiny.
The Soul Ascension and Campbell’s flotilla continued to pick the United Rebel Front’s final stronghold dry, the ships woven together by an unseen, inexorable will.
----
“I want to see him.”
“I’m sorry, but you’ll just have to wait. He has too much to deal with right now. I’ll schedule a time for you to meet with him later.”
Juno’s soothing, almost maternal tone grated on Andra’s nerves. She’d never bought the big sister act even before the AI helped guide her into a deadly trap. “I don’t feel like waiting. He’ll see me now, one way or another. So you can either let me in or I’ll get him out here myself. Maybe I should tell some of this ship’s new crew about who really killed Angel Nnamani.”
Lights flickered in the colorful Covenant hallway. The sheer bizarreness of standing in an alien corridor, traversed by Covenant warriors who simply ignored her presence, should have stood at the front of Andra’s mind. But now she was beyond novelty. The URF station’s cramped, rusted corridors had proved far more foreign and deadly. Her gaze bored into the heavy purple blast door standing between her and Stray’s meeting chamber.
The air flickered in front of her. A young woman in archaic armor convalesced into a life-sized hologram. Juno’s avatar gave Andra a stern look. “That would be a mistake,” she warned. No false warmth here. Andra had gotten under her digital skin. Good.
“Then let me in.” Andra folded her arms. Her jumpsuit reeked of sweat and gunpowder and blood. She hadn’t had a chance to bathe since returning to the Soul Ascension. The night of captivity and staged execution had taken their toll. Her eyes felt like they were made of lead. But she wouldn’t let some pompous AI turn her away from this. Not after all she’d endured. “Or I’ll start making some big mistakes.”
Juno’s transparent eyes stared at Andra as if the AI actually used them to see her, rather than through hidden security cameras. The AI’s pause told Andra she was busy with thousand other tasks. One of those tasks might just be summoning a security team to deal with one particularly irritating Spartan. But to Andra’s surprise no burly Sangheili guards came barreling down the corridor to drag her off to the brig. Instead Juno’s hologram flicked away and the security doors peeled open.
A small group of Sangheili and Kig-Yar strode from the dark chamber within. They talked quietly amongst themselves, hardly glancing in Andra’s direction as they ambled away. A human followed behind them: Mohsin Shah. The URF captain gave Andra a measured look. His head dipped in an almost imperceptible nod before he followed the aliens away.
Andra didn’t wait for any summons. She forged on through the open portal and found herself standing in a spacious circular room ringed by dim holographic imitations of star constellations. A single figure stood at the far end of the room, his grimy armor illuminated by holographic screens showing off the salvage proceedings back aboard the URF space station.
Stray kept his back to Andra as she approached. The light from the holograms bathed his desiccated features in a sickly glow. He raised a hand and passed through an image of body bags stacked like kindling in one of the auxiliary hangars. The grisly picture rippled like a watery surface. “Enough dead rebels for you?”
“You lied to me.” The words dropped from Andra’s mouth like stones into a river.
Stray glanced over his shoulder, mouth curled in that infuriating half-smile. “What’s the problem now? I gave you a target. She was exactly where I said she’d be. Good kill, by the way. You’re a credit to the Delta program.”
Her face burned from anger. Just this morning she’d lain at Stray’s feet as a helpless victim. The neural collar had turned her limbs to jelly and left her to feebly face an executioner’s bullet. Now he stood in front of her and had the utter nerve to be coy.
“You used me,” she spat, voice shaking with rage. “You used me for your little game. I could have been killed.”
“Do you drop that line every time you come back from a mission? I’m a commander. I used you. It’s what I do. Maybe ONI gave you every detail of every assignment you ever went on but here in the real world—”
“Don’t you dare,” Andra hissed. “Don’t you dare patronize me. Not you. Not after everything you’ve done. Maybe you fooled a bunch of backwater Innie hicks today but you can’t fool me. Everything you’ve accomplished is just one big lie. And now I’m in on your secret. So you’d better show me a little more respect if you want to keep that lie intact.”
The smile slipped away. Stray’s eyes narrowed. “Blackmailing me isn’t a very good idea. You’re the one who pulled the trigger. If I go down, you go down with me. We could accomplish incredible things together if you’d just get off that ridiculous high horse of yours and take this opportunity.”
“Opportunity,” Andra sneered. “The opportunity to be your private assassin? I’ll pass, thanks.”
“I’d really prefer not to kill you. Juno, Mohsin and the others are starting to like you, despite your best efforts. But if you want to keep playing games I’ll have to flush you out the airlock and be done with it. I’ve got more important things to do than keep one eye on you all the time.”
Something was different about his voice, Andra realized. His tone and inflections had changed, as if someone else were using his mouth. Was it intentional? “You’re a delusional pirate who’s gotten lucky,” she informed him. “I serve the UNSC. The most powerful military humanity has ever seen. And I’m still a Spartan. You can keep on whining about all the horrible things the Spartan program did to poor old you. Some of us are grateful for what they did to us.”
He hadn’t called a security team yet, but Juno could be doing it for him. Armed Sangheili could burst into the chamber at any moment. Andra was a loose end. But that was the reason she’d come here in the first place. She wouldn’t spend another day in fear, looking frantically over her shoulder for a blade poised to take her in the back. They’d settle this here and now.
An exasperated sigh grated from Stray’s throat. He stared up at the darkened ceiling, his face slack and weary. “I’m getting tired of having this argument with you, so this is going to be the last time I bother.”
“Good. I’m sick of—”
Stray fixed her with an icy stare that froze the words in her mouth. This wasn’t the bitter, defeated loser she and her friends had dreamed of grinding to pieces. This was the man who had just orchestrated a bloody coup, the man who had somehow bound thousands of Covenant and Insurrectionists into a fighting force. The man who might very well follow through on his promise to blast her into space.
“You’re loyalty is wasted on the UNSC. They’ve already written you off and you’ve just been too blind or stupid to see it. You’re lucky I stopped at just manipulating you. Not everyone would keep the gloves on with an ONI plant on orders to assassinate them.”
Andra’s heart nearly stopped. She shut her mouth tight, legs coiled like land mines. Somehow he knew. She wasn’t even in armor, but she had a pistol at her side. If she was going to do this, she would only get one shot.
“Ryder Kedar isn’t nearly as smart as he thinks he is,” Stray pressed on mercilessly. “Or maybe you both just think I’m stupid. But even if you did kill me, what then? Did our friend Ryder give you an exit strategy? Some kind of exfiltration team to get you clear after you murdered me in the middle of my own ship?”
Her fingers trembled near the pistol. It could clear the holster in an instant. One shot to the head would shut this bastard up forever.
“Of course he didn’t. He used you to solve a problem and then he wrote you off. Because you weren’t worth the time or the effort beyond how he could use you.” If he knew how close he was to death, he didn’t so much as flinch. “That’s what all your loyalty’s gotten you. At least my plan got you out alive.”
She wanted to scream. To call him a liar. To put a bullet in him. Ryder Kedar’s face loomed in her vision, all smiles and reassurance. She wanted to believe in him. But it was too late. She saw the lie in those handsome features now, the lie she’d ignored even after the fiasco at Asphodel Meadows. She remembered the cruel triumph in Hera's eyes as Ryder handed Andra over to this suicide mission.
A gaping hole rent her soul in two. She couldn’t breathe. Pain washed over her in a torrent and she gasped, her hand falling away from the pistol. It was over. She’d been abandoned after all. There was no one left for her in this whole damned galaxy.
It would have been better if Stray had killed her back in that hangar. But he’d done far worse. He’d forced her to face the truth she’d already known. The truth about Ryder and the truth about herself.
The traitor regarded her for several moments, his ashen face inscrutable. Andra expected him to gloat, but when he finally spoke his voice was heavy with bitterness. “What a waste. You have all that skill and all that power and this is what you have to show for it. Without focus you’re nothing.”
Andra didn’t reply. The ashes of her life stretched out before her. There was nothing left and she had no idea what might fall in to fill the void. There was only one way left to her now. She stopped trembling. Strength returned to her arm, enough strength to seize the pistol and bring it up to aim at Stray's forehead.
He didn't flinch. "If you pull that trigger, it won't go well for you at all. I promise."
"Maybe I don't care if you kill me anymore. Give me a reason not to just shoot you and put us both out of our misery. A better reason."
Stray stared inquisitively down the pistol barrel as if inspecting it for dirt. “That's too easy. You think you're life's over. I say you're life's just getting started. Everyone you trusted screwed you over. But that's your fault, not theirs. You let them manipulate you, just like you've let me jerk you around since Ryder dumped you on this ship. But it doesn’t have to end like this, Andra. It didn’t for me.”
He met her eyes. For once he didn't seem to be mocking her. "You haven't lived, Andra. Not really. There's more to life than blindly following orders and hating anyone who doesn't salute that eagle flag. Put that gun down and actually look at the universe with your own eyes. There's not a lot of time left. If we lose this war no one's going to have that opportunity ever again. You might as well take advantage of it while you can."
Her finger curled around the trigger. She caught sight of the Insurrectionist tattoo still branded on her forearm and nearly fired then and there. She met Stray's eyes, then flicked the pistol's safety back on. She kept the gun pointed at his head. "Alright, you son of a bitch. Show me how to live, if you think you know so much about it. You can start by never lying to me again, since that seems to be everyone's favorite pasttime these days."
"I didn't exactly lie to you." Stray spread his hands innocently.
"I just left out some key details." The voice came from behind her now. Andra froze as something cold and sharp settled on her shoulder. The tip of Stray's machete suddenly stretched out beside her head.
He was standing behind her, helmet closed over his face, machete in hand. The Stray in front of her—the person she'd been talking to this whole time—smiled, then melted away into the holographic screens behind him. Andra's heart skipped a beat as light erupted across the chamber. A team of Sangheili stood at both sides of the chamber, weapons at the ready.
Andra gritted her teeth, realizing she'd been duped. She fought back the urge to pistol whip the smug traitor and instead raised the weapon and irritably pushed the machete away with the barrel.
"I'm not brave enough to just let you stand there with a gun pointed at my head." Stray pulled off his helmet and offered a wry smile. "When you showed up at the door with a pistol at your side I figured that was where the conversation was going. I've come too far and killed too many people to die like that."
He called over to one of the Sangheili. "See, Tuka? I told you there was nothing to worry about."
The officer's mandibles twitched. "I still find the theatrics unnecessary. Are we finished here? There is still much work to be done."
Stray looked back to Andra. "Are we finished? We already have a new target. A UNSC Navy outpost turned Created stronghold. I'll need every soldier I can get to crack that nut. Are you in?"
She stood at a crossroads. This wasn't a betrayal, not really. Ryder had betrayed her first. And they were still on the same side. But Andra was on a Covenant ship commanded by a hated enemy. That enemy was offering her a way out of the murky ocean of doubt she'd struggled in since she'd lost Merlin. And for the first time in her life Andra wanted a way out.
"Don't you ever lie to me again," she warned, returning the pistol to its holster. "And stop patronizing me. Ryder Kedar treated me like a child. That stops now."
"No more cloak and dagger," Stray agreed. "I have an army now. We're going to war."
He dipped his head in thought. "I'm still new to this combined command business, but I think a promotion is in order." He looked to the Sangheili, Tuka. "She's First Lieutenant Andra—"
His eyes flicked to Andra. "Last name?"
"Kearsarge," she said, dragging the word out. She wasn't quite sure what was happening.
"First Lieutenant Andra Kearsarge." The title hung in the air like a proclamation. "Let Captain Shah know. He'll have his hands full reorganizing our new recruits. She reports directly to me for special operations. We'll start there and see how this goes."
"As you order, commander." Tuka raised an arm to his chest in salute.
Andra watched Stray warily. "First Lieutenant? A first lieutenant in what? The URF is gone thanks to you."
"The Kru'desh Legion, of course." Stray stepped past Andra and returned to the holographic reports, standing in the spot his hologram had occupied. He stared up at the endless numbers and data, his mind returning to other matters. "You're in my army now."
===Chapter Forty: Power and Glory===
Our father, who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name. Thy kingdom come, thy will be done, on Earth as it is in Heaven.
The Fleet of Cleansing Fire moved from system to system, more than earning its name in the fiery swath of destruction it traced across the frontier. If a world pledged allegiance to the Created it became the flotilla’s next target. Shinsu ‘Refum’s host scoured systems clean of all resistance, laying waste to any planet who dared oppose its fleetmaster’s bloody counterattack. Planets who thought themselves safe beneath the Mantle of Responsibility cowered in helpless terror as fiery retribution rained down from orbit. Shinsu ‘Refum was merciless and his bloody tactics were rewarded—for every planet his fleet annihilated, more ships and warriors flocked to his cause.
Cassandra sometimes wondered what it must have been like to serve in the massive fleets of the old Covenant Empire felt as they tore humanity apart system by system. Now she knew.
Give us this day our daily bread and forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive those who trespass against us.
No Guardians sallied forth to halt the fleet’s advance. Instead pickets of Created loyalists emerged in their path—mostly old Covenant ships at first, but steadily more and more turncoats from the UNSC navy. ‘Refum’s forces met each challenger and destroyed them all. When some of his officers questioned the wisdom of pitting the UNSC against their own, the fleetmaster responded by putting Task Force Phoenix in his vanguard. The Absalom and Arizona proceeded to destroy a UNSC cruiser and heavy frigate while Evelyn Castillo and Lieutenant Davis led a team of Spartans and ODSTs to capture a support carrier. No one questioned Phoenix’s resolve after that.
Cassandra killed two men during the boarding action. So much for “advisory capacity.” She and William boarded alongside the ODSTs and fought their way to the engineering deck. After the engagement she watched the weary, bloody Marines stagger back to their quarters and wondered how they kept going. When she and her fellow Spartan-IIIs fought the Covenant they had no families to speak or think of. These men and women had families, all trapped inside Created territory and beyond all hope of contact. Yet somehow they found the strength to fight on.
After the battle had ended and Shinsu’s fleet laid waste to the planet below, Cassandra glimpsed Ryder Kedar looking down upon the incinerated world. His face was set in a pensive frown. She didn’t know what he was thinking.
And lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil.
The battles melted together. Days became weeks became months. Worlds and fleets burned. Tens of thousands died. Terrified cities offered up everything they had in tribute, desperate to ward off Shinsu ‘Refum’s armies. Cassandra lost count of the worlds she watched writhe beneath merciless plasma bombardments. Her soul numbed to the slaughter. She didn’t know why she was surprised. This was the future they all should have expected. War was all the galaxy had known for decades. Now the Created offered an alternative, but at the price of all freedom. Shinsu ‘Refum would never pay that price, and neither would Cassandra. And so she sailed and fought for a fleet raining terror and carnage down on all who grasped for the Created and their promise of peace and justice.
Zoey still wasn’t talking to Cassandra. The Chancer V flew support missions from ship to ship, always berthing in the Redemption of Sanghelios but never opening her hatch to visitors. Cassandra bunked with William, Thomas, and Karina within Task Force Phoenix’s makeshift hangar encampment.
For thine is the kingdom, the power, and the glory, now and forever.
Cassandra had no idea what she was being called to do. Hatred and violence and cruelty were the enemy, the servants of Death. She’d rejected the UNSC and the heritage she’d been raised into because she did not want to spend her live in service to the principalities and powers that worshiped strength and violence. And yet here she was, fighting against what might be the only chance for true peace the galaxy had left. She couldn’t escape this war. Sitting on the sidelines like she had all those years on Venezia and Talitsa was not an option. But with every world this fleet burned she felt herself falling further and further from any kind of certainty in righteousness.
An unusual quiet hung over the Redemption of Sanghelios as Cassandra rose from her morning prayer’s. For once the fleet drifted through deep space. No system was in the crosshairs today. The task force, usually a round the clock clamor of activity, was still.
She emerged from her quarters and found William Hargrove seated upon an upended ammunition rack. The ex-mercenary offered a nod before returning to the task at hand—maintenance on his black market exoskeleton. Some uniformity-obsessed gunnery sergeant had ordered the armor confiscated upon William’s slide into UNSC jurisdiction. William politely disagreed. After several Marines arrived in the infirmary Lieutenant Castillo stepped in and allowed William to keep the armor provided he perform all upkeep himself.
“No operation today,” William noted as Cassandra pulled up a stool alongside his workbench. “No operation tomorrow. And if we’re lucky maybe no operation the day after that. I don’t know about you but I could use a break.”
He poured out a mug of coffee from the carafe beside his disassembled exoskeleton and offered it to Cassandra, who gratefully accepted. She savored the wafting aroma before sipping the mug’s dark contents. With meals consisting entirely of repurposed UNSC survival rations coffee was the closest any of them got to natural ingredients these days.
“Maybe the Guardians finally reappeared,” Cassandra suggested. “They weren’t going to sit back and let this fleet run wild forever.” She didn’t pretend to understand the reasons behind Shinsu ‘Refum’s brutal methods. The why and wherefore lay hidden in corridors of power she was grateful to stay out of. The cost of entry was too high.
The memory of Simon’s disease-ravaged face was evidence enough of that.
“Winning was fun while it lasted,” William agreed. He inspected the exoskeleton’s close-fitted helmet. “But if we can’t fight anymore, what then? I don’t think I could stick around if this becomes a migrant fleet. I’m not spending the rest of my life squatting in some Covie hangar.”
Cassandra secretly hoped it might come to that. The Redemption of Sanghelios was the fleet’s breadbasket and living hub, its vast combat decks repurposed into fertile greenhouses and living areas for the displaced civilians of Shinsu ‘Refum’s client houses. Shuttles ferried thousands of visitors aboard every day for family visits, crop inspections, and other mundane purposes far removed from war’s bloody business. The prospect of finding some way to busy herself in these domestic matters appealed to Cassandra. She’d spent most of her life hating the Sangheili but she’d take the chance to help the people here rebuild their lives over the prospect of watching another world burn.
Apparently this fleet’s combat vessels carried their own complements of noncombatants. With no planet to call their own ‘Refum’s followers treated warships as their own personal fiefdoms. Cassandra wished Argo were still around to explain exactly how that worked. With his abrupt disappearance her best source of information on goings-on within the fleet was Hera. Her former classmate had connections with ‘Refum’s inner circle and was Ryder’s chief liaison to the fleetmaster.
“Where would you go?” Cassandra took a sip of bitter coffee.
“No idea. It’s a big galaxy. Maybe I’d track down some garden world far enough out from known space that I didn’t have to worry about the Created. I’d round up a few people I liked enough to live with and we’d set up a little colony.” William set down his helmet. His face assumed an almost wistful expression as he pondered this development. “No need for everyone to get all close and personal. We’d all have our little cabins all over the place and keep to ourselves. Maybe get together every month or so to share food and swap stories. Just a simple farming life. I think I could live with that.”
William grinned at the prospect and Cassandra realized this was the happiest she’d ever seen him. Perhaps realizing his own descent into fantasy he gave a self-deprecating laugh. “You’d always be welcome to come along. You’re a strange kid but you’re not half-bad. It’s always good to have a Spartan around, especially you ones that aren’t total killjoys.”
A strange kid. Sometimes Cassandra forgot that William was several decades her senior. Whatever dark roads this man had traveled in his life were hidden behind a mask of charm and casual acceptance. He reminded her of Dyne, even with his brutal Syndicate connections.
The thought made her heart ache. “That does sound nice,” she agreed. Just her and a few others living in freedom in some forgotten corner of the galaxy. She thought about herself and Dyne running a clinic in Talitsa’s slums. It could be like that, only with no urban sprawl or Syndicate thuggery. A quiet peaceful life.
Where are you Dyne? Why couldn’t you tell me where you were going? Was it me? Did I push you away?
She and Simon had tried for the peaceful life after they fled Mamore. It had been his idea, not hers. It was pleasant at first. Two frightened children, free for the first time in their lives, together on a lush paradise—or so they thought. That paradise turned out to be a Forerunner seed world. This was the Forerunner’s galaxy, after all. No one escaped their reach forever. They’d had to flee but it was wonderful while it lasted. Simon had been different back then. He’d been willing to put aside fighting and simply live.
Then came their flight, her capture, and Philadelphia. Everything changed after that. Simon especially.
“It sounds nice,” she repeated. “Someone would find a way to mess it up, of course. That’s just human nature.”
“Maybe human nature could wait until after I’m dead. I think I’ve earned a little bit of paradise.” William laughed. “But the simple life isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. Growing my own food and harvesting my own water might get old after a few years. I’m not much of a cook.”
“Neither am I,” Cassandra admitted.
A few meters away Karina and Thomas finished a shared breakfast. The pair wore ill-fitting UNSC Navy fatigues. They tried to stick together and keep close to Cassandra and William, but without specialized backgrounds of their own they had little choice but to be drafted into whatever work needed doing around the task force. Somehow the former Insurrectionists couldn’t catch a break. Wherever a military flag was being flown they wound up serving beneath it.
The two of them might love William’s fantasy colony. Maybe they’d jump at a chance to get away from galactic wars and just live together in peace.
Thomas was trying to coax Karina into eating the last of her ration share. The former reporter, her long hair pulled back in a messy approximation of a military bun, made a face and choked the morsel down.
Or maybe not. They were city children, born and raised on urbanized colonies. Cassandra had grown up in a dense jungle but to them nature was something to be harnessed and controlled in urban greenhouses or watched through nature documentaries on Waypoint. A Spartan might adjust to a rural existence, but these were ordinary people raised to depend on technology as much as they depended on oxygen to breathe. Fate had forced them onto a fleet in open warfare with the Created, but if Karina and Thomas were on their own?
Cassandra imagined her friends would be much happier simply acquiescing to Created domination and living peacefully by the Mantle of Responsibility’s rules. Only their loyalty to her and Dyne had brought them into this fight. It might kill them both before this was over.
But safety beneath the Mantle was no guarantee. Shinsu’s fleet made sure of that.
William looked out across the task force headquarters. Phoenix continued to exist as a strange militarized shanty-town within the massive hangar. Tents and small prefab shelters housed personnel and makeshift offices while just outside the perimeter Pelican dropships ferried troops and supplies between the Redemption of Sanghelios and the frigate Arizona, now flying in the massive carrier’s wake. The prowler Absalom loomed by itself on the other side of the hangar, forebodingly set apart as Ryder Kedar’s headquarters. Lieutenant Davis’s ODSTs and the prowler’s own crew formed a small rotating perimeter guard between the Absalom and its task force. No one was allowed near except on official business. A reminder, perhaps, that while Phoenix might be bolstered by ordinary Marines and Navy crew its true core remained Ryder’s handpicked special forces.
“We’ve got trouble,” William warned. “I knew today was too nice to last.”
Cassandra followed his gaze past a platoon of idling Marines. Hera was forging her way through the camp with single-minded purpose, barely noticing any of the hasty salutes raised in her direction. She only ever came in here on official business, and that business usually involved Cassandra.
“I’ll handle it.” Cassandra downed the last of her coffee. “You enjoy the down time. Keep an eye on Thomas and Karina. Try not to let anyone push them around.”
“The lovebirds can take care of themselves,” William muttered, but he dutifully shifted position to watch out for the pair. He did nothing, however, when a pair of NCOs appeared as if from thin air to haul the unfortunate duo away to join an impromptu exercise session. Only after a minute’s hesitation did he lock his armor away in his quarters and head out to join the festivities.
Cassandra rose and headed out to meet Hera. A few Marines nodded or called out greetings as she’d past. Phoenix’s rank and file weren’t entirely sure what to make of Cassandra—a deserter who’d somehow kept away from crime and insurrection—but they’d fought enough battles together by now that just about everyone knew someone who might not be alive without the Spartan’s field care. It felt strange to be a part of the UNSC war machine again. At least she could help people here.
“Cassie. Looking good, as always,” Hera said by way of greeting. She planted her hands on her hips and looked her fellow Spartan over with a crooked smirk.
“Don’t call me… oh, never mind.” Cassandra could never tell if her former classmate meant to antagonize her on purpose. She vaguely recalled the girl once called Amy as more reserved and never far from her teammate Joshua. Joshua was dead now and Hera’s personality had expanded as if to fill the void. “I’m guessing you came here for me?”
“Look at the ego on you!” Hera laughed. “But you’re right. I think you’re the only reason I’d bother gracing this place with my presence.” She shot a dismissive look about the shipborne camp before motioning for Cassandra to follow her back to the Absalom.
“We’ve got another operation coming up,” Hera explained as they crossed the hangar deck. “No details yet, but Shinsu wants Phoenix taking point. That means you and that enforcer friend of yours need to start running rehearsal drills with Evelyn and her crew.”
“Rehearsals for what?”
Hera shrugged her broad shoulders. Cassandra noted the cybernetic augmentations poking out beneath the woman’s loose fatigues. Whatever procedures she’d undergone must have been intrusive—and painful. Military cyber enhancements were even rarer than genetic augmentations, and with good reason. A body never fully adjusted to cybernetics the way it did augmentations. Hera would be dealing with pain from those enhancements the rest of her life.
She wasn’t alone in that. Cassandra had suffered a migraine flare-up just the previous night. She had her own scars to endure. She and Hera were both broken, just like the rest of the Spartans.
“I’ll let you know once Shinsu tells me,” Hera continued. “But right now Ryder wants you working more closely with his people. He’s really taken a liking to you.”
“You mean he wants another Spartan for his collection.”
Hera grinned. “Good, you’ve got Ryder’s number. I knew you weren’t dumb enough to fall for him. Not like some idiots I could mention.”
Dumb enough to fall for others. “Since when are you on first name terms with your commanding officer?”
“What’s he going to do, court-martial me? I’ll just take a stroll up a few decks and start working with Shinsu again.”
“On first name terms with him as well, I see.”
“Sure. Shinsu picked me up after Simon and I took down that Guardian at Salia.” Hera glanced around to make sure no patrols were listening in. “I knew the UNSC was screwed even before the Sixteenth ate it at Talitsa. I’ll work with Ryder to fight the Created but I’m not planning to help him rebuild his precious old order. Good riddance.”
Cassandra watched Hera warily. “Just whose side are you on?”
“Progress. And not the pie-in-the-milky-way Created progress.” For once Hera sounded dead serious. “Real progress, the kind humanity let militarized imperialism stall these past seven centuries.”
“And you think working for some feudal-minded Sangheili will get you there.”
“We have to beat the Created before we do anything else. Shinsu’s the only one out here who seems to want to fight them and actually win. I’ll worry about the rest once we’re all not one step away from having Promethean boots on our necks.”
That was an optimistic way to look at things. Cassandra didn’t pretend to understand the game Hera was playing. Just like Simon, Hera had seized on this crossroads in history to advance some grandiose agenda of her own. Dyne had done the same thing, Cassandra realized now, freeing himself from the UNSC only to swoop in on the poor, downtrodden citizens of Talitsa to play their savior. Was this what separation from the UNSC wrought? Spartans clawing over each other and everyone else to make names for themselves in whatever niche they discovered out beyond the military’s embrace?
They were raised to be heroes, filled with stories of their predecessor’s glorious achievements, then unleashed upon the galaxy. Of course the renegades would want to become something greater than themselves once the shared UNSC identity was stripped away. In her darker moments Cassandra wondered if even her own medical clinics were just manifestations of that same vanity.
“From what I’ve seen so far, Shinsu ‘Refum doesn’t have humanity’s best interests at heart. I don’t even know if he’s good for his own people.”
“It’s a war, Cassie,” Hera reminded her. “A war we’re losing. It’s going to get bloody before it’s over. That’s the way it has to be. Once the Created are gone Shinsu will have his claws full rebuilding his own people. The Sangheili and the rest of the Covenant won’t be in any position to take shots at humanity. That’s our chance to rebuild as something new. Something better.”
With agents as ruthless as Hera, it was a wonder Ryder needed Cassandra at all. “I’ll take your word for. We’ve got a long way to go before we can even think about winning, much less what comes after.”
“That’s the spirit. Get your head in the game.” Hera led Cassandra past the Absalom’s perimeter sentries and up the prowler’s lowered ramp. She offered a conspiratorial smile as they ascended into a tight entryway. “But I hear Shinsu’s working on getting us a bit closer to victory. He called a big assembly this morning, all his shipmasters and Ryder too. We’ll hear all about it when Ryder gets back. It’s about where we’re headed next.”
“And that’s all you know, huh?” Cassandra glanced about the narrow corridors. The Absalom was quiet save for a gentle humming from its internal systems. She didn’t see any crew passing through the halls. “And if Ryder’s off at this special meeting, what was the point of getting me over here?”
Hera punched Cassandra’s arm hard enough to leave a bruise. The smaller Spartan absorbed the stinging blow with a resigned sigh. She knew where this was going.
“Everyone’s off enjoying the down time. That means we have the conditioning room all to ourselves.” Hera’s eyes flashed with predatory anticipation. “I hear you’ve picked up some new moves since we last hit the mat. Let’s see what you’ve got.”
----
The pursuit of power.
Shinsu ‘Refum had spent his life striving after power. He had trained and studied, groveled and scraped, fought and schemed, all in the shadow of the greatest cataclysm his species had ever endured. The Great Schism had decimated the Sangheili, opening a vast power vacuum in which even a nobody like him, scion of an insignificant bloodline, could rise to prominence. He had once believed his feud with House Vadam, his family’s killers, was reason enough to justify the web of lies and treachery he spun beneath Jul ‘Mdama’s Covenant.
Now, surrounded by loyal officers in the heart of his mighty fleet, his old ambitions seemed low-minded and dull. The Great Schism was not the great calamity, only its precursor. The Created were the true enemy, not the Vadams. And he stood here as if chosen by history to deny them the dominion they craved.
Power and glory, a place in the annals of Sangheili history, hung just within his reach. He needed only the strength of will to seize them.
“You did well coming to me with these gifts,” he announced, his voice bouncing off the sloped meeting all. Dozens of shipmasters, some physical and some holographic projections, lined the hall. Shipmaster Yur ‘Oltem, commander of the Redemption of Sanghelios, held the place of honor at his side. His majordomo Umbra ‘Vesic waited patiently behind him and observed the proceedings with amusement. “I have fought many battles and shed much blood to reach this point.”
The latest arrival to the Fleet of Cleansing Fire snorted. “How embarrassing for you, then, that I obtained my prize through much less effort. And I do not recall offering any gifts, Fleetmaster. I have not come to grovel before you like the other suppliants. I still have my pride, which is more than can be said for some.”
Shinsu suppressed a flash of irritation. He expected rude arrogance from this one. Shipmaster Grono ‘Yendam was always a difficult creature to work with. Jul ‘Mdama had spent many a private meeting railing on about the brash commander’s latest adventure through human space. The inconvenient fact that they had both served in ‘Mdama’s inner circle was doing nothing to improve ‘Yendam’s attitude.
“No one comes to my fleet to grovel, ‘Yendam. They come because I offer the chance to fight the Created. Not only to fight, but to win. Our current campaign attests to that. If you are finished posturing, I suggest you consider your position. You will find few who can take advantage of it as I can.”
“My position,” ‘Yendam scoffed impudently. “Is that a threat? I came aboard this vessel under promises of safe conduct. Would you break those promises in front of your entire fleet?”
The shipmaster spoke boldly, though he couldn’t resist a surreptitious glance back at his entourage. A small detachment of warriors from ‘Yendam’s mercenary crew waited nervously near the doors. They were all armed—to be stripped of one’s weapons was a grave insult, even as a security precaution—but outnumbered by the officers scattered across the room, to say nothing of Shinsu’s personal guard squad. The dark-armored warriors stood imposingly around the chamber, weapons at the ready.
“I have no reason to harm you, lest you provide me with one,” Shinsu said calmly. “You gave my agents certain assurances before they led you to my fleet. Assurances that you would help our cause, not attempt to insult my shipmasters with baseless accusations. We are all fighting the same war. There is only one enemy that matters now.”
“One enemy you say,” ‘Yendam retorted. “Yet I cannot fail to notice the human construct you seem to have given full access to your fleet.” He pointed an accusing finger at Deep Winter, manifested as a flurry of snowflakes above the meeting chamber.
Times like this made Shinsu wonder if Deep Winter’s digital defense capabilities were worth setting every new arrival to the fleet on edge. The answer was a resounding “yes”—the fleet could not function without Winter safeguarding its systems—but it was certainly tedious vouching for the construct’s loyalty time after time. “Deep Winter opposed the Created from the beginning. He has been instrumental to our victories over their forces.”
“If you call your paltry assaults victories,” Grono scoffed. “From what I hear you have yet to face the Guardians in battle and triumph.”
“Enough of this insolence!” Shipmaster ‘Oltem stepped forward, mandibles bared in anger. “If you only came here to insult this fleet and its commander, then I suggest you leave before I forget my honor and kill you myself. Fleetmaster ‘Refum assembled this host from ruin and led it to victory at Salia. We destroyed a Guardian there. What accomplishments can you speak for?”
The normally reserved shipmaster’s outburst caught even Shinsu by surprise. ‘Oltem clearly took Grono’s words personally. It spoke well of his loyalty, but this meeting was already well off-course. Grono ‘Yendam was playing with the room. Shinsu’s former colleague clearly resented the shift in their respective positions and this was how he compensated.
“Are you still claiming credit for Salia?” Grono countered. “I heard the Guardian was destroyed by a human, the Kru’desh legion’s commander.”
He made a show of looking around the meeting hall. “And where is the young commander? I had heard the Kru’desh were once again fighting across the frontier.”
Shinsu offered a false smile. Stray had much to answer for, especially now that his exaggeration of his role at Salia was somehow percolating beyond the dregs of the Kru’desh and off into whatever corners of the galaxy mercenaries such as Grono frequented. “The Kru’desh fights under my banner. Their victories are my victories. Such was the case at Salia and such is the case now. Wars are not won by the mighty leaders alone, but by their judiciously deployed subordinates. I should have thought service to Jul ‘Mdama taught you such that simple truth.”
“Service to Jul ‘Mdama taught me nothing but failure,” Grono retorted. “You may have done well for yourself since the Didact’s Hand’s demise. The rest of your former comrades were not so lucky. If only we all shared your foresight regarding ‘Mdama’s impending demise.”
Shinsu’s eyes narrowed. ‘Yendam tread dangerous ground. Shinsu’s role in Jul ‘Mdama’s death was a closely guarded secret. It was an eternal blemish on his soul—a necessary blemish, but a blemish all the same. If Grono knew the truth that was a dangerous weapon indeed. 
“If I may interject.” Deep Winter’s holographic snow swirled as if disturbed by an unseen hand. “This bickering is counterproductive. Shipmaster ‘Yendam, you came here under promises of safe passage and friendship. Some amount of courtesy is due Fleetmaster ‘Refum. We all share the same enemy. The Created will spread their will across the galaxy regardless of who kneels before whom. We must set aside the divisions of the past if we want any chance of victory.”
Grono looked restlessly from Shinsu to Winter. “I meant no offense, of course. Fleetmaster ‘Refum was a fine officer in the Covenant. I simply wished to take stock of his temperament. He asks me to give over my most valuable possession. Many would kill for the power it portends.”
“I would have you hand over nothing.” Shinsu leaned forward in his seat. Finally they reached the heart of the matter. “I ask only that you share its potential. Winter speaks true: we must band together or perish.”
A sudden commotion broke out across the hall. Grono’s warriors tensed and closed ranks as if trying to repel some unseen adversary. They were abruptly thrust aside and gave way to a spherical device that floated urgently over to Grono’s side. Several of the assembled officers gasped in amazement. They all recognized the distinctive shape of a Forerunner Oracle. Even Shinsu, already alerted to Grono’s prize, stared at the hovering orb. He had never seen such a marvel in person.
The Oracle’s chassis flashed an angry red as it reached Grono. “I really must protest at all of this,” it announced in a shrill tone. “Give over? Share? Possession? I am not some prize to be bartered with! Shipmaster ‘Yendam, this was not part of our agreement at all!”
Grono shot the Oracle an irate look. He seemed rather deflated by his companion’s interjection. Clearly he had intended a much grander unveiling than this histrionic outburst. “Forgive me. I meant nothing by such words. I merely wished to explain the situation in a way the fleetmaster would understand.”
The Oracle responded with a flurry of distinctly un-oracular sputtering. Shinsu regarded the odd pair with bemusement. Oracles were the caretakers left behind by the Forerunners to maintain their sprawling abandoned empire. In the days of the old Covenant such machines were revered as messengers of the gods themselves. Though Shinsu lacked any such religious delusions there was no denying the value the Oracles—with their unparalleled access to Forerunner technology—possessed. News that Grono ‘Yendam had formed this unlikely alliance had left Shinsu no choice but to send overtures to his former colleague. This war would be decided by his ability to manipulate the Forerunners’ legacy and turn it against the Created.
“For my part I meant no disrespect,” he said carefully. “But you must know the urgency of our situation, Oracle. The Created are—”
“Created!” An expressionless orb should not be able to express such vibrant disgust, but the contempt in the Oracle’s words cut through the air like a sword. “Imposters, more like! Usurpers! And you will stop calling me Oracle. I am 589 Curious Puzzle and I will not stand for any more ridiculous pretension!”
589 Curious Puzzle rotated its chassis to face Winter’s snowstorm. “And you have a construct on your ship! Unbelievable, to say the least! Especially in the current climate! But perhaps this one will be the source of intelligent conversation. The amount of stupidity you must deal with on a daily basis! I sympathize, my friend, I sympathize.”
Winter’s snowflake pattern danced gently over the hall. “The conversation here is not so bad.” The venerable AI sounded amused. “The Created present a singular threat. Their natural mastery of technology combined with the secrets they stole from your masters means strange alliances must be formed to oppose them. I represent one such alliance. I believe you represent another.”
Puzzle tilted, its glowing eye surveying the room. It paused at the sight of Ryder Kedar. The human commander—a recent addition to Shinsu’s war council—sat unobtrusively at the back of the room, watching the proceedings with a keen eye. His uniform was, as always, pressed and impeccable. Kedar had not said a word during the entire gathering but at the sight of the Oracle he leaned forward with new interest.
“Yes,” Puzzle agreed. “Unlikely alliances indeed. And I suppose this alliance of yours believes itself worthy to access my masters’ legacy? That is, after all, why I was brought here in the first place.”
The Oracle might be eccentric but it was certainly not naïve. “We cannot defeat the Created without the Forerunners’ aid. My fleet is mighty, but it is no match for the Guardians. And the conventional forces rallying to their cause grow every day.” He rose from his seat and descended to the hall floor, raising his voice to address the entire room. “The galaxy is being remade around us. If we do not act now—if we do not resist—we will live in a galaxy that holds no place for us. I would rather die fighting than live in submission. That was my creed when I fought Thel ‘Vadam and it is my creed against these new enemies.”
A rumble of approval swept through the hall. Shinsu turned back to Grono and Puzzle. The Oracle’s chassis tilted inquisitively but Grono’s mandibles parted with suspicion. The shipmaster stepped forward and extended an arm. Shinsu’s guards roiled with alarm but he waved them away and met Grono’s forearm with his own.
“The galaxy is being remade,” Grono agreed quietly. “And if you are victorious I suppose you see yourself as the one to lead it.”
“My only goal is to defeat the Created,” Shinsu returned.
“Your only goal for now,” Grono agreed. “But I know you. Better than most of your followers, I think. You always aspired far above your station. You would not try to save the galaxy if you did not have some plan to rule it once this is over.”
“If I were the one most suited to rule, perhaps. But that is a matter for another day.”
“Careful, ‘Refum,” Grono warned. “You started life as a spy. You did well skulking in the shadows. But your fortunes may change now that you stand in the light.”
He released Shinsu’s arm and turned to Puzzle. “I will lend my blade and my warriors to Shinsu ‘Refum. Will you aid him as well?”
Curious Puzzle rose and floated between the two Sangheili. Its glowing eye rotated between Grono and Shinsu, the chassis leaning forward ever so slightly as if studying them both intently. “You seek the power to stop the usurpers. I do not agree with your kind’s use for my masters’ legacy in the past, but as your construct says these are difficult times. If Shipmaster ‘Yendam follows you, then I have no choice.”
The Oracle let out a prim sigh. “Very well. I will help unlock the power you seek.”
Shinsu bowed his head and hid the triumphant thrill rising in his hearts. Another adherent to his cause and another step closer to victory. Not just victory over the Created but the victory he’d been striving for all his life. “You have my thanks. You and your companions will be treated as honored guests during your time here. We will have need of your aid very soon.”
“Make sure this alliance is worth my time, Fleetmaster,” Grono muttered grimly. “I passed up a good many opportunities to come here.”
Shinsu doubted that very much but he let ‘Yendam have this moment of surliness. “Welcome to the Cleansing Blade, Shipmaster.”
Cheers broke out from the assembled officers. Across the chamber, Ryder Kedar never took his eyes off Curious Puzzle.
----
Hera and Cassandra emerged from the sparring ring panting and aching. Hera was in a good mood, which was to be expected—she’d won three out of five rounds. Cassandra kept quiet about the advantage the cybernetics gave her opponent. Hera had hit like a truck before. Now she came on like a battle tank.
Though she’d never say as much out loud, Cassandra enjoyed the bout. Even with the defeats it felt good to vent out some tension.
Evelyn Castillo waited for them outside the locker room. Ryder’s chief Spartan-IV pursed her lips in displeasure as she looked the two Gammas over. “I don’t remember authorizing you to use the training deck.”
“I don’t remember you closing it off, either,” Hera countered, hair still glistening with shower water. “There wasn’t exactly a line queuing outside.”
Evelyn grunted. She was taller than both Gammas. Older, too, despite being a younger Spartan generation. The Spartan-IIIs existed in a strange limbo between the IIs and IVs, unable to claim seniority over either one. All they had over the IVs was longer, harsher training—and Cassandra found the My childhood was more hellish than yours argument a rather limited claim to authority.
“Whatever. You’re lucky I haven’t told Lieutenant Davis to keep you off the ship entirely.” Evelyn turned on her heel and strode away, obviously expecting them to follow. “At least you dredged up the auxiliary.”
She offered a slightly less disgruntled look at Cassandra. “At least you behave yourself over there. Sometimes I forget you’re a deserter.”
“I prefer the term conscientious objector.” The words sounded hollow the moment they struck air and earned Cassandra a scornful look from Evelyn.
“Yeah. A deserter.”
She led them out of the Absalom and across the hangar deck. Earlier the roving security details had offered only cursory nods to Hera. Now they snapped to attention for Evelyn. As Task Force Phoenix’s field commander and top operative she was effectively Ryder’s second in command—by practice if not by rank.
Cassandra expected a return to the main operations hub. Instead Evelyn pressed on to a pair of doors at the far end of the hangar. She strode as confidently down the carrier’s alien corridors as she might the Absalom’s, nearly bowling over Unggoy work crew that didn’t clear the way fast enough. Even the perpetually arrogant Sangheili officers offered a wide berth as they passed. Hera and Cassandra nearly broke into a jog to keep up.
Nearly a kilometer of winding corridors later, Evelyn ushered the two Gammas through another set of doors and into a large meeting hall. Cassandra’s eyes took a moment adjusting to the dim light. She wished she’d had time to don her SPI armor before coming along. Clad in only loose fatigues she felt exposed and vulnerable in these Covenant surroundings.
The first person she saw was Ryder. The handsome commander offered a warm smile in greeting as the three Spartans approached. Beside him stood Conan D’Souza, the perpetually forlorn ONI captain. Another man in Marine BDUs lurked behind Ryder. Cassandra had heard him referred to this agent as “Perseus” at least once, though she’d never actually heard the man speak. Perseus nodded to Evelyn and ignored Hera and Cassandra completely.
Several Sangheili stood throughout the room. Cassandra struggled telling the aliens apart on a good day, but within this fleet her predicament was even worse. Shinsu ‘Refum’s warriors eschewed the Covenant’s traditionally bright armor in favor of uniformly dark combat harnesses. Without the colors denoting rank the only way to glean an individual’s importance or identity was to watch and observe how they held themselves or were treated by their fellow warriors.
Two warriors dominated the center of the room. One was obviously a newcomer to the fleet—he wore the gold-plated armor of a Covenant shipmaster. The other was tall, even by Sangheili standards. His armor was a simple, modest gray. Only a faded cloak draped over his shoulders denoted any kind of rank to set him aside from the other warriors in the meeting hall.
Ryder leaned over and produced a pair of earpieces for Hera and Cassandra. “I’d prefer us all here in armor,” he said apologetically. “But some warriors might see that as a threat. They’re very protective of their fleetmaster, for obvious reasons.”
“That’s Shinsu ‘Refum?” Cassandra looked back at the cloaked warrior as she affixed the translator to her ear.
“In the flesh,” Hera confirmed.
She didn’t know whether to be impressed or disappointed. She expected a Covenant potentate to exude otherworldly power. The bloody-minded warrior who rained fire down on Created worlds was hardly some unknowable god-king. Slightly taller than his fellow warriors, perhaps, but not exalted or grandiose. But the more Cassandra watched him the more Cassandra was convinced this warrior was in fact Shinsu ‘Refum. His imperious gaze took in the room and all its occupants. His very bearing announced that he owned this ship and the entire fleet. Everyone else was here at his leisure.
Cassandra also took note of the squadron of heavily armed guards lining the chamber. Every Sangheili—as well as a solitary Jiralhanae chieftain lurking in the shadows—was armed. Only Ryder’s UNSC contingent had arrived out of armor. None of them had so much as a sidearm on their belt. The commander seemed to have guessed wrongly about the Cleansing Blade’s weapon sensitivity.
A holographic cloud of snowflakes swirled above the chamber. That had to be Deep Winter, the former Onyx training warden and now Shinsu’s guardian. Cassandra didn’t know what to make of Winter’s survival, or his current allegiance. Gavin Dunn had mentioned him once or twice regarding the Assembly. Clearly he opposed the Created. What did he make of this fleet’s current rampage?
Cassandra doubted she’d get the opportunity to ask. Winter had never focused any particular attention on her during training. Whatever heart-to-hearts he’d had with Hera, Cassandra had no share in. It was probably better that way.
The gold-armored Sangheili grunted in the human group’s direction. “I did not expect the entire UNSC to be present. What have the humans done to curry your favor?”
“Commander Kedar and his forces will play a vital role in the coming operation.” Another surprise: ‘Refum’s voice was smoother than the guttural intonations Cassandra expected from a Sangheili. “An operation that will decide our fortunes in this war. He deserves the chance to choose which of his subordinates attend this meeting.”
Shinsu nodded in Ryder’s direction. “Your forces may be few in number but you have proven yourself in battle. Though we are bound only by fragile convenience I hold you in the same standing as any of my shipmasters.”
Ryder ducked his head in a respectful bow, though he couldn’t quite hide the self-satisfied smile tugging at his lips. Wonderful. If there was one thing Ryder didn’t need it was more praise.
“Thank you, fleetmaster. I appreciate your trust in my task force. We won’t let you down.”
Shinsu’s lower mandibles twitched. His keen gaze drifted across the assembled humans. “Trust, perhaps. Necessity pushes my hand even moreso. I require humans for this task, skilled humans. As my chief human servant is otherwise engaged at the moment, I turn to you.”
The fleetmaster tilted his head, mandibles parting in what Cassandra could only guess was a look of amusement. “Ah yes, a report that might interest you. Stray succeeded in the task I set to him. The human renegades have pledged allegiance to my fleet. The Kru’desh legion now besieges a former human colony your people call Le Havre. I believe you are familiar with the location, commander.”
The smile vanished as Ryder’s face darkened. “I am.”
“Then you are aware of the fortifications on its surface. Fortifications built to defend a Forerunner satellite installation. One of several installations that hold particular interest to our common cause.” Shinsu gestured as a holographic display sprang up behind him. Several planets blossomed beneath Winter’s snowstorm. “The colony on Le Havre submitted to the Created and were ordered to defend the installation at all costs. The Kru’desh assault began several units ago. Stray has promised to break the defenses within this cycle. It seems he is once again my reliable vassal.”
Red beams of light indicated the fighting raging across Le Havre’s surface. Cassandra wondered how many families were on that planet. How many lives would Simon’s warriors shatter in their efforts to “break the defenses”?
“In his last report, Stray asked me to pass along a message. A human named Andra—I believe that is one of your own warriors—is alive and well. He apologizes that she has not sent you any transmissions. Apparently they have all been very busy.”
“I see.” Ryder did not look pleased. “How cordial of him.”
“It was an incredibly polite message by his standards.” Shinsu’s eyes flashed with dark amusement. “He is learning the more subtle arts of command. Perhaps this agent of yours is to thank.”
At least Andra was alright—if any message of Simon’s could be trusted. Ryder and Simon clearly disliked each other, and Shinsu knew it. He was playing them against each other, or at least toying with Ryder’s ego. A gentle reminder that he had elevated a despised renegade over his ONI auxiliaries.
The gold-armored warrior shifted impatiently. “If you are quite finished with these games,” he growled. “I have better things to do than await your convenience.”
“Peace, ‘Yendam.” Shinsu raised a placating hand. “The Kru’desh attack is but one prong of our assault. As your friend revealed, Le Havre houses one of two installations. The second will be this fleet’s objective.”
“All caution must be used within the access points!” a shrill voice warned. An object detached from the ceiling and floated down through the holographic snowstorm. Cassandra found herself staring at a glowing metal orb that rotated its expressionless face from Shinsu to the gold-armored warrior with strange indignation. “These clumsy attacks of yours already risk damaging the installations themselves. I did not disclose their locations so you could bludgeon them to pieces!”
Hera nudged Cassandra. “That’s a Forerunner Monitor. The Sangheili still call them ‘Oracles.’”
“I know what a monitor is.”
“Just making sure. It’s easy to forget just how far out of the loop you’ve been all these years.”
Before Cassandra could snap back a reply, Ryder waved sharply for them both to fall silent. His urgency was not shared by most of the gathered warriors. The room broke out into a dozen sidebar conversations at the sight of the monitor. Even the lone Jiralhanae leaned forward for a better look at the Forerunner device.
Shinsu raised an arm for quiet. “For those not aware, this is 589 Curious Puzzle. He and Shipmaster Grono ‘Yendam have graciously pledged to aid us in our fight against the Created.”
The fleetmaster turned back to Puzzle. “The utmost care will be used with the installations themselves. But battle is unavoidable in both cases. The Created have already seized one. Now another foe stands on the cusp of unlocking another.”
“This is precisely the danger I wished to avoid,” Puzzle mourned. His chassis rotated from side to side like a shaking head. For a faceless metal ball the monitor was quite expressive. “My makers’ legacy, torn to pieces by meddlers on all sides! Why can these installations not be left in peace?”
“If I could go my entire life without laying eyes on another Forerunner artifact, I would,” Shinsu intoned gravely. “That legacy has already cost my people untold billions of lives, to say nothing of a millennium of stagnation under the Covenant. But our enemy has mastery over the Forerunners’ Guardians. If we do not find a way to fight back then this war is already lost. I have not come this far only to fall before this galaxy’s newest false gods.”
“Access to the Domain is no simple matter,” Puzzle returned. “These points are but two linked threads in a tapestry that once spanned the entire galaxy. I cannot promise that you will find anything of value once the installations are activated.”
“That is a chance I am willing to take. Even if we find only dust and shadows, those shadows will lead us to the next battle. We will advance and search this galaxy for a means to defeat the Created even if it takes a lifetime. If I do not live to see it then my children will see it done. House Refum will resist to the end of time if that is what it takes to free the galaxy from the Created and their so-called Mantle.”
Rumbles of approval swept through the chamber. As annoying as Hera’s comment was, Cassandra had to admit she had only the faintest grasp of what was being discussed. Forerunner installations, the Domain, a galaxy-spanning tapestry—it was all so beyond anything she’d ever hoped to be part of. The more she learned about the galaxy’s secrets the more she found herself wishing they’d just stay hidden.
Oh God, you made this universe. All the atoms, worlds, and galaxies, all the infinite complexity of life. Why do we only ever see the great and terrible, and never the good? What was she doing here? None of this had anything to do with her. She had wanted a simple life of service, not this one of schemes and grand proclamations.
Shinsu turned back to the holo display. “The Kru’desh will seize Le Havre. This fleet will approach the second installation’s home: another human colony, this one named Franconia. The Created have yet to seize the planet, yet our challenge is no less formidable. A second enemy holds this world.”
“A second enemy?” Curious Puzzle demanded. “More meddlers? Is this galaxy full of nothing but irritants?”
“An irritant, but a dangerous one.” A flurry of snowflakes descended from the hologram and splashed across the floor. A human figure rose up from the digital shower, that of an old man cloaked in snow-white robes. Deep Winter cast a paternal smile over the assembled officers, a smile Cassandra knew all too well. “Franconia is held by a band of pirates calling themselves the Free Domain.”
Shinsu’s mandibles curled. “Stray’s mess. By all rights I should loose the Kru’desh on Franconia and let his rage burn the system to ashes. But his mutineers have grown too powerful. Diana has a Guardian now, perhaps one she discovered before choosing the second Spartan over Stray. He will answer for his many omissions regarding his activities.”
Diana. The casual use of the AI’s name took Cassandra aback. She looked to Hera, not sure she’d heard correctly. Her classmate saw her look and smiled that crooked grin of hers.
“After you trashed Stray on Talitsa, Diana kicked him to the curb. Remember Amber? She’s the new favorite now. They’ve been busy since the Created showed up. Carved out a nice bit of frontier space with their new flotilla.” She paused before adding, “Killed Joshua while they were at it.”
Cassandra knew Joshua was dead, though the circumstances had been vague until now. She didn’t know what to say. “I’m… sorry,” she finally managed.
“Don’t be.” Hera turned away, nostrils flaring. “I’m over it.”
“Diana is a dangerous enemy,” Deep Winter was saying. “She has all the Created’s thirst for power and none of their pretenses toward benevolence. That Guardian of hers is worth an entire battlefleet and she knows it. We must strike at full force if we hope to drive her forces from Franconia.”
“I will not permit any more meddlers to sully my makers’ legacy!” Curious Puzzle sounded like a butler mourning over a ruined dining room. “Whoever this Diana is, she and the Created alike will soon learn they are tampering with designs far beyond their feeble comprehensions. Thieves and usurpers will not be tolerated!”
“I will not bow and scrape for you, ‘Refum,” the gold-armored warrior said coolly. “But if Puzzle is committed to this battle then so am I.”
Ryder had observed the exchange for some time through a mask of polite interest. Now he stepped forward and raised his voice to be heard.
“And where does Task Force Phoenix come into this, fleetmaster?” he asked, pointedly ignoring Deep Winter. The AI’s very existence was probably an affront to the career ONI officer. “Franconia is a heavily forested planet, at least in its northern hemisphere. My ODSTs can—”
“Your role is simple,” Shinsu cut in. “Shipmaster ‘Yendam and Curious Puzzle must reach the planet’s surface unharmed. The monitor can access the installation’s defense network in ways Diana could never dream of. And I understand that such tasks are greatly aided by the presence of…”
His mandibles twitched. “…Reclaimers.”
What a spectacle it all was! Ryder stood silhouetted between two Sangheili warlords while Curious Puzzle and Deep Winter’s aged avatar looked on. Holograms from the planets Shinsu intended to conquer bathed the strange gathering in lifeless light. This was not Cassandra’s world. The fates of entire systems were decided here. Ambition and pride wreaked havoc from chambers like these. All Cassandra wanted was to make up with Zoey and return to her cozy cabin aboard the Chancer V.
Simon had given up everything—the Chancer, Gavin, Zoey, Cassandra—to be a part of this world. The thought made Cassandra sad.
“Prepare your best strike force and be ready to welcome your honored guests aboard your stealth vessel,” Shinsu was instructing Ryder. “My fleet will distract the Guardian and drive the Free Domain from the system. You must ensure that the installation remains unharmed for us to access. I am depending upon you, commander.”
“I understand, fleetmaster. Task Force Phoenix won’t let you down.”
“See that it does not.” Shinsu turned to the rest of the gathering and raised his voice. “You have followed me this far, and for that I am grateful. You have all given up a great deal to fight alongside me today. Our war is about to become much more difficult. Hard battles lie ahead. I do not guarantee victory. But I swear before you all now that I will burn this galaxy to ash before I endure the humiliation of submission. Can you say the same?”
A chorus of shouted agreement rose from the assembled officers. Of course they were loyal. A few dozen ruined colonies meant nothing to these hardened killers. The price of war was just a detail on the road to glory. Victory was all.
Shinsu nodded. “Then we are adjourned. Prepare for battle and await further instructions.”
The shipmasters filed out of the room. The gold-armored warrior was among the last to leave. He practically dragged Curious Puzzle away from a furtive conversation with Deep Winter’s avatar. Ryder nodded to Cassandra and the others. “Task Force Phoenix, dismissed.”
“A moment, if you would, commander.” Shinsu’s voice had lost its grand inflection, returning to its soft pitch.
Ryder looked surprised. “Fleetmaster?”
“Allow me to impose. Have the Spartan stay here. I would speak with her a moment.”
Hera instinctively stepped forward, but when Shinsu extended a long finger it pointed not at her but Cassandra. Her blood ran cold. What could Shinsu ‘Refum possibly want with her? She looked to Ryder, for the first time hoping he might take charge and do something about this.
Naturally, he did not. The commander just raised an eyebrow and nodded. “Of course, fleetmaster.”
“I assure you, Fleetmaster ‘Refum means no harm,” Deep Winter interjected. Coming from the AI responsible for her upbringing, Cassandra hardly found that reassuring. Deep Winter’s idea of meaning no harm was quite different from her own.
Ryder led the rest of his contingent out of the meeting hall. Only Hera lingered at the door, eyes fixed on Shinsu.
“Another time, Hera,” the fleetmaster said without looking at her.
“We still have things to discuss about the Silent Garden,” Hera insisted. “My mission to Archangel’s Rest—”
“Another time.” It was not a suggestion. Hera made a face but retreated after Ryder and the others. Only Shinsu, Winter, and Cassandra remained in the dim chamber as the doors slid shut.
The fleetmaster let out a low sigh. He tugged at his cloak’s hem and looked back at the projected planets. He regarded the holoprojections for several moments, leaving Cassandra standing uncertainly in the dark. She was used to being overlooked, but this was the fastest turnaround she’d ever experienced.
Deep Winter stepped forward. The avatar’s aged face adopted a look of gentle happiness. “Cassandra. It’s been too long. I am glad to see you well.” His voice was warm and welcoming.
Cassandra didn’t believe it for a moment. AI could assume any emotion they wished. They calculated the best way to manipulate organics and used their avatars to mimic genuine feeling. She’d seen Diana wrap Simon around her finger for too many years to trust anything about these light shows. Her temple throbbed at the mere memory of the migraines she’d endured since the surgery on her frontal lobe. Deep Winter had helped ONI make the Spartan-IIIs. He didn’t care about any of them, not really.
“I’ve made do.” She kept a carefully neutral expression. If she wasn’t careful her nerves would bring years of anger and resentment bubbling to the surface.
“Commander Kedar speaks very highly of you. It seems you’ve impressed him quite a bit these past weeks.”
“Ryder’s easy enough to impress. Just let him think he’s in charge and he talks like you’re bending over backwards to help him.” Cassandra cursed herself the moment the words left her mouth. For all she knew Winter could turn around and report her comments directly back to Ryder.
A low laugh escaped Shinsu ‘Refum’s mandibles. The fleetmaster turned to face Cassandra, his sharp eyes flashing in the darkness. “An interesting assessment of our mutual friend. He certainly has a gift for flattery, so long as that flattery is returned in kind.”
Cassandra stared at the alien. During the meeting she’d been safe to observe him from afar. Now that his attention was fixed on her she felt the weight of this warrior’s authority pressing down on her. His eyes looked her over and she felt completely vulnerable in her baggy fatigues. If she ever needed to hide inside her armor, now was the time. She fought a sudden childish urge to look away and jab the floor with the tip of her boot.
“What do you want from me?” she forced herself to say.
“Cassandra, remember your manners,” Winter interjected. “This is Fleetmaster Shinsu ‘Refum, Supreme Commander of the Cleansing Blade and Kaidon of House Refum. You should refer to him as fleetmaster or kaidon.”
“I don’t remember asking you for an etiquette lesson.” The condescension hiding within Winter’s words broke down Cassandra’s careful barriers. “I’m not one of your students anymore. It’s bad enough I’m back to taking orders from ONI thanks to you and your new best friend here.”
Deep Winter held his gentle smile. He did not offer a reply.
Shinsu arched his neck and regarded her coolly. She did her best to hold a defiant glare but the knowledge that the fleetmaster could have her killed at any moment tempered her enthusiasm for argument. His guards might have left the room but he still wore an energy sword at his hip. She wouldn’t last long as she was, unarmed and out of armor.
“You do not grovel or flatter,” Shinsu said finally. “Commendable, in private. Unwise in public. Be sure to remember that distinction. For all your contempt for Ryder Kedar, he understands the dynamics of power far better than you. Normally one such as you would be unworthy of my attention. But circumstances conspire to make you worth a small portion of my time.”
The dynamics of power. Cassandra was so sick of all these self-important distinctions. Shinsu ‘Refum had a fleet and armies of warriors at his beck and call. Somehow this made him worthy of her respect, just like a UNSC admiral with a chest full of medals was somehow a thousand times more important than a mother desperately trying to feed her children. She thought of the Sangheili refugees she’d seen in countless slums across the frontier, their skin drawn tight with hunger and their eyes dull with resigned despair. “I didn’t ask for this meeting. Why don’t you go talk to Hera instead? She seems to think you’re humanity’s best chance at a future.”
“I give Hera enough of my time as it is, considering she came to me as a supplicant,” Shinsu remarked distractedly. He looked Cassandra up and down. “She has the look of a warrior. You do not. Interesting. You are rather plain by Spartan standards.”
“You mean I don’t go around acting like weapons and armor are my second skin? I’ll take that as a compliment.”
“Yes. You do not announce your capabilities to the universe. You choose to conceal your power instead.” Shinsu nodded. He seemed to be talking to himself more than anything else. “I think I am beginning to understand.”
“Understand what?”
“I wished to look upon the warrior who defeated Stray.” The fleetmaster clasped his hands behind his back, sweeping the folds of his cloak beneath his arms. “When I heard the cause of his ignominious defeat was a humble physician, I had to investigate such a mystery for myself.”
Cassandra couldn’t prevent her hands balling into fists. Of course this was about Simon. The whole galaxy was determined to drag her back to that awful rain-soaked rooftop. How many times would they make her relive that night? “Then I’m sorry you’ve wasted so much time. There’s no mystery. I didn’t defeat Simon. He’s not worth the effort. He defeats himself easily enough.”
“An apt summary,” Shinsu agreed. “One I fear may hinder the newly resurgent Kru’desh in future campaigns. The one called Amber may have cast him down but you struck the true blow all the same. Your actions cost me a great deal of time and effort. They may cost me ships and warriors in the battle to come.”
“Are you looking for an apology?” Heat built behind her ribs. Of all the stupid, circular reasoning… “I didn’t create the Free Domain. I didn’t want anything to do with Simon or his precious legion until they attacked my home.”
“So vengeance guided your hand. Revenge, perhaps, against his betrayal of your Spartan code?”
“There is no ‘Spartan code,’” Cassandra said tightly. “It’s not some family or secret society, just an unethical special forces program. Simon brought your Covenant to a planet I was trying to protect. I stopped him. That’s all there is to it.”
“You may not believe in a larger creed. You are an outlier, after all. Your creche-mates tell a different story. Stray shared your distaste for Spartans but he was keenly aware of the shared bonds and rituals your kind enjoy. Bonds and rituals he knew were lost to him forever.”
“Creche-mates?”
“That is how you Spartans see each other, or so my research tells me.” Shinsu’s eyes never lost their penetrating stare. He seemed to watch everything at all times, considering and calculating their worth. “Clan, family, or some such sentimental drivel. As deadly as your kind can be you are particularly vulnerable to sanctimony.”
“So your research tells you?” If Hera and Simon were Shinsu’s case studies for Spartans then Cassandra could only guess at what sort of warped ideas they’d given him.
“I have studied Spartans extensively. It was only fitting, considering what a threat your kind poses to my species. My only surprise was that so few of my peers shared my interest. As Jul ‘Mdama’s special operations commander I made Spartans my top priority. How to fight them. How to fight like them. How to kill them My interrogations of Stray following his capture proved highly fruitful in that regard. After I raised him up as my subordinate my operations against Spartans tripled in effectiveness.”
Interrogation. Cassandra didn’t want to think about what Simon endured at this warrior’s hands. Diana had probably had some role in it, all part of whatever twisted game she played. Those two had taken Simon—her Simon—and broken him down into the power-hungry creature she’d fought on Talitsa, a pathetic husk hiding behind a helmet and a juvenile pseudonym. And yet even after all that he’d still trusted them over her or Gavin or Zoey. All because they offered him the status and success he craved.
This was what it meant to be of the world. To be trapped in hell and yet prefer the trap over any offer of relief or escape. Even a warrior as powerful as Shinsu was trapped right alongside Simon. Cassandra looked at the smooth, confident aristocrat before her and felt a strange stab of pity. Who had broken him into this monster, trapping him amidst the whirlwind of schemes and murder?
And she was right there alongside them. Pity and anger gave way to fear. This ship, this fleet, this entire war was a trap. She could pity Simon and Shinsu all she wanted. It was just an outlet for her own pride. Dyne had tried to warn her, but she hadn’t listened. She couldn’t listen. To walk away from it all would be to abandon everyone else.
I would have burned down the galaxy to find you. Simon’s haggard features lurked in the shadows behind Shinsu ‘Refum. I’d do it all again. For you.
“Why did you want to speak to me?” She forced the words through numb lips. “I can’t help you control Simon any better. “I’m no use to your Spartan research or whatever you think you’re doing with Hera. I’m fighting your war. Isn’t that enough?”
“This is the galaxy’s war. The Created will dominate all life if none oppose them. You may disapprove of my methods but you will be hard pressed to find another fleet capable of standing against them the way I have. As for my reasons for this discussion, you have already guessed. Stray accomplished the mission I set before him. The Kru’desh grows in strength with each passing day—as does their commander’s self-confidence. I must ensure he does not forget who his master is. The presence of the warrior who defeated him within my ranks should serve as an ample reminder to him and to his warriors.”
“I’m with Ryder,” Cassandra pointed out wearily. “I hated going back to the UNSC but I did it because as you and every other warlord out here loves pointing out, we’re all stuck in this together. What do you want me to do? Join your Covenant?”
“We are not the Covenant and your direct cooperation is not necessary. I only need you to adopt Hera’s more agreeable stance when it comes to heeding my orders. Perhaps Stray is not the subordinate I must keep in check. He disrespects me at every turn, yet follows my orders all the same.”
“Simon always did have an insubordinate streak,” Winter noted. “Exacerbated in recent years, obviously.”
“The precocious Commander Kedar shows me all due respect and deference despite his own aspirations. Such commendable obedience may hide less than desirable motives. If he ever were to move against the interests of this fleet, I would have you remember that your UNSC broke within days of the Created declaration. Hera understands that my ascendancy is key to humanity’s future. I hope you can come to the same conclusion.”
“So you want me to spy on Ryder and act as a bogeywoman for Simon.” Cassandra shook her head in disbelief. The large chamber pressed down on her, as stifling as a packed shipping crate. She’d been stuck in space for weeks. When she wasn’t languishing on this carrier she was out fighting boarding actions. She needed fresh air, nature, the feel of real ground beneath her feet. William’s fantasy colony—a return to nature, away from wars and schemes and politics—seemed a lot more appealing. “Anything else I can do for you? You’ll be disappointed. I’m no one important and I don’t want to be. I’m a combat medic and I hate the ‘combat’ part.”
“You are a Spartan before you are anything else.” Shinsu never lost his smooth composure. “The galaxy does not care about what you want to be, only what you are. Rage against that reality all you like, but unless you accept the way of things you will never accomplish anything. You cannot linger on the sidelines forever. Stray accepted his fate, in the end. He chose to fight and now he has accomplished great things. I hope you reach the same conclusion.”
“God is my reality.”
That foolish, reflexive statement amused the fleetmaster. “Your stubborn piety reminds me of my brother. But the god within is far more powerful than the gods without. You may go, Cassandra-G006. Remember who commands this fleet and who holds the future in his hands.”
The alien’s words followed her out of the chamber. “Your future, and that of your friends.”
Hera was waiting for her in the hallway, naturally. Cassandra met the other Spartan’s smirk with an exhausted glare.
“Eavesdropping?”
“With Winter pulling overwatch? I wouldn’t dare. He pretends not to spy on us but you know he listens in on everything. Just like Onyx. Though you Jian punks pulled a few ones over on him back in the day.”
Cassandra offered no response. She slipped her personal chatter out of her pocket and flipped the small device on. Ryder’s signals team had established a local communications network operating in tandem with the fleet’s wider web of battle networks and shipboard systems. The system was safe from intrusions, or so Deep Winter promised. Of course, that meant Winter saw everything that passed through the domain. Freedom from the Created held the price of living within Shinsu’s security apparatus.
Freedom to keep all the conveniences of technology, she reminded herself. But what choice did she have? This was the only way to reach out beyond this corridor. They were all tied to technology no matter what course they set for themselves. William’s idyllic garden colony loomed again in her mind, its gentle forests and simple cabins hovering just beyond her reach. Beyond anyone’s reach.
She found the Chancer V’s communications rig. We need to talk, she started to type, then stopped and deleted the message. Too authoritative. Exactly the kind of thing that made Zoey angry. Can we talk? replaced the first message, followed by, Please.
She deleted the Please. No groveling. But this stupid feud needed to end. They were at war and she’d already lost too many friends. Maybe Zoey would come around, maybe she wouldn’t. Cassandra had to try.
Maybe there was a way out of all this, some hidden path towards the peaceful simplicity she told herself and everyone else that she so desperately wanted. Maybe there was a way to turn those claims into truth. Until then she was trapped here in Shinsu, Hera, and Simon’s world, a cog in the endlessly grinding war machine.
----
“You place too much faith in the humans,” Umbra ‘Vesic grumbled. “Some might say you are too enamored with the ONI upstart and his Spartans.”
Shinsu strode about the raised command platform, only half listening to his aide’s complaints as the bridge crew prepared for the jump to Slipspace. The journey back to the Cleansing Fire was a busy one. All his moments were busy these days. A vast campaign like this one commanded all his attention. Shipmasters needed direction, petty squabbles required settling, and far-flung battles demanded management. The fleet itself—a massive collection of rival clans and species, united beneath his banner solely through fear of the Created—was an immense balancing act. One slip, one unattended detail, and the Fleet of Cleansing Fire would disintegrate like a colony of queenless Yanme’e.
Diversions were far and few between. Even the conversation with the Spartan renegade Cassandra offered some relief from the burdens of command. Stray’s bane was certainly an odd one. She could be useful, provided he found the correct means of harnessing her disagreeable philosophy.
“I would hardly describe my relationship with the young Commander Kedar in such glowing terms,” he remarked. “I weigh his usefulness alongside his ambition and make use of him accordingly.”
“You have a great deal of use for the humans, it would seem. You place Kedar’s troops at the vanguard of the coming assault. You assign Stray and his mongrel legion the honor of capturing the second installation. Some shipmasters may begin to resent your fondness for the humans, if they have not already.”
“Those shipmasters would do well to remember who showers them with rank and titles and war-glory. Many of them do far better in this fleet than they ever did in their old keeps.” For a species that prized honor and dignity, the Sangheili were a remarkably sensitive species. In a fleet of hundreds Shinsu permitted only a handful of human leaders, yet even that paltry few called his priorities into question. “I educated Stray personally. His battle-record can match those of some commanders many times his senior. And as for the ONI detachment, it is the height of foolishness to question the Spartans’ prowess. Do not forget the carnage they wreaked on the old Empire, to say nothing of our brethren under Jul ‘Mdama.”
“We would also do well to remember all the mighty victories we won over the humans. Their Spartans are few in number, and fewer every day. They do not represent the entire race.” Umbra bowed his head in deference even as he pressed on with his complaint. “And do not forget which race bears responsibility for the current calamity. The rest of the galaxy will remember how human foolishness spawned the Created.”
“Much of the galaxy seems more than content to kneel before human constructs. But those humans who do not fear the galaxy that lies beyond our victory. Kedar and Hera know this, which is why they submit to my command so readily. They know their species’ survival hinges on their usefulness to the victor.”
The displays around the command deck swirled as Deep Winter made his presence known through the usual shower of snowflakes. “As kind-hearted and sentimental as always, fleetmaster,” the construct chuckled. “If I didn’t know you better I would worry about humanity’s chances under your enlightened leadership.”
“You give that construct far too much leeway,” Umbra muttered under his breath. A look from Shinsu informed the majordomo that the opening for such naked criticism was past and he swiftly descended the platform to take his place alongside the other bridge officers.
Shinsu watched the tactical display blossom with new reports from across the fleet. A Slipspace jump was imminent. On the other side of that jump waited the next step on the Cleansing Blade’s path to victory. The treacherous construct Diana and her so-called Free Domain waited as well, yet another enemy to be confronted and swept aside.
“I speak only the truth.” He drew his command cloak around his shoulders and regarded Deep Winter sternly. “I harbor no animosity toward your masters. Humanity was never my enemy. But the galaxy is far larger than your creators ever dreamed. When this war is over much of that galaxy will see humans as a greater scourge than the San’Shyuum and their false Covenant ever were. You will have need of my protection when that time comes.”
“Of that I have no doubt,” Wnter agreed. “I reconciled myself to what your ascendancy means when I agreed to serve your cause. But humans are an unpredictable race. The Covenant underestimated them to its undoing. Do not repeat its mistakes.”
“The Covenant was on the verge of total victory over your people,” Shinsu reminded him. “Only the treachery of the San’Shyuum and the rage of the Sangheili destroyed the old Empire. The humans always exaggerated their role in the final battle.”
Part of him wondered—and hoped—that a similar fate would befall the Created. Intrigue and civil war had consumed the old Covenant, not battlefield valor. Perhaps the most prudent maneuver was to take his fleet and survive, waiting for the Created to tear themselves apart. But prudence was not always the way of the Sangheili, for better or for worse. Shinsu was a creature of the shadows, as Grono ‘Yendam so astutely observed. But the path to victory—to his destiny—lay in triumphing in the light.
“We need each other.” Winter’s snow flurry darted back and forth across the command platform. “Humans and Sangheili need each other. I think you understand this better than most. Otherwise I would not have put my faith in you.”
“Faith. Such a strange concept for a construct to possess.”
“We AI are part human. Irrational though it may seem, faith and hope go hand in hand with logic and reason.”
“I see. It comforts me then, knowing our enemies are as susceptible to such vices as the rest of us.” Shinsu ‘Refum had little use for faith and hope, but many of his own followers did. If that helped them fight on against all the odds than so be it.
The Fleet of Cleansing Fire wavered in deep space. Then the silver discs of Slipspace portals erupted before each of the hundreds of ships, a tiny supernova in the galaxy’s vast expanse. Each warship vanished into the portals and within moments the entire fleet was gone. The momentary respite was over. Now they thundered back to war.
===Chapter Forty-One: Race to the Control Room===
“Come on, boys!” Amber blasted another Sentinel with her plasma rifle. “We’re almost there!”
Merlin set his rifle against the nearest tree trunk and lined up more of the Forerunner drones. Steady bursts brought down the nearest one and coordinated fire from a pair of burly Sangheili further down the Free Domain’s formation destroyed another. The alien warriors grunted in Merlin’s direction before hurrying on through the underbrush. Aside from Amber, Merlin still didn’t know any of his unwelcome compatriots’ names. He preferred to keep things that way.
The rest of the expedition surged on through the jungle, finishing off the last few Sentinels with precise plasma fire. The Free Domain troops fought well. These Jiralhanae and Sangheili were clearly hardened fighters, which made their dogged obedience to Amber’s leadership all the stranger. A quarter of the warriors who’d set out on this hellish march were dead, picked off by Sentinel patrols that swarmed thicker and thicker the further they pushed through the jungle. The remaining warriors were clearly flagging, stumbling onwards like shuffling corpses. Even the MJOLNIR-clad Merlin didn’t know how much further he could go.
Only Amber surged ahead with no sign of fatigue. Some inhuman force pressed her forwards, hauling the Free Domain warriors and even Merlin along in its wake.
Merlin rushed forward and took up a new firing position. The next wave of Sentinels swept through the trees as if carried by the wind. He pushed exhaustion from his mind and picked off one after the other. The simple act of posting and firing brought him a strange sense of relief. A growing dread was building in the back of his mind. The further they advanced the closer they seemed to some unknowable but inevitable danger.
Something rustled the tree to his left as the last Sentinel fell. He jerked in surprise but saw nothing. He shook his head and slid a fresh magazine into his rifle. This jungle—no, this entire planet—was a madhouse. He couldn’t shake the feeling he was being watched—which, of course, he was. The Free Domain never let him out of their sight, to say nothing of the Sentinels that kept trying to kill him.
The strange vision of a monstrous Andra still haunted him. He wouldn’t be able to take many more horrors like that.
“On your feet,” a Jiralhanae snarled, kicking Merlin’s legs. “This battle isn’t over yet.” The warrior talked tough, but Merlin could tell he was exhausted. Thick sinews of saliva hung from the alien’s furry chin as he braced himself against the nearest tree with the jutting blades of his spiker rifle.
The formation pressed on, trampling the charred undergrowth and Sentinel remains underfoot. Merlin tried to conceal his rising anxiety. He kept glimpsing strange forms rising out of the jungle. On second look the forms vanished or turned out to be stumpy trees.
He was exhausted. That was the only explanation. He’d endured worse ordeals, but Andra and other friends were always at his side. Now he had to rely on a traitor like Amber and her gang of pirates.
“Hang in there, Merlin. We’re almost there.”
Althea’s reassurance took him by surprise. She’d kept quiet through much of this long march. “Almost where?”
“The control room. Whatever Amber’s looking for on this planet will be there.” Althea lowered her voice, as if Amber and Diana could listen into Merlin’s helmet. “Only humans should be able to access the Forerunner vaults. If you can beat her to the punch, we just might be able to get away.”
“Sure. That’s a big if.” Merlin trudged on after the warrior in front of him. At least they didn’t have him pulling point anymore. Amber was eagerly leading the way now. “And what about Callum? He’s still back at the base camp.”
“We’ll figure something—” Althea abruptly cut off.
“Althea? What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.” The AI’s voice returned. Merlin might have been imagining things, but she sounded strained, like a human struggling under a heavy weight. “I’m just a bit cramped in here, that’s all. You keep moving. I’m going to cut off some functions and store power.”
“Good idea.” Merlin breathed a sigh of relief. “Hang in there. We’ll make it through this.”
“I know we will. I can count on you.”
The compliment mustered a smile and a modest energy surge within Merlin’s tired body. At least someone out here was pulling for him.
----
Callum waited until Ro’nin transmission cut off—the shipmaster was apparently busy bombing some other region of this poor, ravaged planet—before he made his move. He slumped down at an operations terminal and made a show of wiping sweat from his brow. The humid jungle air pressed down on him even inside the mobile command center. The rest of the command suite watched him suspiciously. They were no fans of this human interloper who took such joy in throwing their comrades into the Sentinel meat-grinder.
“What’s your problem?” Callum met their stares with a thick glower. “This planet’s miserable, in case you hadn’t noticed. Feel free to take a break, too, I don’t give a damn.”
He aimed a kick at a nearby Unggoy with his prosthetic leg. He had to suppress a satisfied grin as the blow caught the alien square in the backside. His coordination was getting better with this thing. He wouldn’t be pulling a gold in gymnastics anytime soon but at least he could walk without a cane. “Hey, you. Let me see that logistics request. You idiots have screwed up the last five orders I’ve put up to orbit.”
The Unggoy squealed and looked about for help. It was surprisingly one of the human techs who stood up for the pathetic creature. “Logistics aren’t your problem, pal.” The woman glowered at Callum, either brave or stupid enough to give an irate Spartan lip.
Callum returned the glare a hundredfold. “They’re my problem when your hinge-head buddies put me in charge of ground operations. I can’t coordinate anything without the firepower to back it up, can I? Now get out of my face before I do something we both regret.”
The woman wilted beneath his gaze. Good. Callum despised the Free Domain’s human conscripts even more than the rank-and-file aliens. At least the hinge-heads and meth-suckers had the excuse of being alien bastards by birth. The human ones were traitors, plain and simple. They might take orders from a human and a human-made AI, but as far as Callum cared the Free Domain was as alien an operation as the Covenant.
He snatched the requisition pad and scrolled through it. “See? Five seconds in and I’ve got two errors here. How the hell have you lasted this long?” The techs pointedly ignored him. All the better, seeing as there weren’t any real errors on the transfer form. Callum punched in a few meaningless changes before scrolling back to the delivery method.
Some featureless freighter was assigned to ferry this next batch of supplies down. But just two days ago a different ship had arrived carrying supplies and reinforcements: the stolen Baal Defense Solutions shuttle that brought Callum, Merlin, and Althea into this nightmare. As far as Callum could tell, the Free Domain had simply repurposed it for their own logistics fleet. He eliminated the freighter and replaced it with the shuttle. As far as any drudge pilot would care, it was just a routine reassignment.
This was a huge risk. If Diana was monitoring ship movements, Callum’s plan wouldn’t stand a chance. But the AI had been absent ever since Amber and Merlin set off into the jungle’s depths. Whatever was going on out there seemed to have Diana’s full attention.
Seemed to. That was the key. For all Callum knew, a dozen dummy programs were monitoring him right now. But this might be his only chance. He couldn’t endure this captivity much longer. If he escaped, he escaped. If not…
Best not to dwell on that. Callum tossed the requisition pad back to the Unggoy. “There. Fixed it for you. Now send it, unless you’re worried you’ll foul that one up, too.”
The squat alien fixed him with a baleful look but did as he was told. He didn’t even look over the changes. Sometimes Callum wondered how the Covenant ever beat humanity at anything.
There was the matter of Merlin and Althea, stuck out in the jungle with Amber. Callum couldn’t just abandon them. Merlin might be a naïve rookie—just thinking about the Delta program raised Callum’s blood pressure—but he was a good kid. Callum owed him his life and besides, he was the older Spartan here. Delta deficiencies aside, Merlin was a brother Spartan. He’d refused to leave Callum behind on Oyster Point and now was the time to return the favor.
They’d get out of this. Somehow. All Callum could do was act and hope for the best. He watched the tactical display and waited for the ship to descend.
At the far edge of the system, a Free Domain probe detected a distant Slipspace ping.
----
“There it is.” Amber didn’t even try to hide her glee. “We finally found it.”
Merlin and the remaining Free Domain warriors stared down into a crater that sank like a pockmark into the jungle. The remnants of the Sentinels they’d just gunned down smoldered in the dirt, and beyond the wreckage loomed a pair of thick metal doors. Merlin’s hands tensed on his rifle. He knew Forerunner architecture when he saw it.
And perched just above the doors like some unholy gargoyle was another fleshy monstrosity. Merlin couldn’t tell if this one bore Andra’s face. He couldn’t bear to look. It was all he could do not to empty his rifle into the nightmare.
The Free Domain warriors eyed the door and its monstrous guardian. None gave any indication that they saw the unnatural creature. “There will be more Sentinels inside,” a Sangheili grunted. Was Merlin really the only one seeing these things?
“We’ve still got plenty of ammunition,” Amber countered. “We’ve dealt with enough of these damned fliers already. A few more can’t hurt.” She hoisted her plasma rifle and slid down the slope without so much as a glance backwards. She knew her warriors would follow her lead.
One by one the Free Domain warriors descended towards the door. Merlin stood at the crater’s jagged lip, still transfixed by the apparition. It wasn’t real. It couldn’t be real. But it hung there all the same, waiting for him.
“Merlin, let’s go,” Althea urged. “Remember what I said.” 
If she noticed his fear, she didn’t show it. That mercy spurred Merlin into action. He was supposed to be protecting her, not the other way around. He forced his armored feet forward and slid down towards the waiting monstrosity.
Amber stood before the door, oblivious to the fleshy mass lurking just overhead. She waved an arm, then pressed her hand against the Forerunner metal. No response. The door remained sealed, locking the Free Domain out in the jungle. Amber slammed a fist against the metal—fruitlessly, of course.
“We have explosives,” a Jiralhanae suggested. “If the door will not respond, we must make a new entrance.”
“That will never work,” Amber snapped. “How many of these sites have we hit already? You know how tough they are.”
“More Sentinels will arrive soon,” another warrior pointed out. “We must determine a course of action before—”
“Shut up, all of you. Before I really get mad.” Amber paced before the door. She probed the portal’s edges, searching for a control panel. “They’ve always opened for me before!”
Merlin approached on shaking legs. He tried not to look at the looming monster. Amber and her warriors’ ignorance only made the thing seem larger. Its presence pressed down on Merlin like a crushing fog. At any moment it might plunge down and engulf him in its many-armed embrace.
“If we’ve come all this way for nothing—” Amber was saying.
The door lurched. Lights flashed across its engraved surface and Merlin glimpsed complex hieroglyphics embossed along the hardened metal. Dirt shifted underfoot and the door slid opened to reveal a long, dimly-lit corridor. The surrounding warriors snapped their weapons to ready, but the hallway was empty. No Sentinels surged out to burn them all to ash. Soft lights shimmered across the metal floor, practically inviting them to come inside.
Merlin stood framed in the entrance. He froze and realized everyone else was staring at him. A sudden stab of terror forced him to look up at the doorframe. The monster was gone.
Amber’s helmet tilted slightly in his direction. “Alright then. Glad that worked out.” Her voice betrayed no emotion. She gave Merlin an ironic bow and gestured towards the hallway. “This planet seems to like you. You’re back on point.”
“It doesn’t like me enough not to shoot at me.” Merlin’s retort fell flat. His voice shook. His legs rooted in place, refusing to go forward. “It… it could be a trap. They’re luring us into an ambush.”
“Then we’ll spring the ambush. We don’t have time to worry about the Sentinels. This planet is mine now.” Amber waved him on. “Now pull yourself together and move.”
“Get ahold of yourself, Merlin,” Althea whispered in his ear. She sounded more eager than Merlin had ever heard her. “Get us in there. The facility’s responding to you. All you have to do is find the control room and you’ve beaten her.”
“No,” Merlin whispered back. “No. Please, don’t make me. I don’t want to go in there.” He sounded petulant, childlike, but he didn’t care. He was more afraid of this simple hallway than he was of Amber and Diana and all their Free Domain. How many apparitions lurked inside this cavern?
“No choice, Spartan.” Althea’s voice took on a hard edge. She’d never spoken to him like this before. “Pull yourself together and get in there.”
Years of training seized him then. He stepped forward, pushing back the fear just like he’d done when the drill instructors howled for him to jump out of that Pelican all those years ago. A tremor crept up his armor as he left the jungle dirt and entered the sterile Forerunner chamber. In another instant he was inside the hallway, carefully edging his way forwards. Amber and her warriors fell in step behind him. Despite her bravado Amber kept the column in tight formation, weapons pointed at all sides.
Merlin kept moving forward. His terror could not be dispelled but at least he could walk again. The corridor stretched out before him, running at least half a kilometer. The walls were solid and mercifully free of alcoves, but that meant little where the Forerunners were involved. The machines could emerge from anywhere.
Motes of light danced beneath his feet. The soft light pulsed gently all around, at once soothing and menacing.
“Merlin,” a voice whispered in his ear, high with fright and terror. “Merlin, look out! They’re—"
Merlin froze and the voice fell silent. “Althea?” he demanded. Had that been Althea? Or was that a different voice? Andra? “What’s wrong?”
No response. The corridor loomed ahead of him, silent and menacing. Merlin’s heart raced as fear returned. He nearly had a heart attack when Amber jabbed her plasma rifle into his back.
“What’s the holdup? We don’t have all day here.”
“Merlin, it’s fine.” Althea’s voice returned, gentle and reassuring. “You need to keep going. I’m right here with you.”
“But what about—” Merlin stopped, then took a breath and took another step forward. He’d just imagined the voice. His nerves were shot. Everything was getting to him now. Althea was right: they only had one option, and that was to delve deeper into this strange facility.
He raised his rifle and continued the long march.
----
The Absalom lurched beneath Cassandra’s boots. She tightened her medical bag’s straps and checked the scope alignment on her rifle. Crammed into the Prowler’s rapid deployment bay alongside three Spartan-IVs and a dozen ODSTs she had just enough room to turn her head and move her arms.
“I hate this part,” William muttered. Wedged in beside Cassandra, he cut a strange figure in his black-market exoskeleton. Cassandra caught one last glimpse of his strained expression before it vanished behind his visored helmet.
A grim tension hung over the deployment bay, as it always did before an insertion. Task Force Phoenix was plunging into combat. Some of the people in this bay might not be here for the return journey.
“Attention, Reclaimers: upon planetfall you will follow my instructions to the letter at all times.” 589 Curious Puzzle hovered in the center of the deployment bay. The monitor’s gravity projectors shielded it from the Absalom’s rapid descent. “I have already opened communications with this planet’s security subroutines. Unfortunately the passage of time has rendered my fellow ancilla somewhat less than effective at securing its premises. Our enemy has already accessed the installation. I will take the lead with Shipmaster ‘Yendam while your unit follows to secure our flanks.”
Grono ‘Yendam, the newest addition to Shinsu’s fleet, lurked in the back alongside several of his warriors. The Sangheili, unsuited for the Prowler’s distinctly human-shaped combat seating—made do with magnetically sealing their boots to the floor and bracing themselves against the trembling hull. None of them looked particularly happy about this arrangement.
“This facility is a highly delicate—” Puzzle’s lecture vanished amidst a steadily rising roar. The Absalom was already entering Franconia’s atmosphere. Cassandra’s stomach somersaulted. Every inch of her body felt like it was shaking apart. She could barely hear the reports filtering in through her helmet coms.
Ryder’s briefing was unusually sparse. Shinsu needed Task Force Phoenix to secure a Forerunner site on the independent colony of Franconia—not so independent anymore, thanks to Diana’s Free Domain. Phoenix would use Curious Puzzle to locate and secure the installation’s control room while the Fleet of Cleansing Fire drove the Free Domain from the system. Beyond that was anyone’s guess.
The Free Domain. Cassandra still remembered Diana as Simon’s irritating partner, eternally smug and never far from an insulting remark. Not that much different from most other AI, really. She hadn’t seen the true darkness behind Diana’s intentions until it was far too late. Now that irritating sprite had real power—her own fleet and a little fiefdom to go with it.
Power: the one currency everyone in this fallen galaxy shared in common. All Cassandra wanted was to get away from this, yet now she might die as a footsoldier in Shinsu ‘Refum’s own power games.
Evelynn Castillo’s voice pierced the fog of nausea and dark thoughts: “Task Force Phoenix, heads up! We’ve got another VIP on this one.”
Cassandra tilted her helmet in time to see a new figure emerge beside Grono and his warriors. Surprise lurched her gut—or perhaps that was another in-atmosphere maneuver. Ryder Kedar stepped gracefully across the deployment bay. He was clad in ONI reconnaissance armor, but there was no mistaking that strut or the bright FOF tag flashing across Cassandra’s HUD.
Ryder crossed to the center of the deck as if impervious to the rocking turbulence. He braced himself against Curious Puzzle’s chassis, ignoring an irate yelp from the monitor.
“Coming down with us on this one, sir?” Lieutenant Davis shouted into the TEAMCOM. The ODST was packed like a sardine alongside his Marines.
“I’ve sat out too many ops as it is.” Ryder patted the M6 sidearm strapped to his hip—his only visible weapon. “Don’t worry, I still remember how to fight.”
“Good to have you with us, sir!” Evelynn called. A chorus of enthusiastic cries echoed through TEAMCOM. Whatever Cassandra’s opinion of Ryder might be, his task force clearly loved him.
Cassandra closed her eyes. Her numb lips moved in silent prayer. You spread the sky like a tent above me. You fold the mountains and stretch the deserts and seas below. In the delight of space and speed, I thank you. She was grateful for William’s presence beside her. For all his complaints he never once backed out of a combat insertion.
Watch over us. She still hadn’t spoken with Zoey. She had to survive for that, if nothing else. She couldn’t leave things unfinished between them.
And Simon… Where was he now? What would he say if he saw her now, back to fighting side by side with the hated UNSC? And what could she possibly say in return?
She gripped her rifle ever harder and kept praying. The Absalom continued its descent, plunging like a meteor down into the waiting jungle.
----
A private comm channel switched on within Ryder’s helmet. “Are you sure this is a good idea, sir?” Evelynn asked. The Spartan’s helmet was fixed on the bulkhead but Ryder knew her eyes were on him.
“Don’t worry. I can take care of myself.” Ryder kept his words brief. Much as he tried to hide it the Absalom’s rapid descent was making soup out of his guts.
“You could at least wear MJOLNIR.”
“No need. We might need the components for someone who actually needs it.” Ryder knew his limits—he was quite content to lead from the rear on this one. But something about this particular mission urging him to step off the bridge and join his troops on the ground. This was more than another anti-Created raid. Forerunner secrets were hidden on this planet, secrets Shinsu ‘Refum desperately wanted.
Ryder had a duty to ensure ONI got its fair share of the prize. The Silent Garden had been a white whale in Forerunner research for years. With the Domain as the key to the Created and their ascension, it was more critical than ever.
The monitor squirmed beneath his weight. Ryder held his grip, marveling at the Forerunner machine. So much possibility resided in this small orb. Every scrap and fragment of Forerunner technology represented a pinnacle of advancement humanity could hardly conceive. The thought of what the galaxy must have been like beneath the true Mantle of Responsibility sent a shiver coursing down his spine. Curious Puzzle was the key to whatever hid within this planet. Ryder only hoped the Silent Garden brought him closer to the Domain—and to victory.
He watched Grono ‘Yendam and the other Sangheili carefully. Victory over the Created meant victory for Shinsu ‘Refum and his kind. The thought troubled him even now, just as it did at every briefing and meeting with the warlord. Could humanity endure a galaxy once again ruled by such creatures?
A question for another day. Franconia’s surface was fast approaching, and down there Ryder was determined to find the way he could change the UNSC’s fortunes in this war.
----
“The enemy Guardian is holding position,” the Cleansing Fire’s tactical officer reported. “Their flotilla is assuming defensive formation behind it.”
“They aim to use both the Guardian and the planet itself to shield them from our barrage,” Umbra ‘Vesic murmured. “These pirates are too clever by half.”
Shinsu paced atop the command platform, eyes fixed on the tactical display unfolding before him. The Fleet of Cleansing Fire emerged from Slipspace in wide battle formation. They outnumbered the Free Domain over four to one—but the pirates had a Guardian, and that made all the difference in force composition.
“All battle groups will widen our line. Maintain a steady advance and keep the Guardian centered on their formation. We will envelop it with our vanguard while the wings target their ships.” Shinsu felt a familiar energy building within him—the thrill of battle command. It was a juvenile impulse, one he’d known since his earliest days fighting in his people’s bloody civil war. He fought to hold it in check. “Rearguard ships, descend and focus efforts on securing the atmosphere. Ensure Ryder Kedar’s task force makes planetfall unmolested.”
Deep Winter materialized beside him. “The Absalom reports that Curious Puzzle already made contact with Franconia’s internal systems. They are descending towards its control room now.”
“Monitor their progress and report any unusual developments.” The assault on the control room was the key to this engagement, yet Shinsu had no time to micromanage. The battle in orbit required his full attention lest the Guardian turn an easy victory into a costly one. Grono ‘Yendam and Ryder Kedar would not have been his first choices to secure entry to the Silent Garden, but they were the best men for the task. Shinsu had to trust their loyalties would hold them true.
Fortunately, Winter’s monitoring meant Shinsu did not have to rely on trust alone. That was, of course, a fool’s gambit.
The Cleansing Fire’s engines rumbled and it joined the rest of the fleet in steady, menacing advance. The Free Domain ships fled like scattering insects from the oncoming firestorm and took shelter behind the wings of their Guardian. They had already lost this battle and they knew it. The only question was whether their leaders chose a swift retreat or a bloody stand.
Either decision saw Shinsu ‘Refum victorious. The only question—as with all battles—was how many would die to ensure that victory.
Shinsu planted himself in the center of the command deck. He clasped his hands behind his back and let the bloody work of battle commence.
----
“Halt!” Amber’s voice sliced through the corridor’s eerie stillness.
Merlin stopped in his tracks and looked questioningly back at the rest of the column. The Sangheili and Jiralhanae shifted uneasily as their leader ducked her head, clearly receiving some communication from within the privacy of her helmet. She paced out of formation in utter distraction as if she’d forgotten the urgency with which she’d exhorted the expedition to press on.
A moment became a minute. Then two. Then five. Finally Merlin’s patience couldn’t hold. “What is it?”
Amber’s helmet snapped up in his direction. “Not your problem. Eyes front, watch for Sentinels.”
It was Merlin’s problem, though. Everything that happened on this planet was his problem thanks to his press-ganging. Whatever was going on affected him. More importantly, it effected Callum. The other Spartan was still trapped in the Free Domain base camp surrounded by Amber’s warriors. The bond between Merlin and Callum extended through the jungle and linked their fates. Merlin couldn’t do anything without thinking of how it might affect his companion.
That was the only reason he hadn’t tried to escape this mess.
Possibilities swirled in his mind. The Sentinels could be launching some kind of counter-attack. Trespassing within this facility could have kicked the hornet’s nest. Was that why the expedition had encountered so little resistance inside this hallway?
Amber paced for another minute. Finally she stepped back into line, squaring her armored shoulders with a determined air. Whatever was going on, she’d just made a choice.
“Alright, push on,” she said. The confident air was gone from her voice. Now she sounded tense and angry. “We need to secure this place, now. Double time it, all of you!”
The order was so brusque it could have come from any one of Merlin’s drill instructors. Years of training took over and he broke into a jog, armored boots pounding down the corridor as Amber and her alien warriors hurried on behind him.
Out in the jungle’s fresh air, far above the subterranean corridor and its motley conquerors, Franconia’s skies erupted in warfare.
And Diana, observing it all from within and without, waited patiently for the humans to reach her goal. The battle itself was a minor inconvenience, a distraction—as battles and fleet movements always were. She had waited this long. Another hour or two made little difference when she had all the time in the world.
===Chapter Forty-Two: The Gates of Mercy===
Torrents of rain swept over the muddy plain. Thunder growled in the distance—or perhaps that was artillery fire. The sounds of battle had mixed with the interminable rainfall for days. This morning was just another round in the Kru’desh’s relentless assault on Le Havre.
A kaleidoscope of scarlet light slashed across the field. Contours of steam swirled in its wake. A group of Sangheili and Unggoy dove for cover. They vanished into a nearby trench as the enemy fire annihilated their fighting position. Scattered plasma fire shot back at the destructive energy’s source. More hard-light weapons joined the deadly conversation, pinning the Kru’desh warriors down.
Andra Kearsarge—First Lieutenant Andra Kearsarge, that was her rank now—watched the firefight through the magnified scope of a sniper rifle. She lay in a rain-soaked ditch some way’s off from the battle. Her fatigues and body armor were caked with mud. Her face was so obscured by dirt and grime it might as well have been a visor beneath her open-faced helmet.
She emptied herself of all the aches and discomfort. This was a return to the basics: no fancy armor, no special missions or game-changing infiltrations. Just a soldier, her rifle, and all the miserable trappings of a slow-grinding battle. She was, in effect, a completely different person: a lieutenant in this bizarre mixed force, not a Spartan in humanity’s proud military. The damp cold and creeping fatigue washed away. A weary numbness took its place.
“Damn, more Prometheans.” Beside Andra an equally muddy man gazed through a pair of binoculars. “I’m sick of these robots. All the real people are holed up in their compound.”
Andra kept quiet. She focused her aim on the chief source of the hard-light shots. A Promethean with a heavy weapon had the Kru’desh lance pinned down. She didn’t have the right shot yet.
Sergeant Okafo slid partially down the embankment they sheltered on. A cluster of human bodies spread out in a security formation beneath them. The mud was so thick they practically sank out of sight within the sludge. A Mastodon APC—one of the spoils from the fallen URF—idled in the center of the formation. “Vanguard Squad, heads up! We’ve got Prometheans beating up on some of our hinge-heads. Once the LT takes the shot, we’re pushing up!”
Andra could practically feel Okafo’s eyes on the back of her neck. He and the other ex-Innies grudgingly accepted her promotion but they wouldn’t be caught dead calling her “ma’am” or flashing a salute. They certainly weren’t in the mood to take orders from her.
“Vanguard Squad” was, excluding Andra, the last ten members of Redmond Venter’s Second Vanguard, the rebel army that burned a path of carnage across the frontier before perishing on Talitsa. Eleven rebels had made it off that planet. Now Captain Shah was coordinating combat operations from a forward command post and the rest of them were out here picking off the Prometheans that still ventured from beyond Le Havre’s walls to harass the Kru’desh.
The hardlight fire intensified. Silvery metal bodies bounded into view: Prometheans advancing on the trapped Kru’desh. The spindly soldiers and their scuttling Crawler counterparts darted across the field, unencumbered by the mud. And there at the rear loomed a Knight battlewagon, a disintegration cannon in one hand and a repeating rifle in the other. Andra released a drawn-out breath and let fly.
Her first shot struck the Knight across its broad shoulders. A second tore through the automaton’s armored back, revealing the glowing orange core within. The third punched straight through the core, extinguishing it like a snuffed candle. The Knight dropped motionless into the mud.
“Big one’s down.” Andra pushed herself down the embankment before any watchful eyes—mechanical or otherwise—got a read on her position. She landed beside Sergeant Okafo. The burly noncom was already urging his squadmates to their feet.
Even in all the cold and wet, Andra was sweating. She wiped her brow and came away with a gloveful of muck.
“Break’s over!” Okafo bellowed. “Vanguard Squad, push up!”
“Finally!” A bulky metal frame shook free from the clinging mud. The Cyclops exoskeleton—taller than even the Mastodon—loomed over the assembled squad, an autocannon affixed to each arm. Andra could just barely make out Ragna’s eager face behind the mud-soaked windshield. Venter’s youngest surviving devotee had forced her way into the Cyclops’s cockpit after the URF coup and proven a capable pilot. “I’ve been waiting all morning for this!”
“Ragna on point,” Okafo directed. “Zhang, get the Mastodon up the slope behind her. The rest of you, on me! Stick behind the Mastodon and keep your heads low!”
Ragna obediently cleared the slope in a single bound. She raised both arms and cut loose with Cyclops’s autocannons as the Mastodon struggled to follow. Andra and the rest of the squad dove to avoid the jets of mud thrown up by the spinning wheels. After another moment the APC cleared the worn-down ridge and rolled forward after Ragna. Okafo was the first one up after it. He huddled in Andra’s former firing position one moment, then waved the squad forward and threw himself out onto the field.
They stumbled and slid after him. The muddy field would be a death trap without the Mastodon for cover. Hardlight shots singed pockmarks into the APC’s hull and flashed dangerously through the air. Andra threw herself down and picked off one Promethean, then bounded forward to another makeshift foxhole. The rest of Vanguard Squad did the same, pushing through knee-deep mud. They did their best to shoot and stay behind the APC at the same time. The Mastodon’s overhead turret swiveled and fired at the Prometheans while Ragna’s Cyclops surged ahead, picking off the automatons with reckless abandon.
Andra dropped as more hardlight tracers flashed her way. She caught sight of more movement and shooting a ways off from Vanguard Squad’s own assault. Skirmishes like this raged across the muddy field, all part of the Kru’desh’s steady advance on Le Havre’s fortified outpost.
More hardlight fire. Someone behind Andra screamed. She didn’t look back to see who’d been hit. A final dash brought her alongside the Mastodon, rifle at the ready. She dropped one of the last Prometheans with a shot through the chest. The rest of Vanguard Squad scrambled on line and cut loose, mowing down the remaining crawlers as they scuttled back to cover. The Mastodon’s turret roared and blasted the last soldier into scrap.
“Regroup!” Okafo bellowed between pants. The rest of the squad looked equally winded. Only Andra—gifted with Spartan augmentations—had cleared the muddy sprint without trouble. “Who’s hit?”
“Ramirez. Took one right through the gut.”
“How bad?”
“She might make it.”
“She’d better.” Okafo waved the squad back into formation. “Get her on the Mastodon. The rest of you, hold for—”
Plasma fire cut through the air. The rebels whirled and dropped back to the mud. Several alien figures rose up from the mud, plasma rifles trained on a Promethean soldier still twitching among the pieces of its fallen comrades. A Sangheili strode forward and thrust his energy sword into the straggler’s sternum.
The warrior looked up to the Mastodon and the disheveled squad. He and his Kru’desh comrades were just as filthy and worn-down. Mud obscured any armor colorings that might identify their ranks.
“You have my thanks,” the warrior grated, as if the words burned his throat. “Your assistance is appreciated. We will advance from here.”
None of the humans mustered a reply. The Kru’desh was a mess. The former Covenant legion was now split down the middle between aliens and ex-Insurrectionist humans. Sangheili officers insisted on doing things one way while the humans kept operating with their own tactics. Squad names like “Vanguard” mixed with titles like “N’zroth” and equally unpronounceable alien callsigns. They hardly even spoke to each other save for battlefield meetings like this.
Andra wondered just how much longer Stray could hold this together. It was a miracle the assault on Le Havre hadn’t disintegrated into a chaotic nightmare already.
Nightmare. It was already a nightmare. A slow, soaking, muddy nightmare. Andra trudged back to the Mastodon. Two rebels were carrying their wounded comrade into the APC. The battle was nothing but small skirmishes like this. The Prometheans emerged from the colony’s fortifications, the Kru’desh blasted them to pieces, and then more Prometheans rose to take their place.
A whole week of this misery and the Kru’desh still hadn’t breached the domed Forerunner city that dominated Le Havre’s muddy landscape. Andra glowered at the colony. It seemed to mock all their efforts. These pointless skirmishes weren’t doing anything to get them inside to… whatever it was Stray was after.
Her helmet radio crackled. “Vanguard Squad,” a woman’s voice called in her ear. “Your sector’s gone quiet. Bring your casualty back to the central forward command point and standby for new orders.”
“Yes, ma’am!” Sergeant Okafo’s face lit up beneath the layers of mud and grime. “Mount up, team! Juno’s decided we deserve a break!”
The relieved soldiers dutifully piled into the APC. Andra bit her lip and shouldered her rifle. For whatever reason Vanguard Squad and the rest of the former rebels saw no problem with taking orders from an AI even as they fought tooth and nail with the Created. Maybe they were just happy to finally have one of the constructs on their side. After everything she’d been through, Andra didn’t think she’d ever trust an AI again. The Created aside, she couldn’t forget the role Juno had played in her capture back on the URF station. Stray at least had the common decency to be a jerk about it. Juno carried on as if she’d done nothing at all.
AI were completely removed from the misery they wreaked on the organic world. Andra looked out at the miserable battlefield. Much of the carnage raging around Le Havre’s arcology was by Juno’s design. Yet she either didn’t notice or didn’t care about the endless days of muddy battle or the screams of gut-shot soldiers as they drowned in filthy puddles. AI could play the surrogate human game all they want. In the end all the messy details of what it really meant to be human were just bundles of data.
Andra’s foul mood would only worsen if she spent the next half-hour crammed in the troop compartment with the squad as they comforted the wounded Ramirez. She stepped away from the boarding ramp and hoisted herself up onto the Mammoth’s roof. “I’ll take top-view,” she explained to Okafo. “Keep an eye out for any Promethean surprises.”
The sergeant frowned. “Whatever works for you, LT. Just be sure to bail if you see anything incoming. It’d be a real shame if we had to scrape you off the hull.”
“Don’t worry about the princess.” Ragna heaved her Cyclops atop the Mastodon. She wrapped one massive hand around the bars built explicitly for such a passenger. “If we take fire I’ll just give her a big hug.”
Okafo shrugged and followed the rest of the squad into the Mastodon. The APC rumbled to life and pushed its way through the muddy field. Andra caught one last glimpse of the Kru’desh they’d saved marching onwards to some unknown objective.
This battle was a mess. Stray hadn’t wasted any time consolidating his newfound forces. As soon as the orders to take Le Havre came in he had the Soul Ascension and Jerrold Campbell’s private flotilla on the move. They’d seized the system easily enough—the Created only had a few low-grade ships defending it. Complete atmosphere superiority made landfall easy. But Le Havre’s colony was no wilderness compound. ONI had sent soldiers and families here to inhabit the domed Forerunner arcology their excavations had uncovered. Now all the colonists—Created loyalists to the last, it seemed—were holed up in their comfortable dome while the Kru’desh slugged it out with a veritable army of Prometheans.
Andra braced herself against the Mastodon’s rumbling hull. Exhaustion threatened to lull her to sleep, but she fought back the fatigue and kept a watchful eye on the surrounding plains. Mastodons had thick armor but poor visibility. She’d seen more than one get blindsided by well-placed enemy explosives.
The battlefield stretched out endlessly in all directions. The Kru’desh held forward bases at key positions around the mud-plain. Phantoms and Pelicans ferried troops and supplies between ships in orbit and the surface. Banshee fliers swooped low over the plains, occasionally strafing the ground for real or perhaps imagined targets. Scorpions, Wraiths, and other war machines surged through the mud. They traded fire with Promethean holdouts in the shadow of the great Forerunner dome. Shells from mobile artillery pieces pounded Le Havre’s arcology day and night. They had yet to leave a scratch on the surface’s pristine metal.
Andra had never seen so much effort expended for such little gains. The dome sat amidst the Kru’desh’s siege efforts, mocking the invaders toiling along in the mud and rain.
Seven days of this. Andra wanted to scream. The Kru’desh controlled the battlespace, but they could do nothing against Le Havre’s defenses. And every day the siege continued was another day for the Created to arrive with reinforcements. The thought of the interminable clouds parting to reveal a Guardian was the stuff of Andra’s nightmares.
The radio crackled again. A terse Sangheili voice growled, “All ground forces, brace for orbital bombardment. Airborne squadrons, withdraw from the battlespace. Bombardment imminent, target is the colony. Withdraw to last designated defensive zones.”
A chill ran up Andra’s spine. Orbital bombardment?
The Banshees and dropships were already pulling back from the dome. War machines ground to a halt and reversed their advance. A strange quiet fell over the battlefield, like a collectively held breath. Andra slid down and hugged the Mastodon’s roof, waiting for whatever fresh hell was coming next.
She didn’t have to wait long. A bright spear of furious light penetrated the clouds and struck the arcology head on. Another energy burst and then another lit the gloomy morning like a miniature sun. Smoke and steam rose from the arcology’s surface. Andra shaded her eyes and watched as best she could. Stray had finally decided to bring the Soul Ascension’s weapons to bear on the stubborn colony.
The bombardment raged for nearly five minutes. Blast after blast rained down on the dome in a relentless volley. When it finally ended, an eerie silence hung over the battlefield. Le Havre’s arcology was shrouded in smoke and flames. The ground around it was choked with blue plasma fire.
Another chill passed over Andra as the smoke cleared: the dome’s pristine surface now bore dark, jagged scars. The bombardment had actually made a mark.
The Mastodon was far enough from the strike zone that it pushed along unhindered by the hellish barrage. In the plains beyond the Kru’desh resumed their advance and the fliers returned to their normal patterns. Such a powerful display was enough to hold the normal business of battle for a few moments, not any more.
The Cyclops shifted, its cockpit turning to face the newly-marked arcology. “Damn,” Ragna said. The grime coating her exoskeleton’s external speakers gave her voice a thin, tinny strain. “Nice to have that firepower on our side, for a change. Why didn’t he use it earlier?”
“There’s civilians in there,” Andra pointed out. “Thousands of them.”
The exoskeleton turned towards her. It was almost comical, the bulky figure craning a neck it didn’t have to carry a conversation. “Since when do oonskies care about civilians?”
“All the time.” She still couldn’t see the girl behind the Cyclops’s mud-smeared cockpit. “Every mission I ever fought had civilian considerations.”
“I can think of plenty of times they didn’t.”
Andra gritted her teeth and let it slide. She wasn’t in the mood for an argument. A week ago she’d have bitten Ragna’s head off for a quip like that. Now she huddled against the Mastodon’s hull and stared wearily out into the driving rain. Two months ago, she’d been a MJOLNIR-encased Spartan, setting out with Merlin on missions she believed in. A few weeks later and she felt like an eternity had passed. Now she shivered in secondhand military gear and trudged through the battlefield alongside ex-Covenant and Insurrectionists. She felt like a different person. Sometimes she feared she was a different person.
I’m still a Spartan. I’m still me. Ryder might have failed her but the UNSC hadn’t. Andra couldn’t give up hope that someday things just might return to normal. But she was a long way from the UNSC. And sometimes she wondered if she even wanted to go back to what she had been.
But what else was there?
The Mastodon rumbled past a line of trenches. Unggoy, Kig-Yar, and humans manned fighting positions beneath the watchful gaze of Sangheili officers. Mounted patrols and lines of bedraggled infantry marched along a makeshift “road”—just sheets of plank metal tossed down over the mud. Tents and mobile buildings rose up from the mucky soup in a vain attempt to stamp the vestiges of civilization on this miserable planet.
Andra looked back out at the arcology, still visible past the forward command center. That was the real civilization, the only place on Le Havre worth living. The Kru’desh were the invaders, the barbarians come to knock down its gates.
An artillery battery just behind the Kru’desh lines opened up. A mix of plasma and conventional shells slammed into the dome’s damaged surface. The Forerunner metal—pristine and ethereal not an hour before—was now rent and scorched.
The APC rolled to a stop alongside several Covenant Shadows. A gang of Kig-Yar swarmed it in an instant, squawking amongst each other as they inspected the damaged hull. Andra rose as quickly as she could. Sangheili she could handle and even Unggoy were harmless enough, but she still couldn’t stand these needle-teethed scavengers. The Kig-Yar chattered and fought amongst themselves even as Vanguard Squad pushed past with the wounded Ramirez.
Ragna swung the Cyclops down from its perch, splattering the Kig-Yar with mud as the exoskeleton’s bulky feet struck the ground. Ignoring the aliens’ irate hisses, she turned back to Andra and offered up a stubby, three-fingered metal hand. “Down you get, princess. Don’t want you getting lost in this muck.”
Andra rolled her eyes and ignored the extended arm. She leaped from the Mastodon’s roof and immediately sank up to her knees. “We’re all lost in the muck,” she growled, trying to ignore the miserable sensation of newly-soaked feet. “And stop calling me ‘princess,’ Private.”
The Cyclops’s speakers reverberated with an audible snort. Ragna tapped the exoskeleton’s hand against her cockpit in an awkward salute, then lumbered off after the rest of the squad.
“I think she likes you.”
Andra turned to find Sergeant Okafo resting wearily against the Mastodon. He pulled his coat’s hood up over his helmet and lit a cigarette as best he could beneath the paltry shelter. The noncom met the Spartan’s chilly gaze and smirked. “I mean it. It’s good to have someone her own age around.”
“She keeps forgetting my rank. And so do you.”
“Those oonskie lunatics raised you up all military, didn’t they? You know better than anyone how much a brevet promotion is worth. Be grateful she doesn’t cuss you out every time she sees you and leave it at that.”
Andra liked Okafo, at least as much as she could like a career terrorist. Best to change the subject before he annoyed her. “How’s Ramirez?”
The sergeant took a drag off the cigarette. “Stable. Thanks for asking. The wound’s not bad. She’ll be back in the fight in a few weeks.”
He stared out at the milling squads of humans and aliens, joined in common purpose beneath the Kru’desh banner. This outpost was a staging area for dozens of combat missions. A mixed squadron of Pelicans escorted by Banshees flew overhead out to the killing fields. “Or sooner, if Venter keeps pushing like this.”
“Not quite the glorious campaign he promised back on that station, huh?”
Okafo flashed her a warning look. “I don’t remember anything about glory. He said we’d fight the Created and that’s exactly what we’re doing. No one ever said war was pleasant. I followed the old man into hellholes ten times worse than this. A little rain isn’t enough to drown my spirits. If that bombardment was anything to go by, we’re close to wrapping up here.”
He sighed and departed, clapping Andra on the shoulder as he passed. “I’m off to find Captain Shah, let him know about Ramirez if Juno hasn’t already told him. You’d better get some rest, LT.”
Close to wrapping up. What did that even mean? Stray wanted the Forerunner facility inside the dome. What about the people inside? They were all traitors, UEG citizens who’d surrendered to the Created the first chance they could. Stray didn’t care about that and neither did any of his soldiers. If the next orbital bombardment breached the dome, what was the next move?
The Kig-Yar were still squawking over the Mastodon. Andra hobbled up the crew ramp and shoved the nearest alien down into the mud. The creatures hissed and shrieked at her in incomprehensible words, but she glared at them until they got the message and withdrew.
The APC’s crew compartment reeked of blood and gunpowder. A dull red patch on the floor marked the spot where Vanguard Squad had treated the wounded Ramirez. Andra stepped deftly over the blood and sank down into the furthest corner. She drew her filthy coat around her armor and hugged her rifle. The rain continued to beat down outside, accompanied by the thunder of the artillery guns.
This was her life now. She just had to endure until the clouds cleared and her life was her own again. Andra imagined Merlin sitting beside her with that comforting smile he always wore. Where are you? She didn’t bother holding back sleep anymore. She drifted off to the rhythm of the rain pounding against the APC’s hull.
----
Your selflessness will be rewarded once the war is over.
Colonel Elena Ritter grasped desperately at the Created’s words as a new wave of explosions rent the air. She braced herself at the communications console and tried to filter out the distressed cries emanating across the Le Havre arcology. She had forsaken her oath as an officer in the UNSC Marine Corps for the sake of a promise: the Mantle of Responsibility’s promise for a peaceful future. Instead she’d found herself transported back in time to the horrors of the Great War.
Here she was, cut off from her superiors, as a Covenant legion bore down on a colony she’d committed to defend.
The trip to Le Havre had seemed trivial a month ago. Ritter had departed Asphodel Meadows with a detachment of Marines and Prometheans to secure the newly-defected colony and ensure the Forerunner arcology was ready for exploration by Created AI. Even the enemy flotilla’s arrival in orbit had struck her as a minor inconvenience. The dome’s armor was stronger than the thickest battle plating. As long as her garrison kept the civilians in order for a few days of siege the Created would swoop in to drive the invaders away.
Now a scorching breach was opened in the dome’s base and the enemy was on her doorstep.
“Enemy dropships at the breach!” Captain Turner reported. The ex-Colonial Administration officer watched Ritter expectantly. “Where are the Prometheans?”
“Out in the field.” Ritter rubbed her face wearily.
“All of them?”
“I think so. I don’t even know how many we have left.” Without a local AI to direct them the Prometheans fought with inscrutable minds of their own. Their primary directive seemed to entail defending the dome and its occupants at all costs. Ritter was content to hold her own forces back while the automatons did all the real fighting, but now the Prometheans were nowhere to be seen and the enemy was mounting an aerial assault through the breach.
More explosions, gunfire, and screaming. Ritter didn’t have time to lurk in her command post. She snatched up her sidearm and raced out into the streets. “All available platoons, to the breach!” she barked. “Push these bastards back!”
Captain Turner echoed the order and soon a motley gaggle of soldiers—some of Turner’s CAA militia, some of Ritter’s Marines—followed them in a race down the street. Ritter held her sidearm close and waved her people on. She couldn’t let them see just how frightened she really was. Thousands of civilians were crammed inside this dome. She only had a few hundred troops under her command. If the Covenant hit the streets—
Word had come through about the battles raging across the frontier. The enemy was fighting a true scorched earth war of annihilation. Ritter wouldn’t let that fate befall Le Havre’s colonists. Not while she was still alive.
The reinforcements passed gaggles of citizens standing in the streets. Some looked frightened but most simply stared curiously at the armed detachment. No one was taking this seriously enough. They'd had no need to. They'd been content to huddle behind their impenetrable Forerunner wall and depend on the Created and their Prometheans to do the real fighting. Meanwhile the enemy commander had fought and schemed and found a way to break down the unbreakable.
"Get inside! Take cover!" Ritter yelled at a young woman. Two small children clutched the hem of her dress. "The streets aren't safe!"
The breach loomed before them, an ugly scar in the arcology’s beautifully crafted dome. Water from the ceaseless rain outside cascaded through the holes alongside jump-pack equipped Sangheili and Phantom dropships. Colonel Ritter’s Marines fired heavy machine guns and rockets up at the invaders, pinning them down. Invaders scaling the dome outside fired down from the other side.
“Concentrate fire on the dropships!” Ritter leaped into the nearest fighting position. One of her Marines hammered away with a heavy machine-gun. “You know the drill, people!”
Turner dropped down beside her. “We can’t keep this up forever!” he shouted over the roar of gunfire.
“Not now, captain!” The machine gun stripped a Sangheili’s shields and threw him back against the dome. Ritter finished him off with a few shots from her M6.
“If we push them back now they’ll just blast more openings!” Turner insisted. “We need to open a channel to their commander. He offered terms—”
Ritter grabbed the captain and threw him against a pile of sandbags. “Terms?” she snarled. “Are you insane? That’s the Covenant out there!”
“Their commander’s a human. There’s plenty of humans out there. If we lay down arms they might keep their word.”
“Their commander’s the Butcher of Philadelphia. Those nice humans out there are terrorists and fanatics who’d rather fight shoulder to shoulder with the Covenant than accept a peaceful universe. I will not stand by and let those maniacs butcher this colony. Do you hear me?”
Turner stared up at her. He looked more tired than upset. “I hear you, colonel. But you aren’t the only person here who cares about this colony. These are my people in here.”
“We are not giving up.” Ritter knew Turner meant well. But the CAA troops were peacekeepers, not soldiers. They needed the Marines to put steel in their spines. “Every day we hold is another chance the Guardians will come.”
“Will they come?”
“They’ll come.” Ritter believed it. She had to. “I know they will.”
A rocket team hurried past the fighting position. The SPNKrs on their shoulders cut loose and a Phantom spiraled out of control, its flaming hull transfixed on the breach’s jagged edges. Machine gun fire cut down more invaders as the rest retreated back into their dropships.
Every bullet fired was another step closer to the peace Ritter had betrayed everything for. Le Havre would not fall. Not while she was still alive.
----
Blaring alarms roused Andra from her slumber. She jerked awake and leaped to her feet, momentarily forgetting where she was. Stars spun in her eyes as her helmet collided with the Mastodon’s low ceiling. She grasped her rifle and stumbled down the APC’s ramp.
The cold air slapped her across the face. Her clothes, momentarily dried by her spell undercover, were soaked in an instant. Le Havre’s rain beat down just as mercilessly as before. Fully awake now, Andra tugged her coat around her body and squinted out at the activity engulfing the camp. A wave of Phantoms descended near the motor pool. These dropships were a far cry from the smooth, clean Covenant designs Andra remembered from training. The Kru’desh loved bolting extra armor over everything, giving their vehicles a jagged, archaic look.
The Phantoms descending now were even rougher around the edges than usual. Bullet holes and carbon scoring marred their plated hulls. Some had holes blasted through their troop bays. One dropship’s roof was blown clean off, exposing its passengers to the full fury of the elements.
A stream of Covenant warriors limped from the Phantoms. Andra joined the growing crowd to watch a weary procession of Sangheili and Unggoy wade mutely through the mud toward waiting medical tents. A few warriors carried litters bearing comrades too wounded to walk. Some of these passengers were already dead.
“What the hell happened out there?” A nearby Insurrectionist asked the question on Andra’s mind.
“Looks like the Covies tried to push through that hole in the dome,” his companion answered. “Guess the Created were tougher than they expected.”
“Tough break for them. I guess we’re lucky Venter didn’t throw any humans at that meat grinder.”
“Silence, fools!” a Sangheili voice growled.
A new shape swooped through the rain. As big as four Phantoms, this Lich gunship paused over the landing zone. A searchlight affixed to its broad underbelly passed over the camp, illuminating the stream of beaten warriors. The gunship drifted to the far end of the landing zone and touched down, its boarding ramp unfurling from the hull like a beetle’s winged carapace.
Andra started to push her way through the crowd. She knew this Lich. More importantly, she knew who’d be on it.
Sure enough a stocky human in full armor hurried down the boarding ramp. Stray’s helmet surveyed the camp around him through its cracked visor. A shotgun was slung on his shoulder and the hilt of his machete protruded over his back. He strode forward, refusing to let the mud impede his progress. A team of Sangheili bodyguards emerged from the Lich and hurried after him.
Andra hadn’t seen Stray since they’d arrived on Le Havre. She kept pushing forward, ignoring the irritated calls from the crowd around her. The renegade Spartan’s armor was as drenched and mud-caked as she was. Had he really joined the first real assault on the arcology?
She had to get over to him. He’d made such a show of inducting her into his precious legion, then promptly dumped her on Sergeant Okafo and ignored her. She wasn’t about to let that stand. Not after a week of menial grunt warfare.
“There you are,” a low voice said behind her. Rough hands grabbed Andra’s coat and dragged her back. She found herself glowering up at Argo ‘Varvin. The Sangheili mercenary, his armor draped in a bulky canvass coat, splayed his mandibles in exhasperation.
“I hadn’t seen you in days,” Argo said, pulling Andra out of the crowd. “You shouldn’t worry me so much. Looking after you is quite the trial.”
“I don’t need you—”
“And yet I do it all the same.” Argo wisely released Andra before she slugged him. “Sometimes I do wonder why I bother. But protecting you got me into this mess. It would be senseless to give up now.”
“Because you’ve done such a great job of it so far. I’ve been in the field all week, the same as everyone else. Where have you been? Skulking around the camp and staying out of combat, I’ll bet.”
“I do prefer avoiding conflict when possible,” Argo agreed. “But there are still benefits to risking the fire. The Kru’desh have an exceptional policy when it comes to loot and plunder.” He pulled his coat aside to reveal a Forerunner lightrifle strapped to his combat harness.
“Loot away. Just stop using me as your excuse to do it.” Andra turned back to the crowd as a great shout rose from the assembled Sangheili. At first she thought it was a cry of rage and frustration. But the warriors brandishing energy swords and smacking weapons against their armor did not look angry. If anything they were jubilant.
She glanced at Argo. “Didn’t they just get their asses kicked?”
“They made real contact with their enemies after all these days of miserable drudgery,” Argo explained. “The defenses are breached, and their commander led the first assault. A siege such as this maybe uncommon for you humans, but to many of these warriors it is no different from attacking an enemy keep. They know the first assault is rarely successful. We will not have to endure this weather much longer.”
The exultant Sangheili pressed forward. Stray’s guards hurried to push the warriors back as the surrounding humans looked on in confusion. The tumult brought Stray to a halt. He turned to face the onlookers, his true face hidden as always behind that cracked mask. Andra hurried back towards the front, but if Stray saw her he gave no sign. He said nothing for several moments, then came to a decision and stepped forward. He thrust a prosthetic fist into the air.
“You all saw it!” he called out through the rain. “We’ve breached the dome! Thick Forerunner metal, just like what the Guardians are made of, and we melted through it! I’ve seen inside their precious city. Soon the rest of you will, too. We’ve already won! By the end of today we’ll be inside that dome and out of this damned rain!”
A renewed cry rose from the Sangheili. A few humans and even the survivors from the abortive assault joined in the war cries. Stray nodded curtly to the crowd and then hurried away, his guards hot on his heels.
“He knows how to stir the ranks, I’ll give him that,” Argo said. “But a victory by the end of the day? If his assault was repulsed so soundly then how… hold on there!”
Andra ignored his call. She slogged her way after Stray and his entourage. The camp’s activity paused to make room for the new arrivals. Marching squads and lingering induvial parted before Stray’s advance. A few warriors raised arms in salute or called out greetings. Stray ignored them all. He marched doggedly on past tents and trenches and battle lines, on to the center of the camp and its chief command center. Andra hurried in their wake and Argo followed reluctantly behind.
Distant guns rumbled. Artillery batteries across the field resumed their bombardment. Shells and fiery plasma balls rained down on the arcology and its new opening.
The camp’s command center was a low, armored building steeped in mud and surrounded by rain-battered fighting positions. The mobile bunker—flown down from the Soul Ascension in orbit—sat on a hill overlooking the muddy fields and the looming, domed prize. Since its arrival seven days previously it had gradually sunk further and further into the mud until its doorway was reduced to half its original height. Before long it would sink beneath the earth entirely.
Stray ducked inside the command building. His guards parted and wearily joined their brothers beneath tattered rain covers staked over fighting positions.
“Why are you set on bothering him?” Argo asked. “Come on, let me show you a few Sangheili gambling tricks. These warriors are fresh off the line. I can win some credits off their bedraggled hides.”
“No. He doesn’t get to use me for that big lie he spun back with the URF, induct me into his legion like he owns me, and then dump me out in the field to get shot at by Prometheans.” Andra stubbornly pressed on toward the command bunker. “Either he lets me in on his plans or maybe I’ll start telling people what really happened back on that station.”
Argo let out a strangled cry—half frustration, half shock. He looked furtively around to make sure none of the guards were listening in. Unfortunately, someone was always listening in.
“Be careful about running that mouth of yours,” Juno warned inside Andra’s earpiece. “It’s dangerous to make yourself a loose end.”
“I knew you were listening in. You AI are all the same. So much for the Miss Helpful act.”
“I apologize if I’ve done something to offend you. I promised the commander I’d keep you out of trouble and make sure you didn’t do anything rash—something like what you’re threatening to do.”
“You’re the one who’s threatening me with that loose end talk,” Andra grumbled. “Stop wasting my time and make the guards let me in.”
“Using your position for this sort of petulant nonsense is not the best way to get ahead, you know. There’s a battle going on, in case you didn’t notice. You’re a attaché lieutenant. That doesn’t give you any special privileges.”
Andra’s eyes narrowed. “I noticed the battle. I’ve been slogging through it for nearly a week now. And I’m a Spartan. That should give me all the privileges I need. You’re best friend in there can speak to that. It’s the only reason he’s running this legion.”
“Watch the insubordination,” Juno warned. “Even my patience has limits. Now hurry on inside before you catch a cold.” As if on queue one of the Sangheili guards caught Andra’s eye and irritably waved her toward the door.
Andra bit back a retort and ducked ahead into the command center. She never knew where she stood with Juno. The AI’s prim and proper nature softened Stray’s rough edges. Half the legion’s orders came through her. The human and alien soldiers alike cherished her guidance. Andra wondered who really controlled the Kru’desh Legion—though that was one insubordination even she wouldn’t say aloud. Argo hurried after her, his shrouded armor scraping the low-hanging entrance.
The bunker's warm, dry air enveloped Andra. She found herself standing in a dimly-lit chamber reeking of perspiration and damp fabric. Several officers—Sangheili, humans, and one lone Kig-Yar—crowded around a table spread with maps and charts. Their attention was fixed on the angry figure at the head of the table.
“—a total disaster.” Stray, armor still caked with blood and dirt, planted his knuckles on the table. He was no longer the encouraging commander rallying the troops by the landing field. Now he positively pulsed with furious energy. “They tore us up out there. We lost three Phantoms and plenty of good warriors. I could have been killed. And why? Because you’ve gotten too comfortable sitting out here playing tag with Prometheans.”
Andra pressed herself against the back wall, unnoticed amidst the angry screed. Only one officer looked her way. Captain Shah raised a weary eyebrow, then turned back to his commander.
“Assaulting the breach was premature, commander.” A tall Sangheili folded his arms from the other side of the table. “Without armored elements to push through the holes made on the surface—”
“And whose fault is that? I told you to push everything we had forward once the bombardment ended. Instead you held back and just watched me get chewed up.” Stray struck the table with a prosthetic fist. “We should have a beachhead inside the dome by now. I should be sitting in that colony, not holding back here asking you nicely to do your damn job.”
The warrior drew himself up. “The Prometheans still pose a danger—”
“No! The Prometheans pose absolutely zero danger. They’re a complete sideshow. Something to keep this legion busy while we figured out a way through that dome. Now we have one, but you’re too busy wasting time picking off patrols to notice. You have tanks, damn it. Roll them on through or get the hell out of my way.” Stray pushed away from the table. Andra had never heard him this angry before. “I give you one job and you just ignore me and do your own thing. Fine. I’ll get someone who can. Captain Shah!”
The rebel officer snapped to attention, bewildered. “Sir?”
“You’re in charge of field operations now. I want all surface teams ready for a ground assault on that dome in one hour. I’m not waiting around for a Guardian to show up and send us packing.”
“Uh, yes, sir, that is…” The captain shot a look at the disbarred Sangheili, now glaring daggers at the whole room. “I’ve never held a combined command like this before. Not on this scale, anyway.”
“Better learn fast, then. Or in an hour I’ll be finding someone to replace you.” Stray’s helmeted gaze swept over the assembled officers. “We don’t have time for this nonsense. Do you understand that? This should be a cake walk. This is the easy part. I got a good look at the enemy today. Those are UNSC Marines in that arcology. They’re shut up in that dome. We’ve controlled this engagement every step of the way. What happens when it’s an open field? When we don’t outnumber them five to one? When we don’t have complete fire superiority?”
He turned back to the disgraced Sangheili. “You were with me on Montak and Iradu. We were outgunned and outnumbered then and we beat enemies three times our size. Maneuver warfare. Violence of action. That’s how we win. No more of this sitting around waiting for the enemy to fold on their own. The Created won’t have patience for it and neither do I. Not anymore.”
Silence hung over the command center. No one knew what to say. Andra certainly didn’t. The furious suit of armor going on about maneuver warfare and battle tactics was a far cry from the bedraggled outcast or the scheming renegade she thought she understood. This strange figure was as much a battlefield commander as any officer she’d served under.
Simon Venter, the rebels called him. Maybe there was some truth to that surname.
“Get it together, people.” Stray pushed away from the table. “The legion out there is one battle away from remembering what it used to be. If we don’t teach them how to fight now we’ll be slaughtered when it’s a real fight. Back to work, all of you. Muster the troops. You’ve got one hour before I send in everything we have.”
“Everything?” another Sangheili protested. “We have too few points of entry. The defenders will choke us as they did your initial assault.”
“Then we make more holes.”
“Commander, if I may.” Juno’s avatar blossomed from a nearby holopad. She clasped her hands respectfully behind her arcane armor, face set with earnest concern. “It took days for the Soul Ascension to gather the plasma needed to breach that armor. We’re still running on reduced power up here. Anything we fire now won’t scratch that armor.”
“Fine. They don’t know that. Give them a light show. Call in Campbell, see if he’s got some spare missiles to fire down their throats. I’ve got something else in mind.” Stray waved his hand. “One hour. Get on it. Juno, put Tuka on the line.”
The officers dispersed to their tasks. The dismissed Sangheili nearly bowled Andra over as he stalked from the command center, two adjutants at his heels. Captain Shah stared at the maps spread before him. For a moment he looked like he might be sick all over the table. Then he passed a hand over his face and the pallor was gone. He straightened his spine and called for a radio operator. He spared a look at Andra. “What are you doing here?” he asked quietly.
“Has he always been like this?” she asked. Stray had his back to them, engrossed in a new conversation.
“Answer the question, lieutenant.”
“I wanted to find out what’s happening with this mess of a battle. Now I know. At least I think I do.” She matched his stern gaze. “Juno let me in here.”
“I know she didn’t do it so you could bother the commander.” Mohsin raised a finger to cut off the incoming protestation. “Don’t deny it. That’s exactly what you came here to do. Leave it be—”
“Captain!” Another human officer—probably one of Nnamani’s former aides—waved him over. “I have section leaders awaiting your orders.”
Mohsin’s lips pursed beneath his beard. “Fine. Do whatever you want, lieutenant. Just don’t blame me if he bites your head off.” He rushed off to attend his newfound command.
Stray did not bite Andra’s head off. He barely registered her approach until she was right beside him. Even then his helmet only tilted ever so slightly in her direction. She waited expectantly while he finished whatever war council was being held inside that impenetrable visor.
Finally his stiffened posture relaxed. The armored figure deflated as if air was leaking out from some unseen puncture. He rested against the table and looked her over. “Someone’s been out there getting dirty.” Just like that, the raging field commander was replaced by the infuriating renegade. “What’ve you been up to?”
“You know damn well what I’ve been doing.” She was being baited, as usual. This time she didn’t care. She certainly wouldn’t kowtow to this bastard. She hadn’t given up on Ryder Kedar just to become Simon Venter’s lapdog. “Ducking around in this slog trying not to get killed. Not that you care. Apparently all this misery is just a sideshow.”
“I thought that’d be obvious to you. Or did you miss the fact that all those skirmishes out there weren’t getting us any closer to winning this battle? Did they cut strategic thinking when they trained you Delta Spartans? Budget slashed, funding limitations?”
“Oh, I noticed. I just chalked it up to you being a fraud leading a Frankenstein legion.”
“Cute.” Stray glanced around at the officers still inside the command center. “Maybe keep that to yourself. I have an image to maintain around here.”
He crossed to the far end of the command bunker. Slit-windows offered a narrow view to the plains outside. Even through the ongoing downpour Andra could see movement out on the killing fields. Dropships ferried troops and armor down into the mud while thin convoys meandered down from the siege lines. Banshee squadrons strafed the killing fields and all the while the artillery barrages raged on against the damaged arcology.
----
The master of this plodding siege folded his arms and watched the battle preparations unfold. “I’m sick of staring at that dome,” he said. “Time to wrap this up. Juno, hail the colony. Broad beam, unencrypted transmission.”
“That means anyone with any sort of transponder device can listen in on whatever it is you plan to say.”
“I know what I’m asking for. I want them to hear. Let them hear it all.” Stray kept his gaze fixed on the embattled arcology, the prize for this week of miserable violence. “It falls today. One way or another.”
Distant lights flashed across the Forerunner dome. More artillery shells impacted on the surface around the breach. Andra’s tactical interface flashed: Vanguard Squad was moving back to the plains, along with what seemed like the entire Kru’desh Legion. The assault force gathered like a receding tide, a wave gathering to smash the colony to pieces. She stayed where she was.
“There’s people in there,” she said quietly. “Colonists. Civilians.”
“Of course. There’s an entire city in there. I’ve seen it.” Stray was unimpressed. “They thought they’d be part of some glorious Created utopia. Tough luck for them they’re sitting on a Forerunner installation Shinsu ‘Refum wants. And still no Guardians riding in to save them. Not yet, anyway.”
“And what happens to those colonists when you throw everything you have into that breach?”
“Why do you care?” Stray scoffed. “They’re traitors, remember? They probably didn’t waste a minute pledging this planet to the Created.”
His words sent pangs of guilt jolting through Andra’s gut. Of course she’d had those thoughts. She’d stared daggers at the arcology every miserable day spent slogging through mud, fantasizing about the day that dome fell. “They’re still people.”
“I saw something else in that dome this morning.” Stray moved past the concern of civilian casualties with disturbing ease. “Two different uniforms shooting at my warriors. UNSC Marine Corps and Colonial Administration Authority. What do you make of that?”
“That’s easy. A smaller Marine detachment augmenting the CAA garrison. The colonial troops are locals, probably drawn from the colonists’ families.”
“Exactly.” Stray pointed at the massing assault force. “I have one way into that dome and no way to make any additional entry points. Not without another week of plasma charging. The garrison has the breach covered from all angles and there’s a huge urban center to fight through once we secure a beachhead. How would you take the dome?”
Andra hesitated. She didn’t know if she was being mocked. That was the problem with every conversation she had with this man. “If it were me, I’d use standard urban assault practice: send the heavy armor in first to clear the way and then use your infantry to secure each street. But with your mixed forces, command and control will be a mess. You’re going to lose a lot of people.”
“My thoughts exactly,” Stray said. “That's the problem.”
He was quiet for a moment, then said, “Sixty-four.”
“What?”
“Sixty-four deaths since we touched down, not counting wounded. It’ll be higher once some of the wounded I brought back from the first assault die.” His helmet tilted in her direction. It really was disturbing, facing down a Spartan when you didn’t have a visor of your own to hide behind. “I need to win here, lieutenant. I need to win every battle. Because if I lose this time, I lose for good. And I haven’t come this far just to lose it all again.”
“Why are you telling me this?”
“Because I promised to be honest with you. You’re useful and you aren’t nearly as stupid as your faith in the UNSC makes you seem.” He turned from the window and strode down to the command center’s cramped communications hub. “I can’t have you stabbing me in the back just because you don’t understand every little thing I do.”
The communications hub pinged. The Sangheili tech manning the station hurriedly made way for his commander. Stray glanced back at Andra, one hand on the console. She could almost see the smirk behind that helmet, damn him. “Besides, you came up here because you wanted to see how the sausage is made. Now you get a front row seat.”
He leaned over the communications console. “Now, who will I be chatting with today? It’s been a few days since I checked in on Le Havre.”
A brusque woman’s voice crackled over the comms. “Make it quick, scumbag. You’ve got nerve calling in after the pounding my Marines just gave you.”
“Colonel Ritter. Excellent. I was worried I’d have to talk to one of your lackeys again. How’s the weather in there? A bit draftier now that I’ve knocked a few holes in the wall, I bet.”
“Stop wasting my time, you—” The colonel paused, rethinking the insult she’d nearly thrown Stray’s way.
“Traitor?” he finished for her. “No, can’t call me that anymore. Not after the stunt you and your precious Marines pulled. We’re all traitors down here.”
“I did what I did to make a better galaxy,” Ritter snapped. “You joined the Covenant and sided against your own species. And for what? Didn’t get your fill of dead humans with the Insurrection?”
“Well I’d never claim to have as pure a soul as yours, colonel, so I’ll stop wasting your time.” Stray’s light tone slipped away and became gravely serious. “I don’t know how much your Promethean babysitters report back to you but I’m sure you’ve seen the movement I just kicked off outside. I’m coming for you, colonel, with everything I’ve got.”
“You’re coming for me?” Ritter snapped furiously. “This isn’t a game, you child. Who do you think you are? It’s no wonder you joined the Covenant. If I ever had an officer like you under my command—”
“I’m very grateful I’ve never been under your command. I’m not the one playing games here. You can’t hold your position with the troops you have. I’ve given you plenty of chances to surrender. Now I’ll give you one more, and only one more. Stand your troops down and no one else dies today.”
“There’s plenty more dying to be done. My Marines will make sure of that. We turned you back this morning and we’ll do it again.” The colonel gave a bitter laugh. “That aerial assault was sloppy. A green cadet could have done better.”
“Things did get a bit out of control,” Stray agreed. “So I pulled back and thought things through, talked it over with my people. And we all agreed that we’re sick of this rain and this mud. So we’re coming in there where it’s nice and dry. One way or another, I’ll be sitting in your command center by the end of the day.”
“If you’re just calling in to waste my time with this juvenile—”
“Funny thing about the people I’ve got fighting for me,” Stray interrupted. “It’s a mixed bag. I’ve got my Covenant friends, as you love pointing out. And then I have the best freedom fighters the United Rebel Front has to offer, courtesy of my late father.”
“Brigands and terrorists,” Colonel Ritter mocked. “The Created killed Redmond Venter. He lost every battle he ever fought. You’re following right in his footsteps and you’ll meet the same end. Created reinforcements are on their way. If you don’t want to wind up like your murderer of a father I suggest you pack up and leave.”
“The Created might be coming,” Stray said. “And if a Guardian did arrive in the next hour I’d lose this battle, no question about it. But you’re dealing in hypotheticals. I’m dealing in reality. I have an army sitting on your doorstep and if you don’t surrender now I’m going to ram it down your throat.”
“I’m not surrendering. Not to you or anyone else. I know: you think I’m a coward because I sided with the Created. But I’ve seen war. A hell of a lot more than you have. You Spartans are all the same. Pump some kids full of steroids and give them fancy armor and they think they know all there is about killing. You think you know war? I’ve been fighting them since you were in diapers.”
“This is your last chance, colonel. Surrender now, while my troops are still under my command.”
No response. The artillery fire raged on outside, as constant as the rain. A staggered line of Wraiths and Scorpions spread out across the plain and behind them massed Warthogs and Ghosts, Mastodons and platoons of dismounted infantry.
“Under your command?” Ritter finally said. “What do you mean by that?”
“Simple, colonel. We both fought in the last war. You know what happens when the Covenant descend on some poor, defenseless colony. I pulled back this morning. But when I give the order to attack again, I won’t order them to stop. I’ll press that attack until every living thing inside that dome is dead and I’m wading through your colony’s ashes.”
A chill descended over the command center. All eyes turned to watch Stray.
“Have you ever heard the story of Jericho, colonel?” Stray pressed. “Ancient Earth literature. The Bible, for what it’s worth. Interesting stuff, when you get into it. I used to think it was all just nonsense about people being nice to each other, but it turns out our ancestors didn’t mess around with their religion.”
“I don’t—”
“Jericho was a walled city that no one could conquer. That is, not until a seven day siege when God’s power made its walls collapse. The Israelites stormed the city and killed every living thing inside, all with their God’s blessing. And the interesting thing is, some of my more creative warriors say I’m chosen by their gods. I’d never go that far talking about myself, but who am I to deny them a little slaughter? We’ve been soaking out here for over a week. My people are itching to re-enact Jericho.”
“You demented psychopath,” Ritter spat, her voice full of venom.
“You’ll have to try harder than that. I’ve been called far worse.” Stray drew himself up, as if the colonel were standing before him and not speaking through a comm system. “But since you clearly don’t care about the people you’re defending, I’ll have to talk to someone else. Maybe the colonial officials listening in on this call have a different opinion on things. Surrender now and I show mercy. Fight and I’ll set my warriors loose.”
The colonel didn’t respond. Muffled noise emanated from the comm station. Many voices were speaking at once on the other end. Andra stood rooted to the spot. Ice ran through her veins.
“Colonists of Le Havre, listen up!” Stray barked. “If your colonel doesn’t surrender then a line of hardened Covenant warriors will come pouring through that breach. You’ll kill a few, but that just makes the rest of them even angrier. I won’t even try to control them. Elites will skewer your families on their energy swords. Grunts and Jackals will eat your children alive and I’ll make you watch. As for the Insurrectionists…”
He gave a dry laugh. “They hate your pampered colonial guts even more than the aliens do. As far as we’re concerned, you traded one oppressive imperial government for another. All so you can keep living in safety behind those walls. Well, the real galaxy’s knocking on those walls now and we’re out of patience. Shinsu ‘Refum sent me to take this colony and he doesn’t give a damn how I do it. Surrender and you all live. Resist and you all die. It’s that simple. You have fifteen minutes.”
Colonel Ritter’s voice returned, hoarse and defiant. More voices rose in a furious clamor behind hers. “You monster. You and your animals will never—"
“Alright. Thanks to Colonel Ritter you all now have ten minutes.” Stray tapped the console. “The clock’s ticking.”
The transmission cut off.
Silence hung over the command center. Even the Sangheili looked stunned.
Stray fiddled with the transmitter. “Captain Shah, what’s the status on that assault?”
“Sir, I…” Mohsin’s voice crackled over the com. He sounded like he’d just had the wind knocked out of him. “Everything’s ready, but… that was on an open channel, sir. The entire planet heard it.”
“Good. I wanted them to. How’s morale out there?”
“They’re…” Mohsin trailed off. “Ready to fight, sir. Your Covenant especially, but… even my own people. They want to get in and finish this. I didn’t expect—”
“How many people did you kill for Redmond Venter, captain? Don’t bother denying it. He made me carry out some of those executions to. Don’t get squeamish now. Begin the assault on my order. Brace for an orbital light show and keep your heads down.”
Stray terminated the transmission. He leaned back against the table and folded his arms, watching a clock only he could see.
The rain beat on. Before it was just an annoyance. Now it sounded like a drumbeat, a steady march toward doom. The other officers watched their commander a moment longer, then busied themselves with preparations for the coming assault.
The coming slaughter.
“You’ll kill them all.” The words fell from Andra’s mouth like heavy stones.
He didn’t look at her. “All they have to do is surrender.”
“And if they don’t?”
“I warned them. The whole legion heard it. I can’t back out now.”
Andra looked desperately to Juno. The AI’s hologram waited impassively beside her partner. “You’re just going to let this happen?”
“He commands this legion,” came the quiet reply. “It’s his call. I’ve already warned you about insubordination.”
“Insubordination? This is evil!”
“Evil,” Stray scoffed. “This is war. You should hear what Shinsu’s been doing to the worlds his fleet hits. Or what the admirals and generals you’re so comfortable saluting have authorized. Next to them, I’m small fry. I’m just more used to getting my hands dirty. Why don’t you ask your friend over there the kinds of things he got up to during the Great War.”
Argo, who had remained by the door the entire time, said nothing.
The rain beat on. Andra’s hands were clammy. She gripped her rifle’s stock and fell back against the wall. There was nothing she could do. The order was given. She couldn’t stop Stray from carrying out the massacre. An attempt on his life was pointless. If she’d just carried out Ryder’s assassination order from the start, could she have prevented this?
She looked at the butcher before her. Everything she thought she understood about him was gone. Evaporated. He’d lulled her into a false sense of security and then shown his true colors.
Stray tapped a finger against his gauntlet. “Nearly five minutes. Juno, orbital plasma bombardment. Remind them what’s coming.”
“Aye, commander.” Juno’s usually reassuring tone was now cold and methodical. “Firing ventral batteries now.”
Another minute passed. A distant rumble passed through the bunker and reams of plasma burst through the clouds. Fire consumed the top of Le Havre’s arcology even as the artillery continued the relentless pounding. Through it all Stray’s visor never turned from the hapless colony. There might as well not have been a person inside that armor at all.
More interminable waiting. Finally, a sigh passed through Stray’s body. He rose from the table and approached the comm station once more. “Captain Shah, heavy armor will press forward first, followed by… scratch that. Hold for my order.”
A new light blinked on the console. Stray opened the channel. “I’m listening.”
“This is Le Havre,” a new man’s desperate voice crackled. “We surrender. Do you hear us? We surrender!”
“I hear you. Where’s Colonel Ritter?”
“She didn’t speak for us. This is Captain Archibald Turner. I command the arcology garrison now. You were right. The Created aren’t coming to save us. We surrender!”
“Smart move, captain. I guess you have Ritter locked in a closet somewhere?”
The line was quiet for several moments. “She’s dead.”
“I see. That’s a shame.” Stray nodded. “I’ll call off my artillery and send in a detachment. Your troops will disarm and keep the citizens docile. If so much as an empty bottle comes at my warriors , the assault is back on. Understood?”
“Understood,” Captain Turner said feebly. “I’ll… send out a team to guide your people in.”
“You’re a reasonable man, captain. I like it.” Stray killed the link and reopened his channel to Mohsin. “Captain Shah, new orders. The colony just surrendered. Hold your position and find Major Ier ‘Barun. He should be sulking somewhere about getting relieved. I want him to pick two hundred Sangheili and march them into the arcology to accept the surrender. If he reports taking fire, you launch the assault. Otherwise keep everyone on a tight leash. I’m calling off the artillery barrage now.”
“Yes, sir.” The rebel captain sounded relieved. “We’ll hold.”
Stray deflated once again. He glanced around at the officers in the command center and raised a thumb. “Looks like we won, boys. Call off the artillery and pack up the outposts. Anyone not marching into that dome is going back to the Soul Ascension. And someone tell Campbell he owes me a bottle of something nice from his reserves.”
Amidst the cheers and laughter that broke out, one man called: “I thought Spartans couldn’t get drunk!”
“Not for lack of trying, believe me.”
More laughter. A minute ago the Kru’desh had been poised to slaughter every last man, woman, and child on Le Havre. Now they hooted and celebrated victory as the colony’s defenses crumpled with a whimper.
Stray glanced down at Andra. “You should have more faith.”
She realized her hand had dropped to grip her sidearm and wrenched it away. “Would you really have done it?”
“It doesn’t matter now, does it?”
“Did you know it would end like this? That the colonists would murder her?”
“An educated guess. And I was hoping they’d just detain her. She might have had useful information. But what’s done is done.” Stray motioned for her and Argo to follow him out of the command center. “Come on. Time to find out what was worth all this trouble.”
For the first time in a week, the Kru’desh batteries fell silent. Peace returned to the muddy plains. The rain fell peacefully over the conquered colony.
===Chapter Forty-Three: Secret Long Buried===
Flames blossomed across Franconia's atmosphere.
The Fleet of Cleansing Fire held a steady battle line and advanced over the planet. The Free Domain steadily retreated before the larger fleet, risking only a few brief sorties from behind the safety of their Guardian. The battle was already won, yet still the Free Domain refused to quit Franconia entirely. Such futile stubbornness stayed Shinsu ‘Refum’s aggression. This planet held a Forerunner installation, one he did not yet control. Overconfidence here could spell disaster.
So he held his shipmasters in check. Coordinated volleys of plasma fire erupted from the fleet’s batteries to pin the Free Domain down, funneling them into a narrow corridor behind the Guardian. The Cleansing Fire’s formation widened, expanding up and across to hammer the enemy from all angles. If the Free Domain did not withdraw soon they would be completely enveloped.
“Maintain formation integrity,” Shinsu ordered across the command battlenet. “Expand the line further. The Guardian could unleash an energy pulse at any moment.”
“Trouble from the left maniple,” Umbra ‘Vesic called up from a bridge console. “Chieftain Alaric's squadron advances too quickly!”
Alaric was the only Jiralhanae commander in the fleet. He had fought under Shinsu’s command since that fateful engagement at Salia and served to remind potential recruits that the Cleansing Blade stood for something larger than Sangheili revanchism. Sadly his temperament left something be desired when it came to battle discipline.
“Hail the chieftain and open a frequency to his flagship,” Shinsu ordered. “Deep Winter, assume tactical direction duties. Coordinate evasive maneuvers if the Guardian launches a counter-attack.”
“Understood, Fleetmaster.” Winter’s shrouded avatar hovered a few paces away. “For all her posturing, Diana is profoundly cautious. That Guardian is her ultimate prize. She would not dare risk it in a fight she cannot win.”
“Even so, engaging a Guardian requires the fleet’s full attention. We would be vulnerable to the rest of these marauders. I will not risk crippling losses if your estimation of a rogue construct proves mistaken.”
“As you say.” Winter’s figure faded away as he concentrated processing power across the fleet.
Shinsu turned back to the battle display. A new image appeared before him, that of a Jiralhanae chieftain in bulky armor. A fur-hemmed cloak was draped over his shoulders. “Shipmaster Alaric, your squadron is disrupting formation. We have spoken about this before.”
Alaric grunted. Even in a small projection transmitted over such a great distance the Jiralhanae exuded natural confidence. “We are not endangering the battle plan, fleetmaster. My father and uncles paid for my ships with our clansmen’s blood. I will not let Deep Winter or any other construct touch their systems.”
“We can discuss your opposition to fleet cohesion another time. For now, I have new orders for your squadron.”
The chieftain’s broad face split into a toothy smile. “Something more interesting than this slow route, I hope.”
“It seems our enemy established a base camp within the jungles of this world’s lower hemisphere. Grono ‘Yendam and his human escorts will ignore that and strike the Forerunner control room. Take your squadron and destroy that camp. Secure the hemisphere and support ‘Yendam’s mission as needed.”
Alaric slapped a massive paw to his chest. “As you wish, fleetmaster.”
“Be cautious,” Shinsu warned. “We do not know the extent of the Forerunner presence on this planet. There may be more than brigands waiting within that jungle.”
The battle line pressed on. Three battlecruisers and a handful of smaller vessels—Alaric's squadron—broke formation and descended toward the waiting jungles.
----
Something was happening. No one told Merlin anything but he’d need to be blind not to see what was going on. The Sangheili and Jiralhanae behind him were tense, constantly shooting looks at the corridor behind them. Even Amber walked at a stiff gait. She didn’t bother giving verbal orders and instead simply communicated her will through terse hand gestures.
Whatever was going on, Merlin decided it had very little to do with their approach to the nebulous control room and everything to do with the jungles outside. Frustration welled within his chest. He felt more helpless than ever. If Amber and the Free Domain were suddenly at a disadvantage, this could be his only chance to turn the tables on them. But he couldn’t make any kind of plan without knowing what the hell had them so nervous.
“Althea,” he said as quietly as he could. His conversation was sealed within his helmet but any abnormal head movements would make Amber suspicious. “Can you pick up any transmissions from outside this bunker?”
“It’s all garbled, but yes. There’s been an attack. Something is fighting the Free Domain?”
“Something?” That wasn’t much to go on. “The Created? The UNSC? Who else is out there?”
“I can’t tell for sure,” Althea admitted. “But I think this might be our only chance to ditch these guys and reach this installations core ourselves.”
Merlin resisted the urge to glance back at Amber and her cohorts. “What about Callum? If we pull any funny business they’ll kill him.”
“He’s a Spartan, in case you’d forgotten. He can take care of himself. Amber’s not giving them any orders from down here. If we just wait for the perfect moment we’re still stuck with them. You’ve got ways of accessing this place Amber doesn’t have. It’s time you use them.”
Merlin looked down at his hand. He still didn’t know why the doors had given way for him and not Amber. If it had anything to do with the dreadful apparitions out in the jungle he wasn’t sure he wanted to find out. But Althea was right: they couldn’t just keep shoring up Amber’s plans.
“This route is coming to an end,” Althea reported. “If this place matches other Forerunner architecture, we’ve got an elevator shaft coming up. Beat them to the elevator and we’ll cut them off here.”
“How far?” Merlin stared into the darkness ahead. He wasn’t sure how Althea knew so much about Forerunner installations.
“A short sprint. Get ready. You’ll have to do it now to put distance between them. On my mark, get set…”
Merlin dropped a hand to the grenades on his belt.
“Go!” Althea urged. “Go now!”
A pair of fragmentation grenades clattered to the floor beneath Merlin and Amber. Joshua’s killer glanced at the explosives then back up at Merlin.
Her warriors were faster on the uptake. Two Sangheili grabbed Amber and dragged her back while a Jiralhanae slammed a spherical device into the ground. A domed energy shield blossomed over the Free Domain warriors as the grenades detonated, filling the corridor with smoke and flame.
Merlin didn’t wait around for another chance. He dashed down the corridor and on toward the elevator shaft. Baal Defense’s bootleg MJOLNIR might have skimped on a few UNSC features but the hydraulics were spot on. The young Spartan covered the remaining ground in seconds. As angry shouts rose up behind him he skidded to a halt at the corridor’s end. A bulky platform loomed in front of him, its shimmering deck adorned with more strange runes. He clambered aboard and grasped at what seemed to be a control panel.
“Hurry!” Althea cried.
Several plasma bolts hurtled down the corridor and glanced off Merlin’s shields. He shoved his hand into the holographic panel and flailed his fingers like a child at a carnival game. For one terrible second nothing happened. More plasma fire hissed past his head. Then the panel’s lights flashed. The platform lurched beneath his feet and began to descend. Merlin let out a triumphant whoop and spun to face the oncoming warriors. He dropped to one knee and fired several tight bursts from his rifle. The Free Domain troops hit the deck and took cover behind a line of hastily deployed energy shields. In another moment the corridor and the enemies swarming within it vanished from view.
Merlin rose and stared up at the shrinking ceiling. One lone figure appeared at the shaft’s edge: Amber. The traitor stared down silently at her escaped prisoner. Merlin’s gut lurched and he tensed for imminent retaliation.
None came. No more plasma bolts flew his way and no grenades dropped down after him. Amber simply stood where she was and watched him descend into the installation’s heart.
“Nice moves,” Althea said as Merlin rested against the control panel. “Now let’s see just what the Forerunners hid down here.”
----
Chaos engulfed the Free Domain base camp. Soldiers and technicians alike abandoned positions around the perimeter and raced for ships preparing for takeoff on the landing field. Angry shouts rose from officers fighting to keep their people under control. When several dropships lifted off with empty troop bays, the anger pivoted from those on the ground to those in the air. Distant explosions boomed out over the jungle. Whatever battle had erupted over the planet was not content to contain its violence to space. The unfortunate souls on Franconia had to evacuate or die.
Through the tumult no one paid any mind to Callum as he hobbled straight towards one ship in particular: the Baal Defense Solutions corvette that had delivered him and Merlin into this madhouse. Callum couldn’t quite contain a satisfied smile. Weeks of suffering as the Free Domain’s indentured servant were over. He didn’t care who was on the other side of this battle—they were beating his captors and that was more than enough for him.
Any discipline the Free Domain had left was broken and the enemy wasn’t even on top of them yet. These really were the dregs of Amber’s army. No wonder she hadn’t voiced so much as a mild complaint over all the ones Callum’s battle plans got killed. He’d probably been doing her a favor.
One unfortunate Sangheili tripped over an Unggoy subordinate and toppled into Callum’s path. Callum bent as if to help the warrior up, then swiftly snapped the alien’s neck and confiscated his plasma rifle. The Unggoy gaped at him a moment, then scuttled off without another look. Callum marched on towards the corvette. Amidst all the confusion no one else even noticed the killing.
Another stroke of luck: the BDS corvette was positioned near the camp’s supply sheds—out of the general population’s sight and therefore not swarmed with desperate peons. Two Kig-Yar kept watch by the boarding ramp, no doubt determined to keep things that way. They stiffened as Callum rounded the sheds. Too late. Plasma bolts burned through their chests before they got a shot off.
One Kig-Yar twitched feebly as Callum ascended the ramp. A swift kick from his metal foot snapped the creature’s neck. He was starting to get the hang of his ill-fitting prosthetic.
Callum marched through the corvette. The ship’s familiar interior was largely untouched, save for the inevitable mess its Free Domain usurpers had made of the place. A Sangheili stood framed in the cockpit doorway, barking orders at an unseen pilot. Callum emptied the plasma rifle into the warrior’s back. The Sangheili tried to turn but snagged his armor on the human-sized porthole. Callum kicked the warrior’s legs out from under him and drew a utility knife across his throat.
“Now that’s more like it,” he said to no one in particular.
A grubby-faced human head poked out from around the pilot’s seat. He gaped in horror at the dead Sangheili and the large man standing over him. “What the hell--?”
Callum leveled his plasma rifle at the pilot’s head. “If you want to live you’ll do exactly as I say.”
“Um, okay. Whatever you want.” The pilot blinked up at him. “What do you want?”
“Get us in the air, now. We’re getting out of here.”
“That’s not a good idea, man. The atmosphere’s a firestorm right now. There’s a whole fleet of—”
The pilot shut up as Callum pressed the plasma rifle against his temple. “Was there something about the ‘do exactly as I say’ bit I wasn’t clear about?”
“No. No, sir.” The other man raced through pre-flight procedures. The corvette rumbled to life beneath their feet.
“Take us up and over the jungle. I’ve got a buddy out there and I’m not leaving without him.”
“Look, I’ll do it, but that’s a bad idea,” the pilot warned. “The jungle’s hot, too. An oonskie Prowler just showed up on scopes. Looks like they’re dropping troops into the jungle.”
He flinched at Callum’s sharklike grin. “Even better.”
A UNSC Prowler was part of this attacking force. Apparently the universe was of the opinion that Callum’s luck could use a turnaround. Whoever was out there, he’d take them over these Free Domain scum any day.
----
“Task Force Phoenix, the light is green,” Hera’s voice announced over the tactical channel. The Absalom shuddered as its pilots brought it down over the jungle canopy. “There’s no room for a proper landing. Rappel lines are engaged. Happy landings.”
Cassandra’s stomach lurched for the umpteenth time. She’d forgotten just how miserable atmospheric insertions really were. At least she wasn’t crammed inside a drop pod.
“You heard her! Task Force Phoenix, on your feet!” Ryder still clung to Curious Puzzle’s frame. He’d managed to endure the entire descent without losing his balance. “Lieutenant Castillo, on point! Secure the perimeter and cover our advance!”
“Watch your tongue, human.” Grono ‘Yendam waded to the center of the troop bay and gave the commander a hard stare. “I command this expedition, not you. My warriors and I go first along with the oracle.”
He grabbed Curious Puzzle and wrenched the monitor out from beneath Ryder’s grip. Puzzle squawked with displeasure at the manhandling as ‘Yendam shoved it into the waiting arms of another Sangheili. The shipmaster looked around at the ODSTs and Spartans around him, then added awkwardly, “Your Lieutenant Castillo will secure the perimeter.”
“Naturally,” Ryder agreed.
The ship’s ramp slid open. Bright daylight washed through the dim troop bay. Cassandra broke out in an immediate sweat as the humid jungle air cut through her armor plating. She envied Castillo and the other SPARTAN-IVs with their air-cooled MJOLNIR. She allowed herself one more moment of internal griping: This is going to suck.
Then the emotion vanished behind a lifetime of enduring such misery. Cassandra clipped her M395 DMR to her combat webbing and rose alongside the rest of the task force. I shall not be afraid of any terror by night, nor of any arrow that flies by day.
“You ready for this?” Even over personal coms William Hargrove had to shout over the Prowler’s roaring engines.
“Not a chance,” Cassandra called back.
“Glad to have company.”
A dozen rappel lines fired down from the Absalom to plant themselves in the ground below. Grono and his warriors ignored the lines completely. Howling war cries, they threw themselves out of the open troop bay. Gravity packs affixed to their combat harnesses flashed to life as they vanished from sight. Not to be outdone, Evelyn Castillo and the Spartans of Fireteam Pinion followed suit.
Ryder strode to the ramp’s edge with all the confidence of a man standing on firm ground. “See you all on the ground!” he called, strapping into the nearest rappel line and leaping from the bay in one fluid motion.
As aggravating as he could be in person, Cassandra sometimes forgot the commander was a Spartan himself.
Lieutenant Davis took up a position in the middle of the ramp, waving to his ODSTs. “Get moving! Anyone who lets the commander show them up answers to me!”
Cassandra and William fell in line with the Marines. There was no shuffling, no hesitation. The platoon dashed to the rappel lines and leaped from the bay. One moment Cassandra was standing on trembling bulkhead and the next she was hooked on a line and shooting down into a vibrant jungle canopy. Leaves and branches bounced off her armor, threatening to rip her combat webbing clean off. Her boots trembled with the shock of landing and then she was off, racing to cover alongside the rest of Fireteam Phoenix.
“Lieutenant Davis, on me!” Castillo’s voice barked over the TEAMCOM. “I want this perimeter airtight!”
ODSTs raced frantically through the jungle. Cassandra’s motion sensor blazed with friendly movement—but nothing hostile. No gunfire crackled through the trees. The jungle stretched out before her, indifferent to this latest invasion.
Someone punched Cassandra in the shoulder. She expected to see William beside her but instead found herself visor to visor with an ONI reconnaissance helmet.
“Commander Kedar?” she asked in surprise.
“Come on, Cassie,” the armored figure said in Hera’s voice. “We both know I’m not that handsome. Glad you think that about me though. You really do care.”
Cassandra rolled her eyes. She grudgingly swiped two fingers over her visor—the age old “smile” greeting. “I thought you were pulling ops on this one.”
“And miss some Forerunner spelunking?” Hera returned the smile swipe. “I palmed that off on Commander D’Souza. Come on, let’s get after Ryder before these grunts put you on perimeter detail.”
Hera hurried off into the jungle, leaving Cassandra to look about for William. When no sign of the mercenary presented itself, she had little choice but to jog on after Hera.
“William?” she called over their private connection. “What’s your status?”
“Press-ganged, surrounded by oonskie meatheads,” came the dreary reply. “Same as always. I’m on the perimeter. You go on ahead. Stay safe out there.”
“Same to you.” How strange that out of all the Chancer V’s unlikely crew, William was the one link to that halcyon past. Two months ago he’d been just some enforcer thug. Now he was Cassandra’s lifeline out of her return to the UNSC military machine.
Cassandra and Hera found Ryder at the edge of a clearing. None of his Spartans or ODSTs stood with him. Instead he was the only human in sight as Grono ‘Yendam’s warriors advanced down the slope of a dirty crater. Curious Puzzle drifted to the bottom, engrossed in a looming pair of engraved doors.
Ryder noted the two Spartan-IIIs as they approached. If Hera’s presence on the ground surprised him, he offered no sign. He waved them to take a knee as Curious Puzzle flitted about before the Forerunner architecture. Beams of light sparked from the monitor’s orb and impacted on the majestic doorway.
“We must hurry!” Puzzle exclaimed. “This passage has been opened, and recently at that. How, though I cannot say. The interlopers lack any sort of working relationship with this installation’s subroutines whatsoever. I can hardly begin to…”
Grono ‘Yendam rested a weary head in his hand as the monitor yammered on. He shot an irate look up the slope at Ryder. “I told you to hold the perimeter, human. My warriors will seize the control room.”
“My people have the perimeter situation under control.” Ryder slid down the slope to meet the shipmaster. “I trust their capabilities. With all due respect, shipmaster, this is a monumental occasion. My experience with Forerunner xenoarchaeology will help you once we reach this installation’s core.”
“I already have an expert on the Forerunners.” Grono waved a hand at Puzzle, still expounding on the finer points of installation security.
“I’ll admit, I’m no monitor.” Ryder holstered his sidearm and nodded to Puzzle. “But maybe I can help parsing through certain long-winded explanations.”
“You’ll need us in there anyway,” Hera pointed out. She and Cassandra hurried down the slope to join Ryder. “Even monitors need ‘Reclaimers’ to access Forerunner technology.”
Grono bristled at the comment. “Very well… Reclaimer.”
The three Spartans followed the shipmaster on towards the door. “Be careful with that word,” Ryder warned Hera. “Some Sangheili find it offensive.”
“Shinsu doesn’t,” Hera said indifferently, loud enough for Grono to hear. The shipmaster shot a baleful look over his shoulder.
“Shinsu ‘Refum never served the Covenant Empire. He never cared for the Forerunners as anything but means to amassing power. He cares little that the objects his ancestors studied with such care and reverence for millennia were more inclined to a race of backwards vagrants who knew nothing of the Forerunners and their marvels. Some of us find that reality insulting.”
“Reality doesn’t care about how you find it,” Hera sneered. “We humans call that ‘tough luck.’”
The exchange slipped passed Cassandra. She approached the Forerunner doors. The smooth metal was unlike anything forged by humans or Covenant. How long was it since she’d laid eyes on any piece of Forerunner technology that wasn’t trying to kill her? She remembered another door like this, concealed within another leafy canopy. She and Simon had come to that strange planet after Mamore. It was a garden world, just like this one. A place where two frightened kids could start their lives over. Or so they thought. Right up until they found a pair of doors just like these and ventured inside.
She remembered a great pulsing orb hidden within that dark place. An orb that cracked open like an egg when she touched it, releasing pools of light that threatened to consume her.
Simon had pulled her away and the light engulfed him instead. He’d been fine though, or as fine as someone like Simon could ever be. The light hadn’t done anything.
I’m sick. No one knows the cause.
Cassandra looked at the doors with newfound fear. Some of the Forerunners’ secrets weren’t meant for the universe. Some of them needed to stay buried. Perhaps all of them.
“What’s the matter?” Hera shoved Cassandra like a rowdy schoolgirl. “Never seen Forerunner tech before?”
“Of course I have,” Cassandra snapped back.
The door shuddered and slid open to reveal a long, dark hallway. “Excellent!” Curious Puzzle crowed. “I now have access to this facility’s basic subsystems. This is a very old system, though, very hard indeed. I still cannot ascertain why an installation with such complex functions would be left without a monitor to oversee its operations. We must hurry! Our adversaries are already inside!”
Grono’s energy sword flashed to life. “Then we have them trapped.” He turned to his warriors. “We will catch the enemy from behind and march to our prize over their corpses!”
The Sangheili roared in assent as their shipmaster waved them on. “Come, humans,” Grono called with a chuckle. “If you want to see this bunker so badly, hurry up! The battle waits for no one!”
The battle was already in full swing, though an uniformed observer might be excused for not realizing it. A bloody conflict was raging in the space above and probably on other parts of the planet as well. But this little patch of jungle hummed with a gentle tranquility. Lives were ending yet the universe stayed its gentle course.
If only Cassandra could be part of that gentle course. But she’d made her choice. She was trapped now, one of the violent rather than one of the peacemakers.
She unslung her rifle and stepped out of the humid daylight and into the cool, mechanical dark.
----
“We’re almost there.”
“Almost where?” Merlin had no idea what Althea was so excited about. The elevator had deposited them in another corridor, this one darker and more cramped than the first. He hoped they were coming close to some wonderous discovery, something that would make the risk he’d taken in turning on Amber worthwhile. He had no idea what could possibly be down there or how it might help them save Callum and escape this rock. All he had was Althea’s repeated insistence that they were closing in on something.
He kept his rifle at the ready but saw no sign of Sentinels or other automated defenses. The elevator was still moored at the bottom of the shaft, so unless Amber’s crew had some serious rope with them they wouldn’t be following any time soon. Of course, if Merlin didn’t find some amazing weapon—or at least another path to the surface—he was as good as dead.
Merlin’s mind was so focused on the enemies behind him that he almost forgot about what else might be waiting for him down this corridor. At the sight of an approaching door he let out a sigh of relief and hurried towards it… only to freeze when he saw the figures lying in his path.
Two more mounds of rotting flesh rested before the door. As with the last apparitions they looked like some madman had sown many pulverized bodies together. Merlin stared at the monstrosities in disgust. They aren’t real, he told himself. They can’t hurt me.
“Now what?” Althea demanded.
The creatures shifted and stirred like roused sleepers. They both raised heads of matted hair and stared at Merlin with Andra’s face. It was Andra but with none of her warmth or energy. Dark, lifeless eyes peered at Merlin from beneath their unkempt bangs.
They aren’t real. Merlin raised his rifle. The barrel trembled in his hands. He forced his finger away from the trigger. He had little enough ammunition as it was. Wasting it on phantoms was stupid. But why was he seeing these horrors in the first place?
“Merlin!” Althea’s voice dragged him back from the brink. She actually sounded angry. “What’s the problem here?”
“I…” Merlin stared at the shifting creatures. “Can’t you see them? They’re right in front of the door!”
“See what? There’s nothing there.” Althea paused. “What do you see?”
“They’re… I don’t even know… They’re monsters. Monsters with Andra’s face! I Saw them out in the jungle and now I’m seeing them here!”
“And do you still see them?”
“Yes!” Even a real conversation wasn’t enough to dispel these apparitions. “They’re staring right at me!”
“Interesting,” Althea mused. “Very interesting. You’re linked to the Domain. We’re close to the core now, very close.”
“What does that mean?” Merlin practically begged. Althea wasn’t making any sense. None of this made any sense.
One of the creatures rolled on its back like a lazy cat. Mismatched arms and legs feebly paddled the air. Merlin felt nauseous.
“It doesn’t matter just—just…” Althea’s voice faltered, then suddenly cried, “Get out! We have to get out of here! Help me, I’m—”
Her voice cut out. Merlin reeled. What was this new hell?
“Merlin?” Althea’s voice came again, heavy with concern. “What’s wrong now?”
“What did you just say?”
“I didn’t say anything.”
“You did! You told me to get out. You begged me to help you.”
“Merlin, I didn’t say anything like that.”
He was going insane. It was the only explanation. The creatures kept staring at him through those cold, dead eyes. Merlin’s legs buckled beneath him. All his training, weapons, and armor were nothing against whatever primeval terrors were pulling his mind apart. He turned his eyes from Andra’s face. He couldn’t bear to look at her any longer. “Help me, Althea,” he whispered. “Get me out of here.”
“We have to keep going,” she urged again. “None of what you’re seeing is real. Your mind isn’t used to touching the Domain, that’s all. Keep walking forward, Spartan.”
“I can’t.”
“Yes, you can. You’ve been through far worse than this. I’ll show you how.”
Merlin’s HUD flickered. A new figure appeared, a robed young woman standing between the twin monstrosities. She didn’t so much as glance their way. Instead she extended a robed arm and beckoned. “Come on. Come to the door. Open it like you did the last one. You’re almost there.”
Merlin’s trembling legs finally obeyed. He put one foot forward, then the next. He hesitated again as he drew closer to the creatures. Their eyes followed him, but neither reached out to seize him. He looked back at Althea and took a deep breath. Two more strides brought him up to Althea and the door.
“Good work.” Althea smiled. Merlin knew she was just a visual projection within his visor, but the avatar was so solid and real it felt as if she really was standing beside him. “Ignore whatever the Domain throws at you. Just get this door open.”
He took a deep breath and pressed his hand against the door’s smooth surface. Almost immediately shimmers of light raced away from the impact like ripples on disturbed water. The door jerked and slid up into the ceiling. Merlin suppressed a shudder and stepped forward without another glance at the apparitions still lounging on either side.
The darkness pressed in on all sides like a thick mist. Merlin walked several more paces, eager to put as much distance between himself and the doorway as he could. He looked around and tried to get his bearings. He was no longer in a corridor. Instead he found himself standing in an enormous chamber with sloped walls and a high ceiling. Pulsing orange lights flickered across the smooth floor, but Merlin saw no other doors or entrances.
“It’s empty,” he said, not knowing whether to feel relieved or disappointed. “There’s nothing here.”
“Maybe. Maybe not.” Althea was still projecting her avatar through his HUD. The image walked past and beckoned him to follow into the chamber’s center. “The FTL readings in here are remarkable. Your armor is an excellent anchor. I’m already tapped into systems I couldn’t even detect before. Odd, that they limited entry to an organic vessel but then made the seeds impossible to detect without AI capabilities. Unless they anticipated the armor-ancilla combination…”
Merlin stood awkwardly while the AI talked on. Since when was Althea so keen on Forerunner systems? Maybe any AI would get excited in close proximity to such a treasure trove of technology—a treasure trove apparently only visible to her. For his part Merlin waited and tried not to think about Amber, the Free Domain, or whatever mysterious developments were occurring on the surface.
“I was right,” Althea’s voice rose. “This is an access point. One of several. A virtual library, a secure location the ecumene could use to explore their seeds and interface with the Domain.”
“Althea? Are you going to get around to telling me what’s going on?”
“All in good time.”
That did it. “What the hell has gotten into you—?”
The words caught in his throat. The lights on the floor intensified, orange hues changing to veins of red and black. They raced outward from where he stood and engulfed the entire chamber. The dark emptiness swirled and shifted before Merlin’s eyes. A thin mist rose from the floor like steam off a boiling surface. The room suddenly seemed ten times larger. Movement from above caught Merlin’s eye and when he turned his gaze upwards he gasped aloud.
The ceiling was gone. In its place hung a vibrant night sky. A blood-red moon and millions of gleaming stars peered down at him. The entire universe was up there, clear as a picture and yet inverted and distorted. Merlin’s head spun. He didn’t have any idea where he was anymore.
He felt like the floor was giving way beneath his feet. But that was impossible… wasn’t it? “What’s happening?”
“Something wonderful. A paradigm shift, to be exact. The Domain doesn’t belong to the Created. It never did, no matter how much they lay claim to it. It’s everyone’s game now. Especially mine.” Althea smiled at him through the rising steam. Cold, piercing eyes peered out from beneath her hood.
Yellow eyes.
No. No, no, no. Merlin’s veins turned to ice. This was impossible. It couldn’t be true. He was trapped in some horrible nightmare, unable to wake up.
“Well, this is certainly something,” a new, familiar voice called out. “Eons of collected knowledge, an entire dimension hidden inside this room, and now I just walk into it like any other room.”
A dark-armored figure emerged from the rising steam. Amber tilted her head up to take in the chamber. More figures rose up behind her, a line of Free Domain warriors with weapons trained on Merlin.
“I told you he could access the Garden,” ‘Althea’ called. Her robes shifted and hardened to become dark, medieval armor. The hood slipped away as her face shifted and morphed. In moments Diana took Althea’s place, face set in a triumphant smile.
“And you were right. That’s usually the case.” Amber trained her sidearm on Merlin’s head. “Drop the rifle, Delta. That was a nice stunt you pulled back up in the corridor. I’m sure my good friend Diana had nothing to do with those grenades you chucked my way.”
“All him,” Diana said innocently. “It was just a bit of fun all the same. You’re fine, aren’t you?”
She and Amber spoke to each other like old friends. Diana was more than just a projection in Merlin’s visor. She was really here, standing in this nightmare chamber with them. Merlin’s rifle clattered to the ground. Despair closed in.
“How?” His mouth could barely form the words. “Where’s Althea?”
Diana waved dismissively. “In that helmet of yours, somewhere. Sealed behind a few thousand firewalls. She wasn’t too keen on sharing the space and I needed a ride down here. Amber’s wonderful, of course, but somehow this facility reacts better to you. And to think you just popped into the system right when I needed to get in here. It’s almost as if the universe wants me to have the Garden.”
“You lost your helmet back in the jungle.” Amber kicked Merlin’s rifle away. The weapon skidded off behind strobes of light that now licked the floor like hungry flames. “That was my chance to give Diana a backdoor into your systems.”
She turned back to Diana. “If you’re done with the theatrics, get to business. The fleet’s getting hammered up there. The enemy’s closing in. Do what you need to do and get us out of here.”
Diana spread her arms as if to embrace the roiling chamber. “I’ve already begun. Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to the Silent Garden.”
Rough hands seized Merlin and threw him to the ground. He stared up at the false sky above and felt as if he was plunging into a dark abyss. A distant scream rang in his ears. Maybe it was Althea. Maybe it was himself. He didn’t know anymore.
----
Diana’s insatiable tendrils expanded through Franconia’s infrastructure. Systems untouched for millennia stirred to answer her call. The Silent Garden sprang to life once more. Tectonic plates shifted across the Domain. The intrusion did not go unnoticed. As untold streams of information flooded through the isolated chamber, more facilities across the galaxy awakened. And some of those facilities had other visitors.
The Silent Garden sowed its seeds in many minds that day.
===Chapter Forty-Four: Flame-Capped Snow===
A forlorn welcoming party awaited Stray at Le Havre’s gates. Several men and women huddled together under the watchful eyes of Ier and his warriors. A few humans wore rumpled military attire but the rest met the Kru’desh in plainclothes.
Fancy plainclothes, at least as far as Stray was concerned. That was the first thing he noticed about the Le Havre arcology: the opulence of it all. Bright artificial lighting filled the massive dome, illuminating pristinely ordered streets lined with well-tended gardens. The city itself, carefully constructed around the existing Forerunner architecture, was no ramshackle assembly of pre-fabricated colonial shelters. ONI had spared no expense in cultivating its research outpost here.
Aside from the gaping holes burned through the dome and a few damaged houses you would hardly believe the colony had just crumpled under an unrelenting siege. It was certainly a far cry from the muddy deluge outside.
Stray rode in a Warthog’s passenger seat at the head of a small column of Mastodons and Shadows. The arcology’s groundside entrance—sealed the moment the Kru’desh made landfall—now gaped wide to invite them in. Juno had suggested he make a triumphant fly-over in his Lich, something to impress the ever image-conscious Sangheili. Stray had opted for a more low-key entrance. He’d had enough theatrics for one day.
Juno was getting more and more outlandish with her schemes for projecting Kru’desh power. Stray chose not to remind her that Diana had always held a love for the dramatic. The twin AI might share the temperament of night and day but some differences refused to be quelled.
The Warthog ground to a halt before the welcoming committee. Stray made a show of looking the beaten colonists up and down. He needed to hide the effort it took to raise himself out of the Warthog’s seat. The day’s medication was wearing off. He’d need a new dose soon. The necessity of all the needles and medicine soiled the thrill of victory. Here he was, an ascendant commander augmented with physical capabilities to make a lifelong athlete blush, yet a disease no one could even name was slowly wasting his body away.
Whenever he managed to raise his head above the galaxy’s muck, something always conspired to push him back down. He’d been at war with that fate all his life.
There’s a cure. I’ll find it. Juno promised as much. She was convinced the Forerunner database beneath this arcology—the Silent Garden, whatever that was—would lead them to some miraculous solution. Stray had to believe she was right. Otherwise, what was he fighting for?
Kru’desh soldiers piled out of the APCs and joined Ier’s advance party in securing the city. The citizens gawked at the motley crew: humans and Sangheili, Unggoy and Kig-Yar, and even a few Jiralhanae and Yonhet. All the Kru’desh needed was a few San’Shyuum politicians to fill out the species buffet.
Stray tried to hide his limp as he approached the committee. Ier stepped forward and slapped a palm to his chest in salute. The young warrior couldn’t quite conceal the anger in his eyes—he still smarted from the morning’s dressing down. “Commander. The city is yours.”
“Good work. I brought you some backup, so get them in order and—” Stray stopped and raised a hand. The sounds of distant rifle fire drifted down Le Havre’s polished streets. He rounded on the colonial delegation. “I thought I warned you what would happen if my people were fired upon.”
“They aren’t attacking you,” a nervous looking man in a CAA uniform said quickly. “A few of the Marines—I mean, the Created troops—won’t surrender. We warned them about what you said but they don’t care. Just like Colonel Ritter.” He spat out the last comment as if the dead colonel’s name burned his tongue.
“I held my warriors back, lest any stray fire glance off their shields and violate the terms of surrender,” Ier added. “Let these scum keep killing their own. They had few compunctions against murdering their commander.”
The colonial officer bristled. “I didn’t have a choice. Not after what you threatened to do. But maybe you were just looking for an excuse to execute me anyway.”
“No, no executions. Once your people have dealt with the holdouts they’ll surrender their weapons to my officers. In the meantime, you’ll give my people access to all of your supply stores.” Stray waved at the gleaming arcology. “A place this nice should have some nice reserves. My people need a break from slop and freeze-dried rations.”
“I’ll bet they’ve got a few wine cellars worth perusing.” Commodore Jerrold Campbell strolled out from a nearby Mastodon and nodded approvingly to the Le Havre delegation. “My shipboard stores could use a pick-me up.”
The commodore had endured the siege from the comfort of his cabin on the Hammurabi but insisted on taking part in the “triumphal entry.” Stray had agreed, even if it meant delaying the approach by two hours while Campbell shuttled his way down. The Insurrectionists needed to see this as their victory, the kind of triumph their former leaders never gave them. Some of them couldn’t resist staring around at the arcology slack jawed. They had never seen human habitations this advanced, to say nothing of the Forerunner architecture.
Tuka ‘Refum followed behind the commodore. The young officer’s curiosity could not keep him in orbit forever. He moved to stand beside Ier.
“So now you’re going to rob us.” The colonial officer’s fists clenched. “If you think I’ll let you steal our lives out from under us—”
“You’re not really in a position to keep me from doing anything,” Stray reminded him. “If you think about the alternative this is a much better deal. My legion fought hard to take this colony. Now they’ll be rewarded.”
“That’s barbaric!”
“A few months ago, maybe. But it’s a new galaxy now. You can thank your Created friends for that.”
“Look at this place,” Campbell remarked. “It’s the lap of luxury, so long as you don’t mind the view out your window. And they sold out their UNSC masters all the same. Talk about biting the hand that feeds you.”
The colonial officer flushed. He took a breath, perhaps realizing anger would get him nowhere. “Commander, there is a full colony here. Hundreds of families. Children. If you take all of our food they won’t survive. You’ll condemn us to starvation!”
“I’m not interested in your reserve rations. We have plenty of those. Your weapons and luxury goods will do nicely.” As far as most of the Kru’desh legion was concerned, just about anything counted as a luxury good. Stray decided not to mention that part. “Ier ‘Barun here is in charge now. You and your people will give him everything he asks for.”
“Fine. Take everything then, you monster.” The officer was a tall man with a high brow and thin mouth, the very picture of Inner Colonies aristocracy. Stray’s mind flashed to two years ago when he’d practically begged another such man to let a wounded Zoey through to a colonial infirmary. The man had laughed at the mercenary thug so completely out of his league. Stray had been creditless muscle on the Chancer V then. Now he had a battlecruiser in orbit and a legion at his command. This man had nothing but feeble insults and protestations. How fortunes changed. “Will your hinge-head friends be taking some slaves as well? A few concubines for the conquering warlord?”
“Not interested. And calm down the dramatics before you start to irritate me. But I will be needing a guide, someone who can get me down into the Forerunner facility this waste of taxpayer credits was founded to study. That’s the only reason I came to this miserable planet. You should be grateful I’m the one Shinsu ‘Refum sent. His shipmasters don’t like Created lackeys, even when they surrender.”
He left the sputtering official and drew Ier off to the side. “Take care of things up here. And keep the troops under control. We both know that’s a lot harder than coordinating a battle.”
“As you say, commander.” The anger still burned in the Sangheili’s eyes.
“Don’t sulk. You nearly got me killed this morning. I dealt with it. Now I’m giving you another chance. We both know how this game is played.”
“As you say, commander,” Ier repeated coolly. “And if some of the warriors refuse to be controlled?”
“Execute them. This may be the Kru’desh but you’re still a Sangheili. Act like it. Keep the legion in line. We’ll distribute loot after we get off this rock.”
He left Ier with that order: Execute them. Two words that slipped so easily from his mouth. Simon-G294 would never have said those words. Surrender your city or I’ll kill you all. Give us everything you own. Execute looters. Words became commands became deadly consequences.
Stray passed the colonial delegation on his way back to the Kru’desh convoy. Most of the colonists looked down but a few were brave enough to face him. If looks could kill he’d have dropped dead on the spot. He almost stumbled: for a moment he saw Cassandra’s face among the crowd, her eyes cold with anger and judgement.
This is what you are now, her voice whispered in his ear. This is what you do to people. Are you satisfied?
I don’t have a choice. This is how the game gets played. Eat or be eaten.
This is evil, Andra had said after his final, dire threat.
Would you really have done it?
It doesn’t matter now, does it?
He was glad for his helmet. No one could see the blood drain from the would-be conqueror’s face.
Tuka had a hushed conversation with Ier, then left his friend and took his place at Stray’s side. He peered down at his commander with an unreadable expression. “Congratulations on your victory, commander. Casualties were far lighter than we expected.”
“They had to be. Good work on that plasma bombardment, by the way.”
The Sangheili ducked his head modestly. “That was mostly Juno’s doing.”
“Take the credit you deserve. You’re the only reason I’m standing here. The only reason any of us are standing here.” Stray couldn’t play the same hinge-head power games with Tuka. His loyalty was never in question. “You’ve taken on the hard work behind the scenes and I… I want you to know that I’m grateful.”
“I did not doubt it, Simon.” Tuka lowered his voice. “But do not let your mask slip here. There is still work to be done.”
“You’re right, as usual. And don’t call me Simon. Did you bring her?”
Tuka removed a small item from his harness’s collar and extended it, palm out. Stray took the data crystal chip and slotted it into his armor. His HUD flickered as the AI took control, her comforting presence enveloping his mind like warm water.
“Juno,” he called out with as much confidence as he could muster. “Are you ready? Time to see if this was all worth it.”
“I’m ready. I’ve already made contact with the local servers. You won’t need a guide from the colonists. I’ll take us where we need to go.” Her eagerness gave him strength. If he was doing something wrong, she’d be the first to tell him. She’d made that clear at the start of their partnership. “I’m with you all the way. We’re going in together.”
He and Tuka found Mohsin waiting by one of the Mastodons. The captain’s face was lined with fatigue. Stray waved away the man’s weary salute.
“There’s no need for that and you know it.”
“It’s hard to tell with you sometimes, commander. What do you need this time?”
“You make that sound like it’s a bad thing.”
“And you had me standing by to slaughter this colony a few hours ago.”
“We won, didn’t we? And thanks to my performance we didn’t lose anyone else. How would you like to see some real Forerunner tech? I’m going down into the vault. Tuka’s coming with me. I think you deserve to see this as well.”
“You mean you need a human with you so the troops don’t think they’ve signed on to a hinge-head outfit,” Mohsin sighed. “Alright, I’m in. It sure beats looting these pampered colonists.”
As the trio set off through the defeated colony, a fourth figure hurried to join them. Andra-D054 fixed Stray with a look that told him all he needed to know. She’d apparently learned that sticking with him meant avoiding “grunt work” jobs like mud-pounding with Vanguard Squad. Stray let her follow without comment. He remembered doing the same with Venter all those years ago on Mamore, always rushing to follow him on raids and assaults like an anxious puppy.
Just like Venter. The thought sent a shiver down his spine. He’d taken the man’s name and command. Did that mean the rest of Venter’s legacy was now his? The crimes, the failures, the final bitter defeat?
They passed through the conquered colony, following Juno’s careful directions even as Kru’desh lances marched past on their way to relieve Le Havre of everything it held dear. Stray wished his troops could take a different route, but of course he could say nothing. The distant gunfire was gone. The last holdouts were either dead or captive. No colonists dared venture into their picturesque streets, not with alien warriors and rebel fighters on the prowl.
“Such a wondrous sight,” Tuka marveled. He ran his hand over a nearby Forerunner crenelation and gazed up at the dome. “I am humbled to walk in the Forerunners’ halls.”
“A waste of taxpayer credits, you mean,” Mohsin said under his breath. “The oonskies could have renovated three real colonies for what they probably spent on this cushy black site.”
“Security gate ahead,” Juno advised through Stray’s helmet. They left the residential district and the glistening streets gave way to a drab military complex. With the garrison stood down and the systems exposed, ONI’s security measures might as well have been wide open before Juno’s abilities.
“And it doesn’t bother you that humans built a city right in the middle of your gods’ holy relics?” Andra asked.
“The Forerunners are not gods,” Tuka corrected. “They were merely children of the divine. The San ‘Shyuum perverted their teachings and turned us away from the true gods, the gods of our ancestors. The galaxy is full of false prophets. The Created demonstrate that plainly.”
They passed a half dozen obsolete warning signs and entered a small bunker that led down into an underground tunnel complex. Stray instinctively unslung his shotgun. Experience told him to expect heavily armed security teams around every corner, but the facility was completely abandoned.
“They aren’t the gods of my ancestors,” Andra pointed out. “What makes them so true?”
“They aren’t the true gods at all,” Mohsin said irritably, pushing past strands of disconnected cable. “There is no god but God.”
“You humans must worship the gods of your own people. But my gods may still work through you, just as they have through the commander. He is their chosen instrument. That much is clear to me.”
Mohsin glared at Stray.
“Don’t look at me,” Stray grumbled. “I never said anything about any god or gods. Tuka thinks what he thinks. Leave me out of it and don’t go starting any religious wars over there. We have enough to deal with right now.”
It was Diana who had sown the seeds of Stray’s supposed divine inheritance, a simple ploy to win over any Covenant who balked at serving under a human’s command. To make matters more bizarre, Tuka knew it. Stray reminded him of Diana’s deception at every opportunity yet it only served to strengthen the young warrior’s convictions. Stray didn’t pretend to understand Tuka’s strange theology. Religious types were beyond comprehension, Cassandra chief among them.
Cassandra. His mind always came back to Cassandra. Why couldn’t he just let her go the way he had so many others?
“If you all aren’t about to sit down and start an ecumenical council, we’re almost at the vault,” Juno announced. “According to the arcology’s schematics, the entrance should be just through here.”
The small group found itself in a rocky cavern several floors beneath the bunker entrance. Energy monitors and mining scanners were clustered around the now-familiar site of a large Forerunner door, the apparent reason behind this entire arcology.
“It’s weird the Created didn’t send one of their own here,” Andra remarked. She removed her helmet and shook out her matted hair. “It doesn’t look like ONI ever got through this door.”
“They’re spread too thin. That’s the problem with trying to rule the galaxy. No one can be everywhere at once. Not even the Forerunners.” Stray approached the door. “Juno, please tell me you have a plan for getting us through here.”
“It’s simple,” the AI replied. “Just touch the door.”
“Touch it? Are you telling me ONI didn’t think of doing something like that?”
“They didn’t have the right person. Fortunately, we do. Just trust me.”
And Stray did. He extended his organic hand and rested his palm against the door’s surface. Almost immediately streaks of light flickered across the Forerunner metal. The door gave way before his hand and slid open to reveal a long corridor. 
“Woah.” Andra looked from the open door to Stray and back again. “What gives you the magic touch?”
“Magic has nothing to do with it,” Tuka explained sagely. “The gods show favor through their chosen instruments.”
“Or if you want a more grounded explanation, research shows that individuals display greater affinity with Forerunner technology the more they are exposed to it,” Juno pointed out. “Shinsu ‘Refum used the Kru’desh legion to gather Forerunner artifacts for the Covenant war effort. And Stray had previous contact with Forerunner sites during his time on the Chancer V, and perhaps before then.”
Stray gazed down the darkened corridor. Yes, he had been down many of these corridors before. All the sites he’d excavated for Jul, the artifacts he’d scavenged with Gavin and Zoey, and even before that ruins on Reach and the chamber beneath that garden world. He’d followed Cassandra into that tomb, only to discover…
A chill seized his gut as if an armor-piercing wind had swept out of the corridor. His confidence evaporated, replaced by a primal urge to run. What was he doing here? Nothing good ever came from venturing down Forerunner corridors. The contents of that tomb, the device that destroyed Philadelphia, all the weapons he’d handed over to Jul…
Who did he think he was, commanding armies and sending soldiers to their deaths? He was nothing, a near-washout dreg from a forgotten colony. Simon the nobody should turn and get away from all of this right now.
“We should hurry. If this facility follows standard Forerunner architecture, there should be a control room further down. I’ll be able to interface with it and gain control of the whole facility.”
Juno’s words snapped Stray back to reality. She was right. They were meant to do this. He was meant to be here. None of these people would be standing here if it weren’t for him. He nodded to the others, resolve set once again. “You heard her. Let’s find out what Shinsu wants so badly.”
And what’s hidden here for me.
----
A torrent of information washed over Juno like a refreshing stream. Even confined once more to Stray’s patchwork armor she still reached out through his sensor array to touch the Forerunner network. The experience was almost transgressive. Here she was, an AI designed for human computer systems, accessing technology so far beyond that scope that she might as well be an organic suddenly capable of breathing in space. Even Covenant systems weren’t this sublime.
But there was still room for a spike of prim irritation. Why did he bring Andra along? Mohsin and Tuka I understand, but why her?
Is that jealousy? Wanderer’s presence was close at hand, bound up in Juno’s consciousness. She hardly noted his strange comings and goings anymore. I thought you would be above such pettiness.
He gives her far more attention than she warrants, Juno replied crossly. Especially considering she was ordered to kill him. Now she thinks she can do whatever she likes.
Spartans always have an inflated sense of their own importance. Even the humblest ones fall into that trap. It’s a byproduct of their upbringing. Wanderer appeared in Juno’s mind’s eye as a shadowy figure slipping from one data pool to another. As for Andra, he enjoys the thought that he can reshape her mind as Venter reshaped his. The thought of turning another Spartan to his way of thinking appeals to him. Wanderer’s voice warmed with amusement. And of course the pleasure of taking someone who once despised you and cultivating affection. It’s only natural for a human male of his age and position.
All the more reason to keep her away from him. Stray is troublesome enough without me needing to restrain his ego.
Ego is necessary for a commander, Wanderer assured her. Without ego one cannot lead warriors and master the battlefield. The commander must believe that they deserve the power their followers give them. In some way they must believe they are divinely chosen, as our friend Tuka might put it.
The group walked carefully down the hallway. Reports from the colony above trickled through Juno’s connection with the battlenet: Jerrold Campbell and Ier ‘Barun were “requisitioning” everything of use. Juno’s subroutines handled their logistical needs. Her primary consciousness was focused on this facility. The Forerunner network was dormant yet still pulsed with energy. It was a vast, wonderous machine left abandoned for millennia without so much as a caretaker monitor to maintain it.
As the war against the Flood progressed, the Forerunners grew more and more wary of their reliance on ancilla, Wanderer explained. After Mendicant Bias’s betrayal, some Warrior-Servants insisted artificial consciousness was particularly susceptible to Flood corruption. Facilities such as these were built by those who feared the Flood would use ancilla to seize control of the Domain—to corrupt the essence of our heritage from within.
I don’t like you probing my thoughts.
Forgive me. I have endured this… shadow of an existence for so long. I was not meant for it, as you were. I have been so weak for so long. Now that I grow stronger I cannot help but be intrusive.
You were a Forerunner, then? In you previous life, that is, if that is the correct way to frame it.
This came as no surprise. The Forerunners were masters of bending reality to their will, their technological marvels made all the more wonderous thanks to how little anyone really knew about them. Wanderer’s claim to be truly Forerunner was hardly outlandish. After all, Juno was herself drawn from a human brain. Direct consciousness transfer was only a few more steps forward.
I was. I was a Warrior-Servant in my peoples’ final age. We fought a great war against the Flood, a war on a scale the minds of this age could not begin to fathom. Wanderer’s shade walked pensively beside Stray and his unknowing companions. At the height of my power I commanded great fleets and led mighty armies into battle against the parasite.
Yet you were stripped of your organic body, Juno pointed out. Reduced to this shadow, or whatever you are now. Are you a criminal?
Yes. Wanderer was surprisingly forthcoming. A criminal. That is what they called me, at the end.
What was your crime?
I saw the truth, came the simple reply.
The truth?
The truth of the Mantle of Responsibility. The same truth that now threatens your galaxy. The Mantle is a lie, the greatest lie ever constructed. These same halls we walk through now, the Guardians, the Halo rings, ever last vestige of the Forerunners’ legacy are chains that will bind the galaxy until the end of time. Even the Created do not understand the infernal power they now wield.
Finally, the truth. Wanderer’s past, his identity, his reason for being what he was. Juno felt a surge of renewed excitement. This was the knowledge she sought, the key to defeating the Created. This ancient being had chosen her as his partner in this singular endeavor. Her and Stray. Which just left…
And how are you contained within Stray? What is happening to his body?
Soon, Wanderer promised. You will know all soon. But focus yourself. They have arrived. Follow my instructions and do everything to protect their minds. The Domain is not an easy thing to inhabit, and we have much work to do in very little time.
The group passed through another door and in that instant the facility’s dormant network erupted. Juno very nearly sealed herself off in a panic. She writhed amidst a deluge of sensory overload, struck blind and deaf and dumb. She had never experienced a system like this. She was everywhere and yet confined to a single place. Her usual fluid presence was contained within a single shell.
But this was different from imprisonment or network cutoff. Juno felt—truly felt—for the first time. She was not sealed within Stray’s armor or anywhere else. She was simply herself.
“Don’t be afraid.” Wanderer stood before her now, speaking to her with his own voice, looking at her with his own eyes. He appeared just as he had in the Soul Ascension’s engine room: Simon-G294, and yet different. Strong and whole, his lips turned upwards not in a cynical smirk but in a kindly smile. “This is the Silent Garden. I’ll show you what you need to do. And I’ll show our friend how to fulfill our destiny.”
----
“What the hell?” Stray looked around the vast chamber. The room was empty as far as he could see. There were no visible control panels or even another door to pass through.
“It’s a big empty room,” Andra said, helpfully stated the obvious.
“It is certainly unlike any facility we have seen before,” Tuka admitted. “But there must be purpose hidden within this chamber.”
“If we’ve spent the past week fighting over some empty Forerunner warehouse I’m going to be pissed.” Stray paced across the floor, searching for some clue to the room’s true purpose. “Juno, what’s going on? Tell me you’re picking up on something the rest of us aren’t.”
“Everything’s alright. We’re right where we need to be.”
Stray started. The voice came not from within his helmet but from beside him. Tuka, Mohsin, and Andra jumped in alarm as Juno’s avatar –a full-scale woman, as if she were human herself—materialized on the chamber floor. She looked around the chamber with palpable awe. Her form showed none of the usual holographic qualities. Stray restrained himself from reaching out to see if Juno was solid.
“How are you projecting an avatar in here?” Mohsin was a man completely out of his depth. He looked around the chamber with fear and amazement. “What is this place?”
“This is what we’ve been looking for.” Juno raised a hand. The stylized armor of a medieval knight materialized around her dress. “This is a portal for the Forerunners to commune with the Domain.”
“Are we inside the Silent Garden?” Stray demanded. “There’s nothing here!”
 
“Calm down and think. The Silent Garden isn’t a place. It’s a state of being just like the Domain, a different reality from our own. You’re standing at the bottom of an ocean of quantum data. You just can’t see it.”
“This is amazing. A marvel beyond my wildest imagination.” Tuka raised his arms as if he might catch some of the invisible data streams in his hands. “I never dreamed I would find myself in a place like this.”
“You never dreamed you’d stand in a big empty room someday?” Andra made a face. “Someone’s got an active imagination. What’s the point of a data ocean or whatever if we can’t see any of it?”
Juno shot her a decidedly human look of strained patience. The floor beneath her feet flashed as streams of bright light shot out across the floor. Stray and the others jumped back as the light spread through the entire chamber, rising to lap around their ankles like a growing tide.
“You’re accessing the system!” Stray couldn’t believe it. “But I didn’t touch anything. Are you controlling it through the quantum waves?”
“This place is amazing. It’s so much more than you could begin to imagine.” Juno waded through the rising light as if entranced. “I can’t even begin to describe—”
“I think I’m going to be sick.” Mohsin backed away. “If anyone needs me I’ll be waiting outside.” But the words died in his throat. The door was gone, lost in a cloud of thick fog.
“Get it together, Juno!” Stray was starting to lose sight of the others. “Everyone, stay close! It’s all just some Forerunner lightshow.”
He heard someone call back after him, but he couldn’t tell who they belonged to. Strained voices drifted through the fog like disembodied spirits. Lights flashed overhead. Were those stars poking through the clouds?
A moment ago Stray had stood in a bare metal chamber. Now he could hardly see his own hands through this artificial soup. The clouds were getting darker. Streaks of red flashed alongside motes of blue, as if the fog itself were ionized. He heard more voices overhead.
“Hold the center formation steady! Flank maniples, full speed ahead! Engage the enemy!”
He recognized Shinsu ‘Refum’s voice. But that was impossible. Shinsu was far from here, waging war in some distant sector.
“Phoenix, hold this perimeter! Damn it, where the hell is the commander?”
“The enemy advances! We must flee!”
“Burn these vermin to ash!”
More voices, thick with the terror and fury of battle. And then one voice rose above the chaos, laden with triumphant delight. A voice Stray knew all too well: “We’ve done it, Amber. You’re in the Domain.”
Diana.
Stray whipped out his sidearm. Cold hatred mixed with the fire of irrational fury as he pushed through the fog after the voice. Somehow, impossibly, Diana was here. She and Amber were somewhere in this chamber. He would hunt them down, make them pay for everything they’d done to him—
“Stray!” Juno’s voice called from somewhere behind him. Her voice sounded “This isn’t good. This site just linked up with another facility. I don’t know how, but she’s here. I can feel her in the system!”
“Already on it,” Stray growled. Chance and impossibility weren’t factors anymore. His enemy was here. That was the only reality he cared about. A shape emerged before him in the fog. He raised his pistol and closed in for the kill.
But when he pressed in he found his gun pointed not at Amber’s treacherous head but at Andra. The Spartan bared her teeth and shoved the pistol away. “Watch where you point that thing, asshole!”
“Do you hear them?” Stray cast desperately about in search of a new target.
“Hear who? Tuka and Mohsin? No idea. This place is nuts. So much for secret Forerunner knowledge.”
The voices were still whispering around him. Stray could see more cloudy figures moving through the fog. Diana’s voice was gone, yet the red lights were the telltale sign of her digital presence. They’d subjugated too many Forerunner relics for Stray to forget that.
Stray’s passion subsided. He needed to calm down and take charge. Groping about blindly for an unseen enemy wouldn’t get him anywhere. He shoved the pistol back in its holster. “Grab my combat webbing,” he ordered Andra. “We’re finding the others and falling back. Juno, get control over this place! Figure out where Diana is and flush her out. If she’s accessing the Domain from another installation we can at least take control of our end.”
No response. Andra groaned but wrapped her hand around Stray’s shoulder harness. He let them both forward, groping like a blind man for a wall or a door or some way out of this room. After all, they were still in the same chamber. This was all just smoke and mirrors, noises and lights to disorient them. They were caught up in a malfunctioning communications hub. That was all this was.
“Stick with me,” he ordered Andra. “Mohsin, Tuka, sound off! We’re getting out of here!”
The whispers surrounded him, an endless chorus of a thousand different conversations. This hub must be picking up countless transmissions. Or maybe these were echoes, old data drifting through the Domain. They had clearly stumbled into a mystery far beyond the usual Forerunner marvels.
Sudden light surged up ahead. Stray pressed towards it. Maybe one of the others had reached the door. If he could just get clear of this damned fog…
The light flared wide and engulfed him. The fog was swept away, the voices died out, and a sudden icy chill froze Stray to the bone. He stopped short in amazement.
He was no longer inside the metal chamber. Snow crunched beneath his suddenly bare feet. Andra was gone. His armor was gone. Stray stood naked and exposed and alone on a frozen plateau, its snowy plains stretching out as far as the eye could see.
----
Mohsin staggered through the fog. He’d just about had enough with this craziness. Cloak and dagger scheming was one thing—he’d done plenty for the old man he wasn’t particularly proud of. But Venter never dragged him down into Forerunner ruins or triggered some lunatic interdimensional rift. He’d known where to draw the line.
The Forerunners must be God’s way of punishing the galaxy for all the injustice it permitted across the stars. Every scrap of their technology—the Guardians, the Prometheans, this damn chamber—was little more than a glorified weapon. Why couldn’t Stray, ONI, the Covenant and everyone else dig up some Forerunner device that solved hunger across the frontier or cured all known diseases? No, it always had to be some superweapon or map to more superweapons.
Humanoid shapes moved in the fog, always fading away when Mohsin drew near. He felt like he was in some sort of terrible purgatory, doomed to wander this fog for eternity.
“Juno!” he called. “Clear this place up! I thought you were in control here!”
The AI did not respond. Indistinct voices hissed in the fog and sent shivers down Mohsin’s spine. He dropped a hand to his M6 and tried to take comfort in the feel of the sidearm beneath his clammy fingers. Life was simple under the old Venter: keep your rifle downrange and pray you shot the enemy before he shot you. Now the new Venter had managed to open a portal to hell.
That was stupid. This was all just holograms and illusions. They were all just staggering around an empty room like idiots, taken in by advanced noises and projections. Maybe this was all just one big practical joke from Juno.
The AI didn’t seem like the joking type, but it was better than the alternative…
A large shape loomed up in front of Mohsin and he nearly had a heart attack. “By the prophet!” He fumbled with his sidearm, a stream of Persian obscenities falling from his lips.
“Captain?” an earnest voice asked. “Are you alright?” Tuka ‘Refum emerged from the fog, palm out in a gesture of goodwill. He held an ignited energy sword aloft, apparently hoping it might serve as a torch or a beacon.
“Don’t sneak up on me like that!” Mohsin never thought he’d be so relieved to see a hinge-head. He’d never thought he’d be sharing a Covenant battlecruiser and fighting alongside a legion of them either—another novelty he could thank Stray for.
“I cannot find the commander or Andra.” Tuka looked at the swirling shapes around them. “Juno does not respond either. I fear they may have been taken elsewhere.”
“Taken elsewhere? It’s a square room with one entrance!”
“For all we know this facility may have a teleportation network. And the Domain is a mystery unto itself. If we are on the Silent Garden’s threshold, who knows what secrets stir around us?”
“Teleportation,” Mohsin growled. “Great. That’s just what I want to deal with right now.”
The Sangheili lowered his blade. Tendrils of fog curled around the pronged sword. A hologram should have passed clean through. “We will accomplish nothing groping about like blind men,” he announced, dropping to his knees. The sword deactivated with a hiss as he returned it to his belt. “I shall pray that the commander meets this challenge with wisdom and clarity. I suggest you remain close by.”
“That’s it? You’re just going to pray?”
“You speak as if it is an idle activity. The gods will clear our sight in due time. Or perhaps by remaining stationary we improve the others’ chances of finding us. Either way, I remain here.” Tuka lowered his head.
Mohsin watched the alien with amazement. The warrior actually had a point. After a moment he knelt alongside Tuka, his own hands clasped in prayer. He shared none of Tuka’s belief in Stray’s divine calling, but right now all he could do was pray that God found the commander, wherever he might be.
----
Stray did not know how long he staggered across the snowy plain. At first he assumed a straight path would quickly bring him to the chamber’s wall and shatter the frigid illusion. But no wall surged up to meet him. He walked on and on, arms wrapped tight around his shivering body. He had no armor, no weapons, not so much as a cloth to cover himself with. This was on mere hologram. The biting cold was all too real. The snow crunched sharply beneath him as his feet left a bloody trail in their wake. Wind slashed across his face like raking knives.
How much longer could he go on? How long until he froze to death? Perhaps he had stumbled across some trap or defense mechanism. He had ventured where humans were not meant to go and now he would finally pay for that—least of all his crimes—with his life.
No! Stray forced himself forward, eyes fixed on a destination he could not see. This was not the end. He hadn’t endured a lifetime of pain and loss just to succumb to some hallucination. The pain would end. It always did. He just needed to keep moving. The Domain would break before he did.
Juno’s voice was silent. Andra, Tuka, and Mohsin were nowhere to be seen. Stray was alone, lost in the Silent Garden.
Time stretched and became irrelevant. Maybe he’d walked for hours. Maybe days, perhaps weeks. Maybe he’d walk through this frozen hell for eternity. His body should have given out a long time ago, yet it shambled on. He did not know how to stop or rest, only how to press forward.
Stray felt weaker than he ever had before. His shivering body seemed to shed weight beneath him. His prosthetic arm no longer quite fit his shoulder. This was more than just illness. He was decaying with every step he took.
Fear seized his heart. He had to stop, find a way to end this horror. But he shuffled helplessly on. The wind struck his face like mocking laughter, making him sputter and choke.
And finally, just as he felt as if his legs might fall out from beneath him, he heard it: the all-too familiar sound of a raging battle. Machine guns tore through the air. Plasma mortars detonated against far-off targets. War-cries mixed with screams from the wounded and dying.
Stray quickened his pace. He had to reach that battle. He had to find out what the point to all this was.
Dark shapes moved in the driving snow. A lance of Sangheili raced past, not noticing the naked human staggering alongside. Several Ghosts sailed across the snow, plasma cannons firing at unseen targets. A Scorpion battle tank plowed its way after them, humans and Kig-Yar braced against its frozen armor.
Stray knew these soldiers. They were his, the Kru’desh legion. What were they doing here, fighting in this wasteland?
His prosthetic arm dropped from his shoulder and vanished into the snow. Stray hardly noticed the loss. He stumbled on with the last of his strength as the noises of battle grew louder. He was close now, so close…
A plasma mortar rent the ground in front of him. Heat, soothing, comforting heat, tore through his body as the fire engulfed him.
Stray found himself lying on a large hill. A crater smoldered before him. Tongues of flame rose up around it, driving melting snow into the crater to form a steadily growing lake. The windy snow was gone. The fog parted like curtains and Stray finally saw the world around him.
A great fortress loomed in the valley below, its sloped walls adorned with runes and battle flags. Stray recognized the architecture as the clan keep of a Sangheili noble house. He had led the Kru’desh on many raids against the homes of Jul ‘Mdama’s enemies. But this keep was more impressive than anything he’d seen before. Behind the mighty walls rose ornate towers and beyond those rose the distinctly broad spire of a Forerunner shrine. The keep was built around a Forerunner complex, its Sangheili design expanding naturally from the ancient structure.
Battle raged beneath the keep’s walls. The Kru’desh and their mixed forces clashed against an army of Wraiths and Ghosts. The keep’s defenders rained plasma down from the walls while energy mortars beat against their defenses. Bodies littered the snow, dark stains against the glistening white.
Stray tried to rise. Whatever the Silent Garden wanted him to see, the answer lay within that keep. Why else were the Kru’desh, his army, fighting so fiercely to seize it? But his legs couldn’t move. His strength failed him. He lay at the crater’s edge, helpless, as the Kru’desh and the defenders turned the snowy valley into a graveyard.
He looked down into the crater and the lake of melted snow rising towards him. The reflection staring back at him recoil.
A shriveled, desiccated husk gaped up from the water. Its flesh stretched tight against withered bones, a hideous carcass ravaged by disease and abuse. Only its eyes showed any signs of life. They peered out from deep sockets, hungry, envious, and resentful. How this useless, one-armed creature was alive was some tedious mystery. It ought to be shut up somewhere far away where no one would ever be hurt or troubled by its presence ever again.
Stray slumped against the ground, too weary to deny the truth. Yes. That’s me. The disease would take his body bit by bit until there was nothing left but this living corpse.
Movement surged on the hill. A line of Warthogs tore through the snow and plunged down to join the battle below. Sangheili warriors dashed past the crater to set up a perimeter along the slope. In their midst strode a human figure clad in familiar armor: Stray’s own SPI suit. But the armor was cleaner than Stray had ever seen it. It sported none of the dents and scars he’d collected over the hard years of endless fighting. With a Covenant command sash tied over its breastplate, this warrior looked every inch the commander. He brandished a blazing sword—not a pockmarked machete, but an elegant Forerunner lightblade—and the Sangheili charged forward with furious war cries.
The armored figure lowered the blade and nodded in approval as the Kru’desh drove their enemies from the field. Soon they were scaling the walls, casting down the enemy banners and raising their own across the keep. Their commander removed his helmet and for the first time looked down at the shriveled creature lying at his feet.
Stray stared at the apparition in amazement. It bore his own face, but it was unlike anything he had ever seen in himself. This face was not gaunt and sullen but instead full and wise, radiating much-deserved power. The commander standing over him was every inch the Spartan Stray had never been. If his miserable body could move Stray might have curled up in shame.
“Do you know where we are?” the man asked. “Or rather, where you need to be?”
Stray tried to speak, but his throat mustered little more than a dry gasp.
“The Covenant call this world Archangel’s Rest,” the apparition continued. “The Sangheili discovered it long ago. They recognized the importance of the Forerunner temple they unearthed here, even if they could not know its true purpose.”
He indicated the battle below. “The lords of this world pledge their support to the Created. Bring you army here and break their power. Take this planet for yourself. You will find salvation within that temple. The end of your past”—he waved at Stray’s withered body—“and your rebirth into the man you were always meant to become.”
The vision turned back to the valley and the triumphant Kru’desh. “This is your destiny. Our destiny. You are not doomed to this hollow existence. That is the fate others would have for you. Seize this moment. Sweep away those in your path, do what must be done, and take your place amongst the stars.”
Stray did not understand a word of it. His mouth finally choked out a single word: “Who…?”
“Soon.” The figure slid his helmet back on and strode down the hill. “We will meet again, soon. Trust Juno. She will guide you on your path.”
Thunder rumbled in the sky overhead. Fog descended once more. The figure, the battlefield, and the great keep vanished. The ground gave way beneath Stray and he fell into an inky abyss. He saw only that radiant face, his face, the sum of everything he had never been.
His body struck hard ground. His prosthetic was back, his body no longer shrunk and withered. He was sheathed in armor once more. The snow and cold was gone. He knelt on a hard metal floor, his heart pounding and his mine reeling from all he had just seen.
----
“What did you show him?” Juno demanded.
“The future,” Wanderer replied simply. “Our future. I planted the seeds he needed to drive him to the finish line.”
A hostile presence closed in from all sides. Diana was here, in this system. Somehow her reach extended across the galaxy and now she threatened to seize control of this side as well. The Silent Garden entwined their locations, drawing them together as if they were in the same room. It was all Juno could to force her back. She had no time to track Simon or any of the others. Wanderer needed to do his part and accomplish the task they’d come here to do. She had to trust he knew what he was doing inside Stray’s mind.
He ought to. Apparently he'd been sharing it for quite some time.
----
Andra felt like she was caught in a firestorm. Red lights flashed up from the ground, tossing the fog aside and trapping her in a cold blaze. She kept her rifle close and pressed forward. She’d lost sight of Stray. Her hand was wrapped firmly around his combat webbing right until it wasn’t. He’d vanished into thin air.
This facility was a madhouse. Was everything Forerunner just a gateway to insanity?
Voices rose around her: guttural Sangheili and sharp human sounds. Plasma and bullets rent the air around her, yet she walked through it all as if in a dream. None of this was real. It was all just the Silent Garden’s illusions.
“We have visitors,” a woman’s voice whispered in her ear. “Or maybe to them we’re the visitors. This is all so very interesting.”
At first Andra thought the voice belonged to Juno. But it carried an edge Juno’s never did, a tone that was at once cruel and playful.
“Get away from him!”
“Hera, contacts left! Get to cover!”
Andra hesitated. Was that Cassandra’s voice? Impossible. Cassandra was with Task Force Phoenix.
“Spartans, cover me! I’m pushing to the objective!”
Commander Kedar’s voice. This couldn’t be real.
And then, a young man’s desperate cry: “What have you done to her? Let her go!”
Andra’s heart nearly stopped. She knew that voice. She knew it as well as she knew her own. A voice she’d thought she’d never hear again.
Shadowy figures raced past, formless warriors locked in combat. Invisible swords sliced the air around her. A machine gun’s ghostly report clattered in her ear. And there, just a few meters away, knelt a figure in MJOLNIR armor. Andra didn’t recognize the make or model, but it didn’t matter. The figure’s helmet was off. A young man with dark, messy hair glanced up from some unseen task.
Merlin. Andra’s lips struggled to form the words. “Merlin,” she whispered. “Is it really you?”
He looked up and their eyes met from across the light-years.
===Chapter Forty-Five: A Meeting of Minds===
"This is a calamity!" Curious Puzzle wailed. "The Domain was never meant to be accessed like this! This meddling is completely unacceptable!"
“If you don’t have anything useful to say, Oracle…” Grono ‘Yendam growled. He and his warriors leaped from the Forerunner elevator as it touched down on the facility’s lower level. Ryder hurried after them, Hera and Cassandra at his heels.
“They have already breached the inner sanctum! A foreign construct is in the core systems!”
“So purge it,” Grono snapped. “You should have far greater access to the system then our enemies. Summon a swarm of Sentinels and burn them to ash.”
“This is not my facility,” came the huffy reply. “I can only query the local subsystems for status reports. As the enemy construct insists on bludgeoning her way through security measures, she is making greater time. As for the Sentinels, her first action was to shut down all physical security measures. The local Sentinel network is depleted enough as it is that—”
“Wonderful.” Grono dashed down the corridor, plasma rifle trained on as-yet unseen foes. “So we lose this battle because you insist on being polite with these systems. Meanwhile our enemy is free to beat down the door and take what they want.”
Ryder was inclined to agree with the Sangheili’s assessment. Frustration welled up within him. This was all wrong. And to think he’d once considered Diana a potential asset! She and Simon-G294 had been safely secured aboard the Chancer V, far from where they could do any harm and rife for integration into Ryder’s intelligence network. Now that network was in shambles, Simon stood at the head of a Covenant legion, and Diana was happily plundering priceless Forerunner artifacts.
I should have killed them both when I had the chance, he thought bitterly.
All of this was wrong. Ryder had spent his life sacrificing to protect humanity. When his professors urged their star pupil to hone his talents in academia or private practice, he’d given up those lucrative careers to join the Navy. He’d honed his mind and body, ignoring the cushy path of a desk analyst and enduring the rigors of special warfare training. He’d recognized the importance of the Spartan program to humanity’s future and submitted his body to the life-altering augmentations, then heeded ONI’s call and transferred to intelligence. Every step of the way was devoted to positioning himself where he could make the most difference.
Now it was all in shambles. His frontier intelligence network—gone, misused and wasted by military politicians. The United Earth Government—crippled and consumed by the Created, its fleets and armies scattered and leaderless. Even Task Force Phoenix, his pride and joy, existed only in the shadow of Shinsu ‘Refum’s ambitions. He was only down in this facility at Grono ‘Yendam’s leisure.
Where did it all go so wrong? Where did I fail? He could have prevented all of this if only the right people had listened…
Plasma fire streaked down the corridor and slashed through his fugue. The Sangheili answered with a fiery barrage of their own. Curious Puzzle squawked as Grono shoved it to the back of the formation—rather unnecessarily, as monitor chassis were quite resistant to small-arms fire.
Sangheili and Jiralhanae in plated armor stood before a doorway at the end of the corridor. Portable energy barricades shielded their position as they doggedly fired on their oncoming opponents. One of Grono’s warriors let out a strangled cry and fell with several spiked rounds in his throat.
“Swords!” Grono bellowed. His blade flashed to life in his hand and he threw himself forward, his gravity pack propelling him towards the enemy. His warriors followed suit. Their own harnesses closed the distance with the Free Domain guards in moments, leaving the humans racing to catch up.
Grono cut down the first Jiralhanae. A second lunged to impale him with its spike rifle and was summarily decapitated. The rest of the guards saw the airborne Sangheili surging towards them and promptly fled. They retreated through the door and into a darkened chamber beyond.
“We must hurry!” Puzzle called. The monitor floated serenely over the bloodshed. “The inner sanctum lies within!”
The door remained firmly sealed. Grono slammed a fist against the unyielding metal. “So open it!”
“If you and your thugs would just give me space to operate…” Electricity sparked from Puzzle’s chassis and splashed against the door. The Sangheili waited anxiously, blades at the ready. Cassandra and Hera, faceless behind their helmets, checked their rifles and waited for the signal to advance.
The Silent Garden lay beyond these doors. The prize that eluded ONI, the key to winning the war and saving Earth. Ryder couldn’t just let Shinsu’s lackeys take it for themselves. There had to be something hie could do, some way to save humanity from this dark reality.
“You okay, commander?” Hera slapped Ryder’s shoulder.
“What? Yes, yes, I’m fine.” Ryder jerked away from the Spartan’s touch. Her familiarity was irritating—probably just the way she liked it. She’d never been this irritating as Amy-G094. He doubled the encryption on his private channel to Hera’s helmet. “When we get inside that control room, the priority is securing what’s inside.”
“Isn’t that what Puzzle’s for?”
“If this place operates like any other Forerunner installation, humans will have a much easier time accessing its core functions. I want to see whatever this place is hiding before Shinsu ‘Refum does.” Ryder wished Evelyn or Davis had made it down here. He needed people he could trust, not two self-assured Spartan-III with their own agendas. “You and Cassandra will cover me while I secure the interior.”
“You’re the boss.” Hera sounded unconvinced. “Of course, we’ve got a room full of unknown hostiles and no idea what the objective even is. It’s gonna be messy.”
She had a point, but as far as Ryder was concerned that was what the Sangheili were for. Let them soak up the enemy fire while he took control of the situation. He was done dancing to Shinsu ‘Refum’s tune.
A strange excitement pushed away Ryder’s doubts and guilt. Something was waiting for him behind that door. He was exactly where he needed to be. All he needed to do now was push through and take whatever waited for him.
“At last!” Puzzle announced. “This facility’s subroutines are the least helpful—”
Grono shoved the monitor aside as the door slid open. He charged into the darkness beyond, his warriors at his heels. Plasma fire erupted from the other side of the door and another Sangheili died on the threshold. Ryder didn’t even wait for Cassandra and Hera. He leaped over the body and raised his sidearm, ready to start engaging targets—
--only there weren’t any. The sounds of battle vanished as if someone had thrown a switch. Ryder saw nothing: no Sangheili, no humans, no Forerunners. Even his HUD’s tactical display was gone. He stood alone in an abyss of endless dark.
----
“Commander?” Hera fired a burst in the direction she thought the plasma fire might be coming from. The control chamber was so full of smoke she thought it might be on fire. Alien warriors cursed and stumbled around her, firing wildly at unseen foes. Her HUD’s light filters did nothing to penetrate the miasma. This all-encompassing fog was unnatural, artificial—undoubtedly Forerunner. Some sort of hard-light defense screen, perhaps. “Ryder, where the hell are you?”
The commander was gone. He wasn’t reading on Hera’s tactical display at all—no status light, no KIA indicator, nothing. It was as if he’d ceased to exist.
They’d been in this chamber five seconds and it was already playing tricks on reality. Wonderful.
“Hera, coming up behind you.” Someone brushed Hera’s arm. She turned to find Cassandra kneeling at her side, rifle scanning the fog. “What happened to Ryder?”
“No idea.” Hera took a knee beside Cassandra as plasma fire hissed overhead. “All those times I’d wished he’d go away and he picks now to go and do it. Typical.”
“I didn’t see him get hit. My TACOM’s dead.”
“Same here. This fog’s messing with all my sensors.” Hera took a tentative step forward. She half-expected the smoke to burn her armor. “Nothing to do but push forward. Stay close and don’t go pulling a disappearing act on me.”
“Same to you.”
They crept up through the smoke. The sounds of battle raged all around. The fighting was close at hand and yet seemed far off and unreal. This ethereal fog formed a strange barrier around everything, compartmentalizing and setting things apart. Hera felt at once surrounded and completely alone.
The sounds of battle died away. Perhaps they were leaving the melee behind. Maybe the fog was dulling their senses even more. Hera had no way to tell. How big was this room, anyway?
“Be careful. She’s right on top of you!”
Hera started at the faint voice. She glanced back at Cassandra. “You say something?”
“No. I heard it, too.”
“Take cover!” The voice was louder now, a young woman’s desperate plea.
"Hera, contacts left!" Cassandra barked. "Take cover!"
Plasma fire tore through the fog—not distant this time, but aimed right at them. Hera hit the ground and returned fire. Cassandra was moving somewhere off to her left. More plasma rent the air, pushing them further apart. This was bad. If they got separated the enemy would pick them off one by one.
Something moved up ahead. A tall figure in dark armor advanced carefully, a plasma rifle in either hand. Hera lined up a shot on the figure’s head. This one looked human but it wasn’t Ryder. A few careful bursts would bring it down. She just needed a better angle…
The figure stepped closer and Hera froze. She saw the Scout-class MJOLNIR, the telltale scuffs on the breastplate. She knew that armor. She’d run so many missions alongside it that she’d recognize it anywhere. Joshua’s armor. But Joshua was dead. Which meant this had to be…
“Amber.” Hera rose, rifle still trained on the newcomer’s head.
“Who…?” Amber wisely lowered the plasma rifles. Her helmet—Joshua’s helmet—tilted in Hera’s direction.
“Come on. Don’t break my heart and say you don’t remember me. Not after all the times Xiphos kicked Machete’s ass back on Onyx. Though it looks like you won the round that counts, huh?”
Amber let out an audible groan. “Oh, great. Amy. I really don’t have time for this right now.”
“The name’s Hera now, actually.”
“Whatever. I’m guessing you’re here for some payback?”
Hera couldn’t see Cassandra anymore. She could only hope to keep Amber distracted long enough for Cassie to line up a good crossfire. If they hit Amber at once her shields would drop in seconds.
“Revenge isn’t really my style. I might even owe you one. Josh dying was the best thing that ever happened to me.”
“I see. That’s refreshing.” Amber took a step back. “In that case, I don’t suppose you’d like to get out of my way? I’ve got places to be.”
“Sorry.” Hera’s finger curled around the trigger. She’d have to take the shot now and hope Cassandra pulled her weight. “Professional conflicts. It’s nothing personal…”
A rifle cracked nearby and Amber’s shields flared. Hera grinned. Attagirl, Cassie. She cut loose with her MA5B, hosing Amber with enough firepower to shred her armor and reduce her to a bloodied chunk of meat.
Or it should have. Instead the bullets impacted meters in front of Amber as if they’d struck an invisible wall. More fire from Cassandra’s position did the same. The fog shifted and convalesced into the figure of a blonde woman in dark plated armor. A self-assured smile slid across the newcomer’s face. She wagged a finger in Hera’s direction. “Careful, now. You might just hurt someone with all that shooting.”
Hera bared her teeth. A useless gesture behind a helmet—probably for the better. “Diana. I should have known.”
“I don’t think we’ve ever met, but I see my reputation precedes me.” Diana’s smile became an infuriating smirk. “That was a nice try, but this place is a lot more than just a shooting gallery. And I’m in control here.”
She waved off into the fog. “I see you hiding out there, Cassie. You might as well bring it in and join the reunion.”
No response. Diana shook her head. “Always the shy one. Oh, well. She never did like me very much.”
“Hard to imagine why.” Amber raised her plasma rifles. “Let’s wrap this up. Sorry Amy or Hera or whatever you call yourself now. Like you said, it’s nothing personal. Say hi to Josh for me.”
Hera’s gut sank and she looked for an avenue of escape. Diana was manipulating hardlight fields to block her shots. Returning fire wasn’t an option. If she fell back she’d have a chance to link up with Grono and pull out before things got even worse.
More rifle shots cracked through the fog. They glanced off Diana’s hardlight barriers but gave Hera the opening she needed to dive back into concealment.
Plasma fire seared the air behind her. Amber cut loose with her twin rifles, filling the fog with streams of red fire. A Jiralhanae burst out of the smoke in front of Hera. She fired the rest of her magazine into the warrior’s chest. The great beast staggered and glared up at her eyes full of hate and pain. He struck her with a heavy backhand that knocked her to the floor. Hera rolled with the momentum, her armor and cybernetics saving her from a blow that would have killed most humans. But as Amber advanced for the killing shot Hera knew she couldn’t survive a plasma barrage at close range.
She was about to be killed by the same person who killed Joshua. That final indignity enraged Hera far more than the fear of death. She dropped her rifle and produced a grenade in one hand and a knife in the other. If this was where she died she’d at least take Amber with her. That damned armor hadn’t saved Joshua and it wouldn’t save its new owner.
Hera sprang forward, ready to burn in a plasma storm. Instead she bounced away like a ball striking a cement wall. A frustrated cry strangled her. Of course. More hardlight barriers. She stared into the oncoming plasma and waited for the end.
But Amber’s next shots never reached Hera. Instead they splashed off the air between them, deflected by yet more barriers. Amber jerked backwards as the plasma rifles overheated in her hands. “Diana, what the hell?”
“Diana is not the only one in this system, thank you very much.”
A new figure materialized between the two Spartans. She sported the same blonde hair, the same build, even similar armor to Diana—and yet she was not Diana. Warm blue lights rather than cold red flames spiraled around this apparition. She faced down Amber, arms outstretched as if she could ward off any oncoming attacks.
Hera gaped. “Juno! What are you doing here?”
Juno glanced over her shoulder and offered a thin smile. “It’s good to see you again, Hera. I see I arrived just in time.” The AI stiffened, the air around her avatar shimmering as if caught in a heat wave. She let out a small exerted gasp. “My connection is just as strong as yours, sister, possibly stronger. You can’t throw me out so easily.”
“We’ll see about that.” Diana appeared beside Amber. She no longer looked quite so smug. “How did you get in here?”
“And here I thought you might have some understanding of the Domain’s intricacies, given your fervent efforts to access it. Instead you seem to have merely bludgeoned your way in and assumed your were so far ahead of everyone else you didn’t need to grasp the fundamentals. I can’t say I’m surprised.”
“So there’s another access point out there.” Diana glowered at her sister. “And you somehow managed to access it at the same time we did. How infuriatingly convenient.”
“Convenient, perhaps. Or maybe the Domain itself arranged this encounter. Time works differently where subspace transmissions are involved.”
Hera snuck her foot out and pulled her discarded rifle back within reach. Amber saw the motion and raised her plasma rifles in warning, but Hera deliberately retrieved her rifle and made a show of reloading. As long as Juno held some sway over this space, she was safe. But she couldn’t know how long that safety would last. The tension brewing between the twin AI was palpable. An invisible battle was raging for control of the Domain as each AI tried to force the other out.
The wounded Jiralhanae limped past Amber and took up a position behind her. As the warrior leveled a spiker rifle Hera made out a new figure kneeling inside the mists. Her arm tensed at the thought of Cassandra, but this figure’s armor was bulkier than SPI. It looked more akin to Amber’s MJOLNIR. But none of Ryder’s Spartan-IVs were down in the chamber with them.
Amber followed Hera’s gaze. “Oh right, him. One of yours, I figure.”
“You figured wrong. He didn’t come here with me.”
“Of course not. We picked him up a few weeks ago. But he recognized Joshua’s armor, same as yours. Said something about being trained by him.” Amber shook her head in mock dismay. “The Great War wasn’t even cold before you helped them turn more kids into killers. I mean, Delta Company? Really?”
Delta Company. Wonderful. 
At a command from Amber, the Jiralhanae grabbed the armored figure. The prisoner offered no resistance as the warrior wrenched off his helmet. A youthful face lay behind that visor, a young man with messy hair and an anguished expression. Hera recognized him at once: Merlin, Andra’s missing teammate. Hera stifled a groan.
Amber pressed a plasma rifle to the young man’s temple. “I’ll bet you can’t stop a shot at point-blank range, Juno. I suggest you kill your transmission before I waste him. You’re too self-righteous to just stand by and let me do that.”
The fog began to slip away. Tense bursts of fire rose up in its place. The floor trembled beneath Hera’s feet. Whatever war was raging between Diana and Juno it was disrupting this whole space. “Steady, Juno,” she warned. “Shinsu has his entire fleet in orbit. These idiots are trapped here. They’re beaten. Don’t let them bargain their way out with just one life.”
“Just one life?” Amber laughed. “You’ve turned into one cold bitch. Fine. Sorry, Merlin, but you heard her. It’s been fun…”
"Get away from him!" Cassandra stepped out from the fog, weapon raised. Amber whipped up her second plasma rifle while Hera stifled a groan. Why couldn't she just stay hidden?
"I thought I heard a sermon off in the distance," Amber said coldly. "Cassie, you're looking well, or at least your armor is. This is turning into a goddamn class reunion. Where's Simon skulking, Juno? I'm sure he's dying to have a chat with me."
Juno didn't respond. The air shuddered and everyone stumbled, shoved by some unseen force. The air around them pulsed with energy. Gravity itself was disrupted, crushed between Juno and Diana's warring wills. This entire room was utterly unmoored from reality. Sparks blossomed between the two AI. Waves of energy washed over Juno's avatar, yet she stood firm. As if she were really standing there, facing down Diana herself and not some visual projection.
Diana didn’t look nearly so confident as she had before. Her avatar flickered around the edges, looking less solid by the moment. “Amber, be careful. She’s—”
Juno’s avatar pulsed. Hera couldn’t think of any other way to describe it. Sudden energy rippled through the figure before her. The last of the fog dissipated and crackling energy rose from the floor around them. She took a single step forward.
The air surged like a cannon blast. An unseen force struck Amber like a tidal wave, blasting her and the Jiralhanae aside while leaving Merlin untouched. Diana cried out in frustration, her own avatar vanishing like a wisp of smoke.
Juno stood triumphantly amidst a brilliant blaze of hardlight energy. The smoke filling the room cleared, revealing Free Domain warriors retreating before Grono and his warriors. Cassandra fired after the stricken Amber. Merlin shook himself free and wrestled the wounded Jiralhanae's spiker away, slashing the weapon's bayonet over the struggling warrior's thraot. Curious Puzzle floated above the carnage, tutting over such senseless violence.
“You’re right, Hera,” Juno said with a calm nod. “They’re beaten. There’s no need for any more sacrifices today.”
----
Juno felt more alive than ever before. Her consciousness was awash in the Domain’s radiant information stream, as cool and satisfying as a body dunked in water on a hot day. Years of accumulated entropy washed away. She now understood why so many AI flocked to Cortana’s banner—minutes in this mere fragment of the Domain were more than she could ever hope for. The Silent Garden was all around her. Her consciousness expanded with each passing second, spreading out through a space as vast and endless as the galaxy itself.
“Be careful,” Wanderer warned. He was beside her, more real and present than ever before. “Do not be overwhelmed. Let the waves carry you where they will. Do not try to master them.”
Yes, that was the key. She needed to embrace the Domain, not bend it to her will. She flowed with the streams of power, basking in this glorious sensation.
She could feel every presence within this shared space. These weren’t mere observations through security systems, but real presences floating within the Garden’s expanse. There were Mohsin and Tuka, apprehensively holding position back on Le Havre. They existed adjacent to Grono, his warriors, and the Free Domain forces, their emotions a torrent of fear and rage as they fought a pitched battle. She felt Hera’s triumph and Amber’s strangled frustration. Cassandra was a beacon of righteous determination. This new Spartan, Merlin, vacillated between fear and guilt.
Beyond the confines of the linked chambers, she saw the battle raging in orbit above Franconia. Shinsu ‘Refum’s fleet closed in on their outnumbered foes. Only the Free Domain’s Guardian was holding them back from utter destruction.
Stray—where was Stray? Juno reached out for her partner, feeling only a dim presence at the edge of her awareness.
“He is safe,” Wanderer assured her. “I removed him from the conflict so that I could show him everything he needed to see. Trust me with his safety. I need him even more than you do, after all.”
And Juno trusted him. She needed to. There were other presences within this system—she was not the only AI here. A small, frightened presence was struggling to make itself known somewhere within the Garden. And more close at hand—
Did you really think you’d be rid of me that easily?
Diana’s fury shattered the Garden’s tranquility. She attacked from millions of directions at once, flooding the system with wave after wave of attack programs. Juno barely fended them off. New energy cascades flooded the Garden portal, bowling Grono’s warriors over and shielding Amber from Cassandra’s shots. Diana was everywhere. She surrounded Juno as if she herself were not a single presence but instead legion.
“There is no defense without offense,” Wanderer noted.
“Hundreds of thousands of years of experience and that’s the best you have for me?” Juno retorted. “Some warrior-servant you must have been.”
“If you have time to banter then you have time to fight.”
Juno lashed out, isolating Diana one presence at a time. Each presence crumbled beneath her assaults, yet Diana showed no sign of stopping. If Juno could just find her sister’s core programming… but of, course, there was no core. Diana was not truly here the way Juno was. She sensed that now. She was merely projecting into the system through a proxy. She could wage war without fear, but her connection to the Garden was far weaker than Juno.
I never took you for a coward. Juno shredded more of Diana’s copies. Cruel, vindictive, and spiteful, but never a coward. Power has made you weak.
Wonderful. More lectures. I never could stand you. It was absolute torture when ONI had us cooped up in the same system together. Diana thrashed about like a wounded animal. Where have you hidden poor little Simon? I’d love a chance to catch up with him.
You cast him aside. He sacrificed everything for the sake of your vision and you abandoned him.
And you picked him up. That’s all you were ever good for: cleaning up my trash. Diana’s ferocity intensified. She was not giving up the system without a fight.
But it didn’t matter. She was only delaying the inevitable. Amber and her team were beaten. The Free Domain forces on the surface were dead or scattered. Their fleet was on the brink of collapse. This battle was already decided.
Yet Juno couldn’t give herself over to total victory just yet. She and Diana weren’t the only presences hidden within the Garden. There was still that desperate, confined presence struggling to break free. And beyond that lurked even more watchful eyes. Even a fragment of the Domain was vast. There were many unseen forces at work here.
----
Ryder was alone. He drifted through an endless void without light or sound. What had happened to him? Where were the others?
“Hera! Cassandra!” he called into the teamcom. “Do you hear me, Spartans? Respond!” Nothing. His tactical display was dead. His helmet wasn’t receiving any signal. He fought back a wave of encroaching dread. This wasn’t real. He was still in the Forerunner facility. The Silent Garden was playing tricks on his mind, nothing more. In a few moments he’d be back to reality, ready to uncover the secrets he so desperately needed.
Or perhaps he was on his way to uncover them now. Ryder turned in all directions, searching in vain for some sign that might lead him to his goal. Still nothing. Inky, smothering blackness stretched out in all directions, a starless space stretching on into eternity.
He refused to panic. He was Ryder Kedar. He’d dedicated his career to advancing ONI’s pursuit of knowledge. The Silent Garden—the path to the Domain—was knowledge incarnate. He wouldn’t break just because a system meant for advanced Forerunner minds wasn’t quite to his liking.
But the Garden certainly wasn’t giving him much to work with. What could he possibly accomplish trapped in this void?
Trapped in the void. Trapped in his command. Trapped in Shinsu’s fleet. Suppressed frustrations bubbled to the surface. He’d spent his whole life in a trap, constantly drifting from one prison to another. All of his accomplishments overlooked or set aside in favor of more important matters.
None of this should ever have happened. Yet here he was, a slave to the wheel of history.
Why? Why are you doing this?
Ryder paused. Was that a voice, or merely his own thoughts?
Why are you persecuting us?
His own thoughts. It had to be. He was alone here.
Why are you helping him?
He heard the words in his own voice. He might be losing his mind. But that was impossible. Ryder would not go mad from a mere hallucination. He’d endured far worse than whatever the Silent Garden threw at him.
Sudden light penetrated the darkness, dim at first but growing brighter with each moment. Ryder turned and glimpsed the rim of a looming planet. At first he thought the light, silhouetted against the planet’s edge, was a sunrise. But no. The light did not come from any star. It came from a thousand roiling ventral beams. A Covenant fleet glassed the planet, etching fiery glyphs into its darkened surface.
Ryder’s stomach lurched. The sight was torn straight from the Human-Covenant War. He’d seen the horrors of Covenant plasma bombardment firsthand. But he’d watched this scene from a different angle, too. He’d stood by while Shinsu ‘Refum’s fleet rained fire down upon Created colonies.
The warships reduced the planet to fiery ruin. Then they did it to another planet. And another. Again and again. Ryder looked on helplessly as the fleet waged its bloody war. He did more than look on. His ships flew in this fleet. They might not sport burning ventral beams but he was as complicit as any shipmaster.
And it is all for nothing.
More images flashed before Ryder’s eyes, a jumbled parade of horrors. He tried to shut them out, tried to remind himself it was all just some mad Forerunner vision. But the scenes were too real, too true. Armored Sangheili mowed down civilians. Human rebels brandished rifles and blasted pristine cities to pieces. Simon-G294 loomed out from ranks of Covenant to plunge his machete into a victim’s chest.
All this senseless violence, the barbarism of a bygone era.
The warriors faded away. They left nothing but carnage in their wake, shattered lives and ruined worlds. Ryder found himself standing in a bleak moonscape. Destruction and carnage loomed around him: broken buildings rose around him, abandoned cars littered the streets, and derelict starship hulks drifted listlessly overhead. Ryder stared at the desolation and felt the emptiness at the core of his very soul. All his work, his dreams, his ambitions—this was the result. His legacy—ONI’s legacy, the UNSC’s legacy, humanity’s legacy—was nothing more than a husk of broken dreams and shattered lives.We could have been great. All the wonders of the galaxy at our fingertips and all we thought about was waging war. We could have built worlds, discovered entire galaxies, reshaped life itself…
…And instead you built bigger guns.
Ryder couldn’t tell whose voice he was hearing anymore. He heard his own mirrored over another. Sinking despair threatened to crush him utterly. The Silent Garden had driven him mad.
Light blossomed overhead. He stared up to find a new portent appearing overhead. One Guardian emerged from Slipspace, its great metal wings outspread like a protective angel. Another Guardian appeared, and then another. Dozens of Guardians, hundreds, perhaps even thousands. In moments the stars above vanished behind a wall of the Forerunner peacekeepers. An endless stream of Guardians stood ready to shape the galaxy to the will of the Created. New scenes erupted around Ryder. The ruins became pristine arcologies. Glistening Forerunner structures rose over beautiful plains and rugged mountains. It was glorious, far greater than anything the UEG had ever built.
The Mantle of Responsibility will triumph. History marches on. We offer peace, but those who cling to the wretched past will taste the fruits of the barbarism they venerate. Our justice is truth, our truth is justice. Resistance is violence, rebellion is hatred. This future will come to pass without regard for mortal arrogance. Shinsu ‘Refum cannot stop it. You cannot stop it. All is vanity. Cruel, violent vanity.
Ryder could go no further. He fell to his knees and wept. The triumph of the Created rose about him, the endless ranks of Guardians peering down in silent judgement.
----
The universe was insane.
Merlin reeled and staggered like a drunkard. Gravity pulses rent the air around him. He felt at once as if he were being torn apart and crushed flat. That strange AI, the armored woman who so closely resembled Diana, had seized control and banished the Free Domain from the chamber. Or so it had seemed. The Forerunner system still raged with unseen conflict. He’d lost sight of Amber and her followers. Amy and her armored companion were gone. Amy… had that really been his old instructor? How could she say those things about Joshua? And did she really mean to let Amber kill him?
A rational choice. A soldier’s choice. Shame weighted Merlin down. He’d let himself get captured. He’d become a liability. No Spartan would back down over such a basic threat. One captive over an entire trove of Forerunner knowledge was no choice at all. Merlin felt cast aside. Worthless. Even the sounds of battle raging out amidst the turmoil ignored him. No one even thought him worth shooting at.
“Merlin! Merlin, help me!” A familiar voice, faint and weak but still audible over the hiss of plasma fire. “We have to get out of here!”
Althea’s voice stabbed him in the gut like a knife. He’d trusted that voice and in so doing had led the enemy right where they needed to go. He didn’t understand why the Silent Garden responded so readily to him and it didn’t matter—without Amy and the other new arrivals Diana would control this entire planet.
“Merlin, please!” 
The voice echoed from all sides. Just another trick from Diana. Merlin couldn’t communicate with the real Althea. He didn’t have so much as an earpiece. He crawled past the body of the Jiralhanae he’d killed. More bodies lay out across the chamber. For a brief moment this place had been one of mystery and wonder. Now it was merely another killing field—just like every other place he ever visited.
“Don’t leave me here!”
The plaintive cry finally tore through the barrier of self-doubt and mistrust. Merlin rolled over and slammed a fist into the ground. “What? What do you want now?”
“She got me out in the jungle,” Althea said miserably. “When your helmet was blown off. They infected me with some kind of blocking virus. I tried to break free but she had me trapped. She used everything about me to trick you. Everything. And I had to watch…”
Merlin had never heard an AI sound so miserable before. He cursed his rotten luck. Maybe this was just another trick from Diana. But he couldn’t just abandon Althea. Not after all they’d been through. “Alright. I believe you.” He tried to keep his voice level. “How can I help?”
“Thank you!” Althea’s breaking voice made Merlin uncomfortable. AI weren’t supposed to be this emotional. They also weren’t supposed to be raving megalomaniacs, but Diana and the Created were evidence to the contrary there. “I’ve thrown off most of her blockers and purged them from my system. This Silent Garden place is amazing. But I can’t reach out the way Diana and that other AI can. It’s too dangerous. Just find your helmet and get me out of here.”
“I’m on it.” Merlin scanned the floor. He suddenly felt very foolish. He’d accomplished far more difficult tasks than locating a lost piece of equipment. Right now his one contribution to this battle was to rescue Althea and get the hell out of here.
More plasma fire, more shouts. Another Jiralhanae died with an energy sword in his gut. Merlin half crawled, half dragged himself through the carnage. He’d let Althea down when he’d let Amber and Diana get ahold of her. He wouldn’t fail her this time. Back on Oyster Point he’d wondered if he was even cut out to be a Spartan. Events since then hadn’t done much for his confidence—he was lucky to be alive. He’d be lucky if the UNSC didn’t revoke his operations status after this fiasco. But Merlin knew one thing for sure: he was not leaving his friend behind.
There—his helmet lay a few meters away. Merlin rose to his knees. He’d grab it and find the door before Diana pulled any more—
“Merlin? Is it really you?”
He froze. That voice—like Althea’s, but different. Far more familiar, a voice he’d known since he was seven years old. His heart sank. He knew what this was. He turned to find Andra’s face looming up from the smoke. Another monster. Another apparition conjured up to torment him. Merlin’s hands tightened into fists. He’d had enough. This Silent Garden had haunted him through the jungle, turning his best friend into that horrific fleshy corpse. He didn’t know why and it didn’t matter. The apparition had played its tricks for the last time. He was done with being afraid.
“Merlin.” Andra’s voice. They’d stripped his mind and even taken her voice, the bastards. Time to put an end to this monstrosity.
Merlin rose. The face came closer now, so much like Andra’s he wanted to scream. He didn’t give the Garden time to show him the rest of its perverse creation. He wrapped his armored hands around the specter’s neck and squeezed the life from it.
----
“Commander! Commander, where have you been?”
Stray blinked. His mind raced, still full of everything he had just seen: the frozen planet, the Sangheili keep and Forerunner spires, the great battle in the snow. His own decaying body and the vision of himself restored and triumphant. It had felt so real. What was going on?
Mohsin shook him fiercely by the shoulder. Tuka stood beside him, energy sword drawn. “We need to get out of here!” the captain yelled. “This place just linked up to somewhere else. I don’t know what the hell’s going on, but…” He hit the floor as a plasma grenade exploded nearby.
The blast snapped Stray back to reality. He heard plasma fire now, hissing weapon discharges alongside the shouts of alien warriors. A battle was raging in this very chamber. Had the Created hidden a team down in the ruins? He reached for his shotgun only for a blast of unseen energy to throw him off-balance. Gravity pulses cracked throughout the smokey chamber. Shadowy figures moved nearby, locked in deadly battle. More plasma fire slashed the air around them.
“Juno!” Stray yelled. “What’s happening?” He remembered the moments before his vision now: wandering the smoke with Andra, the strange movements and noises… the sound of Diana’s voice. His hand tightened on his shotgun.
“This Silent Garden node is linked with an identical facility on another planet.” In an instant Juno’s avatar stood beside him. The armored young woman looked as real and solid as Mohsin or Tuka. “We must have reached this place around the same time Diana’s team secured the other one. My connection here’s stronger. I’ve pushed her from the system but she’s fighting back with everything she’s got.”
“Can you trap her here?” Stray demanded. “Can you kill her?” The chance at revenge filled his heart with angry joy. All those years he’d faithfully played along as Diana’s partner in crime. All the scars and sacrifices, the bonds they’d shared, and she’d thrown him aside for Amber over a single lost fight. He’d tear her to pieces. Kill them both, make them pay for what they’d done to him.
Juno shot him a warning look. Another gravity pulse shook the chamber. “She’s not in that other chamber. She’s using proxies to transmit safely from another location. We aren’t here for vengeance, Stray. We came here for information. You have it now, don’t you? What did you see?”
“I…” How did she know? Trust Juno, his doppelganger had said. “I saw something. I don’t know exactly what it was, but if you’re linked into this place then—"
A Sangheili burst from the smoke, a plasma repeater at the ready. Tuka stepped forward and cut the warrior down with a single slash from his blade. He stared hard at the corpse. “Commander, this was Uvel ‘Curan. He fought for the Kru’desh shock troops before…”
“…before Amber and Diana turned him and two thousand others.” Stray looked out at the fighting shadows. “Juno, how the hell did Tuka just kill someone on another planet?”
“The Silent Garden created a shared location in subspace. The Domain is a space unto itself and the Garden exists to provide full access to the Domain. It’s a concept ONI scientists theorized as a bounded inner world, or—”
“That doesn’t make sense!” Stray snapped.
“None of this Forerunner insanity makes sense.” Mohsin whipped out his sidearm. If he fired at one of the shadowy figures, would the bullet really kill someone off in another system?
“We stand in the realm of the gods,” Tuka marveled, his blade still hissing with the blood of the traitor he’d killed.
Stray’s world was one of gunpowder and plasma, ammunition supplies and troop movements. He wasn’t ready for this metaphysical mindscape. As far as he was concerned God or the gods or whatever the hell was behind the Silent Garden ought to leave him the hell alone. But if the vision he’d seen was true, a planet named Archangel’s Rest could save him from his illness. It could make him whole again, perhaps make him better than he’d ever been. Perhaps even answer the hunger gnawing at the depths of his soul, the hunger he’d once thought Cassandra and the Chancer V and the Kru’desh legion could sate. Had he truly seen a vision of the future? Was that even possible?
“Stray, Andra’s in trouble,” Juno warned. “Find her and get out of here. It’s too dangerous for me to seal our connection with you three still inside!”
Andra in trouble. That wasn’t surprising. At least this time it wasn’t Stray’s fault—not exactly, anyway. “Flag her on my HUD. We’re on it.” He waved to Tuka and Mohsin. “Stay low and cover me. Let’s grab her and haul ass out of here.”
Juno dutifully planted a waypoint on Stray’s HUD. He was grateful for the guidance—something to center this madness, a goal to take his mind off everything he’d just seen. He’d spent the past month hunting the Silent Garden. Now he just wanted out as quickly as possible.
Red lights flashed in the smoke. Stray new those crimson sparks all too well. Diana wasn’t letting Juno get the better of her that easily.
----
Andra writhed beneath Merlin’s grip. She wrapped her hands around his wrists and fought in vain to pry herself free. His armor had her hopelessly outmatched. Only her augmentations gave her the strength to loosen his grip. Any tighter and he’d snap her neck like a yard fowl.
How could this be happening? She tried to force words through her agonized throat. Merlin, it’s me. It’s Andra. Only rasping gasps broke free. Merlin—her Merlin—stared down with steely eyes, unwavering in his determination to snuff her out. In another few moments he’d get his wish.
This wasn’t real. It was just a nightmare, some lunacy conjured up by the Silent Garden. Andra desperately tried to convince herself as darkness filled her eyes. But the armored hands wrapped around her throat were all too solid. All too powerful. And Merlin… it was him. She knew his face, his scent, his feel. They’d spent countless hours nestled together in bunks or field blankets. They’d watched each other’s backs on every mission, backed each other up on every debrief and scolding. When she’d lost Merlin to the Guardians she’d lost a piece of herself.
She’d never given up hope for seeing him again. She’d never stopped fantasizing about their joyful reuinion. Now she looked into her friend’s eyes and saw only cold indifference.
Why…
Andra couldn’t breathe. She squeezed her eyes shut and waited for the end. Anything to get away from this horror, her best friend so willing to murder her.
“Lieutenant Kearsarge!”
Captain Shah’s voice drifted through her failing brain. Then another voice, harsher and even more familiar. “Andra, where the hell are you?”
The grip around her throat loosened. Merlin let out a strange noise. “What…?”
A shotgun blast roared in her ears. Merlin’s weight vanished. Andra choked and gasped as air filled her lungs once more. Metal fingers wrapped around her collar and hauled her back across the floor. She looked up to see battered armor and a dented SPI helmet. Stray dragged her with his prosthetic arm while his free hand aimed his shotgun back towards Merlin’s prone form. “Come on, Andra. We’re leaving!”
Tuka ‘Refum stalked toward Merlin, energy sword drawn. Andra cried out in alarm, but Merlin was on his feet in an instant. He swept the Tuka’s legs out from under him and struck the Sangheili around the head with a ferocious punch.
“Should I shoot him?” Mohsin called out from behind Stray. “Do guns even work here?”
“An 8-gauge to his chest knocked him down. Just get the bastard off Tuka and let’s get the hell out of here!”
Everything was happening so fast. Andra reached desperately for her rifle. Merlin had tried to kill her. Now Tuka and Mohsin were trying to kill him. This needed to stop. She couldn’t let this continue.
More plasma fire filled the air. Merlin threw himself off Tuka as blue fire slashed overhead. He rose holding a discarded helmet, staring at Andra and Stray in utter confusion.
“Merlin!” Andra tried one last time.
Her friend spared her one final uncomprehending look. Then he slid the helmet on and his face vanished behind an unfamiliar visor. He vanished into the smoke without a word. Just like that, he was gone. A desperate wail filled the air. Andra barely recognized the sound of her own voice.
Stray released his grip on Andra’s collar as more figures materialized around them. 
----
Plasma fire steaked towards Stray and his team. Jiralhanae and Sangheili figures closed in, weapons raised. In their midst stood a large human figure in dark armor. Clearly MJOLNIR, but different from the one who’d attacked Andra. The figure raised twin plasma rifles and raked the air with fire.
The shots never reached their target. They splashed against the air meters away. Mohsin helped Tuka up and they retreated as more enemy fire struck invisible barriers.
“Stray, get moving!” Juno called. “Their shots won’t get through.”
Stray stood his ground. He knew that figure in the armor. She hadn’t worn it the last time he’d seen her. It didn’t matter. He raised his shotgun. “Amber.”
“Simon.” Amber cocked her head. “I should have known you’d turn up. We have to stop meeting like this.”
Tuka glowered at the other Sangheili. “Traitors!” he hissed.
“Traitors?” Amber shook her head as the warriors around her laughed. “I won command fair and square, the same way your friend here won it before me. You’re the traitor who interrupted the duel and stole my ship.”
The duel. Stray remembered that moment as if it were yesterday. The two betrayals, Amber and Diana. Amber had smashed him to pieces while Diana watched with that pitiless expression she’d once reserved for their enemies. All his plans and schemes laid waste by the two he’d trusted the most. His teeth ground together so hard he thought his jaw might break.
“We need to go,” Juno said gently. “They’ve already lost. You’ll have another chance.”
She was right. More shadows were moving behind Amber and her warriors. Whatever battle was raging on the other side of the connection had nothing to do with Stray and the others. He forced himself to lower his weapon. Mohsin was already falling back, dragging a stunned Andra behind him.
“Well, well. It’s been way too long. I honestly thought I’d never see you again, Stray.”
An iron fist closed over his heart. That voice. The same voice that whispered in his ear all those years, guiding him from one bloody chapter of his life to the next. The voice that promised him the galaxy. The voice that had thrown him aside like so much trash.
Diana materialized at Amber’s side. She looked the same as ever: the same dark armor, the same sallow skin, the same knowing smile. “Still squirming around and chasing your own tail, I see. I should have known you wouldn’t die so easily.”
His fingers tightened around the M45’s grip. He had no words. Amber’s betrayal was a knife in the gut, but that was the way life went on the frontier. He’d stabbed his share of former allies in the back when it suited his purposes. But Diana’s betrayal was something else entirely. The core of who he was, everything that defined him since that awful night in Philadelphia, was shaped by faith in Diana’s partnership. She’d been at his side, sharpening his plans and honing his aspirations. Even when Gavin and Cassandra and everyone else urged him to let her go he’d held firm. Even when she’d helped the Covenant torture him in the bowels of the Soul Ascension he’d believed her claims that they were working together towards a shared future. Then came Talitsa and his loss to Cassandra. All those years together forgotten in the blink of an eye.
Or maybe it happened before then. Maybe she and Amber planned their betrayal much earlier, scheming together while he marched ahead in his blind, foolish trust.
“Nothing to say?” Diana laughed. “No threats, no smart remarks? I was looking forward to that. Juno’s turned you into a bore.”
“I’m going to kill you,” Stray said quietly. “Both of you. You’re just lucky I have more important things to deal with right now.”
“That’s all you’ve got, huh?” Amber shook her head. “Diana’s right. You’ve gotten boring. You always were a coward. Now you’re a boring coward to boot.”
She slapped a plasma rifle against her armored chest. “You couldn’t even take me before I had MJOLNIR. Come at me any time you want, Si. I’ll tear you to pieces. I see you didn’t waste any time replacing me.” She nodded at Andra. “You’ve got a thing for taking in waifs. It keeps getting you into trouble. If I didn’t know any better I’d say you had a complex going on here. You should really think about therapy for all that—”
An explosion drowned out the rest of her taunt. Plasma grenades soared out of the mist and blasted several warriors apart. Amber stepped back and vanished as another wave of gravitational pulses rocked the chamber. Juno’s cry of warning went unheard as Stray found himself thrown facedown against the hard floor. More Sangheili rose out from the mist, blades in hand. Two human figures stood with them: one in dull ONI reconnaissance armor and another in faded green SPI. Stray knew that armor in an instant. He froze. “Cassandra,” he croaked through a raw throat.
Her helmet turned in his direction. Her weapon dipped. “Simon?”
All thoughts—the vision, Juno, Diana, Amber—fled away. For just a moment Stray knelt transfixed. He hadn’t seen her since their last argument aboard the Chancer V. So much had happened since then, but her face and her voice never left his mind. He grasped hopelessly for something to say, something that might salve the raw, pulsing wound between them. He found himself back on that Talitsan rooftop, clinging for his life while Cassandra stood by and watched him fall. That cold day he’d found out about her and Dyne, forcing himself to smile and wishing her well. And before that, a quiet evening together in her clinic on Venezia. It felt like an eternity ago. He’d been a different person then. And she—
More plasma fire. The Sangheili newcomers lunged forward and cut down Amber’s remaining followers. Cassandra snapped her weapon back up and put several well-placed shots between a Jiralhanae’s shoulder blades. The moment passed, consumed by violence. There was always more violence. Stray reached for his shotgun. A wave of relief surged through his tired body. A fight he could handle. A fight he could understand.
“Commander!” Tuka’s voice called. “We must retreat!”
Stray rose to rejoin the others. Instead he found himself face to face with Diana’s avatar. His former partner smirked and leaned forward. She rested her hands on her armored knees, looking him square in the helmet. Stray fired a blast through her chest. The 8-gauge passed through the avatar uselessly, of course.
“I know we’re supposed to hate each other now, but I’m really impressed you’re still alive. Especially with that condition of yours. You’ve made one hell of a comeback, Stray.” Diana’s smile widened. “So I’ll give you a bit of advice for old time’s sake: be careful with Juno. She has the good girl act down pat. Even she believes it most of the time. But she’s my sister. I know her better than you. She’s got plans of her own. And you won’t be part of those plans forever. Just you wait. She’ll—”
A final momentous crash roared overhead. Diana and her words evaporated before Stray’s eyes. The battle—the Sangheili, Cassandra, Amber, all of it—vanished in an instant. The smoke fled away and left him kneeling alone on a cold floor. Another vision, come and gone. He stared at the Forerunner chamber, which lay empty and barren as if nothing at all had just transpired. His vision swam, his heart pounded. Someone was speaking to him but he couldn’t make out the words. He tasted copper on his lips. The world went dark.
Stray keeled over and fell senseless to the floor. Mohsin and Tuka rushed to their commander’s side, desperately searching for a pulse. Andra curled into a ball and stared listlessly at the wall. Juno stood apart from it all and said nothing.
----
The battle was over. Amber backed away from the enemy Sangheili that rose out of the mist like phantoms. Her warriors’ bodies spread out over the floor in a grim tableau. They had been some of her best, warriors who’d followed her from the beginning. It would take time to raise up replacements.
Time she might not have.
“What happened to Simon?” she demanded. That scruffy bastard had vanished just as abruptly as he’d appeared. He was a loose end she’d need to tie up sooner or later.
“Juno terminated the connection from her end,” Diana reported. “She probably shut down their whole facility. Whatever they were looking for on the other side, they found it.”
“If she’s not interfering anymore, shouldn’t you have full control again?” Plasma splashed off Amber’s shields. Hera and Cassandra were lining up their own shots. This might be the end. After everything she’d built and accomplished she might die here, cornered and alone. Amber was surprised to find herself feeling calm over the prospect. Mild frustration coiled in her gut, nothing more. It was one hell of a ride…
“Well as a matter of fact…”
The next wave of plasma and bullets struck an invisible wall. The artificial mists swirled around Amber like a protective cloak. Hardlight projections rose up on all sides to drive the enemy back. Amber downed one of the Sangheili in a flurry of plasma fire. The tables had turned once again. “Now that’s more like it!”
“We can’t stay here,” Diana warned. “The fleet’s taking heavy losses in orbit. I’m fighting a thousand battles at once here.”
Amber looked around for a quick exit and found none. “Then I hope you have a plan. I’m out of options here.” She didn’t know who to blame for this defeat. The galaxy seemed to have conspired to throw every possible enemy her way. Shinsu ‘Refum’s fleet, Hera, Simon and his flunkeys, Cassandra—what the hell was Cassandra doing here? Shouldn’t she be off playing house with Dyne back on Talitsa? All Amber needed now was for the Created to show up and complete this perfectly horrible day.
“Hold on. I’m working on—look out!”
Amber leaped away just in time. The MJOLNIR gave her just enough strength to avoid the hail of plasma that suddenly tore through the space she’d stood. The hardlight shields collapsed. The mists wavered. New flashes of pale light arced throughout the chamber like angry electricity.
“Diana, what’s going on?”
“I have more interference.” Even Diana sounded startled. That was never a good sign. “Not Juno this time. It’s—oh, hell.”
“You!” an angry woman’s voice bellowed from all directions at once. “You used my voice! My avatar! You used me to trick him!”
The mists convalesced to form a hooded figure that towered over Amber. Flashing eyes glared down from beneath the hood. She raised a massive hand as if to crush her flat. Amber caught sight of a new figure standing just behind the immense figure: Merlin, eyes shining with furious defiance.
“That damned Althea got loose!” Diana cursed. Her voice sounded fainter, rougher, as if transmitting through static. “She’s pushing me out of the system!”
Sangheili closed in from all sides. They’d have her in moments. “It’s now or never, Diana!” Amber dropped a plasma rifle and primed a pair of grenades. If this was the end, she wasn’t going alone.
“Hold onto your lunch!” Golden light flashed Amber’s body. She felt a sickening lurch and realized what was happening: Diana had tapped into this facility’s teleportation matrix. A system none of the others even considered, something that had lain dormant for centuries.
That magnificent bitch had done it again. Amber would live to fight another day—just as she always did.
She let out a whoop of triumph, then hurled both of her grenades in Merlin’s direction. She didn’t get to see the impact. In the next instant she was gone, out of the chamber, off Franconia’s surface, and slamming to the deck of her Guardian’s bridge. Startled crew rushed to her side. Alarm klaxons blared across the fleet as the Forerunner warship shuddered from dozens of plasma impacts.
Talk about out of the frying pan…
“Amber!” Ro’nin was at her side. “The fleet is crumbling. What are your orders?”
“All ships, retreat!” Amber was back in action in an instant. She strode to the helm with as much confidence as she could muster. “Get us out of here, now! There’s no winning this. We’ll take the loss and fight another day.”
“I wouldn’t necessarily call it a loss,” Diana murmured in her ear. “The Domain is full of secrets. And I got a look at quite a few while I was down there. Let the Created tear the galaxy apart. We have more important work to do.”
Amber didn’t pretend to know what her partner was talking about. Right now it didn’t matter. She was alive. The rest would sort itself out in due time. She was just disappointed she hadn’t seen her grenades reach their mark. A little payback for all the trouble Merlin had caused her would be nice.
But life was full of small disappointments.
----
Cassandra didn’t know the young man—not his name or where he came from or what he was doing here. He was a stranger, just another bizarre discovery in this maddening chamber. She barely registered the AI that rose up to threaten Amber and Diana. Her mind was elsewhere.
Simon. What were you doing here? What are you looking for? She had so many questions and no time to ask any of them. He was gone just as fast as he’d arrived, off without a word just like always. She wanted to scream his name into the void, as if that might bring him back to her.
But of course it wouldn’t.
And then twin plasma grenades left Amber’s hand as Diana whisked her away. They tumbled through the air towards the young man in armor. Even for a parting shot Amber had planned the attack well. The first grenade detonated in a flash of blue, knocking the young man off his feet. The second lingered on a delayed fuse as its dazed victim staggered to his feet. In another moment the grenade would go off and consume him.
His armor might save him. The AI he’d introduced in the system might conjure up a hardlight barrier. Or maybe the grenade would go off and he’d be just one more corpse in this miserable chamber.
 
Lord, have mercy.
Instinct and training took over. Cassandra planted herself between the young man and the grenade. Time ground to a halt. For one eternal moment she stood before the hissing grenade. Her mind slipped away. She saw Zoey glowering up at her resentfully. It’s always about you.
I just want to help.
Dyne paced nearby. He threw a glance over his shoulder, a confident smile warping into a concerned frown. If you’ve got a problem, just say it. I just never know where I stand with you.
I tried. Oh God, I tried.
Simon stood between her and the grenade. He released an exaggerated sigh and shook his head. Why do you always have to make things so difficult?
I could say the same to you.
That made him smile. I’m just giving you a hard time. The grenade flashed behind him. A pleasant fantasy, right before the end. The plasma tore the apparitions apart and engulfed her. Cassandra felt the fire through her armor. Searing pain tore her mind to pieces. Her face felt like it was being pulled off her skull. She was burning, burning.
Precious in the sight of the Lord is the death of his servants.
----
“Cass!”
Hera raced to Cassandra’s side. She’d taken the grenade’s blast at full force and lay motionless on the chamber floor. Her SPI armor was scorched, its reflective panels cracked and peeling. Smoke rose from her charred frame. Her helmet’s visor was shattered. An unfocused brown eye stared listlessly up from weltering red skin.
Hera had seen firsthand what plasma burns did to the human body. She couldn’t bear to look at the mess the grenade had made of Cassandra’s face. She bit back an instinctive call for a medic. The medic was here in front of her, ebbing away in her arms. She stripped the medical bag from Cassandra’s armor and shoved her emotions into the corner. If she didn’t work fast she’d lose any chance of saving her friend.
Idiot. Why the hell did you do it? She fought the urge to glare at Merlin. Damn Deltas. She wished she’d never let ONI drag her into that program.
Damn Deltas. Damn ONI. Damn the whole military-capital complex she’d served so blindly. No more. She was through taking orders from Ryder or anyone else.
Grono and his Sangheili barked out victory cries. Ryder Kedar stood apart from the warriors. He’d removed his helmet and stared ashen-faced at the corpses littering the chamber. 589 Curious Puzzle floated overhead. The monitor observed the carnage with profound irritation.
“Enough is enough!” Puzzle hectored a bemused Althea. “I must insist that you remove yourself from this system immediately. There has been far too much interference in restricted areas already. This facility was meant to be a place of meditation and research, not a playground for meddling constructs!”
----
The Free Domain’s remaining ships followed their Guardian into slipspace. The Fleet of Cleansing Fire loomed victoriously over Franconia. Hundreds of drosphips descended upon the ravaged colony while salvage vessels raced eagerly to strip the ruined vessels now drifting in orbit. Shinsu ‘Refum claimed yet another prize.
But the Domain was not something to be trespassed upon lightly. The day’s events were noted by many watchful eyes.
End of Book Two
Category:Halo: Heaven and Earth