DT 2024: She Acted Alone

Meredith Freeport, 2563
Based on DT 2022: Friends, Enemies
Radios chirped.
“Asset is in the penthouse, holding steady as she promised.”
The dark, often-gray skies blackened with puffy, choking smoke this morning. Electrical smoke rose from the harbor, from the arcology maze box tops. The city engulfed itself in the burning like one large factory.
The non-nuclear plume masked a black splotch in the sky, spotted with all forms of exotic gas fires. The kind of blue and purple and greens which cooked hotter than the surface of a star. The kind which goes beyond oxidation and material incapable of burning, burned because of unnatural causes.
“Spartan QRF ready as needed.”
This place, a long string—a mile wide and endlessly long—of city blocks stretched from horizon to horizon. A burning coastal line city between glasslands and a poisoned ocean. For the long strip, came an almost as long wall of fire, a column of burns. Of signs of battle. Meredith Freeport, or Margret Freeport, depending on who you asked. A freeport like the name suggested. A free trade zone where rules were minor and all parties were welcome.
War was suppose to vanish once you touched this world’s atmosphere, came within view of the lilac dot in the dark expanse of the cosmos. A pale zone, beyond the reach of governments and martial authorities. A place beyond the pale.
“Do you think she’s listening in on this frequency?”
The Office of Naval Intelligence feared this place for good reason. No one was suppose to start shit in this place, only observe. That’s how Rear Admiral Markko Kallas understood the rules, long set by generations of soldiers, sailors and intelligence officers. Their unspoken agreement with criminals, despots, and thieves. They could stay in this little jail of a place without fear of military entanglement.
“She parted ways with her Smart AI months ago. It’s doubtful.”
Kallas was never suppose to step foot in a place like this once he crossed into the flag ranks of the naval admiralty. But today he made a personal visit. The kind Admirals Parangosky and Osman did on very rare occasions when they felt something went horribly wrong or required their direct intervention.
A war in a pale zone? One of THE pale zones? He had plenty of non-augmented assets in the area, their duty as described, to observe and provide intelligence. Occasional augmented assets passed through the area, but with the blessing of the powers within this planetary hovel. There were rules. He repeated the claim to himself for certainty, for faith. There were rules.
“Anything is possible on the frontier.”
Today, Andra Kearsarge broke all those rules. The Spartan supersoldier under his command broke all the rules he told and taught her. He found her overlooking the commotion on the sixty-eighth floor of a reinforced glass interior balcony built in the side of one of the newer arcologies, with shattered windows so you could really feel the gusty breeze and hear the distant gunfire reports of hardlight, plasma, and firearm ammunition.
And see the poor machinations put upon hundred-thousands of sapient souls. From sea to burnt  plain. From horizon to horizon. The pale zone housed lesser souls in ONI’s moral calculus but lives nonetheless. The black splotch hanging in the sky cut into view, a patchwork of rainbow fires and leaking gases of multiple warm colors which could not be good for any environment.
The flagship of one of those new, dangerous pirate faction, that Far Harvest Legion. The ship name, the Bewitched Paragon. Once a Phoenix-class colony ship, warped into a carrier augmented by ancient alien technology. The gem of this lawless region, and it was burning.
“The admiral has crossed into the danger zone.”
Kallas straightened the upper straps of his full-torso soft body plate carrier and gave his trademark raspy cough through his skull face like helmet.
“Good morning, Lieutenant. I’m told you have a report for me?”
The asset, the tall girl, faced away from her superior officer. No armor in sight, wherever she put her MJOLNIR, it wasn’t here. But in a split second, she turned to him and offered a lazy salute as her shoulder length bob of dark hair spilled through the air. Piercing blue eyes paired poorly with the casual smirk on her lips.
Like she was happy under the circumstances. The ghost of a smile vanished quick enough, not because she tried to hide it. She wrinkled her nose and lips, desperate to smother it instead. At least she didn’t turn into a sociopath since he last saw her. But Kallas knew looks could be deceiving too.
“Rear Admiral. Welcome to Meredith Freeport!”
Andra raised her hands up as if to offer a hug but she took four steps from the admiral and stopped in the center of the bombed out, old luxury apartment. She pointed up to her ear and headset.
“I heard you and your security team were on the way.”
Kallas gave a humming affirmative. He took three experimental steps through the space, crunching his boots on shattered glass and worn out plaster.
“My team already secured the area so we can speak in confidence. You said you wanted to come see me, but I thought it better I come to you since I was in the neighborhood.”
Andra chuckled, “Five or ten light years?”
“Something like that. So, want to start by explaining outside? Your doing?”
The Spartan glanced back at the sky.
“No. Not really. Just some AI having misunderstanding. As usual.”
Kallas crossed his arms. “I seem to doubt that.”
Andra tilted her head to side to side, her hair flailing in the breeze along with her, as if deciding her next words with care. Or to avoid a sniper head shot.
“Fine,” the girl answered in a matter of fact tone. “Things got a little carried away in the last few days. I brought down a carrier this morning, if that helps.”
“What was your formal title when I brought you into the Applied Intelligence Office?”
“Besides Spartan? Covert Intelligence Officer.”
”And your primary purpose?”
“Observe and report.”
“So why is Jefferson Korn’s pirate carrier burning in the harbor?” Kallas growled out, scratching his ever-dry throat. “Your cell agents told me you disappeared for four days. Now we have Forerunner drones in the streets. Cartel hit squads shooting at one another.”
Andra sighed. “Someone threatened me.”
“Daniele-D003?”
The Spartan nodded.
“I saw your report on that. You recounted his threat as an intervention warning. So what happened here? You did this, right?”
Andra nodded again.
“Well?” Kallas raised a finger, pointing at his subordinate as if to chastise her though he lacked the right words for whatever this mess was. She didn’t commit any crimes—the pale zones were lawless lands after all. And yet...
The Spartan sniffed the air and looked back towards the burning, flying enemy warship.
“The simple of it? I started a war. So no one else had to.”