by Kelly Gay
“What do we tell them?” Lessa asked.
“The truth, if it comes to it.”
“But—” Niko started.
“If we don’t play nice, they’ll make us wish we had, and I want to walk away from this with my crew and my ship intact. This isn’t the time or the place to make our stand.”
Ram lifted a dubious eyebrow. “We’re going to make a stand?”
She stared straight ahead, watching the group draw closer. “If they take something from us, we’re sure as hell going to take something from them.” Rion just had to figure out what that was exactly.
“And this,” Niko said under his breath, putting his arm around her and giving her a quick squeeze on the shoulder, “is why we love your vengeful ass.”
The lead officer was slender and balding, and had the look of a shrewd businessman rather than an ONI operative. Rion lifted her chin a notch and stepped forward. The more she could separate herself from the crew and hold his attention, the better.
“Captain Forge,” he greeted her with a congenial tone.
“Agent Hahn,” she replied. He seemed pleased with her deduction, though it wasn’t hard to figure out his identity; he’d been trying to contact her for ten weeks.
“I did try to do this the easy way.”
“So did I,” she said. “Ignoring you was the easy way.”
“That didn’t quite work out for you, though.” He turned and gestured for her to walk beside him, leaving the others behind, thank goodness. She glanced back. “Your crew is safe, Captain,” he assured her.
“And what are your intentions for them?”
“Two kids and a wounded salvager? I have no intentions for them at all. And I’m sure you’ll do whatever is necessary to see it stays that way.”
“Am I being charged with a crime?”
“Not yet. Your record is surprisingly clean for someone in your line of work. All we want is information and cooperation. Once those aims are achieved, you and your crew will be on your way. We could have done this more than two months ago, but you opted for . . . a more difficult path. So here we are.”
“You’re going through an awful lot of trouble for a small-time salvager,” she said as they left the hangar and headed down a hallway with glossy white walls and metal grating for flooring, then entered a large conference room with more white walls, two of which framed expansive glass panels. An oval table stood in the center, and along the walls were more intimate seating arrangements.
After the door slid closed, Agent Hahn paused at the head of the table, his hands resting on the back of a chair. “Shall we get right to it? The last transmission from our agent was hindered. . . . We have you closest to the Procyon system—”
Rion walked around the spacious room. “Never heard of it.”
“—and from there into uncharted space where, according to our intelligence, you discovered a substantial debris field, one that contains Forerunner ruins, and recovered an artificial intelligence. As you know, we must confiscate that AI and secure the location.”
Rion paused to inspect one of the glass walls, tapping on it, wondering who was on the other side, if she even warranted that amount of interest. Her faint reflection stared back at her: tired eyes, messy hair—thanks to the hood—and ugly bruises forming on her throat. Her image appeared just as frazzled as her nerves. She ignored Hahn and smoothed the flyaway hairs behind her ears.
“Captain, might I impress upon you the importance of keeping Forerunner technology out of our enemy’s hands. . . .”
While she agreed, she couldn’t help but push him a little. “The war is over, Agent Hahn.”
“The war is never over. You know as well as I do that Gek ‘Lhar and others like him are trying to rebuild the Covenant. They gather enough ships and the right technology, and before you know it, we’ll be back where we were four years ago.”
“Well, now that you have my luminary, it shouldn’t be too hard to find your precious technology.”
“You are well aware that proximity matters. Time matters. We could engage in repeated explorations into uncharted space, looking for that debris field. Or we could just get the coordinates from you. Sometimes the simplest answer is the right answer.”
A low tone echoed from Hahn’s datapad. Rion watched him through the glass’s reflection as he checked the screen. His jaw went tight at whatever he read, and she couldn’t help but feel a surge of satisfaction. He excused himself and was gone long enough for her to start worrying. When he finally returned, his mood was darker than before.
“Your ship’s navigational logs and charts have been scrubbed.”
“Standard procedure,” she told him, turning around. “Our livelihood depends on keeping our finds and locations secret. You know . . . from poachers.”
“We’re not poachers if the tech already belongs to us,” Hahn replied, reading more of the message and growing more irate.
She let out a sharp laugh. “Since when does Forerunner technology belong to the Office of Naval Intelligence?”
He set the pad on the table. “Who would you like it to belong to, Captain? For nearly thirty years, we saw how close the Covenant came to wiping us out with the limited amount of reengineered Forerunner tech they possessed. Think what the wrong group could do with an entire arsenal. Do you really want to be responsible for that?”
Hahn engaged a holoscreen that appeared over the conference table. Images appeared, one by one. “Let me give you some incentive here. Warehouse on Komoya . . . warehouse on Venezia . . .” Two more images joined the list with a flick of his hand. “Gao. Talitsa. We have seized your assets across the Via Casilina, including your bank accounts—all six of them. And we have your ship and your crew. Whether that’s temporary or for the foreseeable future is up to you. Understand, Captain Forge—this is us playing nice.”
Rion stared at the images of her warehouses for a long moment.
“Your choice,” Hahn said, watching her.
“Not really though, is it?” She regarded him for a moment. This should be cut-and-dried. Hahn had what he was after. He didn’t need to threaten her entire business. “You have everything you wanted from me, Agent Hahn. You have my AI, and through him you have the coordinates to the debris field. And you’ve also got my luminary thrown in for good measure. The rest”—she gestured to her entire livelihood hovering in the air above them—“is overkill and unnecessary. Now, when can I leave?”
“You can leave when you or your AI gives us the location of the field.”
So that was it, then. Little Bit, bless his fragmented heart, wasn’t cooperating. Rion’s amusement and surprise, however, quickly turned to dread, because while LB’s loyalty lifted her estimation of him, it also might end up costing her everything.
“How about this, Captain?” Hahn said, gathering his datapad, taking her nonanswer for refusal. “I’m going to step out for a bit. Give you a few minutes to think about it.”
“No, wait—”
But he kept going. Damn it.
An hour, possibly more, had passed before the conference room door slid open again. During that time, Rion had repeatedly banged on the door and walls, trying to get someone’s attention and convey her willingness to cooperate, before things went even further south than they already had, but no one had acknowledged her. Eventually she’d given up, and was sitting in one of the chairs with her boots propped on the table when Hahn entered with the Big Guy who’d apprehended her outside of the Flintlock.
Immediately her gaze locked with her kidnapper’s, eyes narrowing to fine, unimpressed points while his remained calm and neutral. No mask on his face this time, but she’d recognize the unusual height and those steady eyes anywhere. He sported a few laugh lines around his eyes and mouth, and his features weren’t completely unpleasant—decent forehead, short brown hair, straight nose, and strong jawline, only marred by a deep scar cut diagonally across his chin. Like Hahn, he wore a black flight suit with no name tag or rank.
Yep. The Big Guy was way more than special ops. Her earlier suspicions solidified, and she was pretty sure she was getting her first up-close-and-personal with a Spartan. Well, second, if she counted being carted across Komoya like a thirty-kilo bag of rice.
He took up a spot near the corner by the door, hands clamped behind him, as Hahn approached the table. The tension this time around had increased. If she wasn’t mistaken, the ONI agent was livid and exasperated, though he tried hard to hide it behind a straight posture and a flat expression.
Rion winced inside. Given the time he’d been gone, she’d guessed their attempts at communicating with Little Bit had been unsuccessful—possibly disastrous, knowing LB. Rion pushed to her feet, about to inquire, when the door slid open again, and Kip Silas walked in.
She froze at the sight of him.
He appeared no different than the last time she’d seen him on her ship, still scruffy, still tired-looking, and still with that sadness behind his eyes. Mixed emotions coursed through her—anger, hurt, disappointment. Kip had been part of her crew, welcomed into the family, and his betrayal had hit them hard. It had been a long time since she’d read someone so completely and utterly wrong. Yet even now her instincts told her he was a good guy, which only made her confused and angrier.
He came to a stop across the table from her position. “Come on, Rion. Just tell them what you know.”
She wasn’t refusing—they just hadn’t given her the opportunity. And now Kip was here. . . . “I’m sorry, did you say something? Because I don’t speak traitor.”
“I’m only trying to help, to save lives. You have no idea how dangerous these artifacts are. And you have no idea who you’re selling it to.”
She laughed. “Oh, don’t you dare put this on me. The stuff I bring to market is sold in the clear. At auction. If they”—she threw an arm out to the glass—“don’t want to pay what it’s worth, that’s on them. And let me tell you, they can afford it. Just ask any salvager’s confiscated bank accounts. If anything I recover goes to someone else, you can sing your sad song to them, not me.”
He remained quiet, and she couldn’t help but add, “And I hate to break it to you, but you don’t know me well enough to come in here and play the nice-guy routine to talk some sense into me.”
His faint smile held a note of regret. “I like you, Rion. I like Niko and Lessa. I liked Cade, for God’s sake.”
She lurched forward, but the damn table was between them. “Don’t. You don’t get to talk about him.” Her chest tightened as the familiar crushing weight of Cade’s death took her breath away. Kip was forever part of that memory, and right then she hated him for it. “You don’t get to talk about any of them.”
He bowed his head as though he understood and accepted it. “Nothing I did put any of you in danger.”
“No, you’re just the reason we’re here.” She shook her head and paced, needing to move. “But I guess you would call that nothing.”
“What did you tell me once? There’s enough salvage out there for everyone. Rion, you don’t need the debris field. The technology that might be lurking there—what gives you the right to take it and sell it to the highest bidder, to someone who might kill millions of people? Where is your conscience, your culpability? Because at the end of the day, you’re responsible too. You could be the reason civilians, entire families lose everything.”
She wanted to choke him for throwing her own words back at her. “I’ve never and will never sell a goddamn thing that could kill millions of people and you know it.” She came around the end of the table to face him, but held on to the chair to keep steady and to prevent herself from getting any closer and hurting him.
“Fine. I’ll give you that—when it comes to human and Covie tech. But Forerunner? How do you know? How much does any of us know about Forerunner technology? You could sell one small piece that might be the key to launching a weapon of mass destruction. You just don’t know. But they do.” He threw his hand toward Hahn and the Big Guy. “They have experience with Forerunner artifacts, years of it, entire divisions devoted to its study and use and reengineering. They understand things about it we never could, and they need to keep that tech out of the wrong hands.”
Kip paused and let out a long-suffering sigh before glancing to Hahn for permission to continue. Hahn dipped his head, and Kip turned back to her. “Gek escaped Komoya. Please, don’t let him get what he’s after.”
Rion gave the Big Guy the most disappointed look she could muster. And while he didn’t react, there was a faint tic in his jaw that told her he wasn’t happy about it. “Really?” she said to him. “I handed him to you all wrapped up with a bow and you just let him go. If you hadn’t interfered, we would have taken out Gek and that damn Harvester.” She wanted to scream. “But that’s what you spooks do, isn’t it? Interfere in everything. Why don’t you just go and leave the Outer Colonies to their own devices? We sure as hell do a lot better job protecting our own than you.”
“A commonly held sentiment in these parts,” Agent Hahn said, undaunted by her insult. “But we spooks see the big picture, one that encompasses the whole of humanity and our place in the galaxy. You know we’re right, Captain. And you know exactly who ‘Lhar is and what he’s capable of doing.”
She remained quiet, mostly because it was pretty hard to argue a point she wholeheartedly agreed with. “Look, if Little Bit isn’t cooperating, he’s doing it on his own. Just give me your word that we’ll be free to go when I give you the coordinates.”
“There’s something else we want as well.” Hahn pulled a small device from his pocket and walked down the length of the table, placing it on the surface in front of her, then stepping back.
Rion’s eyes closed and she prayed for calm.
No need to ask what it was; she’d held that thing since she was a little girl.
It was the holostill containing the image of her father.
Sensing the shift in her mood, the Big Guy moved with Hahn, stopping a few feet behind him. He didn’t trust her—at least he was capable enough to figure that out.
She picked up the holostill, picturing ONI in her quarters, knowing that they had scoured her ship, turned over everything, discovered her newfound information on her father and the Spirit of Fire. . . .
If they were trying to shake her up, they’d certainly picked the right thing. But Rion would be damned if she’d let them see it. “Why are you working with these creeps, Kip? You’re not one of them.” He didn’t fit the ONI mold. Even now, in his uniform, he seemed uncomfortable and out of place.
“My family. My wife and unborn son.” He cleared his throat. “Sedra. Last year.”
“The bioweapon in the capital,” she said, remembering. Hard for anyone to forget. The entire Outer Colonies had been shocked and horrified.
He nodded. “That was the result of Forerunner technology. So you see, I’m living proof, and what happened there will happen again and again if we don’t get to the tech before the Covenant. I’ve seen you in action, Rion. We’re on the same side. You’re not the bad guy here and neither am I.”
She didn’t know what to say to that, because she believed him. Her instincts weren’t wrong. Despite her anger and his betrayal, it wasn’t like she could fault him for trying to make a difference. And while she knew grief intimately, she’d never known what it was like to lose a husband or a child. His loss was enormous, and it wasn’t that difficult to understand his position and what drove him to work for ONI.
“Time’s up, Captain,” said Hahn. “What do you say?”
“What are you asking?”
“You know what I’m asking. I want you to talk to that fragment, Little Bit. He opens up or you don’t go anywhere. I want the coordinates and every scrap of information you both have about the Spirit of Fire.”
At the vessel’s name, the Big Guy’s gaze snapped to Hahn. Apparently he was on a need-to-know, and he hadn’t known that part. Every marine—hell, every military man and woman, a
nd a large part of the human population—knew the story of the Spirit of Fire. She was a shining emblem of courage and loss and mystery. Eleven thousand souls just . . . gone.
The money and salvage could be recouped in time. But the only things she had left of her father? Those couldn’t be replaced. She’d waited twenty-six years for answers. Little Bit and his projections were the closest things she’d ever uncovered that had a shot at locating the ship and her father, and if she let Hahn have them, she was back to square one.
ONI wanted it all.
Everything.
The life they’d built. What they’d fought for, what Cade had died for. . . .
“We have the other holochips from your quarters, the video files . . . am I missing anything else important?”
Rion seethed inside. “No. I think you got everything that’s left of him.” She lifted her chin as a cold, brittle anger twisted around her heart. “Glad to see this is how the military treats its lost marines and their families—families who only want to find them and bring them home.”
It was the first time the Big Guy looked even remotely concerned. But if he felt any discomfort at what ONI was doing to her, he quickly cleared it from his expression.
“Bringing them home is not your job,” Hahn said.
“No, it was your job,” she said angrily, leaning forward. “And you all failed. For twenty-six years, you’ve failed to find them.”
“Maybe because there’s nothing to find.”
Her fists clenched at his flippant, unfeeling reply. She could feel the snap coming, a slow fiery build cracking through all that cold self-control she tried so hard to maintain. She knew what Hahn was asking: he wanted the projection Little Bit had created to track the ship. He wanted access to the video clips and every iota of intel Little Bit had managed to save. “If I get LB to cooperate, will I get my father’s things back?”
“Just the images. Everything you’ve collected over the years or obtained from the fragment must be confiscated and remain classified.”
Snap.
Rage surged through her like a firestorm. She lunged for Hahn’s throat.
