by Kelly Gay
“You’re still worried,” William said, looking at her in that studious way of his.
“Of course I’m worried. You’ve read the stat bots’ evaluations. You know there’s a chance—if he’s out there, if he’s on Geranos-a with the Rubicon—that this might be exactly what he wants. You’ve read his account. You know as well as I do what he’s after—or rather, whom he’s after. He wants to come to Earth, William. I’m sure of it. And I can assure you he has no desire to do so in our custody.”
Guilty Spark could very well be among the most dangerous and singular minds in the entire galaxy.
“Well, we’ll know soon enough.”
William’s hand squeezed her shoulder. “If he’s there, the pod will hold him, Annabelle. We’ve learned from our mistakes with Intrepid Eye. We’re prepared.”
Maybe. Hopefully. “And the stat bots’ analysis . . . ?”
“What about it?”
“Guilty Spark’s story—do you still agree with their conclusions?”
“I do. 343 Guilty Spark is an unreliable narrator with an unclear motive for relating his tale.”
Unfortunately, that was exactly what she thought too. And God only knew what that true motive was.
CHAPTER 14
* * *
UNSC Taurokado, debris field, Korinth Prior system, June 8, 2557
With the cooperation of Rion Forge’s fragmented AI, the Taurokado had been able to locate the debris field without incident. If they played this right, they might even catch Jul ‘Mdama’s second-in-command, Gek ‘Lhar, and his newly acquired Harvester. Fireteam Apollo leader Spartan Novak was determined to remove the Sangheili commander from the game board for good.
Captain Karah stood across the tactical table, monitoring the feed from the drones as they hovered low over Site 037, a large chunk of Forerunner construction embedded in rock. Almost as soon as the drones began their coordinated grid pattern, Novak saw something on the surface. “Looks like battle plating. Turk, can you magnify?”
One of the drones descended and increased magnification. “That’s definitely UNSC plating,” Captain Karah agreed.
The more evidence, the better, Novak thought, as the drone recorded the location and then continued on, searching for more. They already knew—thanks to information gleaned from Little Bit, the name given to the fragmented AI recovered by the Ace crew—that the Spirit of Fire had been on the Forerunner world. A shield world, of all things, the fragment had said.
Novak had never dreamed the fragment would possess such startling intel. They’d watched actual video footage of Sergeant John Forge, and witnessed the brief fight between Red Team and the Elites . . . and they’d learned just how the ship had defeated the Covenant and destroyed the shield world.
Novak had watched the feed along with those on the bridge, and for a long time no one spoke. Forge’s final mission was of the highest order, the stuff of heroes and legend. There was a very good likelihood that his sacrifice and the crew’s efforts had saved humanity. Had the Covenant gotten its hands on the Forerunner battlefleet stationed on the shield world, and all the technology the world itself contained, the war would have been over in a heartbeat.
The discovery breathed new life into the search for the lost vessel. They now knew why the ship couldn’t make its way home. Using their slipspace drive to blow up the shield world was ingenious, but it had also taken away the Spirit’s ability to jump. So they’d drifted, lost in uncharted space. Eleven thousand brave souls. They could be anywhere. Settled on a planet. In cryo . . .
It didn’t sit well with him, after all the crew had done and sacrificed. The idea that they might still be out there somewhere, hoping for rescue, that his Spartan brethren on Red Team were MIA. . . .
Novak crossed to the viewscreen and regarded the debris field, the scale of it, the enormity of what the Spirit of Fire had accomplished, as Rion Forge’s words rang in his head.
She was right. They’d failed them. For twenty-six years, they’d failed to bring them home.
As the drones moved on, scanning, recording, sampling, Captain Karah joined him at the viewscreen. “What do you think, Spartan? Think they’re still out there?”
He thought again of the video files they’d retrieved from Little Bit, and of Rion’s father. Novak had read the man’s file with interest—some hair-raising moments, for sure, but a die-hard marine who got the job done. Novak could see where his daughter got her mettle, and her insolence.
And as a former marine himself, he hadn’t liked taking Rion’s memories from her.
Hell, he didn’t like keeping this new discovery from the families even now—but that wasn’t his call to make.
“Yes. I believe they’re still out there,” he answered. They had to be.
“Turk, how are those calculations coming?” the captain asked.
“The fragment’s path projections are correct. I’m running it through applicable Forerunner star charts, speed, time, variables— Captain.” He paused, a warning tone entering his voice. “One of the drones is recording evidence of Flood contamination . . . collecting samples now.” Turk stared off into space as he commanded the fleet of drones sent out to explore several sites within the debris. They’d record video, take high-res images, and gather samples so Hugo Barton and his team could ascertain the validity of setting up a research facility here in the field.
Suddenly an alert blared through the bridge. “Captain, we have enemy contact!” Turk said.
“On screen. Battle stations.”
As the Taurokado proceeded around a vast section of debris, they came face-to-face with a small Covenant battle group. The Taurokado was a prowler, designed for stealth recon and incursions; as fast and advanced as she was, she wasn’t equipped with the firepower they’d need to engage a battle group.
“Evasive actions,” Karah said with a note of reluctance. “Spartan, think you can distract them long enough for us to recover the drones and drop a buoy they won’t detect?”
“Not a problem.” He pressed his fireteam comm channel. “Apollo, suit up. Deployment bay in five.” He turned to Turk. “Have the techs prep the Broadswords.”
“I’m on it.”
Novak strode from the bridge and headed for the deployment bay, where he met his team, a pair of Spartan-IV’s, Adam Cerra and Danelle Reid, assigned to the Taurokado a month prior. Three was small for a team, but Apollo was transient, without a static roster, forming and reforming depending on need and mission. As a result, those assigned to Apollo were chosen for their heightened ability to quickly adapt to one another and to any situation. The three of them went to work, and in minutes were streaking from the prowler to play chicken with the battle group.
The enemy stayed in position while one of the destroyers launched a pair of Seraphs.
Almost immediately, the hunting pair latched on to Novak’s tail. He banked the F-41 Broadsword right, punched thrusters, and dove beneath a colossal chunk of mountain range. When he came out the other side, Reid closed in on his three o’clock. As soon as he was clear, she blasted the mountain, raining debris onto the pursuing Seraph, causing it to smash into the scaffolding of a substructure that Novak missed by mere meters as Cerra drew the other Seraph off.
As he piloted up and over a massive island with clear Forerunner ruins and Covenant activity on the ground, Novak hit his comms. “Captain, you seeing this?” There was the damn Harvester, crouched like some enormous beetle, firing an intense beam of plasma into the surface rock and creating a plume of illuminated dust.
“Affirmative, Spartan.”
“Well, now we know why the group’s not giving chase,” Spartan Cerra said through comms.
“They’re protecting the site,” Reid said; then, “Novak, you’ve got one on your six, and looks like we got another pair incoming.”
“I got him.” The Seraph dropped down behind Novak, twin plasma bolts sailing just past his wing as he banked and then dove the Broadsword through a rift in an enormous piece o
f Forerunner infrastructure, a giant section of scaffolding the size of an orbital defense platform, with large chunks of terraformed surface still clinging to the outer portions of the metal.
Despite the obstacles, the Seraph stuck close as they wove in and out of rock and metal.
Damn, the bird was hard to shake.
Turk’s voice came over comms. “Drones on board and buoy dropped. Fireteam Apollo, you are clear to return.”
“Damn. And I was just getting warmed up,” Reid said, coming in hot behind the Seraph.
“All right, you heard him,” Novak said, smiling. “Apollo, let’s smoke these losers.”
CHAPTER 15
* * *
Ace of Spades, slipspace to Ibycus system
The most boring part of space travel, in Niko’s opinion, was slipspace. Nothing to see, no stops along the way, spotty communication with his chatter buddies and his group of friends back on Venezia. Plus, Cap always used the downtime to make them repair or clean something, or catalog salvaged parts in the hold. Since there was nothing currently in the hold, cleaning had taken precedence.
And so the time since they’d left Venezia had taken on the monotonous cycle of wake, work out, shower, eat, clean, sleep. . . .
All made worse by the fact that he and Lessa were still at odds, the ghost of Cade seemed to lurk everywhere, and Niko had lost everything that usually made the long trips bearable: his work.
He pulled on his flight suit, then splashed water on his face and cleaned his teeth, dragged his fingers through his unruly hair and eyed his tired face in the small mirror. He scratched at the overgrown stubble on his jaw, knowing he should shave but too damn tired or bored or angry to give a damn—he wasn’t sure which.
The ONI bastards had invaded his personal space and taken everything, all his notes, his projects and models, his files and research. . . . His workstation had been thoroughly cleaned.
But he missed Little Bit most of all. The things he and LB could have accomplished . . .
With that AI fragment, he’d had a taste of true technological majesty, and then it was gone, like the mythical creature it was.
The only thing the spooks hadn’t taken was his memory, and Niko remembered every story LB had told, every account of the past and technological information that had slipped though his fragmented core. Outrageous tales, unbelievable bits of data, strange things, amazing things. And, man, the stuff Niko had learned!
His gaze settled on the photographs he’d pinned to the board above his workstation. He was surprised ONI had left them behind, but he was sure glad they had. On that board was everyone he loved, mostly candid shots taken on the ship and at salvage sites and R&R stops along the way.
For a little while, they’d been a happy unit—a loud, argumentative, happy family—or what he always imagined a family was like, anyway.
Cade had died in that debris field, and for what?
With Little Bit, Niko could console himself with the lofty idea that they might do something great, something that benefited the entire galaxy, the civvies, the little guys, those stuck on dirty worlds, ruled by dirty politicians and thugs . . . something that would make Cade’s death serve a higher purpose or have some deeper meaning. Make it somehow better.
Stupid idea. Nothing would make it better.
Cade McDonough was the only man Niko had ever known who hadn’t exploited him, hit him, or ignored him. Niko had learned that a person could be strong and capable and inspire loyalty without instilling fear. And, man, how he had tried to get a rise out of Cade, to test him, to see if he was like the others back on Aleria.
He’d been afraid to believe in someone like Cade; yet somewhere along the way, he’d begun to trust that it was no act. Cade never told you what kind of man he was—he showed you.
And, goddamn it, he missed the hell out of him.
Niko wiped at the sting in his eyes, and gave the pictures another look before leaving the room.
He didn’t know his mother or his father. Never would. But Rion and Cade had been the closest he’d ever get, and the loss burned inside him. And, yeah, he’d taken some of his anger out on Lessa, who stubbornly clung to a past that didn’t deserve her efforts while she should be grieving for the person who had been there, who actually had given a damn.
He didn’t like to think about it, but now, thanks to the joys of slipspace and ONI spooks, there wasn’t much else to keep his mind occupied.
He despised cleaning and working out and watching whatever holovid Lessa had programmed into the ship’s entertainment system. He didn’t like the things he’d said to his sister and he wasn’t sure how to fix the rift he’d caused. And if he walked into the lounge one more time and saw her and Ram playing that stupid Sangheili board game again like nothing was wrong, he might just scream.
He stopped outside the gym and checked the systems panel on the wall. Another eight days of slipspace travel left. He didn’t know how he was going to get through it.
The best part of space travel, in Lessa’s opinion, was slipspace.
She loved the quiet, the time to do laundry, clean out her quarters, study star charts and navigational techniques, knit or paint or dye colored stripes into her frizzy blond hair.
As she sat on her bed, applying her favorite cerulean blue polymer to her toenails with her old UV paint pen, a sudden wave of sadness stilled her hand. Only a short time ago, she could add sparring with Cade to that list. They’d had a standing gym order to train every time Ace entered slipspace.
She was stronger, more confident, and sometimes able to fell a man twice her size because of Cade.
He’d been a great teacher—calm, relaxed, showing her different moves and techniques and the reason behind them in a manner she, as a novice, could easily understand. She already knew how to fight dirty, but Cade hadn’t quelled that knowledge, nor had he made her feel inferior because of it. Instead he gave her ways to build upon what she’d taught herself. He never made her feel like she’d come from nothing—quite the opposite. He made her feel like she could do anything and become whatever she wanted.
She’d put him on a pedestal. But he deserved it.
Lessa knew where she came from and was well aware there was an emptiness inside her where parents should have been . . . where anyone who gave a damn should have been. Rion and Cade had filled that space. Less had never expected to lose one of them so soon—in fact, it had never really crossed her mind.
And now Cade was gone, and she wasn’t quite sure how to deal with the loss.
Except, apparently, to argue with her brother.
She rolled her eyes, finished the color application, and then flopped back on her bed to stare at the ceiling. It was plastered with old star charts. Odd, that. She never thought she’d like space and navigation so much. In fact, before Rion came along, Less’s goals had been squarely built on solid ground—dusty, arid ground, but still. She’d had dreams of finding her parents with Niko and living out their days in some honest trade. . . .
Her eyes rolled—what a dumb dream.
Honest trades on Aleria were very hard to come by.
Niko was right. The small items they’d arrived at the shelter with could have come from anywhere. Around those items—the blanket, Niko’s baby clothes, the ribbon holding back her riot of curls, the cheap metal bracelet she’d been wearing that no longer fit—she’d created a fiction, a lovely little farce with no basis in fact.
And her brother had finally called her on it.
In a very short amount of time, Lessa had lost a father figure who had blinked in and out of her life so quickly that the sting of it still stole her breath.
Her brother no longer needed or wanted her protection.
And her lovely little fiction had been snatched away by ONI.
She didn’t know who she was anymore, just that she wanted things to go back to the way they were before. Though lately, there was a whisper inside her, a faint suggestion to let go, to stop trying so hard to hold on.
. . .
But if she let go, what was she left with, exactly?
Did she want to be like Rion, searching for a father she might never find, her life driven and directed by that sole purpose? Did she want to strike off on her own now that her brother had grown up?
And if Cade could die, the Ace of Spades wasn’t as safe as she’d thought.
Funny how there was a time when Lessa had wanted nothing more than to be on the ship and as far from Aleria as she could get. Niko had been the opposite, demanding to leave the ship and go back to the life he knew. He’d been spitting mad, crewing with a bunch of hard-asses, as he’d called the captain and Cade. But now Less was sure the very idea of leaving the Ace of Spades wouldn’t even cross his mind.
They’d come full circle, it seemed.
But did she want to leave?
A deep sigh escaped her as she sat up. She honestly didn’t know.
CHAPTER 16
* * *
Ace of Spades, Ibycus system, June 2557
Rion was on the bridge when the Ace of Spades’s alert system pinged. She turned it off immediately to keep from waking the crew, and stayed in her chair as the sensation of dropping out of slipspace pushed and pulled ever so slightly on her body. A quick check of her FTL showed the engine in excellent working order—should be; she’d paid enough for it.
A few distant stars peppered the viewscreen as Ace slowed to subluminal speed. Rion pulled up the star chart of Ibycus and used the navigational software to pinpoint their location within the system. Not too far off course. They’d dropped out only a few hours’ journey from Geranos-a. “Good girl, Ace,” she murmured, plotting a course correction into the nav system.
All things considered, it was a decent drop.
Rion relaxed in her chair and stared at the screen without putting her focus on any one thing. A full sleep cycle had become foreign these days; she rarely got more than a few hours at a time.
