Renegades

by Kelly Gay

  Madness, however . . .

  The emotions stirring inside of me—indignation, annoyance, impatience—flow freely, all things remembered, all things simulated, though they manifest as very . . . real.

  How odd.

  I suppose from their point of view, the idea of me being human is inconceivable. But then, their vision of what is possible is small and limited.

  No matter, I will expand their minds.

  This notion gives me tremendous pleasure.

  I am human, I want to say again.

  I am Chakas.

  I am 343 Guilty Spark.

  I am Forerunner. Ancilla. Armiger.

  Am I? Or was I?

  Perhaps that is where my conflict lies.

  I stand perfectly still.

  Many of my fragmented personality strings were repaired and combined (or jettisoned) in my time on the planet. Two remain. Fire and ice, they clash. They do not belong together. Yet I oversee them both, am inspired by both, nurtured by both, and guided by both.

  Have I become a third string, then?

  The overseer of the other two.

  A millisecond passed as I pondered this. The crew moves closer together. They whisper, casting wary glances my way. I, of course, can hear every word. Their suspicion and separation do not improve my disposition.

  I am here. They are there. I am not like them. I will never be like them.

  Of course, I have no desire to be.

  Perhaps it is the weapons aimed in my direction. The fear my presence produces.

  It all feels oddly tiresome and familiar—

  I realize that the armiger form is somewhat distressing. During my time on Geranos-a, I managed to make only minor changes to the severity of this form due to a damaged interface between the construct’s machine cells and the intelligence framework I commandeered.

  “A ship has emerged from slipspace,” I tell them. “At its heading and speed, it will detect your ship in approximately twelve minutes.”

  “How do you know that?” Niko asks.

  “I have been in your ship’s systems since boarding.”

  “Oh God, not again.” Captain Forge hurries to the systems panel nearby.

  “I suggest you leave the planet immediately. You do not have the firepower capable of winning an engagement with an ONI prowler.”

  “It’s got to be the Taurokado,” Lessa says.

  Ram jumps to his feet. “Already?”

  “Delay any further and you will not have the capability to flee, Captain,” I tell her. “If they succeed in apprehending me, I will not be responsible for my actions. I have been imprisoned long enough, far longer than you can fathom. I mean you no harm. I will try very hard to be zero percent culpable in any foreseeable damage to you or your ship. Now, please. You must flee.”

  “Cap,” Niko says at the systems panel on the bulkhead wall. “He’s right. There’s a ship coming in fast.”

  “I know, I can see.” Captain Forge engages the ramp, then takes the stairs two at a time, but the ship wobbles. I have employed the Ace of Spades’s thrusters without her input. She grabs the railing to maintain her balance as the ship rises quickly through the thin air. Her eyes blaze at me. “Get out of my ship!”

  “Apologies, Captain. I will not. Your decision process moves with all the impetus of a snail. You wasted time. Without my aid, we will be apprehended, and I simply cannot allow another delay.”

  I lift my chin and fold my arms over my chest in a decidedly human gesture. They must know I mean what I say and will not be swayed.

  Niko watches the exchange with surprise and dread as the captain’s cheeks turn red with anger. She wants control. I understand this.

  But, like me, she cares about her freedom and that of her crew. I am counting on it. She gives me one final scowl for good measure, knowing she is caught, knowing there is nothing she can do. “Do not fry my engine!”

  “Acknowledged, Captain Forge. Please hold on and prepare to enter slipspace.”

  We have not reached the exosphere of this planet, but I simply cannot wait. I enter coordinates and command the primitive drive to engage in a slipspace entry.

  “What are you doing? We can’t jump here!”

  Captain Forge and the crew hold on as the ship surges upward. “Of course we can,” I say. “The atmosphere is thin and composed mostly of carbons, which will enable us to open a portal in the stratosphere without incident.”

  While it is a crude little ship, it answers my demands nimble and quick.

  Then suddenly . . . the quiet.

  As soon as we are in slipspace, Captain Forge runs up the remainder of the stairs to the panel at the landing.

  “Did they follow?” Lessa asks, still clutching the stair railing.

  “No.” The captain grabs the upper railing, her knuckles white and her mouth in an angry line. “Where the hell are you taking us?”

  “I have plotted a course for the closest Forerunner facility, Etran Harborage. It contains everything I require for my journey ahead. I have been unable to connect with the ancilla there, however. But it is no matter for concern.”

  The crew seems bewildered by my reply, shock and disbelief the prevailing mood.

  Niko’s dark eyes are very round. I watch him, trying to determine if the look on his face displays horror or excitement. I decide it is both.

  Whether the captain likes it or not, we are going to Etran Harborage. My itinerary has not changed. After utilizing one of the Ark’s surviving portals to return to the galaxy, I intended to take the Rubicon there and apply an upgrade seed to the ship to prepare for the journey ahead, but the Ace of Spades will do just as well. In fact, it will do better. It is inconspicuous, smaller, faster, and much easier to manipulate.

  A Forerunner ship would be ideal, of course, but that would draw too much attention for my plans.

  As I study them, I detect another expression closer to fear.

  It is the realization that they are trapped, like the birds I once caught as a boy and sold to a dealer in the streets of Marontik. So many cages . . . caught by something more intelligent and advanced.

  They are at my mercy and they know it.

  I do not prefer this look on them.

  It, too, is familiar.

  I know what it is like to be controlled by others, to have my choices taken from me.

  If I do the same to these humans, does that not make me the same as the Didact, the Master Builder, and even the Librarian?

  Despite knowing they do not have a choice, they aim their meager weapons in my direction. They must know that firing them while in slipspace might result in total destruction, but I can see they will do what it takes to be free.

  Freedom means to them what it now means to me.

  “I will not be imprisoned,” I say.

  “Neither will we,” Captain Forge immediately replies.

  I have had three years on Geranos-a to repair, to parse and catalog and remember being human. I have not lost my past, have not lost what it feels like or what it is to be human. And I have not lost what it was to be 343 Guilty Spark.

  I remember, and I do not like what is remembered.

  Hard. Pitiless. Robotic. Alone.

  I do not want to be that . . . cold . . . again.

  And I do not want to lose these humans the way I lost the others.

  “I will not and cannot be imprisoned,” I repeat. “But neither will I imprison you.”

  I realize this statement is placating, and perhaps not entirely true. However, I must find a way to make them want what I want.

  CHAPTER 20

  * * *

  Ace of Spades, slipspace to Etran Harborage

  Ace might have been moving peacefully through slipspace, but the battle inside Rion was raging. Losing control of her ship was a goddamn nightmare.

  Tension filled the hold. Her weapon remained trained on the sleek metal components that formed the armiger as it stared up at her through glowing blue eyes. So it didn’
t want anyone to be imprisoned—a hollow claim, given that it had just infiltrated her ship’s systems and issued commands.

  Still, Rion was curious at its behavior. Whatever moral dilemma was taking place inside the armiger might work in their favor, or it could become an utter disaster.

  “You want us to believe you won’t take over our ship the way you did the Rubicon,” she said, lowering her weapon and moving down the stairs.

  “I admit that was my original intention. But I see now that if I am to truly embrace my humanity, I shall employ a different tactic.” It gave a slight bow as though bestowing a great honor upon them. “Cooperation.”

  Rion paused. “Cooperation,” she repeated, unimpressed.

  “Indeed. Etran Harborage is a Forerunner shield world, Captain. Taking you there benefits us both. Within this world, you can claim all the materials and tools your ship can carry. There is an entire Forerunner fleet at your disposal. And you are in desperate need of salvage, are you not?”

  It was cunning, she’d give it that.

  “Hold on, though. You still haven’t answered my original question,” Niko said. “And just now, what did you mean by embrace your humanity? Were you really human? Did the Forerunners make you, and how is that even possible? Forerunners and humans didn’t exist in the same timeline, not even close.”

  “The history of the human race has been lost through war, through time, through the machinations of those long gone and those at the highest levels of your current society. I assure you, humanity did indeed exist during the time of the Forerunners. Humans were a force in the galaxy, an interstellar civilization with advances even the Forerunners did not fully understand.”

  Rion paused on the stairs, completely baffled by its words. “So then, where are they now?”

  “Long gone, I’m afraid. Humanity engaged in a brutal war with the Forerunners. And they lost. As punishment, they were devolved, back to mere hunter-gatherers, and returned to their homeworld, Erde-Tyrene. What you call Earth. I was born among these devolved humans.

  “I was human. Then I was Forerunner. I bore witness to the end of it all, and I survived for a hundred thousand years, waiting and watching the galaxy come back to life after we ended it.”

  “You’re . . . a hundred thousand years old?” Less said, caught between astonishment and suspicion.

  It nodded. “Give or take, yes.”

  Its words rang in Rion’s head. Everything it said went against the entire foundation of human history, everything they knew, everything that was. It spoke with such matter-of-fact simplicity that it gave her a moment’s pause, and she didn’t know how to respond or feel. And neither, obviously, did the crew.

  Remnants of Forerunners’s ancient and mysterious civilization littered the galaxy, adding pieces to a past that had long been forgotten. If they existed a hundred thousand years ago, what else was possible?

  Rion powered down her rifle, slung it behind her hip, and climbed the stairs once more. She headed across the catwalk, growing annoyed and angry, alarm bells ringing in her head, tiny strands of doubt twisting and threading through her instincts and beliefs.

  “Where are you going?” Niko called after her.

  She threw up a hand and kept walking. Who the hell knew? She was just going. She’d heard enough.

  This wasn’t the plan. They should be out there salvaging, looking for her father, doing what they did, getting on with the lives they had built, not involved in some weird-ass ONI experiment with a crazy robot who thought it was an eons-old human.

  This wasn’t what she wanted.

  After a brief moment of hesitation, the crew followed, leaving the armiger behind, filing into the lounge behind Rion. She immediately went for the marsh-cane whiskey in the cabinet above the sink, grabbed a glass, and poured a healthy dose, downing its harsh bite in one gulp. Her eyes closed as she concentrated on the burn in her throat and the warmth spreading across her unsettled stomach.

  A hand grabbed the bottle from her grasp. She opened her eyes to see Ram taking her glass and pouring his own drink. When he was done, he passed it on to Lessa and then Niko.

  For a long, heavy moment, no one spoke. No one knew what to say.

  “You think it’s telling the truth?” Ram finally asked as he leaned against the counter.

  Rion let out a sharp laugh. “That it won’t take over? Or that it’s a hundred-thousand-year-old human mind in a Forerunner-constructed body? Or that humans were once contemporaries with the Forerunners? Or that they regressed us back to cavemen?” She rolled her eyes. “Jesus. Take your pick.”

  “I don’t see a reason for him to lie about history,” Niko said. He was sitting at the table, chair kicked back. “And if he wanted to take over, he could have done so.”

  “It already has,” Lessa said, dropping onto the couch. “It’s just being nice about it. For now.”

  “And who’s to say that once we outlive our usefulness, it won’t just kill us or take Ace and leave us stranded? We have no idea what its plans are or what its end goal is,” Rion said. All they knew was that they were on a course for some Forerunner shield world.

  Niko sat forward, shaking his head. “You guys aren’t really seeing the big picture here. Let’s say he’s telling the truth. He might’ve been formed from a working human mind, but he’s now a completely functioning Forerunner AI. Do you not see the value in that?”

  “Sure. If we could trust it,” Lessa said blandly.

  “He has one hundred thousand years of knowledge,” Niko persisted. “He probably knows where every Forerunner planet and city and hub was, how to operate relics and artifacts, how to build Forerunner technology. Hell, he’s taking us to a Forerunner world where we can pick and choose our salvage. This is everything we ever dreamed about.”

  “And here I was thinking we’d just be lifting a datacore,” Rion muttered, downing another shot of whiskey. She wiped a hand over her mouth. “We’re going to have the entire UEG after this thing.”

  “Not necessarily,” Ram said. “You heard it. It said it wasn’t in the armiger body when the Rubicon crashed. If it’s to be believed, no one knows it’s this . . . thing now. For all ONI knows, the AI was destroyed when the ship crashed. They might have no idea if it survived or who placed the distress call.”

  “No, but the Taurokado might have identified us as we were leaving,” Lessa said. “Either way, they’ll go down to the site and they’ll see a lot of salvage is missing. And if they know it’s us, they’ll have to come after Ace to make sure we don’t have their asset. It doesn’t change the fact that now we’re a target.”

  “It’s a big galaxy, Less. We might end up a target, but now we have a super AI on our side,” Niko said.

  “It’s on its own side, Niko, not ours,” Less fired back. “It has its own agenda.”

  Silence settled in the lounge, the low drone of Ace’s engines humming in the background. Rion stared out the viewscreen—nothing but black and the occasional streak of some star beyond the bubble of slipspace. A cage was still a cage, no matter how free they were to roam around within it. The armiger had access to every part of her ship, and very likely was listening in even now. And while they were stuck in slipspace, there wasn’t a damn thing she could do about it.

  “We’re on hold until we’re out of the jump,” she told them. “Niko, make sure you finish maintenance on Michelle. We might need her where we’re going.”

  He frowned. “But—”

  Rion gave him a pointed look. Michelle didn’t need maintenance, but she had a very nice EMP pulse generator. They couldn’t use it anywhere near the ship, but once they got to wherever the armiger was taking them, Rion needed all options available, especially the ability to shut that thing down and regain control.

  CHAPTER 21

  * * *

  Facility at Voi, Kenya, Africa, Earth

  Annabelle sat back in her desk chair and rubbed her face in frustration, trying very hard to maintain her composure.

&nbs
p; A salvage ship. A goddamn salvage ship. Unbelievable.

  And they’d jumped before the Taurokado could stop them.

  They could be clear across the galaxy by now. She wanted to scream.

  Outer Colony opportunists were dregs, thorns in the UEG’s side. ONI had better things to do than play babysitter to a bunch of lowlife thieves and smugglers. There were bigger things going on in the galaxy, much bigger things. And to make matters worse, Hugo Barton was on the line lecturing her about the importance of his research and—

  “—and if you ever pull my team and my ship off course again, I will make a formal complaint to CINCONI and HIGHCOM.”

  She let out a long steady breath. “Obtaining 343 Guilty Spark is a far higher priority than a Forerunner debris field at the moment. I realize the Taurokado is under your command, but it was the closest ship to my asset. If you want to take it up with Osman, please go right ahead. And while you’re on that, ask yourself who approved transfer-of-command in the first place.” She sighed. “Hugo, I don’t have time for this, so unless you have something constructive to say, I believe we’re done here.”

  He blinked, utterly taken aback by her sharp response. Was it wrong, the intense satisfaction she felt at his sudden inability to put two words together? No. Not wrong at all. In fact, it was high time she gave him a taste of his own medicine. For the last year, she’d put up with his demeaning lectures.

  Due to his experience overseeing the Trevelyan research facility on Onyx for the last several years, as well as uncovering the Bornstellar Relation in that time, Barton was an obvious choice to consult on BOOKWORM. He and Dr. Iqbal had many combined years’ worth of knowledge in ancient Forerunner civilization, artifacts, and technology. And long before Annabelle had been chosen by Admiral Osman to run point on BOOKWORM, they’d obtained some of the highest levels of clearance within ONI’s ranks.

  And now that Barton could add head of Forerunner acquisitions to his job description—which was a fancy title meaning that all discoveries of large Forerunner sites and artifacts of note were funneled through his office and parsed out to the appropriate division—his ego had grown exponentially. Possessing knowledge that very few people in the galaxy wielded could go to some people’s heads, apparently. Sometimes she had to wonder if Osman would have been better served choosing someone with a background like Barton’s or Iqbal’s to manage BOOKWORM. Yes, Annabelle had traveled through the portal here at Voi and had gone to the Ark, witnessing marvelous and dangerous and sobering things. But she’d had no previous knowledge of the Bornstellar Relation or of the Rubicon’s existence until after the interview process was over, the job was hers, and her security clearances came through.