by Kelly Gay
And I need this third Catalog’s point of view and cooperation.
. . .
. . .
He is denying me access to the network.
How dare he!
What hubris! He has taken command of all access nodes!
I enter my command again:
—Give me access immediately.
—I did not give the Didact himself access. Why would I give it to you?
—The Didact requested access? When?
—What does it matter? He was liberated. And now he is gone again.
—Requesting juridical log. Catalog Triad #879. Earth. Human terrestrial time designation: Before Common Era 97,445.
—Access denied.
—By whom?
—Me.
—Infuriating! I will find it myself.
—Suit yourself. What you seek is not lost. It is already written.
—Yes. In the log. Requesting access.
—Access denied.
I end the transmission.
Unacceptable! Totally unacceptable!
CHAPTER 32
* * *
Binterall, August 2557
A dry, rocky semiwasteland with a sparse human and alien population, Binterall was a waypoint for traders, pirates, mercs, and salvagers. Rougher, less populated, and less advanced than a place like Komoya, the insignificant, out-of-the-way colony had no UNSC presence and a shoddy system of government. All of which made it a haven for those eager to hide or trade or otherwise do business beyond the prying eyes of any government or militia.
In fact, anyone would be hard-pressed to find an ONI or UNSC sympathizer among those who lived on or frequented Binterall, which made Rion’s choice of meeting place perfect.
Arranging a deal in the middle of the market at Port Joy might be a tad risky, but they weren’t the first to do so nor would they be the last. If anything went wrong—and she’d make damn sure it did—they wouldn’t lack for participants itching for a fight, especially against the UNSC.
Agent Hahn and his team would be very aware that trying to apprehend them out in the open would be a disaster. And if the Spartans showed up in their fancy armor, they were sure to draw unwanted attention and plenty of altercations.
The chance that ONI would send an entire fleet to bear was a real possibility, but Port Joy on any given day held enough ships to create several fleets. And they were all armed and well-prepared to fight. Plus, Niko had found chatter was abuzz with rumors about a big military engagement that had recently pulled many of the UNSC’s resources to some unknown point in space. And other reports that there’d been a direct assault on Earth, in New Phoenix. Millions had apparently died. The government was calling it a Covenant attack, but there was talk that it was anything but.
As unfortunate and horrific as that news was, it meant—if the reports were true—that ONI and UNSC resources might be drawn thin enough to help Rion pull off this little trade of theirs.
Once they landed outside of Port Joy—which wasn’t really a port at all, but a short mesa in the south end of a dry lake bed, boasting a haphazard maze of unimpressive buildings on its surface and a few cut into its rocky sides, all offering varied services and goods for the weary traveler—Rion and the Ace of Spades crew set out implementing their scheme.
The bounty on their heads was a crucial part of the plan and made things a little spicier, but moving about in a place like Port Joy wasn’t a concern just yet, since nearly everyone here was the proud subject of a warrant or bounty or two. Hoods and face masks, dark deals, and confrontations were common fare.
Rather than setting the ship down in the lake bed as many travelers chose to do, Rion kept Ace hidden in the southern hills above the port. She was still getting used to her ship’s new features and programming, and had only touched the surface of what Ace could do. But her lessons with the armiger would have to wait until this affair was over.
Once Agent Hahn had agreed to meet at the specified time, Rion had sent him a list of items they wanted back. When they’d negotiated and agreed upon the trade, she sent another message to Nor.
At first the Kig-Yar had refused to help, but all it took was some sweet-talking to convince her that Gek ‘Lhar might award part of the bounty to Nor in exchange for Rion’s location. After that, it was just a matter of Gek taking the bait. Depending on where he was in the galaxy and word reaching him—and Nor had her ways—he could show up himself or send his trusted Elites to finish her off.
The next six days were spent loading the wreckage they’d lifted from Geranos-a into a rented hover-transport for delivery to the market, while Niko and the armiger put their heads together to create the salvage that ONI had expected to find. They utilized a wrecked power core from one of the Rubicon’s research bays and threaded a fragment of 343 Guilty Spark’s memory into the core.
It was a defective string of code with a splintered memory loop, reciting the fragmented tale the monitor had told before the Rubicon crashed—just complicated enough in its design to convince ONI they had obtained their asset.
The rest of the time was spent waiting and engaging in idle pursuits, such as the crew gathering in the cargo hold to teach the armiger the subtlety of card-sharking and how to project a believable poker face—which was a ridiculous pursuit for obvious reasons. While the armiger learned this important art, Lessa took the opportunity to do a little “artistic renovation,” as she called it, by painting a small Ace of Spades playing card on the armiger’s alloy shoulder.
As Ram and Niko studied their cards from one side of Niko’s worktable, the armiger stood on the other, examining his hand with a vacant look on his face.
“You’re trying to look blasé, not brain-dead,” Niko said.
Needless to say, it was a long six days.
CHAPTER 33
* * *
Port Joy, Binterall, six days later
In generous hoods and masks that covered the lower halves of their faces, Rion, Niko, and Lessa crossed the bridge connecting the lake’s steep southern edge to the mesa, and then headed into Port Joy’s arid market street. Ram had remained back on the Ace of Spades as the contact point in case of trouble.
The day was hot and busy, the main thoroughfare peppered with traders and travelers, human and alien alike. Rion was armed to the teeth, and connected to the rest of the crew by comms. Niko and Lessa followed her, guiding the transport cart containing the Rubicon wreckage toward the main square.
The square was the largest open space on the crowded mesa, ringed by vendors selling goods between an array of eateries and bars. In the center of the market stood the old, dilapidated statue of Port Joy’s heroine—the young colonist who’d discovered water beneath the mesa.
Rion spoke into comms, telling Ram to stay alert, and then checked in with the armiger, who was hidden in the rocks above the lake bed’s cliffs overlooking the mesa. He had orders to lay down fire if needed for their escape, and to try very, very hard not to kill anyone.
It was as close as she could get the armiger to their current location without him being seen, and without alerting ONI that they’d found way more than expected on Geranos-a.
“Heads up,” Rion suddenly said.
Weaving through the congested market street from the opposite direction was Agent Hahn, flanked by the two Spartans from the Taurokado she’d encountered before—the Big Guy and his female counterpart. Following a few feet behind the trio was another tall soldier—no doubt another Spartan—and six serious-looking types. Special ops, if she had to guess.
Despite the entire party being dressed as civilians and armed like mercs, they stuck out like sore thumbs—their boots too new, their clothes missing the true wear and tear of a merc, their skin and hair and accompanying weapons a little too clean.
Once they were both in the square, Rion stopped a few feet from the ONI contingent and made eye contact with Hahn before shifting her gaze to the Big Guy. She held his judgmental stare for a long moment, not apprecia
ting being looked at like she was the problem.
They’d forced her hand. They’d done this.
She turned her attention back to Hahn, smiling at his worn leather jacket, ripped tan trousers, and brown boots. He’d tried to scuff things up a bit, but it was an amateur attempt. Spend a month out here in a place like this, and he’d look a whole lot rougher around the edges.
She tugged her face covering down, leaving the hood where it was. “Welcome to Port Joy, Agent Hahn.” And then she couldn’t help but greet his two bodyguards by saying, “Spartans.”
“Captain Forge,” Hahn said. “Let’s do this somewhere more private, shall we?”
Of course he’d say that. She shrugged. “We do this out in the open or nowhere at all. Did you bring our stolen items?”
“Did you bring my stuff?” Lessa cut in, leaning around Rion, her voice steady, not bothering to hold back her anger.
One of the special ops guys moved around the trio and tossed a duffel bag into the dirt at her feet while the female Spartan heaved another duffel at Niko. He shot her a glare, jerking down his mask to say, “How does it feel, stealing our mother’s blanket?”
Lessa’s head turned sharply in his direction. Her eyes above the brown strip of cloth she’d chosen to cover her features went wide as he unzipped the bag to check through the items he’d requested, muttering, “Bet it really makes you feel like a badass, huh.”
The Spartans didn’t reply, though the female lifted her brow and gave him a flat, unimpressed look, her jaw tight.
“My projections and my father’s items?” Rion asked.
The Big Guy patted a small bag draped over his shoulder as Hahn said, “It’s all here. And the salvage from Geranos-a?”
“It’s in the cart,” Rion said easily, gesturing to the transport behind them. The six special ops soldiers moved forward immediately to scan the cart. “It’s all yours. My guess is you’re really looking for this though.” She tossed him the small box she carried. “This datacore was the only real thing of value we pulled from the site.”
Hahn lifted his hand to catch the box, but one of the special-ops guys—the one with the raven hair, white at the temples—caught the box in midair. He was all business as he used some type of scanner to read the core. A few seconds passed before he lifted his head and gave Hahn a curt nod. The core went into a strange, glossy white container, and then the man passed it off to three soldiers, who disappeared with it back into the crowd.
Hahn actually looked relieved, which surprised her.
The Spartans, though, seemed anything but. Rion glanced around the market and saw that they were starting to draw more than enough attention. Her pulse quickened. By now, Ram would’ve already let slip via local chatter that Rion and crew were in Port Joy.
Anytime now . . .
She held out her hand. “Okay. My goods.”
Hahn hesitated.
“Look—fair trade, right? That was the deal. You give me back my belongings, and we’re done. You leave us alone and we’ll leave you alone.” She looked at the Big Guy. “And please remember, we didn’t start this shit.”
The Big Guy gave her a brief, enigmatic look before continuing to monitor the square. From his breast pocket, Hahn pulled out a small chip container and handed it to Rion. She took it and tossed it over to Niko. He scanned the contents and the chip. “Yup. It’s a clean copy of Little Bit’s projections. Vid files are good too. No corruption.”
“As promised,” Hahn said, then reached into his other pocket and pulled out a small piece of paper.
She frowned at it, not interested in whatever offer he wanted to make.
“Take it. Consider it. Get in touch if it interests you.”
Rion snatched the paper and shoved it into her pants pocket.
The Big Guy handed her the bag he held. “Your personal items,” he said. Things she’d collected over the years or brought with her from Earth and from her time on the Hakon. It wasn’t much, but, just like for Lessa, some things mattered.
Rion took the bag handles, but the Spartan didn’t let go. Her tension skyrocketed. “You do not want to start something here.”
“I think we’ll manage,” he replied.
Beyond his shoulder, Rion saw the crowd being pushed aside and felt immense relief. Strange that the arrival of six Elites marching through the market would make her feel glad. But the Sangheili’s appearance would give them the chance they needed.
“Uh . . . Rion?”
She turned at Niko’s warning; to the north, a band of Kig-Yar pirates were making their way down a side street.
Then, from one of the bars, a stirring of patrons turning their way, almost certainly human bounty hunters just picking up on the news.
And from another, more ONI spooks dressed as mercs rose from their seats.
Rion frowned at the Spartan. “I see you brought friends.”
He scanned the area with a perceptive eye, his mouth drawn into a grim line. “I see I’m not the only one.”
“Oh, they are most definitely not my friends.”
Here we go.
The Big Guy reached to his waist to pull out restraints.
“That’s not going to work a second time.” Rion jerked the bag out of his grasp and tossed it to Niko. “Run!”
The advancing parties increased their speed to reach the square.
Niko and Lessa bolted down the street, pursued by pirates and ONI. She didn’t worry about them. They’d lose their pursuers long before returning to Ace. Lessa and Niko were in their element. Growing up on the dusty streets of Aleria, those two knew exactly how to use a place like Port Joy to their advantage.
Rion put everything she had into the hard kick to the Big Guy’s right knee as he slapped a restraint onto her wrist. It felt like a metal girder—his leg barely buckled, but it was enough to throw him off balance for a split second and allow her to jerk the other end of the restraints out of his hand.
As they circled, he said, “You do realize I’m holding back.”
“You know what I think? I think you don’t like what ONI does to us civvies. You’re a soldier, a marine, I’m guessing? It’s not your style to slink around in the dark and take blankies from innocent kids.”
The Kig-Yar, meanwhile, had no such sentiments, caring only about the bounty on Rion’s head. They opened fire, forcing the female Spartan to grab Hahn and hurry him out of harm’s way while the other one, along with the remaining ONI operatives, engaged the Sangheili.
An energy beam cut through the air overhead and hit the old fountain in the center of the market, spraying stone across the area.
Well, that should get a rise out of the locals, Rion thought, and almost on cue, chaos erupted in the square.
Rion took a swing at the Big Guy while he was distracted by an incoming Kig-Yar. He sidestepped the punch, and then delivered a hard blow to her rib cage while pulling his handgun and firing at the Jackal. Although her bones gave at the blow, Rion pulled out of his distracted grasp and ignored the pain burning through her side. The Spartan made a grab to retrieve her. He missed her arm, but was able to snag the dangling end of the restraints, and tug her back.
Rion stumbled toward him, fell to her knees, and immediately delivered a hard hit to his groin. Trying to fit in meant he wasn’t wearing his Mjolnir armor, and she’d got him before he could protect himself.
He froze. Didn’t budge, didn’t stumble, didn’t drop the end of the restraints. But a muscle ticked in his jaw and his face went the slightest bit red.
They were both stunned.
Him by the fact that she played dirty, and her by the fact that he took it like—well, like a Spartan.
He hauled her to her feet as if she were as light as air.
A needler blast caught one of the Sangheili nearby, and another volley streaked inbound.
They saw it at the same time. Big Guy’s mouth went grim, and in a split-second decision, he grabbed her wrist and upper arm and jerked her off her feet with
all his might. The needle missed her chest and slammed into the soft flesh of her shoulder, tearing out the back, lodging in the chest of a merc behind her, where it exploded. He dropped to the ground, dead. The Big Guy had thrown her so hard he’d dislocated her shoulder, and she continued airborne, sailing through the air sideways.
Gritting her teeth, she braced for a hard fall.
But the fall never came. She collided in midair with a metal plate. The shock stole her breath as an alloy arm and hand gripped her tightly. Black dots appeared in her vision. Shock gave way to a rush of more pain, hot and nauseating and disorienting.
She never hit the ground.
The armiger had run at Rion full-force, leaping up and snatching her out of thin air, laying down fire from his intergrated weapon as he went.
“This is not part of the plan,” she groaned. He wasn’t supposed to show himself.
“I regret to say, it is now,” he said.
“Where’s Less and Nik—?”
She thought he said something, but the world tilted. She blinked hard, trying to stay conscious. From around the armiger’s grasp her last image was of the market fully engaged in a massive brawl, the scene growing smaller and smaller.
Her mouth quirked. Well, as plans went, this one had gone off without a hitch.
And then the darkness fully enveloped her.
CHAPTER 34
* * *
“This is just like old times!” Lessa yelled, grinning from ear to ear as she flipped the duffel bag onto her back and looped her arms through the handles. She was racing down a back alley in Port Joy with Niko right beside her, kicking up dust as they went. Behind them, four ONI spooks followed in hot pursuit.
