by Kelly Gay
It is the first time she has called me by my name.
I dip my head, uncomfortable with their gratitude, and wondering why I should feel so. They are correct. I am almost entirely responsible for their success.
Lessa covers Rion with the blanket ONI has returned—itself an artifact of her own past. “Well, I’m just glad you’re okay. You’ll be back on the bridge in a few days.”
Rion is too tired to question where we are headed next. We are already in the Sol system, holding a position in the asteroid belt.
I am anxious to proceed to Earth, but we must wait.
And there is time; there is always time.
The captain will heal; her tissue and bone is knitting together with the help of nanotechnology, and soon she’ll be back to operating capability.
Once she is, we will make our way.
As will the splintered Guilty Spark fragment we delivered to ONI.
“The chips,” Rion asks Niko. “You made sure they’re clean?”
“Yeah, boss. Spark and I ran diagnostics on everything. The chips are clean, and everything from the duffel bags to our personal items has been scanned. We found a few bugs, but with the new retrofit, they were easy to locate. We’re clean. We put your personal items in your quarters along with the chips.”
“Thank you,” she says, looking at each of us.
Like the others, I give her a nod and leave her to her rest.
CHAPTER 39
* * *
Ace of Spades, Sol system, asteroid belt
Nine days later, Rion was out of the med bay and easing back into life on the ship. Her mended ribs were still sore, a nagging thorn swallowed by the constant bone-gnawing ache in her shoulder. . . .
It was a pain that clouded everything.
Despite the discomfort, she distracted herself by unpacking her personal items. Once that was done, she finally remembered the piece of paper Agent Hahn had given to her moments before she’d been shot.
Take it, he’d said. Consider it. Get in touch if it interests you.
She looked everywhere in her quarters. Nothing. She hit her comms. “Anyone know where my bloody clothes are?”
“So when you say ‘bloody,’ ” Niko replied, “are we talking ‘where are my goddamn clothes’ or literally ‘where are my blood-soaked clothes’? Because there’s a—”
“Niko. Bloody clothes. Where are they?”
“Less,” he said, and Rion assumed his sister was somewhere nearby, “where’d you put Cap’s blood-soaked clothes from Port Joy?”
Lessa’s voice came on comms. “They went in a biohazard bag and then into the burner. Why?”
Rion closed her eyes and prayed for calm. Not an easy thing to do when it felt like a Jackal was etching his name into her shoulder blade with infected claws, over and over again. “No reason,” she said, and then gave up for the day. Exhausted, she went to her bed, lying carefully on her side.
It wasn’t like there was anything Hahn, or anyone in ONI, for that matter, could offer her that would change her current course anyway.
CHAPTER 40
* * *
Facility at Voi, Kenya, Africa, Earth, September 1, 2557
Captain Hollier’s face filled Annabelle’s screen. “We’re entering the system now, Director. Estimate we’ll touch down back at base by fifteen hundred,” he told her.
The AR team had extricated themselves from the brawl back on Binterall with only a few minor injuries to report, and had immediately jumped for the Sol system on Annabelle’s orders, along with the Taurokado. Barton wouldn’t be happy, but he was already irate with Annabelle for requesting, once again, temporary command of the ship after it had returned from its last mission.
While Agent Hahn’s plan had worked as promised, Annabelle wasn’t happy to lose the salvagers and their ship . . . but her team returning safe and sound with the Guilty Spark fragment contained in one of the Rubicon’s datacores did appease her somewhat. They’d recovered exactly what Annabelle had anticipated. And yet, she couldn’t shake her wariness. She wasn’t ready to get her hopes up just yet; there was still examination and work to be done.
Annabelle had already read over Thea’s report detailing their recovery efforts on Geranos-a, and the meeting at Binterall. She’d just started going over the individual reports from the team, taking particular note of Hollier’s report and accompanying video file of the datacore being turned over, as well as Fireteam Apollo leader Spartan Novak’s report detailing Rion Forge’s escape. And there was that strange anomaly in the video feed causing a blur of her rescue. . . .
“Good. And the containment pod?”
“Working as intended.”
“No contact?”
“Nothing. The fragment appears to be inert, from what we can tell. I’m sure once we get it into the main facility and Dr. Iqbal has his way, you’ll know more.”
“Of course. Was Thea able to clean up Novak’s feed?”
He shook his head. “There’s definitely a distortion there she’s unable to clear. It’s put her in a terrible mood.”
Annabelle smiled. “AIs don’t like it when they face an obstacle they can’t overcome. I’ll have Ferg look it over as well. What’s your take on it, Captain?”
“Honestly, it’s hard to say. The entire market was in chaos. I lost visibility. As much as we can figure, it might have been some sort of android.”
“When you’re in range, have Thea send the master file on to Ferg.”
“Will do, Director. See you soon.”
CHAPTER 41
* * *
Ace of Spades, Earth, September 2557
Departing from the asteroid belt, the Ace of Spades approached Earth and entered its atmosphere completely camouflaged and under the radar, descending slowly and utterly silently, thanks to the modifications of the upgrade seed, Spark guiding the ship from the holo at the tactical table. The crew had gathered at the viewscreen to watch their descent and marvel at the sight of their homeworld—a first for all three of them. They gazed at the blue planet with the same kind of reverence reserved for a place of worship.
Rion studied Spark from her chair, wondering why he hadn’t joined the others in person, since he preferred to move around the ship in physical form whenever possible. They all knew his story, had listened to his account and those of Bornstellar and the Librarian. She’d heard his desire to be human again, and to reconnect with old friends. Perhaps it was more emotional than she’d guessed.
It was easy to forget at times that, behind the metal and the holographic avatar, there was a human mind with no directive or programming. He was free. And he remembered. And right now, he couldn’t bring himself to look at the place he’d desperately tried to reach for so long.
Ace settled on a rocky outcrop just above the forest zone at the base of the eastern slope of Mawenzi, Mount Kilimanjaro’s second-highest peak, which was separated from the smallest peak, Shira, to the west by Kibo Summit, the tallest of the mountain’s three peaks. From the slope, one could see all the way across the plains to Voi and down to the African city of New Mombasa and the Indian Ocean beyond.
After landing, the crew prepped for a day’s hike and then headed to the hold. The energy was electric as the airlock hissed and the door slid open, their excitement, trepidation, and wonder filling the warm air rushing into the hold, bringing with it the familiar scent of earth and clay and dry grass.
Ram was grinning through his dark beard, his eyes crinkling at the corners. Less and Niko were chatting away, the cyclical nature of their relationship ever a mystery to Rion, while Spark paused at the end of the ramp, unmoving and apprehensive about disembarking onto his home planet.
He sensed Rion’s stare, and something about his manner shifted, as though a curtain slid over his features. He gave her a short nod, lifted his chin, and stepped off the ship.
He couldn’t smell the scents, or breathe the air into his lungs, or feel the warm breeze on his skin. He was home, but through a lens
of simulated senses.
And she knew that had to sting.
Rion straightened her shoulders—wincing at the ache still there—and followed. Spark had assured her that the wound was nearly healed, but her pain response hadn’t seemed to catch up to the nanites’ quick work just yet.
She was, however, well enough for a day’s hike.
And a deal was a deal. She had a job to do—a quick job. Get in, be the access that Spark needed, and then get the hell out.
Then maybe, just maybe, time off—somewhere warm and tranquil and utterly boring.
Birds ruffled through the treetops below them and flew from the limbs of stubborn trees clinging to the ravine slopes above them. The crew was fanning out, taking it all in.
As Rion did the same, turning in a slow circle, she was caught breathless by the fact that Ace appeared nearly invisible. It was one thing to know her ship was now equipped with the kick-ass cloaking capabilities of the ancients, but quite another to see it from the outside.
Only if you knew it was there could you see the signs, the impressions of the ship’s landing gear, the very faint translucent outline of Ace’s angles and curves. The only thing visible now was the inside of the cargo hold, like some strange doorway opened to another world.
There hadn’t been much time to absorb the features in Ace’s new tool kit. Her ship was truly a one-of-a-kind fusion of human and Forerunner—not a human retrofit, but a seamless, unifying integration led by Forerunner-driven technology. Different from ONI’s retrofitted ships, different from any ship in the galaxy, for that matter.
Rion was reminded once again of the possibilities that existed with a vessel like this. . . .
Feeling optimistic, she turned to Spark, a question on her lips, but the armiger had disappeared. She edged around the ship’s outline and found him poised at the tip of the outcropping, standing completely still as he gazed out over a stunning view of the African landscape.
They could see for kilometers up here, the forest, the plains, the cities a hazy mirage in the distance. The sky was blue and cloudless, the late morning sun bright in the sky.
As Rion stood there next to him, she wondered why her own emotions felt so detached and blocked. This was her home too, and granted, she hadn’t been gone for millennia, but certainly a long time for a typical human life span. The beauty of Earth, the idea of racial home, evoked a sense of pride and belonging. But a true home? This wasn’t it. Not for her, not anymore. This was the place of her childhood, of memories that filled her with sadness and regret.
Her family was gone. Her crew was the closest thing she had to a family these days, and they were currently walking around awestruck at their first sight of humanity’s birthplace.
She glanced at Spark’s profile. He was straight and still.
“It is the same,” he said as she turned to go, his words barely audible. “Yet different.”
Rion gave him an understanding nod. “Take your time,” she told him, and left him alone.
CHAPTER 42
* * *
I commit the view to memory down to the smallest details, recording the colors and their millions of variations, the buzz of insects, the sounds of wildlife—the grass mouse scurrying through the brush, the stamp of a hoof on the hard ground and the swish of a tail, the rhythmic crunch of weeds between dull teeth. The way the wind makes the grasses sway and rub against each other in a strange, brittle song . . .
I remember the sound.
It is the sound of my home.
As a boy, I would lie in the tall grass, hands behind my head, and stare up at the sky. The wind would blow the stalks into and out of view and the grass song would play across vast stretches of savanna.
Marontik is gone, swept away by time, forgotten beneath layers of clay and sand and shifting earth.
It is silent.
Yet the grass song continues.
I envision my home just there . . . a mirage of mud houses, some three to four stories high, with smoke from a hundred hearth fires dancing tiny threads into the orange sky.
There are words accurate enough to describe the sight I behold and the feeling it stirs in me, but I am unable to find them in the vast stores of my mind.
If I could cry, tears might be streaming down my cheeks, though I cannot pinpoint why. If I had a heart, it might be breaking in two. If I had breath, I might be pulling the very essence of this place inside my body until I collapse.
This is home.
But I am no longer certain of what that word means. Or rather, what it means to me now.
Not yet twenty years old, I left this place as a prisoner of the Didact. I left naïve and simple, uncultured and brash, never imagining the horrors that awaited me in the stars, and the trials that would change me, mind and body. . . .
The vast distance and the unimaginable time it has taken to return home fill me with pain.
I am broken with regret.
Suffocated by grief.
Burning with rage.
I think of my mother and my sisters, wondering what they might have thought about my absence. Perished in a knife fight like my father, perhaps, thieving from the wrong thugs, my body dragged far into the dry grasses to be eaten by the buzzards and jackals.
Did they look for me? Mourn for me? Sing for me?
Did they pray to the Supreme Lifeshaper for my return?
Never could they have guessed that she was the one who set me upon the path to lead the young Forerunner, Bornstellar, to Djamonkin Crater with the Florian, Riser, to raise her husband, the Didact, from his long sleep.
Did she have a care for us, the Librarian?
Yes, to a degree, I believe so.
But in the end, we were simply tools.
This is a hard truth to accept.
I wonder . . . would she use me again?
I fear I already know the answer.
And I no longer like what I know.
CHAPTER 43
* * *
Mount Kilimanjaro, Tanzania, Africa, Earth
Rion was sitting on a nearby rock, picking at the dirt beneath her fingernails, when Spark finally appeared. She considered herself an understanding person, sympathetic when the occasion called for it—and she certainly felt for the AI—but she couldn’t quite shake the small knot of wariness stirring in her gut.
He appeared more distracted and lost than ever.
Maybe it was just her. This was nearly the end of the road, and their partnership was coming to a close. Of course Spark was distracted; he was finally back on Earth and focused on his own lofty goals, whatever they might be.
Still, it felt like the calm before the storm.
“You work it out?” she asked him.
He responded with a clipped nod.
Niko strolled up and plopped down on the rock next to Rion, and smiled at Spark. “So what’s it like coming home after a hundred thousand years?”
Rion rolled her eyes. Niko didn’t have a subtle bone in his body.
“What?” Niko asked, catching her look. “It’s a legitimate question.”
Spark turned to face the Ace of Spades. The way his chin lifted slightly as he stared off into the distance suggested he might be accessing something within Ace’s systems.
Lessa tossed the orange stone she’d been examining back onto the ground. “So what happens after we unlock your terminals?” she asked him. “Are you staying here?”
“What happens,” Rion said, standing and ready to get this over with, “is we access his terminals, and then our deal is done.”
“That is correct,” Spark said, still completely focused on the ship.
“Grab your packs,” Rion told them, picking up hers from the ground where she’d left it. “And where the hell is Ram?”
As she slipped her arms through the straps of her bag, a single line of hard light began eating up Ace’s cargo doorway until nothing remained but the impressions in the dirt. Her ship was completely hidden, door and all.
Spark still hadn’t moved. “Ah. There you are,” he said in a near whisper, sounding pleased with himself.
Dread slid down Rion’s spine. Now what?
CHAPTER 44
* * *
Facility at Voi, Kenya, Africa, Earth
All in all, Annabelle was somewhat content to have a few precious minutes to herself in her office. Not that it would last, of course. As director, something always came along to disrupt the day.
The Bad Moon Rising and the Taurokado had touched down on the tarmac twenty minutes ago. Dr. Iqbal and his team were now waiting on the perimeter to escort the secure datacore to its permanent containment facility deep underground, all of which would take some time as strict security protocols must be followed.
Captain Hollier, the AR team, and Fireteam Apollo, along with Captain Karah and Agent Hahn, had gone to debriefing in Hangar One, where they’d be interviewed by Ferguson, the facility AI.
And better Ferg than Annabelle, that was for damn sure. Just thinking about the fiasco on Binterall stuck like an angry thorn in her side, and she wasn’t quite sure she’d remain composed when it came to that line of questioning.
After refilling her coffee mug, she slid into her desk chair to watch the video feed they’d acquired from the AR team and Fireteam Apollo of the meet-up at Binterall. Ferg had just completed compiling the feed and cleaning up a large amount of distortion caused by the brawl.
When Thea learned Ferg had had no problems cleaning up the footage, she’d submitted herself for review, convinced something was wrong.
After granting Thea’s request, Annabelle had sent Ferguson on to debriefing. Now she settled in to watch the scene at Port Joy’s square unfold.
She’d expected to see a motley salvage crew, dirty and foul; instead she saw a tall, dark-haired woman armed like an insurrectionist, and two young crewmembers who appeared to be in their late teens or early twenties. Thanks to the feed worn by the Apollo team leader, Annabelle was able to listen to the exchange, and she watched with interest the box that the captain had handed over containing the datacore and Guilty Spark.
