The Thursday War

by Karen Traviss

  BB lifted off the seat like a dropship and banked away to the comms console. Now she knew he was uneasy. That was almost an AI equivalent of whistling in the dark.

  “I’m afraid not, but there’s one from Hood via Parangosky,” he said. “He’s asked the Arbiter to allow us to land a search party.”

  “And?”

  “They’re still talking. I must say it’s real emotional blackmail stuff. All about absolving him of moral responsibility if he lets the experts do it.”

  Vaz made his disbelief noise, a little hiss of breath. “How to win hinge-head friends. That’ll really piss them off.”

  The message flashed onto the main bridge monitor. Osman read the transcript and winced. “I fully understand that there are events over which you have no control.” Jesus, did Hood know what he was doing? Vaz was right. Sangheili wouldn’t take kindly to a human hinting that they were incompetent and chaotic. On the other hand, Hood did seem to have a way with the Arbiter, and perhaps he’d gambled that letting him off the hook might achieve something.

  “He’s just living up to their stereotype of us,” Devereaux said. “They think we’re too cocky so they might as well let us in just to see us screw it up and then show us how it’s done.”

  Naomi perked up. She really didn’t like being idle. It was still a massive risk entrusting a squad to Sangheili hospitality, though, and everyone would stand a better chance with a Spartan on board. If there was one thing that freaked out a hinge-head, it was a Spartan. Osman jerked herself out of second-guessing Sangheili motives. She couldn’t, and it was too late anyway. Hood had interceded.

  “Okay. I’m going to talk to the Admiral. What time is it for her, BB?”

  “Just after three, Captain. She’s still on her Infinity inspection. Zulu time.”

  “Flash her for me, would you?”

  “I already took the liberty. She’s standing by for a call.”

  “Try to get hold of ‘Telcam, too.”

  “Do we let him know we’re aware that he made contact with Phillips?”

  “I’ll decide when I hear what he’s got to say for himself.”

  Phillips, ‘Telcam, and the whole shebang could easily have been a pile of hamburger by now, of course. But Osman still had to confirm that.

  I should be more upset about Phillips. I’m going to tell myself that the reason I’m not is because I believe he’s alive. I’d hate to think I was that relaxed about losing a crew member.

  “Patch the Admiral through to my day cabin,” she said. “And take us in close enough to monitor Sanghelios.”

  So much for transparency: she could have had the conversation on the bridge, but old habits took awhile to die. With just five people and an AI rattling around a warship designed for a hundred, she didn’t have an excuse. As she sat down at her desk and positioned herself in front of the screen, she found her mind suddenly full of all the things she chose not to know, and those she was happy not to be told, and wondered again if she’d be up to Parangosky’s job when the day finally came.

  Her own personal file was sitting in the system, ready to tell her as much unhappy stuff about herself as Naomi had discovered about her own background. It wasn’t so much gnawing at her as starting to nibble around the edges.

  Phillips. Don’t forget this is about Phillips. Poor bastard. He didn’t sign up for this. We’ve got to retrieve him.

  “Ready, BB,” she said. The screen came to life, a narrow frame showing a dimly lit corner of a warship that could have been any in the fleet. Parangosky was hunched over folded arms, frowning.

  “Hello, ma’am,” Osman said. “I see Admiral Hood’s been exerting the proverbial diplomatic pressure.”

  “He still is. ‘Vadam didn’t dismiss him out of hand, either. You’re standing off Sanghelios now, yes?”

  “We’re going to five hundred thousand klicks to do a survey orbit. In case we need to insert without permission.”

  Parangosky didn’t blink. “I’ve sent you all the intel we’ve collated since you lost contact with Phillips. We’re pretty blind out there now—no Spenser, and no Covenant relays left to intercept. Almost makes you miss the war, doesn’t it?”

  “That’s top of the shopping list, then.” Osman was getting a better picture day by day of the way ONI would have to adapt to the new galactic order. “The more fragmented things get, the more we need to expand our network of sources.”

  “Our only window on Sanghelios at the moment is the Arbiter, and he says fighting’s broken out in a number of cities.”

  “Perhaps it’s best to suggest he’s too busy to look for Phillips. Fine by me.”

  “I’m not being callous, but it would be very useful to monitor the situation as well as finding the professor. If this is the revolution, we don’t want anyone winning outright, after all.”

  “When you say monitor … you mean hands-on assistance.”

  “I mean a route into both sides of the argument, but it might require more than just supplying hardware.”

  “Well, BB’s trying to track down ‘Telcam, so when that happens I’ll have a much clearer picture.”

  “Probably best to hold your position until Hood’s satisfied that he’s done all he can with the Arbiter.” Parangosky glanced over her shoulder at something Osman couldn’t see. “On a slightly different tack, the first opportunity I get, I’ll be sending you some help. Would you like your Huragok back?”

  “Adj? Oh, he’ll be very handy. Thank you.”

  “Adj and a friend, Forerunner-enriched. It’s more than handy, Captain—I’m sending them to retrofit Stanley with completely accurate slipspace navigation and instant comms.”

  Osman knew about the navigation refinements, but being able to communicate from slipspace was even better as far as she was concerned. “No more lobbing bottles over the side?”

  “Just for the lucky few at the moment. All this is going to transform the battlefield.”

  Damn right it would. Warships would not only know exactly where they’d emerge and when, but they’d also arrive with the benefit of real-time information. It was like the invention of steam power and the radio all at once. Working with Huragok was something of a mystery tour, but it was worth the uncertainty, rather like a birthday.

  I’ve never had one of those. Not a real one.

  “When the dust settles on the current task, I’ll look forward to that.”

  “Is everything all right, Serin?”

  There was no hiding anything from Parangosky. She was more than sharp: she was just like a mother, or what Osman imagined a mother would be. “We have a few issues, ma’am,” Osman said. “The first of Halsey’s chickens have come home to roost.”

  “I had a feeling that would happen before too long.”

  “You know what’s in Naomi’s file.”

  “Of course.”

  “Has Mike briefed you?”

  “No.”

  Well, that was something. “Her father’s alive, living on Venezia, and Mike’s keeping tabs on him—”

  Parangosky interrupted her before she had the chance to explain, as if she didn’t want to be told the details. “Is this something you’re happy to deal with on your own, or do you want me to get involved?”

  “I’d like to be all grown up and try to resolve it myself.”

  “Very well. I’m here when you need me. But it’s not causing operational problems, is it?”

  “No. Not at all.”

  “That’s all I need to know. Unless there’s anything else, stand by for an update on Hood.”

  “Will do, ma’am. Stanley out.”

  Osman sat back in the chair and rubbed her face slowly. Well, that hadn’t been as painful as she’d expected. She trusted Parangosky, but she found herself still looking for the angle, looking for the right answer to a challenge she felt she’d just been set. Should she send a report? She only had a name at the moment, and Spenser had the situation under control for the time being.

  I’ve been a
t this game too long for Parangosky to be testing me. She’s just giving me space. Letting me make my choices, because very soon I’m going to have to make them for ONI.

  Oh … God.

  BB appeared on her desk. “Not all bad news, then.”

  “Great news.”

  “The boys will enjoy having Adj back. Mal needs a pet.”

  “Any luck with ‘Telcam?”

  “I would have bragged about that right away. Still trying.”

  For the first time on this mission, Osman now had a clear order from above: to wait until Hood had exhausted all avenues with the Arbiter. The sublight drive sent a steady tremor through the deck as Stanley edged closer to Sanghelios. The waiting wouldn’t be wasted.

  Hang in there, Evan. We’re coming.

  And while you’re at it … keep your mouth shut.

  The radio cam was down, and BB might have been too damaged to use that nerve agent if the worst happened. This was Parangosky’s world, the call on who to save and who to sacrifice for the greater good. Maybe this really was a test, then, or perhaps a blooding to initiate Osman in the messy decisions involving personnel she knew and liked, not the distant strategic stuff where the dead would be strangers.

  Osman took a slow walk around the ship’s deserted passages to give Naomi and the ODSTs some space. When she checked her datapad to see where everyone was, Devereaux’s trace showed up on the hangar deck with Tart-Cart and Naomi was in the armor bay, the automated system that she needed to suit up in her Mjolnir rig. Vaz and Mal were in the wardroom.

  “BB,” Osman said, “I’m not asking you to snoop on them, but are the lads all right?”

  The AI’s voice came out of the ship’s broadcast system. “They had a little tiff over who to tell first about Naomi’s dad, you or her. I think they’re shaking hands and making up now.”

  “Good.” She wasn’t alone in finding some decisions too close to home to be done by the book, then. “I ought to be giving that some attention.”

  “First things first. I’m just starting a survey run, by the way. We’ll swing around Sanghelios, map the surface down to a two-meter scale, and see what else I can pick up. If this is small-scale fighting, it might take us a day or two to scan the whole surface, so I’m starting with the Ontom region.”

  “Agreed.”

  Osman headed back to the bridge and sat with her boots up on a chair, watching the three-dimensional plot of Sanghelios on the chart table growing a line at a time like a garment being knitted. There were more islands than she’d realized, and far less land mass.

  “Ontom,” BB said, not appearing anywhere. Osman still looked up to the nearest deckhead speaker. “I’m doing a detailed job on it, but even extended frequency mapping isn’t penetrating the temple.”

  “Does that mean it’s a hardened target?”

  “With the Forerunners, who knows?”

  It must have been two hours before Mal came up to the bridge, put a cup of coffee on the console in front of her without saying a word, and stood staring at the plot.

  “Thanks, Staff,” she said, sipping the coffee.

  “Your turn next, ma’am.”

  He didn’t take his eyes off the plot, gaze flicking from detail to detail. He was probably modifying the insertion on the fly. Maybe Phillips would just pop up again with a story to tell about just losing radio contact, as people sometimes did, and it would all be sorted.

  But he’s had plenty of time to do that.

  “Captain.” BB appeared in front of her. “Life just got a little easier. The Arbiter says yes. We can land a squad. Usual drill—an escort will pick up the dropship and take us in.”

  “Alle-bleedin’-luia,” Mal muttered. “Let’s get this over with.”

  TEMPLE OF THE ABIDING TRUTH, ONTOM, SANGHELIOS

  Phillips shook the radio cam like a cheap watch. “BB, I’m on my own, so you can drop the sorry-Dave-I-can’t-do-that crap. But keep the volume down, okay?”

  He kept his voice at a whisper and waited for BB to snap back with something suitably withering. But there was just a long pause. The BB who responded wasn’t the one he knew.

  “Can I help you, Professor Phillips?”

  “Are you trying to be funny, or is something wrong?”

  “Owing to tampering and damage, some of my functions have been disabled or deleted.”

  “Oh shit.” Just as BB was standing by to shove a needle into Phillips in case the mission went badly wrong, he must have had fail-safes of his own to stop his programming falling into enemy hands. I should have realized that. I should have asked more questions. But I was too pumped up on adrenaline. Phillips’s attempt at repair had been interpreted as trying to dismantle the radio cam’s case. “I’m sorry. I was only digging shrapnel out of the radio. I didn’t think. Look, BB, I’m in a tight spot. Do you remember the explosion?”

  “I shut down after damage to my host device.”

  “Well, right now I’m screwed. Really screwed.” Stay calm. Just think. “‘Telcam’s started the coup early and he’s effectively holding me hostage.”

  “I understand. I remember who ‘Telcam is, but not why you’re in touch with him.”

  “Just tell me what you can still do. Can you send a signal?”

  “My encryption’s been deleted for security. My positioning data tells me we’re on Sanghelios, which is still classed as potentially hostile by the Office of Naval Intelligence.”

  “Try calling Port Stanley. Please.”

  “ONI-PS Three-Nine accepts only encrypted communication. I can transmit in open protocol on domestic frequencies compatible with this device, though.”

  Great. Just terrific. “So you’re just a damn phone now. How about getting into other systems? Can you still hack?”

  “I can assist you with productivity management, nonclassified information, and data processing. What would you like me to do? And can you make sure the lens is facing out, please? Otherwise I can’t see.”

  “Okay. Can you also do me a favor and disable that nerve agent thing?”

  “Already done. I don’t have information on why that was installed.”

  “It doesn’t matter. Just keep it battened down, okay?”

  Phillips clipped the radio cam to his jacket pocket again, not entirely confident that BB wasn’t going to malfunction and shoot him full of instant death. Now he realized how little he knew about how BB worked, and how much the AI was limited by whatever hardware he found himself stored in. Could he repair himself? No, that would have been another risky function. As far as BB was concerned, he was behind enemy lines—Phillips had even confirmed it for him—and someone had tried to tamper with him, so he’d pulled the plug and reduced himself to a datapad. The last thing he’d be designed to do would be to restore himself to a windfall of secret information for an enemy. Poor old BB had stripped himself down to name, rank, and serial number.

  But I can’t do that. Can I? They can always beat it out of me.

  “Okay,” Phillips whispered. “Have you got any databases that can translate Forerunner glyphs?”

  “I have notes from a number of Forerunner sites.”

  “Well, that’s good, BB.” Damn, this was painful. It was like dealing with a dementia patient, someone you’d once loved or admired but who was now barely the same person and didn’t even recognize you. He hadn’t realized how deep a bond he’d forged with BB. He found himself making reassuring noises in his mind that the real BB, the matrix, the core of him, was still safe in Port Stanley, and this damaged persona was just a temporary glitch that was no more serious than a bad dream. But the decline still disturbed him. “I want you to record some symbols and try to translate them for me.”

  “Certainly, Professor.”

  Phillips decided to look on the positive side. He didn’t have a fully functioning BB to rescue him, but at least he could complete his original mission—gathering and interpreting Forerunner data. He tracked slowly up and down the passage so the AI could capture
the engravings.

  “What do you think the cartouches are, BB?” There was no echo. Beyond the big vaulted chamber at the entrance, the temple became a network of stone passages, but it didn’t sound like one. If he hadn’t been standing on flagstones he would have thought the place was carpeted and soundproofed. The air was muffled, heavy, syrupy. “Why did the Forerunners build this place?”

  “I might be able to suggest theories when I complete the survey.”

  “Okay. Tell me when you’re ready to move on.”

  “Keep walking, Professor.”

  Now that Phillips was gathering the data, he had to find a way to get it to ONI, and transmitting it seemed out of the question for the time being. People would be looking for him by now. The Arbiter wouldn’t just shrug and chalk it up to experience. He had a foreigner missing in his territory, and even if he didn’t care what happened to a useless human nishum, he’d certainly worry about what damage he could do on his own. Sanghelios didn’t welcome tourists.

  He’ll find me. Someone’s searching for me, whatever happens.

  Or I’ll find a way out myself.

  “You can increase your pace, Professor,” BB said. “I can record this easily.”

  “Okay, BB. Sorry.” Phillips hadn’t made a note of how far he’d walked. When he checked his watch, he found he’d been exploring for nearly an hour. “Are you mapping the complex?”

  “I can if you want me to.”

  Right. The real BB would have this all catalogued by now and come up with a million suggestions about how I could do my job better. That makes sense, I suppose. You don’t want a compromised AI volunteering to do stuff for the enemy.

  “Yes, that would be handy,” Phillips said. “Thanks. I want a scale plan of the temple. Measure everything and mark the positions of all features.”

  “You’ll need to take me back to the entrance if you want a complete schematic.”

  “Good idea. I need to visit the bathroom and get something to eat. Let’s take a break.”

  He trudged back up the passage, checking the directions he’d scribbled on his datapad. Bathroom. Hah. He was being generous. Sangheili plumbing was depressingly basic and they certainly didn’t do fluffy towels. It was more the tepid water from a single spigot and a hole in the ground kind of bathroom. These were the small but morale-crushing things that no adventure movie had ever warned him about: if you were trapped, how did you do your laundry or recharge your datapad or even find bathroom tissue? That was the stuff of which real human drama was made. Food. Oh, not the dog food again. Not that damn meat. When he got out of here, he was going to gorge on paella and mango and salmon and snack noodles and licorice and every damn thing he could lay his hands on. He rummaged in his shoulder bag, hoping to find some fluff-covered, sticky piece of candy that might have escaped him previously.