Mal glanced around as if he was checking she hadn’t handcuffed him. “He took a couple of bolts at close range and got burned, but he smacked himself up when we banged out.”
“Ma’am, it’s just bruises,” Vaz called, indignant. “I landed hard and it rammed my chest plate into my ribs. I’ll live.”
“So anyway, I think we dropped four of them,” Mal went on. “We didn’t stop to count.”
Osman shrugged. “Probably didn’t make things any worse.”
“No, they went mental when they realized we’d entered the temple. Maybe I should have made the hinge-head go and get Phillips.”
“And if he’d told you he couldn’t find him, you couldn’t have taken his word for it. Besides, you’ve inadvertently helped boost support for ‘Telcam.”
Mal rubbed his nose thoughtfully. He seemed to be looking for a tactful response. “Well, I think that’s what used to be known in the Corps as a self-adjusting cock-up.”
“Okay, stay airborne and keep looking. How far could Phillips get?”
BB interrupted. Osman could see him out of the corner of her eye, hanging motionless above the helm controls. “You’re not going to like the answer,” he said.
“Try me.”
“I believe I’ve cracked some of the inscriptions, which I’d prefer to call signage, seeing as that’s what most of it is.”
“And?”
“Portals. Lists of portals. Chances are he’s activated one, seeing as he can’t leave things alone. Which means he could be anywhere in the galaxy.”
Osman’s scalp tightened. Poor Evan. Poor bastard. At the same time, the pragmatic ONI part of her patted her on the back and said it didn’t matter where Phillips was, as long as he wasn’t in enemy hands on Sanghelios having the truth beaten out of him. She didn’t know which was the real Serin Osman and wasn’t sure that she wanted to find out.
“If you know they’re portals,” she said carefully, “then can you work out where they go? We could at least narrow down the locations.”
“Well, you can forget names, because they won’t correspond at all, so I’m relying on coordinates. But I can’t work those out until I compare a portal with an actual exit location. Because, rather inconveniently, they didn’t use UNSC chart conventions.”
“Yes, okay, BB, point taken. Now tell me something useful.”
“I vote we keep looking, ma’am,” Mal said. “Rule out Sanghelios, if nothing else.”
“It’s a damn big planet.”
“We’ll keep going until you call us off.”
Any deadline she set now would be an artificial one of her own making, but doing nothing and hoping for the best wasn’t an option. There was always the possibility that Phillips had escaped under his own steam and made a run for it, and he was no fool. Even with his BB fragment dead, he’d find another way to send a signal. Osman couldn’t just shrug and head back to Venezia even if she wanted to. It was lethal for morale, if nothing else.
No man left behind. That’s what the ODSTs expect. Naomi, too.
She checked the real-time chart. Tart-Cart showed as a small blue icon even in stealth mode, for Stanley’s electronic eyes only. “So you’re twenty klicks outside Ontom.”
“It’ll be dark soon. We can use thermal imaging and not invite pot-shots. Shame he hasn’t got a neural implant, though.”
“I’ll shove one in him personally for the next time he goes missing. The hard way.”
“Just a thought,” BB said. “If portals go anywhere at all on Sanghelios, they’ll probably route to other Forerunner sites. Can Admiral Hood sweet-talk a chart of relics out of the Arbiter? It would save me a lot of survey time.”
“I’ll ask. How are you doing for rations, Staff?”
“A week’s worth if we’re careful,” Mal said. “No problem with water, because there’s any number of rivers down here.”
“Okay. Next sitrep on the hour.”
The video link closed and Osman was left staring at the ONI ident screen. BB drifted closer and sat on the console as if he was going to have a heart-to-heart with her.
“You prefer to hear it direct from them, don’t you?” he said.
She nodded. “No offense. Instant data is wonderful, but I need to look my people in the eye.” She clapped her hands on the armrests of her chair. “Okay, let’s crack on with this. Tell me what’s happening with the Arbiter.”
“He’s struggling to hold Vadam. Want to listen?”
BB switched the bridge audio to the output from the orbital surveillance drones. Osman could only guess what the actual transmissions sounded like—a dozen different channels eavesdropping simultaneously—but BB’s breathtaking speed meant that all she heard was one voice at a time, already translated into English. It was still hard to follow. She listened for names. One in particular leapt out at her.
“The ship isn’t responding.… Is Unflinching Resolve down?… No matter, we can do this with or without ‘Telcam, if we have the will … locate Pious Inquisitor … we have fifteen more vessels joining us … then move the artillery, you fool, move them up to the keep.…”
Whatever happened to that well-oiled war machine? No San’Shyuum. Still finding their feet again. She glanced at BB. “So Pious Inquisitor’s back. I wondered what had happened to her. I keep forgetting how willing they are to glass one another.”
“They’re running low on big ships. It looks like they’re losing the few they’ve got, but they don’t need much to take out the Arbiter, because he’s as short of resources as they are.”
“Is he losing?”
“Yes. He didn’t see this coming. Lack of organization has its advantages.”
“So other than monitoring, what else can we usefully do at the moment?”
“I’ve brought the Admiral up to speed.”
“And?”
“She’s still leaning on Hood to give Infinity a run, for reasons so Byzantine that I fell to my virtual knees in worship. She’s asking Hood if it isn’t time to go and help his Sangheili chum. We could well have a flagship plus both commanders out here soon.”
“What, she’s planning to come out here with Infinity? Hood as well? Good God.”
“ONI does house calls.”
“Are they even allowed to deploy together? Sounds like a recipe for a power vacuum at the top if anything goes wrong with all the untested technology.”
“I doubt either would let the other have the keys and take the ship for a spin alone. Anyway, ONI would be fine. You’re the heir apparent. Fleet would be rather inconvenienced, though.”
They didn’t need a warship like Infinity to back up an extraction like this, not when Sanghelios was still groping for a new direction and mired in problems of its own. Osman realized that she would have done the same thing in Parangosky’s position, though: an early test of what the ship could now do, a timely warning to the Sangheili that they were no longer top dogs, a more serious shake-down of the crew to find any weak links, and a perfect excuse to take out a few more Sangheili ships that might one day trouble Earth.
Do it, ma’am. Take the risk. But just remember you’re not a kid anymore.
“It’s amazing how tolerant families are of these long mystery deployments,” Osman said.
“Lots of young, single officers.”
“I did wonder. UNSC Lonely Loser.”
“Oh, there’ll be seventeen thousand shipmates before too long, and nothing much else to do…”
Two-edged sword, families. Something to fight for, or something to lose and grieve over. But I’ll never know.
Osman watched the displays, keen to forget the family complications that might end up plaguing Kilo-Five. She switched to the drone view of Vadam, trying to work out which pall of smoke was Unflinching Resolve. That probably explained why she couldn’t raise ‘Telcam. Was he dead? She’d have to find another way to keep the plates spinning. He couldn’t be the only religious Sangheili ripe for exploiting.
“It must be very hard to
have normal relationships in this job,” BB said suddenly, obviously still pondering on Lonely Loser. “And not just because the clear azure pool of eligible men contains so many rotting leaves of the Captain Hogarth variety.”
Osman almost shot back a heartfelt response but found herself frozen. The most unsettling thing about a conversation with BB was that he almost never had to ask her a question, because he knew her past: he had every conceivable piece of information ever recorded about her, including the stuff she didn’t even know and wasn’t willing to look at for herself. He remembered it flawlessly, too, all the dates and names that she forgot, even though she prided herself on a pretty sharp memory by human standards. But so much conversation was about the past, the wealth of detail and incidents unknown to the other person that could be dredged up and discussed, or asked about politely, and BB was incapable of being surprised by any of it. BB’s past hardly existed. And the things that fascinated her most about him as an entity, as a person, were whatever linked him to his donor and how he handled knowing that he’d cease to exist in an unfairly short time.
He rarely knew how she’d felt about things, though. The records didn’t cover that, which was why many of his little chats were eye-wateringly intrusive. It was all that was left to really talk about.
“You’re right,” she said. “There’s only one bigger blight on a girl’s social life than being ONI brass, and that’s being a Spartan. Have you had this conversation with Naomi?”
“Not while my data chip is still lodged in her head.…”
“Very wise.”
Osman almost asked if he knew anything about his donor, but lost her nerve. BB was now her closest confidant. She wasn’t sure if that was sad or miraculous. “I’m going to grab a coffee while I can,” she said. “I’ll take root in that damn chair if I don’t walk a few more decks during the day.”
Port Stanley felt bigger and emptier than ever. In the wardroom, one of the few communal spaces that was small enough to feel comforting for a crew of six, she poured herself a cup of the best Jamaica that Parangosky had laid on for the squad and smiled at the memory of Adj endlessly tinkering with the coffee machine until he’d perfected it. But the next thought leapt back to Phillips, and that was nothing to smile about.
It’s just a few days. The rebellion isn’t affecting every city. He’ll come through it.
She shut her eyes and sipped. For a few moments she was so far away that BB’s voice almost made her choke.
“I thought you’d like to know that I’ve located ‘Telcam,” he said, “or at least some of his crew.”
Osman slammed the cup down on the counter and set off back to the bridge at a jog. “Can you get a call in to them?”
“I’m trying right now. His ship’s burning, but he seems to have set up an operating base outside the keep.”
By the time she got to the bridge, BB was talking to someone in Sangheili. She could also hear the simultaneous English translation.
“Shipmaster, I insist,” BB was saying. “We must speak to ‘Telcam. Get him.” He dropped one voice to a whisper. It was impressive to hear him speaking with three voices simultaneously. “I’ve fed them bogus data to make us look like a Kig-Yar ship. I’m clever like that. And you’ll sound convincingly authentic to them.”
Osman sat down and tried to think like a mercenary heron. There was no point banging the table and telling them that their ONI quartermaster had arrived. “Shipmaster,” she said, trying to project Kig-Yar disdain. “I demand to speak to Avu Med ‘Telcam.”
BB formed a small yellow note and positioned it in her eye line. IT’S FORZE, it read. REMEMBER FORZE? JUL’S FRIEND.
“And who are you?” Forze snarled.
“All you need to know is that I’ve kept him supplied.”
“Unless you have a spare warship at this very moment, then I suspect he’s too busy to talk.”
“Tell him,” Osman said quietly, “that he’ll need me very soon when ‘Vadam’s allies show up.” It was worth a gamble. It was only words. “Get him. Or is he dead already?”
The channel went silent. Osman waited: BB rotated slowly, his equivalent of finger-drumming. Then a familiar voice came over the audio. It was ‘Telcam, and he wasn’t amused.
“Where is Pious Inquisitor?” he demanded. “We’ve been signaling you for an entire day.”
The question was both unexpected and utterly fascinating. BB had played the Kig-Yar card very well indeed. In one sentence, ‘Telcam had revealed a world of information, the most significant of which was that the Kig-Yar had control of a battlecruiser. Damn it, they had Inquisitor.
“This is Osman,” she said. “Where’s Phillips? He’s missing. My people went in and he was gone.”
‘Telcam took a couple of breaths. He couldn’t admit he had human allies, not with the company he was keeping now. He’d keep his mouth shut.
“We don’t have him.”
“Then damn well find him, or you’re on your own.”
“We are winning.”
“For the moment.”
“What are you telling me?”
I’m bluffing. Almost. But you’re in chaos, lucky or not, and you can’t afford to ignore me. “I want Phillips back. Put the word out. Do whatever you have to do to find him, and I’ll do what I can if the battle turns against you.”
“You know something.”
“Find him. And tell your people not to fire on my team, understood? Osman out.”
BB cut the comms. Osman expected her pulse to be racing, but it wasn’t. She was in control again. It felt good.
“Remind me never to play poker with you, Captain,” BB said. “And not just because I haven’t any hands.”
“Well, that flushed out some surprises. Good spoof, BB.”
“And he’s misplaced a battlecruiser. Oops. Don’t you just hate it when that happens?”
Osman had backed herself into a corner over Phillips, but it was a position she realized she would have found herself in sooner or later. Kilo-Five was there for one purpose: to keep Sanghelios divided, and that meant there could be no outright winner.
So … Pious Inquisitor. Now, what do the Kig-Yar want with her?
“I have a feeling that we ought to keep an eye out for her,” Osman said. “Just in case.”
ONIRF TREVELYAN
Dr. Magnusson held out her hand. “I think we should do a blood test,” she said. “You’re not improving.”
Jul sat on his bunk and struggled to hold his head up. It was a disgrace to show weakness in front of a human, but he hadn’t been able to keep down food for two days and he was finding it harder to stay alert.
“You don’t know what you’re looking for,” he said. “What do you know of Sangheili biology?”
She folded her arms. It took her a few moments to speak. “Quite a lot now, actually. You can learn a lot from dissection.”
“So you found a use for our fallen.”
“Wouldn’t you?” She held out her hand again, palm up. “Come on. It won’t hurt.”
She held a small stylus in her right hand. He thrust out his palm, not sure what to expect, and she simply touched the stylus against one of his fingers. There was a brief feeling of suction, nothing more.
“There,” she said. “All done. We’ll take a look at that and see if we can find out exactly why you’re so sick. In the meantime, I’m going to put you back on your old diet. Gas has to be preferable to diarrhea and vomiting.”
“I’m not hungry.”
“You will be, sooner or later.” Magnusson leaned over him. He wasn’t sure that he still had the strength to throttle her even if he decided to. “Now, you said something about going outside.”
She’d made a half-hearted promise, but he never expected her to try to keep it. Humans lied so easily that they didn’t even seem to realize they were doing it.
“Are you going to tell me it isn’t possible?”
“I did promise,” she said. “But I have to take security
precautions.”
“I can’t escape from this world.” Right then, he’d have had trouble trying to escape from a warm bath. “You said so yourself.”
“You could still cause a lot of damage, and you could certainly meet with an accident on Trevelyan. And I do mean an accident—we don’t know most of what’s out there yet. Think of it as a compromise.”
She stood back and went to open the door. A Huragok drifted into the room carrying something all too familiar. It was an explosive harness of the kind that the Brutes had sometimes fitted to Huragok to stop them from falling into enemy hands.
Jul doubted that the creature enjoyed the irony or even understood it. It approached him with the harness and stopped just in front of him with it draped over its tentacles, like a servant waiting for him to try on a new tunic.
“The device will only be detonated if we can’t find you for an extended period,” Magnusson said. “And we now have complete satellite coverage, so there’s no escaping it.” She went to the window and looked out, one hand flat on the toughened pane. “What a gorgeous day. It always is, though. It’s a very impressive climate management system.”
Jul was repelled by the idea of the harness but the more he looked at it, the more an idea began to form, a new possibility—not the one he wanted, but a fallback position that might achieve his aim if all else failed. How many Huragok were there? Could he contrive a way of getting them in one place and somehow triggering the device?
But I don’t want to die. I want to go home. I want to see Raia again, and my keep, and my kin.
“I refuse to wear this,” he said. “I’m not an animal.”
“It’s the only way you’re going outside. Would you do any differently if I were your prisoner?”
Getting out of this cell was his priority. The rest was detail that he’d have to work out as he went. The opportunity was too important to let pass, and he knew his resolve was being eroded hour after hour by this painful, debilitating illness. He debated whether to submit quietly. That would either placate her or make her more wary, but in the end, he wasn’t sure that it mattered.
The Thursday War Page 18
