The Thursday War

by Karen Traviss

  “The Arbiter’s forces shot down Unflinching Resolve, but she was a minnow compared to what else must still be out there. And Pious Inquisitor’s still missing, possibly seized by Kig-Yar. I doubt they’ll be joining this uprising, but they might sell her to the Arbiter.”

  Pious Inquisitor had too much history for Parangosky’s taste, both as enemy and ally. The ship had glassed colonies; she’d also destroyed a Flood infestation in Africa. Capability was always what mattered, though, not intent. Parangosky had to plan on the basis that Inquisitor could be turned on Earth again if she fell into the wrong hands.

  And the Sangheili will always be the wrong hands.

  “Anything else?” she asked. “I think now would be a good time for Terrence to call the Arbiter and offer Infinity’s immediate support.”

  “Superb timing, ma’am,” Osman said.

  “It is, isn’t it?”

  “But will she get here in time to make a difference?”

  “Serin,” Parangosky said, “I think your charming staff sergeant has a phrase for it. She’s faster than a greased weasel. Much as it sticks in my throat to thank Halsey, I may have to.” She glanced at the time on the pad. “Give me two hours, and keep me updated on Kilo-Five.”

  “May I ask you something, ma’am?”

  “Certainly.”

  “Do you think it’s a good idea for both you and Admiral Hood to be embarked if Infinity’s flying into a civil war?”

  “I think it’s a case of both of us or neither,” Parangosky said. “And I’ve been far too out of touch with the front line for too long, my dear.”

  “Understood.”

  So it was an eccentric choice. So was sending a ship in refit to do a little gunboat diplomacy that might actually have to be backed up with action. But this was the best excuse they might have for years—and at the best time.

  Parangosky climbed onto the buggy and headed back to the meeting room. Hood gave her a slyly meaningful look as she made her way back to her seat, commanding instant and reverent silence from the table.

  “Don’t let me interrupt,” she said, knowing damn well that things tended to revolve around her whether she wanted them to or not. “I have plenty of questions, though.”

  Glassman tapped his datapad and the display on the bulkhead rolled backward. “Ma’am, I was just bringing everyone up to speed with the drives. I apologize for the lack of technical rigor, but interfacing with the Huragok is an act of faith. I’m not sure if they’re just not used to being asked to show their workings, or if they’re too … enigmatic to explain things. Sometimes they look at me as if I’m asking them to explain what blue looks like.”

  “I admit they’re a mixed blessing,” Hood said. “Midas springs to mind. Being able to turn everything you touch to gold sounds wonderful until you need to visit the bathroom.”

  Aine spoke up for the first time. “I realize security isn’t my department,” she said, “but they absorb and share all the data they find. We could end up like the Covenant. How can we let them work on other UNSC ships when they have so much classified data on Infinity? We need to start controlling their associations.”

  “Excellent point, Aine,” Parangosky said. She knew she hadn’t worried about it enough, not yet, but the immediate benefits were too great to put everything on hold. “Which is why Admiral Shafiq might have to wait longer for his dream of a Huragok in every ship. We’ll need to find another separate population for that. For the time being, Huragok are confined to a handful of classified projects.”

  “As long as we’re aware, ma’am,” Aine said.

  Aine always did what was asked of her in such a put-upon and resigned tone that Parangosky almost felt sorry for her. She didn’t politic or scheme like an ONI AI. All she did was prepare ships for deployment, the Queen of the Thursday War. She manifested herself at the side of the meeting table as a small figure of a thirty-something woman wearing baggy white overalls, safety goggles parked on the top of her head, and a resigned expression.

  “So when can we put Infinity through her paces?” Parangosky looked straight at Glassman, not Hood, and prodded his ego. “Are we ready to see if this gamble is worth it?”

  Glassman had a lot in common with Halsey, which probably played a part in the friction between them. He was professionally vain, massively ambitious, and in constant competition with life. Any suggestion from Parangosky that she wasn’t dazzled by the speed and brilliance of the modifications was guaranteed to scrape the right raw nerves.

  “We’ve changed the entire technology of slipspace propulsion and associated systems in a matter of days, ma’am,” Glassman said stiffly. “And I’m happy to put her through her paces right away.”

  Gotcha. Who says humans aren’t ninety percent programming?

  Hood let out a breath. “I’m still anxious to draw the line between exploring the cutting edge and belief in magic.”

  “Ah, but I have a reason for asking,” Parangosky said. “May I brief you privately, Admiral?”

  “Certainly, Admiral.” Hood did one of his tight, polite smiles at the assembled staff. “Let’s break for an hour. Caffeine levels are critical. You too, Aine. Go and check that BB isn’t rifling through your tool locker.”

  Aine just winked out of existence, leaving a brief darkness behind her, and everyone filed out in tactful silence to leave the admirals to their discussion. Hood didn’t say a word for at least thirty seconds after the doors closed. Then he ran his hand over his face, brow to chin, weary.

  “You’re railroading me, Margaret. Why?”

  “I want you to take a look at some recon data from Sanghelios.” She pushed her datapad across the table to him. “Thel ‘Vadam could be deposed in days, and where’s your peace treaty then?”

  Hood spent a few minutes looking through the images. His dismay showed on his face. “Not good. I never did back winners, did I? Found Phillips yet?”

  “Yes, but the spec ops team still hasn’t managed to extract him. Don’t you think it’s time you offered the Arbiter some help? He won’t ask for it.”

  “What’s in it for you?”

  “We could destroy a few ships.” She didn’t specify whose. “How else are we going to remove potential enemy assets now without starting another war of our own?”

  “True. And?”

  “You really don’t want to see a Sanghelios run by the rebels. This is an antihuman movement, Terrence. Put them down, and put them down firmly on their own turf, with a piece of technology that will—if you’ll excuse my vernacular—make them shit their pants and resolve never to trouble us again.”

  “I don’t think their bowels are that easily moved. But you’re set on this, aren’t you?”

  “We could be there tomorrow, and also give Port Stanley some backup. I want my people out of there in one piece.” Parangosky lowered her voice. “Phillips has earned his keep. There’s no telling what else he’s going to bring back for us, either.”

  Hood leaned back in his seat and looked up at the deckhead.

  “So we’ve got every reason to give it a run and very few not to,” he said at last. “But remember we have joint control—she’s our ship, not yours. Without alienating Del Rio, of course.”

  “It’s a Thursday War. He’ll understand. Nothing odd about having admirals along for historic trials. Let alone mercy missions.”

  “You know, I’ve never had a working-up exercise that involved actual warfare.”

  “Times change, Terrence.”

  Hood just gave her a look and eased himself out of his seat. “I’ll patch you in when I make contact with the Arbiter,” he said. “It’s going to be delicate.”

  Sangheili had their buttons and raw nerves, just like humans, and they could all be pressed. Parangosky went back to the bridge to make her presence felt and soak up the informal briefings that the more junior crew members would volunteer, and waited. She was back in her cabin sipping her fourth coffee when Hood rapped on the door and walked in.


  “Want to listen in?” he said.

  Parangosky nodded at the screen and slid out of its range. The Arbiter didn’t need to see her there, even if he wouldn’t recognize her. “Go ahead.”

  It took a few moments for the Sanghelios end of the link to appear. Parangosky almost expected to see the Arbiter sitting in ruins with shattered plaster and smoke everywhere, but the cam showed him in his tidy chamber much as before, apparently unmoved by events that she knew damned well were ripping up the city around him.

  “Thank you for taking this call, Arbiter,” Hood said. “I won’t delay you. I’m very aware of the difficulties you find yourself in at the moment. I still have a team on Sanghelios.”

  “I regret I have no resources to devote to helping you find Professor Philliss, Admiral.”

  “I know, which is why I have an offer for you. You need support, and I can give it. Let me help put down your rebellion.”

  The Arbiter paused. He was hard to read, even for a Sangheili. “That’s not possible. But I value the kindness.”

  “Oh, it’s possible. I have new ships. You’ve kept your word. Now let me keep mine, and do what I can to preserve the peace.”

  “And retrieve your people, of course.”

  “That, too.”

  “And you’re certain you can do this.”

  For a moment, Parangosky was surprised by the ease with which the Arbiter seemed to be agreeing to human assistance. It was a long shot at best, but she’d expected more wrangling and even a refusal, and she was prepared for plan B, which was showing up uninvited.

  Ah. He doesn’t think we can do it. He’s humoring us. Like letting a child help you bake a cake by spilling flour everywhere.

  “I’m certain,” Hood said.

  “And Earth would send its most senior officer into combat for me.”

  “Well, I haven’t forgotten that you fought alongside the Master Chief.…”

  “So I did.” The Arbiter bowed his head. “Thank you, but please attend to your own safety. I might not be able to protect your ships.”

  Hood smiled. “I shall see you very soon, then. Hood out.”

  The comms link closed. Hood shoved his hands in his pockets and looked sideways at Parangosky.

  “Still thinks he’s master of the galaxy. He doesn’t believe us, does he?”

  She shook her head, stifling a grin. “That’s even better. And your conscience is still spotless, Terrence. How do you do it?”

  Hood ambled toward the cabin door, looking pleased with himself, but he was too much of a gentleman to smirk. “I’ll let you incur all the stains, Margaret. That’s why ONI uniforms are black, aren’t they?”

  She smiled at his retreating back. “I’m glad you’re a little bit of a bastard at heart. I can’t stand boy scouts.”

  Most senior commander. Parangosky chuckled to herself. Sanghelios still didn’t seem to grasp the political reality of ONI. And that was fine by her.

  CHAPTER

  TEN

  THERE’S NO BETTER TEST THAN TRYING OUT A NEW ASSET ON REAL ENEMY TARGETS ON THEIR HOMEWORLD, AND ALL WITH THEIR PERMISSION.

  (ADMIRAL MARGARET PARANGOSKY, CINCONI)

  NES’ALUN KEEP, ACROLI

  “Identify yourself,” BB said. Vaz listened to the comms chatter feeding straight into his helmet, mouth instantly dry. “Phantom, identify yourself.”

  For a moment, the shooting stopped. It was the eye of the storm, probably only seconds, but to Vaz it felt a lot longer as he waited for something to take the roof off the keep. He crouched next to a window, one of the larger ones that gave him a wider arc. At least he could spot something coming from this position.

  It took him a moment to realize that a Sangheili kid was standing right next to him. He didn’t know if it was male or female, and he didn’t feel any instinct to take care of it or save it from harm. It wasn’t a kitten: it was the enemy. It would grow up to hate humans and kill them. If he looked into an animal’s eyes he could usually see some kind of self within, some living connection, but he couldn’t see a damn thing in the Sangheili’s. The eyes were empty and alien. He wondered if it was thinking the same about him.

  “Phantom, identify yourself.”

  “BB, I’ve got to shoot or move,” Devereaux said. “We’ve got Banshees inbound.”

  “Shoot what you have to,” Mal said. “Who’s who?”

  “Stand down in the name of Field Master ‘Telcam.” It was a new voice on the radio, probably the Phantom pilot. “Stand down.”

  BB chipped in. “One Phantom from the mad monk, three Banshees from the local yokels.”

  “BB, tell him we’re fine collecting Phillips but he can knock himself out on the Banshees if he wants.”

  “He heard that.”

  “Mal, check your ground feed. Elites on foot. About fifty.”

  “Can Osman hear this?”

  “Only the essential bits,” BB said cryptically.

  Everything was being fed into Vaz’s HUD, and it was disorienting him. There were too many extras to watch and listen to when all his brain wanted to do was focus everything on the firefight. He couldn’t stop it. Even if he hadn’t been drilled to do that until it became automatic, a million years of evolution refused to hand over the controls anyway. For a second he envied Naomi. Maybe all that messing with her brain was worth it for a clear view of the battlefield.

  Boom. An explosion shook the ground and dust fell from the beams above his head, rattling on his helmet. The eye of the storm had moved on.

  “Dev, are they bad shots or are they avoiding the building?” Mal asked.

  The big female interrupted. “They want the keep and the land, you idiot. They won’t destroy anything they don’t need to. And you’re outnumbered.”

  “Yeah, I can count, missus.”

  “My name is Elar ‘Nas. You’re in my keep now and you will show me respect. I could kill you where you stand.”

  Vaz turned around with his rifle aimed. Why did I think I could turn my back on these things? But Naomi was already on it. Elar was staring up the muzzle of Naomi’s pistol.

  “But you won’t,” Naomi said. “Because I’m a lot faster than you. Now let’s all cooperate.”

  Vaz looked up at the ceiling. His HUD chrono had moved on by a minute, one lousy minute. The hinge-head kid was still staring at him.

  “Watch the damn window, not me,” Vaz snapped. The kid was almost as big as he was. “Here they come.”

  ‘Telcam’s pilot was on the radio again. “Stand down, traitors. Shipmaster Forze ‘Mdama demands it.”

  Small world: Vaz remembered that name. “Is that a coincidence, Phillips, or does he know?”

  Vaz could only see the professor’s backside as he lay behind the frail cover of some beams the size of ancient railway sleepers. “We just plugged into the right network,” Phillips said.

  “Know what?” Elar demanded.

  “Never you mind,” Vaz said. “Just cover the windows. We’ll take care of the door.”

  “He doesn’t know,” BB said in Vaz’s earpiece. “Osman’s already run into him on the comms net. No time to explain it all, but I’d have heard by now.”

  Vaz kept looking between Mal and Naomi. There’d come a point where the only option would be to call Devereaux to a low hover to lay down fire, grab Phillips, bundle him outside, and just bang out. The tricky bit was creating the space to do it without getting a chestful of plasma. Crack. Something zipped overhead like a thunderstorm right on the roof, shaking Vaz down to his teeth. The whole hall lit up with brilliant white light. A second later, a shock wave crashed over him followed by a curtain of black smoke. He scrambled for the door and dropped down beside Mal and Phillips.

  “One Banshee down, Mal,” Devereaux said. “The others have looped off with the Phantom up their asses.”

  “Can’t see the ground troops.”

  “They’re forming up into four groups.” BB didn’t usually interrupt with tactical input unless he was sure they hadn�
��t reacted to what he could see. “One at each wall. They’ve left a dozen right in front of you. That’s east. You know you’re facing east, don’t you?”

  “Yeah, thanks BB.” Mal tapped Vaz’s arm. There was another big whoomp and a ball of white light flared beyond the trees in the distance. “Who’s down, Dev?”

  “Another Banshee. Here comes the Phantom again.”

  “Human vessel, get out of the area.”

  “Oh dear. And he was doing so well for us.”

  “Human vessel—get out.”

  Maybe he was being thoughtful and telling Devereaux that he’d got it covered, but maybe he didn’t plan to let them take Phillips. It was impossible to tell. Vaz had room for only one worry at a time, and that had to be the hinge-heads who suddenly decided to rush the door. Everything in front of him was white light. He poured a full clip into the blur without stopping, but a loud crack of superheated air next to him made him swing around to fire before he realized it was Phillips squeezing off his hinge-head toy. Then something crashed in behind him. He rolled over just as one of the larger windows smashed and all hell broke loose. Naomi waded in, firing, and body-charged one Elite male so hard that he hit the wall. The females went crazy. Vaz tried to get a shot in but it was a chaotic rugby scrum in the hall, a tangle of Naomi, the females, the kids, and even a couple of Grunts. Jesus, he’d always thought hinge-heads were animals but now he knew they were. Three of the females got a male down, snatched his pistol, and pounced on him. They could have just shot him. Instead they tore into him like lionesses, roaring and hissing. It was two hideous seconds before Vaz’s attention was slapped back to the door by more outgoing carbine rounds and he realized he’d spent those transfixed moments reloading his own rifle without noticing it.

  “They’re in, Dev, they’re inside,” Mal yelled. “Can you get in close?”

  “Trying.” The dropship’s drive whined up the scale, so close now that it sounded like it was in the room. “If that bastard Phantom backs off.”

  “He can see you, right?”

  “Er—you bet.”

  “Tell him to sod off.”