The Thursday War

by Karen Traviss

  “Why are Kig-Yar helping us?” Raia asked.

  “Why did we help humans?” Forze spread his arms. “Politics. The galaxy is less clear-cut and orderly than it used to be.”

  If Raia heard the word politics one more time as an explanation for everything and nothing, she swore she’d sink her fangs into somebody. When she got home, when she finally found Jul and returned to Bekan keep, she wasn’t going to tolerate this nonsense any longer. The galaxy had changed—and the Sangheili had to change, too. She squeezed through the press of bodies, drawing no attention, which was a measure of how urgent the preparations to leave had become. The deck vibrated beneath her feet. They’d make their move soon.

  “This is Shipmistress Lahz. I have a warning for all ships.”

  The voice was enough to get instant silence on the bridge. It was Kig-Yar, a female. It was also confident and measured: so Kig-Yar females were used to authority, used to serving in ships. Raia had rarely come into contact with the creatures except when the scruffy males came to the keeps trying to sell overpriced goods, and her view of them was largely shaped by Jul and Naxan debating what would happen to the stability of the Covenant if they were ever allowed better weapons and ships. They were not to be trusted.

  But now there was no choice.

  “Continue, Jackal,” Galur said. “I’m listening.”

  “Make your move now. The Arbiter has five cruisers positioned to pursue and destroy you. Get to jump velocity as quickly as you can.”

  “I can work that out for myself. I can see them.” Galur pointed to a display, but there was no way that the Kig-Yar could know that. This was for the crew’s benefit. The illuminated grid rotated to show five lights. “But I can’t see your ship. Look, if you run into your kin, that diseased thief Sav, tell him we want Pious Inquisitor back. We have our own special me-vut out on him.”

  The Kig-Yar didn’t seem daunted. “I know no Sav, and if I find your ship I’ll expect recompense for recovering it, but right now you need to watch your display, and set your sublight drives to full power.”

  “I cooperate purely because ‘Telcam advises it.”

  “Good. Keep watching your sensors. And get out now while you still can.”

  There was still something about this Kig-Yar, this Lahz, that didn’t quite fit with Raia’s view of the species. Everyone who wasn’t busy with other duties did as Lahz suggested, though, and watched the grid. The five lights were now moving, one of them accelerating toward Ontom at a speed that caught everyone by surprise. The Kig-Yar must have known what was coming. Somehow, they could hear.

  The Kig-Yar’s voice was suddenly more distant, as if she was talking to someone else. “Missile one—fire.”

  The fast-moving cruiser kept accelerating for a few more seconds. Galur’s helmsman reacted: the vibration in the deck suddenly increased and Raia felt the frigate lurch away, making its escape. But as she watched the grid, unable to turn away, the point of light that was the Arbiter’s cruiser vanished. All around her, other sensor screens changed color or indicated spikes.

  “What’s happening?” Galur demanded.

  “What does it look like, you fool? I’ve destroyed one of their cruisers.” The Kig-Yar sounded furious. “Move or die. Your choice. Now do what you have to while I target the others.”

  “She’s right, my lord,” the helmsman said. Raia couldn’t see outside the hull, but she could feel that Cleansing Truth was now soaring to the edge of the atmosphere. “Devotion has gone. There’s been a massive explosion—possibly a human radiation weapon.”

  Galur was losing that swaggering disbelief. He swung around and faced the display. Raia could see it too, but there were now too many lights and she didn’t know which were enemy vessels and which were ‘Telcam’s.

  “I still don’t see your ship,” Galur roared. “Where are you?”

  “Don’t waste your time worrying about my position,” Lahz said. “Fear for your own.”

  “You have radiation weapons. Human missiles.”

  “We’ve acquired many interesting pieces of military surplus.”

  Something on the display changed. Everyone drew in a sharp breath. Another point of light had vanished. The deck vibrated beneath Raia’s feet as Cleansing Truth picked up speed.

  “That was Far Vision,” the helmsman said. “Gone. She’s gone.”

  “Run, Shipmaster,” Lahz said. “I cannot take them all. Run.”

  “And another!” The helmsman’s voice rose in pitch. “The cruiser Axiom has gone!”

  “How long before we can jump?”

  “We need more time, my lord.” The helmsman held up all four fingers. Cleansing Truth was shuddering now. “A little longer—”

  Lahz shrieked. “Shipmaster, watch your stern!”

  “Swordsman has a lock on us, my lord.”

  “Evade her.”

  “I cannot. I—we’ve been hit, we’ve been hit—”

  The deck suddenly rippled under Raia like a wave, metal made fluid as water.

  She grabbed blindly as she slid down what was now a steep slope, then a vertical wall. Forze’s hand clamped on her wrist. An alarm screamed, so loud that the noise filled her nose and mouth until she felt that she couldn’t breathe. She bounced against something hard and she felt something break, but couldn’t tell if it was her bones or the object she’d hit. Then she stopped falling. Others didn’t. She was a rock in a river, hunkered down against a fierce torrent of bodies. The air was thick with acrid smoke and hissing vapor. Bright red light was coming from somewhere. Then she realized it was fire.

  “Raia, hang on,” Forze roared. “Raia, we’ve survived one crash. We’ll survive this, I swear.”

  More bodies hit her, warriors who could grab nothing to stop their fall as the frigate—the entire world—turned inside out and upside down in a groaning, screaming chorus of metal as it twisted and tore apart.

  “Forze! Forze!”

  But Forze tumbled past her and was gone. She didn’t know what was still holding her in place. She was on a ledge, the end of a console of some kind. Its lights were on, violet and amber. But the red light was getting brighter: fire was sweeping the deck. She could feel the heat on her face.

  The communications system was still working. Lahz, the Kig-Yar, was still cursing Galur for delaying. “Idiot,” she shrieked. “Why didn’t you listen? I tried, you fool, I tried.”

  Raia found her heartbeats were now slowing into days, giving her pause to think, freezing time so that she could ponder on how wrong Jul had been about Kig-Yar. And Forze had lied for all the right reasons, because there was no surviving this.

  She was falling. The ship was falling.

  Her last thoughts shouldn’t have been regrets, but they were. She regretted this venture, and she regretted that neither she nor Jul would ever know what happened to the other.

  No, this was not the last thought that would ever be on her mind. It would not.

  Raia thought of her sons, and was glad of the moment left to do it. She wondered if they would think of her, and forgive her for never coming home.

  UNSC PORT STANLEY, EN ROUTE FOR NEW LLANELLI, BRUNEL SYSTEM: KNOWN AS LAQIL TO THE SANGHEILI

  Adj and Leaks had worked high-speed miracles on the slipspace comms. BB tested the relays and felt a little put out that he didn’t quite grasp all the subtleties of the modifications. But gift horses like Huragok were to be petted and fed, not subjected to intrusive dental examination. He’d get them to explain it to him later.

  “So, shall we make the most of the luxury of being able to talk to Tart-Cart and collect her, Captain?” BB asked. “She’s got quite a slog ahead to catch up with us, and the sooner we disembark ‘Telcam, the happier everyone will be. Especially Mal. And ‘Telcam.”

  Osman stood on the bridge with her arms folded, distracted. She stared out the viewscreen at absolute slipspace nothingness and tossed a chunk of crystallized ginger in her palm like a coin she was preparing to flip.

  “Y
es, BB. Let’s get her docked.”

  “And then there’s the new nav system. That’ll be nice. No more slipspace guesswork.”

  “Yes. Great. We’ll need to lock up the Huragok or keep ‘Telcam in the dropship. Actually, I’m not sure I want him seeing anything of Stanley, either, even if it has deterrent value.”

  “You’re babbling. Is there something wrong?”

  Osman turned around. She didn’t have to. But she addressed his avatar just like the rest of the crew did, so he was starting to think of himself in terms of being located in the hologram, too. It wasn’t who he was. He was in danger of acquiring a body.

  “Shame about the frigate,” she said. “Never thought I’d hear myself say that.”

  “But three made it out, and that’s a good result.”

  Osman looked around at the cam feed from Infinity’s bridge. BB had wondered whether to just mute it and give her a digest later, but he’d left it running. There was a lot of consternation about the destruction of the three cruisers. Maybe he should have done a lot more spoofing and embroidered the bogus vessel into blowing up and no longer being a worry, but the less he interfered with Aine’s data, the less there was to go wrong and unravel. On the other hand, he’d started hares running about Kig-Yar having nukes, but there was nothing he could do about that now.

  It was nowhere near as worrying as their acquiring a Covenant ship with a ventral energy beam. There was a good reason why the Covenant didn’t trust Kig-Yar with fast translight drives, big weapons, or the family silver. But Hood was still having a quiet, dignified fit about the nukes, leaning on the chart table on both hands while Del Rio and Lasky stood back and watched. Parangosky lounged in a nearby chair, cane resting across her lap.

  “Yes, Margaret, yes, I accept that the Kig-Yar pick up assets that they shouldn’t,” Hood said. “But I want to know where they acquired something that pumps out an energy signature very like a Rudra, and why the Arbiter’s cruisers couldn’t acquire a target. They could detect it. They just couldn’t hit anything. How? Why?”

  “I’d love to know, too,” Parangosky said. “I thought I made it clear that’s why I want that ship in one piece. Leave it to Osman. She’s gone hunting.”

  “I’ve gone along with this. I let that vessel escape. But damn it, Margaret, this had better be worth it, because the Arbiter knows we’re not incapable. He’ll think we’re unwilling. And I gave him my word.”

  BB saw Osman put her hand to her eyes as if she was watching a distressing movie, which she was, in a way. She was feeling guilty for upsetting Hood, but she was going to have to get used to it. ONI did that on a daily basis. Parangosky was so used to this game that she didn’t even look as if she was keeping it under control. She was so far beyond that stage that she radiated a complete lack of concern. It was as routine as brushing her teeth. She could fend off Hood without even consciously noticing.

  “Trust me when I say we’re looking into Kig-Yar activity, Terrence.” She had her gravel voice on, heavy on the vocal fry, the tigress rumbling a warning at the back of her throat to stop her boisterous cubs from biting her. “We need to track them, but there’s something we need to worry about a great deal more. Pious Inquisitor. She’s packing far worse hardware than nukes.”

  “So we’ve risked a rift with the Arbiter so that you can bust a stolen warship racket, as the less articulate might say.”

  “Indeed. You can tell him that. He stands to benefit as much as we do. Get him to crunch a few numbers. Get him to account for where every ship, fighter, and piece of ordnance went when the Covenant flushed itself down the pan. Tell him humans have had a lot of experience worrying about which bazaar the war machine ends up in when a major power collapses. Do you want me to draw a picture for him? What does he think attacked his keep, termites?”

  Hood rubbed his forehead and said nothing. Parangosky made herself more comfortable in her chair and smiled at a young ensign who handed her a steaming cup.

  “Okay.” Osman sighed and turned her back on the viewscreen. “Let’s pick up Tart-Cart.”

  “Don’t get all angsty over this. That’s a quiet day for ONI.”

  “I know. But what if Hood starts committing ships to a wild goose chase, and people die when they didn’t need to?”

  Did anyone need to die? Oh dear. He had to take her mind off this. “Still angsting.”

  “BB…”

  “I really was rather good, wasn’t I?”

  “Brilliant, actually.”

  “I’m constructed from the very fabric of awesomium. Now let’s gather our flock.”

  There was the sticky problem of what to do with ‘Telcam when the dropship docked, but BB would play it by ear. Now that he could eavesdrop in slipspace, it was fascinating to watch Phillips work on the Sangheili. He had a wonderfully devious streak that Parangosky had spotted a mile off, but the honest courage and enthusiasm that he wrapped it in was genuine, not a thin veneer. Gosh, the old girl could really pick a team. That was her strength: people. Yes, Parangosky was a people person, despite her reputation. Usually she was a people person in the same way that a cattle farmer was an animal person, but sometimes she discovered people she liked enough to spare, and then she could polish them like a mirror. Kilo-Five gleamed. BB basked in the reflection.

  “‘Telcam, did you ever explore the temple?” Phillips was asking. “I mean really explore it? It’s astonishing. I translated some of the inscriptions. And stepping through a portal … wow.”

  ‘Telcam looked determined not to be impressed. “You were told not to enter dangerous areas.”

  “But they’re not dangerous. They’re amazing. What’s this prohibition about a teacher? Why would the Forerunners have needed permission from a higher authority to teach or talk to a teacher?”

  ‘Telcam tilted his head slightly. He didn’t know what Phillips was going on about, BB was sure of it, but there was more to it than that: he was shocked or jealous, even indignant, because all his muscles stiffened and his jaws clenched. The human tapeworm had done yet another thing that he couldn’t—he could read more of the gods’ notes than a lifelong disciple like ‘Telcam could. It must have been like the Pope being told that an atheist had found God’s unlisted number in some apocrypha and had left a message on the divine voice mail. BB hoped that Naomi was ready to slap down the Sangheili if he decided to throttle Phillips. She certainly wasn’t dozing under that helmet, however relaxed she looked.

  “I know nothing of this inscription,” ‘Telcam said quietly. “How did you reach this conclusion?”

  You had a lot of help from me. That’s how. BB thought of his fragment again, broken and bewildered, and tried to partition the thought so that it didn’t keep sidling up to him and trying to get his attention.

  “I’m a linguist at heart,” Phillips said. “Language is the expression of a culture, so that’s why I’m an anthropologist. If I know what your worst insult is, I already know a lot about your fears and taboos.”

  “Nishum.”

  “Ah, I love that one. Mal’s got some terrific human insults, but we’re not big on parasitic organisms. We’re all sex and excretion, mainly.”

  Vaz elbowed Phillips discreetly. “Message coming in, Phyllis. We’ve got a ride.”

  ‘Telcam didn’t react. At least he’d calmed down. BB calculated the optimum point to drop out of slip and sent the coordinates to Devereaux. It was fun to see the look on her face.

  “Ooh, I’ve got my first slipspace—oh, never mind.” She turned and looked back through the hatch with an oops expression. “Talk amongst yourselves. The captain’s caught up with us.”

  BB turned his primary attention back to Osman, but she was suitably distracted by the countdown to reentering realspace, which hadn’t got any easier for her despite Adj’s modifications to the drives. If he drilled down through the hull stress sensors in his dumb component, he could calculate the pressure she was putting on those armrests. She had a hell of a grip.

  “Unnhh�
�,” she said.

  “There. Right on target, right on time.” BB transmitted the homing signal and slowed Stanley to a relative crawl. Yes, he really could operate this ship entirely on his own indefinitely, but it wasn’t as rewarding as doing it with a real crew, and it would have been a miserably lonely existence. It could drive him to premature rampancy. “I should run the monorail network. We’ll have Tart-Cart in the hangar in ten minutes and then we’ll be on our way. Drop off the mad monk, tell him we’ll call him when we’ve got another arsenal for him, and we can be back in Infinity and scarfing their coffee by the end of the day. Alpha time, that is.”

  “Wash-up and reintegration.”

  “You keep reminding me. I don’t forget.”

  “BB, I know this is scaring you, so it’s an opportunity for you to talk,” Osman said. “You listen to me when I’m losing it. I’m just saying that I’m here for you when you have a difficult time.”

  BB wondered again how Osman might have turned out if she’d been allowed a normal childhood and survived it. “I may well need that.”

  “Lock up Adj and Leaks. They’ll be a problem to explain.”

  “Done.”

  “Thanks, BB.”

  “My pleasure, Captain.”

  As Tart-Cart slid into the hangar, Osman leaned on the gantry rail and frowned. “She’s not that different. Not externally, anyway. I suppose I was expecting her to look like a Spanish galleon or something.” She slapped her hands down on the rail. “Okay, better go and show my face.”

  “Remember, ‘do not dissemble, because God is your authority,’” BB said. “Besides, you can always take him to Trevelyan and dump him on Mrs. Frankenstein if he gets mouthy.”

  Osman waited for the bay to repressurize and clattered down the steps just as Devereaux opened the hatches. Fragant air wafted out and BB watched Osman frown.

  “Jasmine?” she said.

  “You can ask a Huragok for anything.” Devereaux winked. “And wait until you see my chart projector. You can have one too, ma’am. Who’s staying to keep an eye on ‘Telcam?”

  Naomi jumped out of the main hatch with a thud like a Warthog being dropped from a sling. “Me,” she said. “We understand each other now.” Mal, Vaz, and Phillips trooped out and Osman allowed herself a smile. “What’s the drill for New Llanelli?”