Halo®: Mortal Dictata

by Karen Traviss

  And that’s why I go all out to retrieve my buddies. To rescue Mal. Nobody should feel that they’ve been abandoned. I understand now.

  “I thought Dad had let me down, BB,” she said. “Knowing what I know now, knowing how he’s spent a lifetime looking for me, knowing what Mom went through—I really wish I hadn’t remembered that.”

  She put the datapad down and raked her fingers through her hair. Well, she asked to know, and now she knew. Maybe the memories of the abduction were distorted by the lack of understanding of a small child or embellished by her later knowledge—and Halsey’s journal—but there was no arguing with the videos. When she absorbed the whole picture, she didn’t feel chosen to save humanity. She felt abused.

  I’m still proud to be a Spartan. If I’d had the chance to volunteer when the Covenant invaded, I’d have done it. I’d do it again in a heartbeat. But this wasn’t about the Covenant, was it? It was setting humans against humans.

  She laughed. That was rich.

  “What’s funny?” BB asked.

  “The Covenant,” she said. “They’re what makes me feel I didn’t have my life entirely wasted for me.”

  “Are you done? You want a break? Try again later?”

  Naomi looked at her watch. It wasn’t her grown-up one, the one Dad had given her. It was a military timepiece, all dials and meters. She really would have liked to have had her old watch back. “No, we need to crack on with finding that ship.”

  “You can’t have made up your mind in that time,” BB said.

  “I’m not sure I have,” she said. “But I know what to say to Dad.”

  Naomi tidied her hair and tried to look calm and professional again. Her cheeks were flushed bright pink, which wasn’t like her at all. Vaz would comment and ask if she was okay. He was a really good guy, the kind she wished she’d met in a normal life, but that was another world in a parallel universe.

  “Can’t blame it all on Halsey,” she said.

  “No, but most of it’s down to her, so do I still get to stick pins in her? Please? I was thinking of asking Parangosky to have her brain removed and kept in a jar connected to the mainframe, so she could think useful things but not cause any more damage. And, of course I could pop in from time to time and torment her and she could never switch me off.”

  “That’s not like you, BB.”

  “Oh, I think it is.”

  “How could anyone do that, though?” Naomi asked. “Halsey couldn’t do it alone. She had an army of people willing to do the work for her. What kind of person goes along with a plan to kidnap children and surgically alter them? What kind of doctor would agree to do all that to kids?”

  BB didn’t answer for a while. “Yes, you have to wonder what corner of Hell’s reserved for them,” he said at last. “Some of them might even have found out by now.”

  He seemed very subdued. Naomi hoped he didn’t feel guilty for bringing back some painful memories. If anyone had no reason at all to feel guilty, it was BB.

  FORMER COVENANT BATTLECRUISER PIOUS INQUISITOR, POSITION UNKNOWN: TIME UNKNOWN

  “I think we have to assume it’s just us left, mistress,” Bakz said.

  Chol squatted on the deck, palms placed flat to feel for vibrations. She was sure that Inquisitor had dropped out of slipspace. The ship had jumped in and out again very quickly, no distance at all in the scheme of the galaxy, just a short step to the side: but space was an overwhelming void to search for something as small as a warship that couldn’t transmit a signal. Inquisitor was a cold, black pebble in the darkness. The chances of any other ship stumbling across her were incalculably remote.

  Their only chance of survival was to take control of the ship. Nobody was coming to save them.

  Chol straightened up and walked across to one of the bulkhead sensor terminals to try it again. She prodded the controls a few times, but no display appeared. “Why? Why would the others be dead?”

  “Not necessarily dead, mistress. But we’re nearest to the bridge, so perhaps we should assume we’re the only ones with a chance of accessing the controls.”

  There were still search teams in other parts of the ship, trapped between bulkheads by the Huragok. That meant some of them were in sealed compartments when the ship jumped and ripped out the umbilical connecting her to Paragon. The only compartment open to space would have been the hangar bay, and the last time she’d seen Ved and Lig, they were wearing their helmets. They didn’t have much of an air supply, though.

  “Ril’s party reached engineering,” she said. “They might be able to get in and activate something. There could have been equipment left in accessible places. We have no way of knowing.”

  Paragon was another matter. A ship jumping that close to her might have ripped her apart. Anyone in either cargo bay without a suit would probably have been killed anyway. Even if the ship was intact, though, she had no way of tracking them in slipspace.

  So how far had the Huragok moved the ship? Was it picking random locations, or had it taken the ship somewhere specific? All the sensor systems were locked down. Chol had no way of knowing if the ship was actually in orbit around a planet and had been detected. For once, the human practice of having viewplates everywhere and a bridge on the outer skin of a warship didn’t look foolhardy at all. It might have made their ships more vulnerable, but at least they could look outside.

  And at least I know we’re probably not orbiting Sanghelios, waiting for ‘Telcam to reclaim his ship and cut my throat. We’d have been in slipspace longer.

  “I’m going to see if I can get into one of the conduits.” Bakz stood back and looked up the sheer face of the bulkhead, then examined one of the panels in the deck. “What’s on the deck below us?”

  Chol couldn’t access the display from here. She racked her brains, trying to visualize the deck plan in cross-section again. “It’s a machinery space. There have to be some conduits from this deck. Search for those before you break your neck trying to climb to the deckhead openings.”

  “We can at least lift a plate and see if there’s anything we can use as a tool to force the doors open.”

  Noit trotted up to join them, brandishing a blade. The two males cut and peeled back the deck covering to expose the metal panels beneath, but they couldn’t release the bolts that held it in place. It needed a special tool—or a Huragok. Chol paced around, looking for deck-level openings in the short passages that led off the main compartment, but drew a blank. It was the deckhead conduits or nothing.

  Chol estimated the cubic air capacity of the section they were trapped in and took out her module to calculate how long the air supply would last for three pairs of Kig-Yar lungs. It would be used up faster if they were exerting themselves. So did they rest and conserve air, which would prolong the agony if they were drifting unnoticed far from the nearest inhabited world, as she believed, or use it up faster by expending physical effort?

  “Very well,” she said. “If this compartment is completely sealed, we have two days’ air left. By then, we’ll have a solution.”

  Noit looked up at the deckhead again. “Unless those conduits are sealed too, then some air will be filtering in from elsewhere.”

  Chol had never checked to see if there were airlocks in the Huragok warrens, because they were such a routine part of Covenant warships that she took no special interest in them. There had to be some method of making them airtight, she supposed: there was no point having sections with doors that could be sealed in an emergency if atmosphere could vent or if contaminants could seep in via the conduits.

  “I’m narrower in the shoulders than you, Noit,” Bakz said. “I’ll try. I only have to make it through to the next exit point, because there aren’t any more doors between here and the bridge.”

  “You’ll never get up there,” Noit said.

  Bakz worked along the panels, digging his claws into edges to see if he could get some purchase. He managed to get halfway up the bulkhead and then jammed his foot into one of the hori
zontal moldings. Chol watched him shuffle along to the next vertical panel and pick his way up like a fly.

  But there was no way of reaching the conduit at the angle of the deckhead. Bakz made a valiant attempt to swing across, but he couldn’t hold his weight. He fell. It wasn’t a long drop, not enough to break bones, but he rubbed his shoulder ruefully as he scrambled to his feet.

  “A pity I didn’t remember to bring a rappel line,” he said. “But then I didn’t bring grenades, either.”

  Chol surveyed the closed doors again. “I think we should go back to the brute force approach.”

  The control panel was a plain block of metal with no switches to dismantle or short-circuit, but that didn’t mean it wouldn’t yield to an assault, given enough time. What could a Huragok do and not do? She still didn’t know how far this one would go.

  And he had to be watching them somehow. Either he was darting around the conduits from section to section, or there were monitoring cameras still operating. She couldn’t see them.

  “How many power packs did you bring?” she asked.

  Noit patted his belt. “One spare each, mistress.”

  “Very well.” Chol stood back and aimed her pistol. “Target the panels. Let’s see if we can activate the holographic controls. If the Huragok wants to stop us, he’ll have to come into this compartment, and then I’ll kill the little dung-ball.”

  The panel was composite, and only fireproof—not melt-proof. She squeezed the trigger. It took several shots to begin to burn a hole through the surface, and the air was already heavy with the smell of melting composite. If she kept this up for a long time, she might make what air they had unbreathable.

  Or … maybe it’ll force the Huragok to act. He’ll regard that as damage to be repaired. It should at least activate the fire control systems, if he hasn’t disabled those as well.

  She fired again, three bursts. What was the creature trying to do? Was he saving the ship by immobilizing it, or was he following orders to sabotage it to the point of destruction to stop it falling into the wrong hands? If she knew for certain, then she could start a fire here and simply wait for the Huragok to respond.

  Or burn to death. I just don’t know.

  “My turn, mistress,” Bakz said.

  Chol stepped back and let him blast away at the panel. The air was getting thick with the stench, but it was still breathable.

  The only ones who can leave the ship are Ved and Lig, if they’re still alive … but they’ve only got Spirits, and dropships are no use out here. Wherever here is.

  There was still light to this deck. The Huragok had kept basic services running, so maybe no matter how defective he was, he drew the line at killing other sentient beings, or perhaps he was dependent on the same systems as this section to stay alive. Chol watched as Bakz burned through another panel, sending sparks flying. Then a flickering holographic control appeared. Chol reached for it and the doors creaked. After three loud cracks, they parted to almost shoulder width and stopped.

  “Have we got anything that’ll wedge this open?” Bakz said. “In case the Huragok manages to close them again.”

  “Nothing strong enough to withstand the closing pressure.” Chol motioned him through. “But if we’re trapped again, we’ll be stuck on the bridge, which is a much better position.”

  Noit squeezed through the gap, pistol raised, and Chol followed him in. The long ramp up to the command platform stretched ahead of them, but there were no holocharts or other displays active, just the spectrum of lighting that ran through aqua through deep blue to purple. The air felt relatively warm and the gravity was normal.

  It was too much to hope that the ship’s comms might still be working, but Chol tried anyway. She walked up the ramp to the platform and tried voice commands as well as touching holo-panels. Nothing: Inquisitor was still deaf, dumb, and blind.

  “Bakz, how would you achieve this if you were a Huragok?” she asked.

  “What do you mean, mistress?”

  “We can’t see what he’s shut down, because he’s disabled all the displays. That might mean that something’s functioning, but we can’t see it. The central computer must still be running if we have life support and power to the doors.” She looked up and around her, keeping an eye out for Sometimes Sinks. There were plenty of shadows and alcoves for him to hide in. “See, Huragok? Can you see this? You can’t stop us. You don’t dare kill us, so what are you going to do? Gamble on us running out of air before we’ve found a way to get this ship running? You’ll run out of air too.”

  Chol didn’t expect a response, but she heard a faint noise in the deckhead, like a distant flag flapping in the breeze. The creature was still moving around in the access conduits. Perhaps he’d come to his senses if she spoke to him firmly enough. He was an organic computer, for pity’s sake. He couldn’t possibly have opinions.

  His voice boomed over the ship’s address system.

  “Does that thing mean the human?” Noit asked. He was standing by the comms console, groping around where the holo-panel would normally display. “What’s a reclaimer? Does he mean salvage?”

  Suddenly the bridge was plunged into darkness, so black and enveloping that Chol almost lost her balance for a moment. Only the faint light from her suit’s status indicator provided any orientation at all. In the defended heart of the ship, not even light from a nearby star would penetrate. Chol froze, trying to remember where the edge of the command platform was. She could see Noit’s suit lights. Bakz was out of her line of vision.

  “Restore the lights, Huragok,” she called. “This won’t help.” She tried to swallow her anger and growing fear. “Perhaps we can discuss this. Tell me your grievances.”

  The bridge was so robbed of light that the smallest glimmer stood out like a beacon. An indicator flared for a moment, right next to Noit. He made a rattling noise of warning.

  “I think that’s the long-distance comms panel,” he said. “The Huragok is sending a signal. I think he might be summoning reinforcements.”

  Whether it was ‘Telcam or the human, that was bad news. The humans would have described Chol as a fish in a barrel.

  “Well,” she said, brazening it out, “reinforcements have to get in. And if they can get in, we can get out. We treat this as an involuntary rescue. Prepare yourselves.”

  CHAPTER

  THIRTEEN

  I AM OLD. I HAVE BEEN ALONE A LONG TIME WITH NO BROTHERS TO REPAIR ME, SO I BECOME PRONE TO ERROR. IT IS HARDER TO COMPLETE THE TASKS I ONCE DID WITH EASE. WHY MUST EVERYONE DESTROY SO MUCH? LET ME DO MY WORK. THAT IS ALL I WANT TO DO.

  —SOMETIMES SINKS, HURAGOK: EXILED BY THE JIRALHANAE CREW OF HIS LAST SHIP FOR NONCOMPLIANCE

  UNSC PORT STANLEY, SOMEWHERE IN THE QAB SECTOR

  Phillips was in the galley with Spenser and Devereaux when Mal went to make himself something to eat. The two blokes were talking in Sangheili, which was both stomach-churning and impressive at the same time. Devereaux watched them, looking fascinated.

  “I love it when you talk dirty,” Mal said.

  Spenser chuckled. “Just comparing dialects. It’s funny how many Kig-Yar words they use, and how many of those the Kig-Yar picked up from us.”

  “Did you teach them any naughty ones?”

  “I tried, but a lot of Kig-Yar can’t form a proper F. It comes out as a wh or th sound. Depends on their jaw anatomy. It varies.”

  “Well whuck me,” Mal said. “Have we got a new swearword? That’s a relief. We were wearing out the old ones. Nishum just doesn’t do it for me.”

  He opened the fridge, a massive steel-doored walk-in store with enough supplies to keep a crew of spooks and support staff victualled for a few months without the need for resupply. It was hard to run covert surveillance if the UNSC Fleet Auxiliary showed u
p every few weeks with groceries. He rummaged in the racks for an all-day fried breakfast pack and found one, plastered with UNSC warnings and disclaimers about salt, lack of fiber, and lack of key vitamins, signed by a surgeon admiral. Mal raised a finger to the label and dogged the door shut before shoving the pack in the heater and setting it to EXPRESS.

  “My stomach hasn’t a clue what time it is,” he said, stung by the glances. The timer chirped. He took out a container of sausages, egg, bacon, beans, and mushrooms that glistened invitingly as he peeled back the seal and settled down to tuck in. “But it’s my lunchtime on this watch, anyway.”

  “You’re looking a lot better,” Spenser said, indicating his nose.

  “A lot better than Gareth’s arm, probably.”

  “Who’s got Staffan’s radio?”

  Mal tapped his pocket. “Me. And Naomi’s still chatting with him. Did I miss anything, BB?”

  “No.” BB didn’t materialize but just spoke from the heavens. He didn’t sound quite so chipper today. “Adj and Leaks want to play with Spenser’s comms equipment, but I think that’s asking for trouble.”

  “They’re great little guys.” Spenser stared at an unlit cigarette on the table in front of him like it was an endurance test. “Wouldn’t let me smoke in the hangar, though. Offered to construct a sealed booth with a filter.”

  “Cut the distraction bullshit,” Devereaux said. “I want to know how Naomi’s doing.”

  BB appeared in person this time and settled on one end of the table. Mal moved up to make room for him.

  “Not good,” BB said.

  “Not good because of him, or because she’s remembering?” Devereaux asked.

  “Bit of both, really.”

  “Bad idea to jog her memory.” Mal scooped up a forkful of mushrooms. “Even if that’s what she wanted. So is she really thinking about leaving? Can’t see ONI accepting that. Doesn’t matter what the regs say. She’s a few billion credits’ worth of investment and a lot of patents walking around. Besides, how would she fit back into normal life?”