The Cole Protocol

by Tobias S. Buckell

  Truth glided away from the city scene and into the heart of the chamber, where golden streams of light flashed through a gentle drug-smoke haze. “Maybe,” he said. “But some of them seem fiercely loyal, and very useful. I value loyalty.”

  Regret grunted. “I value results.”

  “Then it is good we work together,” Truth said. “For the good of the Covenant.”

  Regret picked up one of the bowls and inhaled. “For the good of the Covenant, yes. In all we do.”

  The two hierarchs had resolved the moment of bad blood that had grown between them. Their plans were back in synchronization.

  For now, Regret thought. For now.

  CHAPTER

  SEVENTY-TWO

  VADAM KEEP, YERMO, SANGHELION

  “The Fleet of Particular Justice?” Lak ‘Vadamee asked. The old Sangheili walked along the keep’s walls with Thel. Thel had a new shipmaster’s cloak that tugged and kicked at him in the cold mountain wind. “I have never heard of it.”

  “It is a new reorganization of the fleets. Against the Sangheili Councilors’ desires. They have given me a cruiser to command within this fleet.”

  “A strange new age, Kaidon.”

  Thel looked out over Vadam valley, out toward the distant sea. “Stranger than I can dare speak. Even when I add my lines to the family saga.”

  “But our nobility rises, does it not?” Lak asked.

  “For now,” Thel replied. “But I have seen humans as strong and as fast as any of ours. And I have seen what happens to those who disappoint the Prophets.”

  “We are Vadam,” Lak said. “We shall persevere.”

  Thel started to say something, then paused. Lak had trained Thel when he’d been among the keep’s young. He’d bruised and kicked Thel, toughened him to be the warrior he was today. He’d taught him the histories, made him learn sagas, and taught him to reason. If he couldn’t trust Lak to be a close advisor, then Thel had no friends and was alone in this universe. “You must never repeat this, but I saw the Hierarchs argue with each other, and it cost the lives of many souls,” Thel finally said. “Is it heresy that I cannot shake the worry that gives me?”

  “There is heresy, and then there is heresy,” Lak said softly.

  Thel rested his hands on the stone in front of him. “What do you mean by that riddle, elder Lak?”

  “Long ago our ancestors believed without a doubt that the Forerunner artifacts we found scattered on our world were objects of veneration. We could study and worship them, and imagine transcendence. But that was it. To destroy, even take them apart, was heresy.

  “Then came the Prophets, who wanted the artifacts to study. They wanted to violate them and explore them. So we fought to prevent this heresy, and both Prophets and Sangheili almost perished in the fight. Now we let the Prophets do what they will and study these artifacts. Might made heresy change. But what is the true truth? Who knows?” Lak shrugged.

  “That is close to heretical,” Thel said, looking over at his old master.

  “I am an old Sangheili,” Lak said. “I have been hit on the head too many times, and am easily confused. What do I know of theology?”

  Thel grumbled. “We shall persevere, then, elder, heresies or not, and strive to follow the path. I might even rise above just shipmaster.”

  “That is the attitude to take, Kaidon. Enjoy your moments of triumph now. The future will come soon enough; there is no reason to dwell too much on it. Then you will end up an old creature who has spent far too much time worrying.”

  Thel followed Lak down the stairs into the warmth, where the elders of the Vadam waited to congratulate him on his success and promotion.

  There was living to do, Thel thought happily. And the warmth of a productive and virile keep to enjoy.

  CHAPTER

  SEVENTY-THREE

  UNSC LOCAL HQ, FALAKNUMA, 18 SCORPII

  Keyes saluted and stood ramrod-straight in front of the two men at the table in front of him.

  Admiral Cole waved at him to sit down.

  The other man, an ONI agent, slowly flipped through the pages of a report with exaggerated care while Keyes stared at the Admiral Cole, the Hero of Harvest and the man who’d dedicated his life to taking the fight to the Covenant.

  Keyes realized that the slow page turning was theater, but it was working. Keyes was nervous and sweating under his full dress uniform.

  This was the part where they busted him back to the classroom.

  And yet, as he played back all his actions in the past few weeks, he found in himself few regrets. He was at peace with himself. In some ways, he’d managed to banish the guilt of not being able to help his sister, dead or trapped somewhere out in the Outer Colonies, by rescuing these million.

  “Lieutenant Jacob Keyes,” the ONI agent said in sibilant tones. “Quite a return from your mission.”

  Admiral Cole tapped the table. “To begin with: navigational hazards.”

  The Exodus asteroid had been falling apart as it came in, shaking itself to pieces due to resonances the engineers hadn’t anticipated from trying to drive a six-mile-long asteroid through Slipspace.

  Once in orbit around Falaknuma the emergency scramble to evacuate the nearly one million ex-Rubble residents had been a success. But the asteroid had disintegrated shortly after. Falaknuma now had a ring of debris around it, and the UNSC was using frigates with MAC guns to blow the larger chunks into small enough pieces to burn up in Falaknuma’s atmosphere.

  But that now meant impediments to getting on and off Falaknuma until everything had deorbited and burned up, which according to experts would take years.

  “Then there is the matter of your dumping an unknown number of Insurrectionists on the population. Some have slipped away from the camps. Who knows when that will start to come back to bite us,” the ONI agent said.

  Keyes stared straight ahead. “Yessir.”

  “And I’ve lost one commander,” said Admiral Cole.

  “I see, sir.”

  Cole fiddled with a pen. “Why, Lieutenant?”

  Keyes looked at him. “A million civilians, sir. Behind enemy lines. I had a duty to do something. Anything. Sir.”

  “A good argument,” the admiral said, much to Keyes’s surprise. “At ease, Jacob. You did the best you could under some damn horrendous circumstances. You did good. A lot of those million civilians are people with experience in dealing with the Covenant, which ONI is already putting to good use through debriefing. Seems this Rubble group is full of pilots. We’re getting some recruits out of them. And getting people back from behind the lines—damn it, that’s a victory in my book any day.”

  Keyes couldn’t help but be stunned. “Thank you, sir.”

  “Most important, I see you worked damn hard to keep my protocol in effect.”

  “Yessir.”

  “Good job, then, Commander.”

  “Thank you, sir.” Keyes took the compliment, then paused and looked back at Admiral Cole, who chuckled and pushed a set of bars across the table at him.

  “You’re promoted, Commander Keyes. We can’t let someone who thinks like you get away from us, can we? A few more maneuvers like that stunt at Metisette and you’ll be in the textbooks, not ever teaching them again.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  “Midsummer Night is getting a refit, Keyes. You have time to take some leave, get back to the home system and see family. Get healed up and ready for the next round.”

  Keyes was dismissed.

  Outside he found Jai, Adriana, and Mike.

  “I thought you were all under a different branch?” he said.

  “We’re here to ask for a Prowler,” Jai said. “Think they’ll give us one? We need to get back to work.”

  Mike sighed and folded his massive arms. “I say we just take one now, ask for forgiveness later.”

  Keyes smiled. “There’s going to more lurking around behind Covenant lines?”

  “Couldn’t tell you,” Adriana said. “Have t
o kill you if we did.”

  Keyes smiled, and Jai stood up, towering over him, and extended a hand. “It was a pleasure working with you, sir,” Jai said.

  They shook hands, all of them, and then Keyes stepped out.

  CHAPTER

  SEVENTY-FOUR

  UNSC LOCAL HQ, FALAKNUMA, 18 SCORPII

  Admiral Cole turned to the man next to him. “Men like him will save us, you know. We need more like Keyes.”

  The ONI agent, one Commander Hadley, did not disagree. He looked down at the paperwork in front of him. “The Spartans want another Prowler. They seem to lose their own on a regular basis.”

  It was Cole’s turn not to comment. Eventually Hadley turned back to his paperwork.

  The door creaked open, and a ton and a half of gray-armored Spartans walked in. The three of them stood impassively before the table.

  “We’re giving you the Prowler,” Hadley said. “And you’re going back in. Deeper, this time.”

  He tossed them a binder that included the details of their next mission. “It doesn’t get any easier, and you’ll be even farther from our lines.”

  The three Spartans were poring over the documents. “That’s the way we like it, sir,” the team leader said. “We’re Gray Team.”

  Cole imagined them all smiling with the excitement of heading back out over enemy lines.

  CHAPTER

  SEVENTY-FIVE

  UNSC RECRUITING STATION, HALKIA, FALAKNUMA

  Ignatio Delgado, formerly of the Rubble, now sat slouched in front of a heavyset Navy recruiter in his full Navy dress uniform. They’d been trading barbs, Delgado getting more bored and irritated with the process. Questions about his background, lineage, political affiliations, ideals . . . it was a lot of bullshit really, Delgado thought.

  He’d come back from a funeral for Diego, attended by Rubble refugees living in tents and temporary housing on Falaknuma. He’d held Maria as she cried.

  And halfway through, made a decision to come here.

  He saw the datapad the recruiter had on the table. “Trouble with authority” had been written down.

  The recruiter was going through the motions now, not interested in Delgado unless he was looking to become a marine. They’d give him a gun and some boots, sure. But not a ship.

  It seemed like it was too late to kiss and make nice with the recruiter, Delgado figured. He was wasting his time now.

  “We’ll process this application as soon as possible, then,” the recruiter finally said, sensing Delgado’s desire to leave.

  But before he could turn to the next person in line, a man in a black uniform sidled up beside the recruiter and flashed identification.

  “Commander Hadley, sir. What brings an ONI agent out to a simple recruiting station?”

  Hadley looked down at the recruiter, then at Delgado. “He does.” He pointed at Delgado.

  He picked up the datapad and tapped on the screen. “Mr. Delgado has no love of the Covenant, do you, Mr. Delgado?”

  Delgado shook his head. “No, no, I don’t.”

  The ONI officer smiled. “Welcome to the Navy then, Mr. Delgado. You’ll be picked up from the refugee camp here in two days. Get your effects in order by then.”

  The recruiter’s mouth was open. It shut. “Sir, this man’s background check came back with ties to known Insurrectionists!”

  “How many recruits do you get who’ve fought one-on-one with the Covenant? Or ship to ship?” Commander Hadley asked the recruiter.

  “But his psyche profile . . .”

  “Oh, I’m sure Mr. Delgado will have a life-altering experience while at boot camp. In fact, I already have an instructor in mind for him. And if Mr. Delgado doesn’t wash out, well then, there’s an ONI Prowler with a spot on it for him. You won’t wash out, will you, Mr. Delgado?”

  Delgado looked up at him. “It would make too many people happy for me to even consider it.”

  Commander Hadley laughed. “So why are you joining, Mr. Delgado?”

  “I’d like to shoot down some Covenant ships, Mr. ONI man.”

  Hadley turned to the recruiter. “See? He’s perfect. I like him already.”

  “I’m not in the Navy until I sign, right?” Delgado said.

  “Right,” the recruiter said.

  Delgado slowly flipped the ONI officer the bird, then pressed his thumbprint to the datapad.

  “Be seeing you around, Mr. Delgado.” Hadley walked away.

  “Bet on it,” Delgado called after him.

  CHAPTER

  SEVENTY-SIX

  OFFICER APARTMENTS, MARE INSULARAM, LUNA

  When Keyes opened the door to his apartment on Luna, he found Miranda inside watching a hologram of an old naval battle. He’d radioed ahead to tell her she could leave the dorms and head home before he got there.

  Tall, square-rigged ships lumbered around the center of the living room, battered about by raging seas, trying to line the sides of their ships up for the best cannon shot.

  Miranda was studying the battle from various angles, rewinding it, and had alternate simulations of it running in different sections of the apartment.

  Keyes set his luggage down inside the door, walked over to her, and grabbed her tight for a long hug.

  “Geez, what’s that all about?” she asked. “You’re not normally that clingy.”

  He let her go. “Nothing. Just glad to see you.” He realized he was a bit of a cold Navy father figure, urging her to study, keeping her on the straight and narrow. So much so that a hug caught her off guard, even though he’d been away for weeks.

  “Is this homework?” Keyes asked, looking at the battle.

  Miranda froze it all. “No, just something I’m playing with.”

  “I was hoping to tear you away, walk down Armstrong Alley, get an ice-cream cone.”

  “Okay.”

  Outside, as he locked the door, he refused to look up through the clear lunar dome at the night sky and the stars.

  For Keyes, stars were no longer distant, amazing things. Now they were filled with the threat of the Covenant, bearing down and moving ever closer, always. An implacable foe.

  Tonight, he kept his head straight ahead, walking down past the bronzed statues of lunar rovers and centuries-old busts of astronauts who’d first landed on Luna oh so long ago.

  They might even enjoy a nice Earthrise by the decks.

  Because tonight he was just a father, out with his daughter, enjoying the simple treats of life.

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Tobias S. Buckell is a Caribbean-born speculative fiction writer who grew up in Grenada, the United States, and the British Virgin Islands. He now lives (through many strange twists of fate) in a small college town in Ohio with his wife, Emily.

  Buckell was a first-place winner for the Writers of the Future, and has been nominated for the John W. Campbell Award for Best New Writer. He is also a graduate of the Clarion Science Fiction Writers’ Workshop.