Last Light

by Troy Denning

  “The lieutenant?” Olivia’s eyes narrowed. “What are you trying to pull?”

  “I’m trying to tell you they shot down the Falcon, and now they’re going after it.” Veta pointed in the direction the Jiralhanae were running, then added, “There’s a smoke column out there. Didn’t you hear the impact?”

  Olivia turned to look. She scowled at the thick stanchion that supported the arch, then retreated a couple of steps and tried again. This time, she saw the smoke and her eyes went wide. She stepped over to Ash and tapped his shoulder twice.

  He quit firing and cocked his helmet toward her. “Yeah?”

  “Trouble,” she said. “They took out the lieutenant’s ride.”

  Ash hesitated, then asked, “You’re sure?”

  Olivia tipped her head toward Veta. “The inspector says she saw him go down,” she said. “And there’s smoke.”

  Ash shook his head in anger. “Dammit!”

  Slipping around the wrecked Warthog, Ash stepped through the gate and circled his rifle barrel in the air. Then he emptied the rest of his clip down the street and rotated the weapon barrel in the air again. Only when Mark replied with a similar gesture from the bakery roof did Ash retreat into the courtyard again and turn to Olivia.

  “Breit just took off for his command post,” he said. “My guess, he was on the way to talk about the crash.”

  As Ash spoke, his hand drifted down toward the left side of his abdomen, and it was only then that Veta noticed the scorch hole in his armor. Ash poked a finger through the opening, then withdrew it and looked at a bloody tip caked with flakes of charred skin. Almost absently, he said, “You’d better see if you can find out what Breit is planning. I’ll brief Kelly and the others.”

  “Copy.” Olivia seemed no more concerned about Ash’s wound than did Ash himself. She started toward main door, then stopped to glance back at Veta. “You coming, Inspector?”

  Veta shook her head. “I’d better stay here with Ash. Maybe I can get the Huragok to take a look at his wound.”

  “Negative,” Ash said. “The lieutenant’s down. We don’t have time—”

  “You don’t have time not to.” Veta pulled Ash over to the side of the gate, at the same time calling back to Olivia. “And there must be a Spartan supply cache around here somewhere. See if you can locate any spare Smoothers.”

  Olivia actually smiled. “Good plan,” she said. “Thanks, Mom.”

  Veta had barely convinced Ash to remove his helmet and open his armor before the rest of Blue Team entered the courtyard. Mark hung back at the gate, watching the situation in the street. Tom-B292 and Lucy-B091 were the first to arrive, both wearing full suits of SPI, Tom the size of a normal Spartan, but Lucy not much larger than Veta. Paying no attention to the hovering Huragok, they looked Ash over from behind their faceplates, then let their shoulders relax—presumably because the injury looked survivable.

  “Ash, I can’t let you go anywhere without me.” Tom’s voice was teasing, but warm. “What did I say about getting wounded?”

  Ash smiled. “Not to,” he said. “Sorry about that.”

  “Well, don’t let it happen again,” Tom said. “It’s unprofessional.”

  Lucy elbowed Tom in his torso armor, then glanced in the direction Olivia had gone and made a fist with her thumb crooked over the top.

  “Olivia was in bad shape for a while, but she’s fine now.” Ash motioned at the Huragok, which was just beginning to probe the gruesome scorch hole below his floating ribs, then added, “This fellow fixed her up.”

  The two Spartan-IIs arrived, and Kelly-087—at least Veta assumed it was Kelly, as she was wearing steel-blue Mjolnir with a half-bubble faceplate, rather than the copper-colored armor with the goggle-eyes faceplate that Linda-058 wore—motioned Tom and Lucy back toward the gate.

  “You two stick with Mark,” she ordered. “He may need help keeping an eye on things.”

  As the pair obeyed, Kelly stepped to Ash’s side and tipped her faceplate down to study the Huragok, which now had two tentacles thrust into Ash’s wound.

  “What’s happening here?” she demanded. “Ash, you turn into a robot when I wasn’t looking?”

  “Afraid not,” Ash said. “This Huragok fixes biologicals.”

  Linda stepped closer to the thing and asked, “Is it any good at nose jobs?”

  “Your nose is fine,” Kelly said. “You can breathe through it, can’t you?”

  Linda turned her helmet toward Kelly. “I was thinking of Commander Nelson,” she said. “He’s kind of a mouth-breather.”

  “He’s ONI. What do you expect?” Kelly turned to Ash. “So, you called?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” he said. “The lieutenant’s ride crashed.”

  Kelly and Linda looked into each other’s faceplates, then Linda asked, “Is that confirmed?”

  Ash jerked a thumb in Veta’s direction. “She saw the bird go down,” he said. “ ’Livi is confirming it with Captain Breit, but I believe the inspector.”

  “Why the hell would I lie?” Veta demanded. “I have people on that Falcon, too!”

  Kelly’s faceplate turned back toward Veta. “Relax, Inspector,” she said. “Nobody thinks you’re lying.”

  “Then why aren’t you doing something?” Veta demanded. As she spoke, a pair of combat platoons loaded with ammo, weapons, and water began to form up in the courtyard. “My people could be dying out there. So could Fred . . . and the ancilla.”

  Veta was far from certain that the flatworm thing was actually the Forerunner ancilla that everybody seemed to be hunting. But Breit had seemed to think so, and under the circumstances, that was close enough for her.

  Linda swung the barrel of her assault rifle vaguely in Veta’s direction. “And how do you know about the ancilla?” she demanded. “I thought you were hunting a serial killer.”

  “It appears that our investigations crossed paths,” Veta said. She kept her attention focused on Kelly. “Are you going after that downed Falcon, or do I have to do it alone?”

  “Slow down, Inspector,” said Kelly. “Blue Team is not going in blind. First, we’re going to assess and plan.”

  “Fine,” Veta said, “as long as you do it fast . . . and I’m part of your plan.”

  “Negative,” Kelly snapped. Behind her, Olivia emerged from the hotel, a supply satchel slung over her shoulder and a new combat tacpad strapped to her forearm. “You’ll stay put here in Wendosa.”

  “Not going to happen,” Veta said. “As I said, my people were on that Falcon, too.”

  Kelly tipped her helmet forward, no doubt preparing to lay down the law, when Mark stepped between the two women.

  “Ma’am, there’s no use trying to argue her out of it,” he said. “The inspector here seems to think she’s one of us.”

  CHAPTER 21

  * * *

  * * *

  1025 hours, July 5, 2553 (military calendar)

  Gao Ministry of Protection Patrol Corvette Esmeralda

  Orbital Approach Vector Cenobia, Planet Gao, Cordoba System

  With their long-range sensors being mysteriously blocked by whatever was jamming transmissions around Gao, Arlo Casille and his corvette captains were relying on little more than eyesight and guesswork to locate the UNSC task force. Fortunately, Arlo was a skilled gambler. Knowing that his enemies needed to avoid a direct military confrontation, he was betting that Admiral Tuwa would attempt to mask her approach behind the metal-rich bulk of Gao’s closest moon, Cenobia. So he had committed GMoP’s entire force to the Cenobian Corridor—a favorite route of the bio-pirates who came to raid Gao’s jungles—and the gamble was paying off.

  Several of his captains had already sent messengers to report warship sightings, and through the observation canopy on the bridge of the Esmeralda, Arlo himself could make out several irregular patches where the distant starlight was blocked by the silhouette of a large vessel. He knew better than to think his entire fleet of lightly armed and poorly shielded corvette
s could inflict so much as a dent on any of the distant UNSC behemoths. But if that had been his true goal in confronting the task force, he wouldn’t have bothered to leave the ground.

  “There—starboard abeam!”

  Arlo looked toward the voice and saw a young ensign standing close to the canopy, turned toward the red disk of Cenobia and holding a pair of binoculars to her eyes.

  “I have four craft transiting near the top of the disk,” the ensign reported. “Probably Pelicans or Owls, definitely Gao-bound.”

  Arlo nodded to the commanding officer of the Esmeralda, a slender woman of fifty with gray-streaked hair cut in a short bob. “Fire at will, Captain Melgar.”

  “Yes, Minister.” Melgar turned to her gunnery lieutenant. “Cardone, lock eight missiles and launch. Turret will fire to destroy as soon as all missiles are away.”

  “To destroy?” The young officer’s voice cracked with alarm. “Procedure is to—”

  “I know procedure, Lieutenant,” Melgar said. She was following the same orders Arlo had issued to the captains of all the Ministry’s corvettes. “But those are planetary insertion craft, launched by a UNSC task force. I don’t think a few shots across the bow are going to make them turn around, do you?”

  “No, ma’am.” Cardone still sounded shaky. “Turret will fire to destroy. How many missiles, ma’am?”

  “All eight, Cardone.” Despite having to repeat herself, Melgar’s tone was even and patient. Arlo appreciated that—there was nothing to be gained by adding to a crewman’s anxiety during a dangerous operation. “If we don’t launch them now, I doubt we ever will.”

  Cardone paled, but turned to relay the order.

  Arlo rose from the flag chair and began to pace along the back of the bridge. He had no idea whether the attack—and the dozens of others he hoped were being launched by the Esmeralda’s sister vessels—would force the task force to back down. But he did know that if he failed to strike first and strike hard, the UNSC commander would only doubt Arlo’s resolve and keep coming.

  Almost immediately, Gloria Baer, a young newsmonger Arlo had invited along to record the moment for posterity, joined him. Dressed in gray canvas pants and a brightly flowered blouse, Baer was wearing a BuzzSat earpiece with a pinky-size camera affixed to the top. A yellow status light on the earbud indicated that the camera was recording instead of broadcasting live—but that was to be expected, since BuzzSat was being jammed along with every other transmission in the vicinity of Gao.

  “Minister Casille,” Baer asked, “did you just order the Esmeralda to destroy four UNSC vessels?”

  “Four planetary insertion craft,” Arlo corrected. He stopped pacing and nodded gravely. “But, yes. I have given orders to the entire GMoP fleet to prevent any more landings on Gao. The Ministry of Protection cannot allow the UNSC to reinforce their troops on the ground—troops who are already attacking our loyal citizens . . . citizens who are merely protesting the hostile occupation of Gao’s sovereign ground.”

  A gentle vibration ran through the deck as the Esmeralda launched her complement of missiles. Then the cabin lighting dimmed, and the corvette’s turret began to spew plasma bolts. Almost instantly, the two craft in the lead erupted into fireballs. The other two—mere flecks of darkness silhouetted against Cenobia’s red disk—swirled into evasive helixes and vented clouds of steam and chaff to confuse the approaching missiles.

  Biting back a smile of triumph, Arlo put on a grim expression and turned to look directly into the lens of Baer’s ear camera.

  “I’m not saying that President Aponte was wrong to yield to the UNSC demands,” Arlo said. “But this is what comes of giving a foothold to imperialists.”

  “So you’re starting a war with the UNSC?” Baer asked, stunned. “On your own authority?”

  “I am not starting anything, Ms. Baer,” Arlo said. “I am opposing an invasion by a foreign power—as is required of all cabinet ministers under the Articles of the Gao Charter.”

  Over the newsmonger’s shoulder, Arlo saw a third fireball erupt. The fourth craft aborted its mission and ran for its mother ship with the Esmeralda’s plasma bolts chasing its tail.

  Remarkably, Arlo was still alive—and so was everyone else aboard the Esmeralda. The task force hadn’t returned fire, and that could mean only one thing.

  The UNSC was backing down.

  Arlo allowed himself a brief grin of relief, then—mindful of the BuzzSat camera—he assumed a somber expression. Obviously, he had not militarily defeated the task force. He had merely called the UNSC’s bluff, letting them know that if they intended to take control of Gao’s orbital space, they would have to destroy his fleet and risk another Insurrection.

  But that didn’t mean the task force would be going away anytime soon. UNSC fleet officers were much too pragmatic to pursue anything as prosaic as avenging the loss of their insertion craft, but the enemy admiral wasn’t going to give up. She would continue trying to sneak Owls and Pelicans loaded with troops and supplies down to the battalion on Gao. And Arlo’s little fleet of corvettes would not be able to stop all of them. Not even most of them. Clearly, Arlo needed more resources.

  Clearly, Gao needed him to take control.

  Arlo clasped his hands behind his back and turned to Gloria Baer. “It does not give me pleasure to announce this, but I have no choice. Given President Aponte’s repeated refusals to defend Gao against UNSC aggression, the time has come for a change.”

  “You’re calling for a no-confidence vote?”

  Arlo shook his head. “That would take longer than we have,” he said. “It will have to be a cabinet proclamation.”

  A hungry gleam came to Baer’s eyes—a sign that she recognized history in the making when she was reporting on it. “When will that happen?”

  “The moment I return to Rinale,” Arlo said. “As your viewers can see, Gaos are dying.”

  CHAPTER 22

  * * *

  * * *

  1058 hours, July 5, 2553 (military calendar)

  Briones Ridge, 2,300 meters outside Wendosa, Montero Jungle

  Campos Wilderness District, Planet Gao, Cordoba System

  Blue Team was traversing a treacherous jungle slope, and Veta half-suspected Mark had convinced Kelly to bring her along because he expected her to die along the way.

  Veta’s boots kept slipping in the slick vermilion mud, threatening to send her plunging hundreds of meters into a river she heard roaring somewhere in the foliage below. She was drenched in sweat and dizzy with heat, and every time she scratched at an insect bite, she usually found what she hoped was only some kind of leech as well.

  But at least she was having no trouble keeping up. The Spartans were looping around the battle still raging in the valley below, trying to reach the crashed Falcon before the Keepers of the One Freedom could slip away from Charlie Company and secure it themselves. Unfortunately, the enemy commander had been smart enough to post a sniper contingent where it could cover the approach to the crash site, and his foresight had slowed progress.

  Blue Team was creeping along the steep slope at a snail’s pace, circling past the slightest opening in the jungle canopy and being careful to avoid disturbing the foliage. When someone accidentally did slip and slide down the slope into a cycad or tree fern, a flurry of enemy shots arrived almost instantly, blowing fronds apart and blasting arm-deep craters into the muddy hillside. The unlucky target would drop behind the nearest outcropping and curl into a ball, and then Mark, Linda, and a couple of other Spartans equipped with SRS99 sniper rifles would find a vantage point and return fire. The duel would rage for a few minutes, either until the hail of particle beams ceased, or the rest of Blue Team had crept out of the fire zone and was once again sneaking toward the crash site.

  It seemed that everyone in the group had touched off a sniper duel at least once during the hour-and-a-half journey, and because of their half-healed wounds, Ash and Olivia were almost as prone to slipping as Veta. But as nerve-racking as they
were, the long-range firefights were not particularly dangerous. As long as no one moved so quickly they created what the Spartans called a “shiver line” in the jungle canopy, the enemy snipers were left with only an approximate idea of their targets’ location. So far, approximate had not been good enough to end their progress—merely frustrate it.

  Whiffs of smoke and charred flesh began to taint the thick jungle air, and Veta knew they were finally near the crash site. Thinking that the Spartans’ climate-controlled helmets might hide the odors, she tapped Ash on the shoulder and pointed uphill, slightly to the left of the team’s marching direction.

  Ash cocked his helmet to one side, no doubt Spartan-speak for “What?”

  Veta wrinkled her nose, then touched her fingers to it and pointed toward the smell again. When Ash did not seem to grasp her meaning, she held her hand flat and spread her fingers, then made the wobbling motion of an aircraft going down. Finally, Ash nodded his understanding and turned away.

  With TEAMCOM still unavailable due to jamming, Ash tossed a mudball ten meters ahead and hit Linda in the back of her helmet. When she turned around, he relayed Veta’s message with about a tenth the effort, and a few moments later the entire team was advancing toward the crash site in a carefully arranged picket line.

  Veta, Olivia, and Ash were assigned to bring up the rear—Veta because she obviously wasn’t a Spartan, and Olivia and Ash because they were wounded. At best, they were about half-recovered—which meant they were still about twice as effective as normal combat marines. Though Veta had been wise enough not to say so back in Wendosa, she was amazed that Kelly had brought the Gammas along at all. The trio had taken a double dose of Smoothers before leaving the hotel, but even Mark had admitted it would “take some time” before they were back to normal. Unfortunately, nobody seemed to know exactly when that would happen.

  The Huragok had been left at the Hotel Wendosa. “Assigned” to the makeshift infirmary, it was no doubt finding plenty to keep itself entertained. Before turning the thing over to Captain Breit, Veta had insisted that Breit make its services available to any badly injured civilian who sought help from Charlie Company’s medical staff. The captain had readily agreed. Veta was not quite sure why she felt as though she’d been lied to, but she did feel that way.