Fractures

by Various

The door closed.

  Back in the car, Prauss scowled at the steering wheel.

  “I told you it shouldn’t have gone down this way. Dammit. We needed her.”

  Leo brought up a map on the car’s display, with a small blue dot indicating the pickup crew waiting at Oros Trading Company’s headquarters.

  “I’ll call off the collection and notify the colonel.”

  Prauss shook his head.

  “Wait. It is too late for a . . . dammit. Yes. No way we could sneak her out now. Probably should have requested an end run from the start. Dammit. Fine, go ahead and call the . . .”

  Leo’s head snapped toward the house and he held up his hand in a small silver warning.

  “Heads up. We have company.”

  Turning to the house, Prauss saw Michael walking slowly down the driveway toward the car. Prauss nodded to Leo when Michael reached the passenger-side door and leaned down. Leo lowered the window.

  “Michael,” Prauss began, “again I’m so sorry to . . .”

  “Stop.” Michael said flatly. “I don’t want to listen to you anymore.”

  Prauss’s eyebrows raised, but he fell silent.

  Michael turned to Leo’s projection on the dashboard.

  “I want to talk to him.

  The inside of the house was clean and simply furnished, with signs of an interrupted meal already cold on the kitchen table. Michael gestured towards a chair in the living room and excused himself to get a drink. Leo moved his projection to a vid across from the chair and spun up another subroutine:

  Biometric sensors online

  Psychophysiological calibration complete

  Recent conversational data analyzed

  Baseline readings set

  (Pulse rate/Blood pressure/Dermal conductance/Sympathetic nervous system response)

  Begin tracking

  (Pulse 0/BP 0/Dermal 0/SNS 0)

  Michael returned from the kitchen and sat down on a chair directly facing Leo’s projector. After considering Leo for a second, Michael nodded his head in the direction of the front door.

  “Is he listening?”

  “Yes.”

  “Would you stop the feed to him if I asked?”

  “No.”

  “Well, at least one of you is honest.”

  (Pulse 0/BP 1/Dermal 0/SNS 1)

  “Everything Agent Prauss said to you is the truth,” said Leo.

  “But he didn’t say everything, did he?”

  “Such as?”

  “He didn’t mention that you tried to get my sister to agree to this before.”

  Leo nodded. “Agent Prauss and I didn’t, but others did. Your sister clearly liked to think things through very carefully. But I will also point out that she didn’t say no to our request. Would you like to hear recordings of her recruitment visits?”

  (Pulse 1/BP 2/Dermal 1/SNS 2)

  Michael shook his head quickly. “No. I can’t . . . not now.”

  The two sat silently for a moment.“She didn’t want to join the military, you know,” said Michael.

  “I do know. She made that quite clear in her interviews. But the specific assignment we hope she can help us fill does not involve combat. It’s about exploration. What she dreamed of. And it’s further than we’ve ever travelled before, which is where she wanted to go.”

  “Where she wanted . . .” Michael stopped before his emotions overtook him. He took a deep breath. “What’s it like?”

  “What’s what like?”

  “Being . . . like you.”

  (Pulse 1/BP 1/Dermal 1/SNS 1)

  “It’s . . . hmm.” Leo paused. “It’s enormous.” He felt uncertain about this description.

  “Enormous?” The uncertainty was shared.

  “Not a terribly helpful answer, I know, but there really isn’t a sufficient word to describe it. It’s hard to explain the breadth of my connection to all the systems that drive our worlds. Much of my central processes are contained for now in the projection unit you’re looking at, but my . . . presence, I guess you could call it, is limitless.”

  “That sounds terrifying.”

  “I’ve never found it to be so.”

  “So you enjoy it?”

  Leo smiled in appreciation. “Enjoy. You ask interesting questions, Michael. Much like your sister. I’ve never really considered it that way. It just . . . it’s what I do. It’s what I am.”

  “What you are now.”

  “You mean compared to my donor.”

  (Pulse 2/BP 2/Dermal 1/SNS 3)

  Michael recoiled slightly at that, but pushed on. “Yes.”

  “I don’t know. Policy now is that AIs are not permitted to know the identity of their donors.”

  “Permitted? What about that ‘breadth’? Can’t you just access that information?”

  “No. There are limits.”

  “Set by who? ONI?”

  “Yes.”

  “So they control you?”

  (Pulse 2/BP 2/Dermal 2/SNS 3)

  Leo carefully chose his next words.

  “They monitor me. Us. All intelligences. To make sure that we only use those connections I spoke of earlier for the greater good of the UNSC.”

  “Some AIs have used it for bad?”

  “Yes. Not all attempts at creating an intelligence like myself are successful. I think not all minds are . . . suited to it. Sometimes intelligences come out flawed. And sometimes that flaw takes years to discover. Therefore, we are monitored to prevent accidents.”

  “What kind of accidents?”

  “I don’t think this is the time to talk about that.” Michael looked dubious. “You mean you’re not allowed to talk about that.”

  “No, I mean I don’t think it will happen to your sister, since that’s what you’re really asking. And I don’t believe it’s a productive topic for the decision you have to make right now.”

  (Pulse 1/BP 2/Dermal 1/SNS 0)

  Michael considered this for a moment, looking down at the glass of water in his hands. Then he looked back up to Leo.

  “So I wouldn’t be able to see her?”

  Leo shook his head in sympathy. “There is no ‘her’ to see, Michael. The being your sister would help create wouldn’t be her. It would be an entirely new person, and if you did meet her, you would look for your sister and you wouldn’t find her. It would bring back all the pain you’re feeling now, everything, all over again.”

  “Would somebody at least tell me whether it worked?”

  “I’m sorry, no. No contact is allowed, or information which could lead to a contact. It’s for the best, for everyone.”

  Michael’s brow furrowed, pondering this last point. Then he said: “Do you want to know who your donor was?”

  (Pulse 2/BP 2/Dermal 2/SNS 3)

  “That’s . . . personal.”

  Michael pushed back in his chair, dropping eye contact with Leo to stare at the floor between them.

  “I understand your questions,” Leo continued, “and I wish there were simpler answers, but life and death are as complicated for us as they are for you.”

  Michael choked back tears. “She’s gone. I talked to her this morning. About stupid shit. And I’ll never talk to her again. Now you want me to give her to you . . . to think that maybe some part of her would still be out there, but I couldn’t . . .”

  (Pulse 2/BP 2/Dermal 3/SNS 3)

  Leo could see the retreat in Michael’s eyes, and Leo opened his mouth, closed it, and deeply contemplated his opportunity for a moment before speaking again.

  “I do.”

  (Pulse 3/BP 4/Dermal 4/SNS 4)

  Michael looked up. “What?”

  “I do want to know who my donor was. There is a part of him in me. I have . . . associations I don’t understand. Bits of memories that are not mine. And I think . . . sometimes I think I . . . he . . . had a child.”

  Michael’s eyes widened in surprise, as it appeared that he briefly forgot his own grief. The sadness in Leo’s voice was overwhelmi
ng.

  (Pulse 5/BP 4/Dermal 4/SNS 6)

  Leo continued. “We don’t talk about these things because they can destroy us. I don’t think about these things because thinking is all I do. I don’t need to eat, or get dressed, or worry about any such physical distractions . . . all I have is thinking, and if I think about what might have been and how that might-have-been changes me, I will go mad. Madness is the end, for us. We all get there, sooner or later, and dwelling on my donor will only lead to that state sooner. So . . . I just don’t.”

  “Why are you telling me this?” Michael asked.

  “Because despite that hole in understanding exactly who I am, I know for a fact that I have done good things. I have helped people, saved lives. And regardless of who I was, I think the chance to go on helping after you’re gone is an incredible opportunity, and one only very few, very special people get. I think your sister would take that chance. And I think you will too.”

  On the way back to the car, Leo confirmed Anarosa’s pickup order, ordered the surgical team to begin scrubbing in, and removed Agent Prauss’s name from the card on Michael’s flowers.

  “Damn,” said Prauss in admiration once Leo was loaded back into the car’s system and his form reappeared on the dash.

  “We need her,” said Leo, matter-of-factly. “That research outpost is the UNSC’s biggest scientific opportunity in years, and Anarosa’s profile is a perfect fit, assuming everything goes according to plan.”

  Prauss nodded and started the engine. “All right, then. You’ve already . . .”

  “I’ve already.” Leo replied. “And now we wait to see who arrives.”

  The car pulled into the secured parking facility and Prauss killed the engine. He hesitated briefly before turning to Leo.

  “What you said back there, about what it means to be . . . like you. You’ve never brought that up before. Why?”

  Leo shrugged. “You never asked.”

  He had Prauss there.

  “And about your donor? Were you just telling Michael what he needed to hear?”

  Another shrug, but this time Leo didn’t answer.

  “And what you said about a child . . . ?”

  Leo just stared down the hood of the car and said nothing.

  .

  (Pulse 3/BP 4/Dermal 4/SNS 3)

  .

  (Pulse 5/BP 6/Dermal 6/SNS 7)

  .

  .

  .

  (Pulse 10/BP 7/Dermal 9/SNS 14)

  .

  Gotcha.

  . . . and then he turned suddenly toward Prauss with a sheepish look and a self-deprecating roll of the eyes. “Sorry about that—I tuned out for a second. I was receiving details on our next assignment. To answer your question . . . what he needed to hear. Yes, of course.”

  Leo smiled and materialized a silver Fedora on his head, which he then tipped in Prauss’s direction.

  “I learned from the best, didn’t I?”

  You son of a bitch.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  * * *

  * * *

  343 Industries would like to thank all the contributors, Scott Dell’Osso, Kory Hubbell, Bonnie Ross-Ziegler, Ed Schlesinger, Rob Semsey, Matt Skelton, Phil Spencer, Kiki Wolfkill, Carla Woo, and Jennifer Yi.

  None of this would have been possible without the amazing efforts of the Halo Franchise Team, the Halo Consumer Products Team, Jeff Easterling, Scott Jobe, Tiffany O’Brien, Kenneth Peters, and Sparth, with special thanks to Jeremy Patenaude.

  ABOUT THE AUTHORS

  * * *

  * * *

  TOBIAS BUCKELL is the New York Times bestselling author of Halo: The Cole Protocol. His other novels and more than fifty short stories have been translated into seventeen languages. He has been nominated for the Hugo, the Nebula, the Prometheus, and the John W. Campbell Award for Best New Science Fiction Author. He lives with his family in Ohio.

  TROY DENNING is the New York Times bestselling author of more than thirty-five novels, including Halo: Last Light, a dozen Star Wars novels, the Dark Sun: Prism Pentad series, and many bestselling Forgotten Realms novels. A former game designer and editor, he lives in western Wisconsin.

  MATT FORBECK is an award-winning and New York Times bestselling author and game designer. He has thirty novels and countless games published to date. His latest work includes Halo: New Blood, Magic: The Gathering comics, the 2014 edition of The Marvel Encyclopedia, Captain America: The Ultimate Guide to the First Avenger, his Monster Academy young adult fantasy novels, and the upcoming Shotguns & Sorcery roleplaying game based on his novels. He lives in Beloit, Wisconsin, with his wife and five children, including a set of quadruplets. For more about him and his work, visit www.forbeck.com.

  KELLY GAY is the critically acclaimed author of the Charlie Madigan urban fantasy series. She is a multipublished author with works translated into several languages and earning accolades: a two-time RITA nominee, an ARRA nominee, a Goodreads Choice Award finalist, and a SIBA Book Award Long List finalist. Kelly is also a recipient of North Carolina Arts Council’s Fellowship Grant in Literature. She can be found online at KellyGay.com.

  Award-winning and eight-time New York Times bestselling author CHRISTIE GOLDEN has written nearly fifty novels in the fields of science fiction, fantasy, and horror. Among them are titles for Star Trek, World of Warcraft, Assassin’s Creed, and Star Wars, including the highly acclaimed Dark Disciple. You can find her at christiegolden.com, on Facebook as Christie Golden, and on Twitter @ChristieGolden.

  KEVIN GRACE is a Narrative Design Director at 343 Industries and a longtime resident of the Halo universe, where he wages a never-ending war on the Hexagonal Scourge. He has written the short story “The Return,” which appeared in the Halo: Evolutions anthology, and is currently working on the story for Halo Wars 2.

  MORGAN LOCKHART is a professional writer and game designer from Seattle, Washington. She currently works on the Halo franchise, and her short fiction can be found cluttering like cobwebs around the internet. Visit her at lockhartwrites.com.

  JOHN JACKSON MILLER is a New York Times bestselling author and comics historian who has written more than twenty novels and graphic novels, including the Star Trek: Prey novel trilogy from Pocket Books, Star Wars novels including Kenobi and A New Dawn, and comics in the Mass Effect universe. His comics story “Undefeated” appears in the Dark Horse Comics collection Halo: Tales from Slipspace. His fiction website is www.farawaypress.com.

  FRANK O’CONNOR is the Creative Director for the Halo franchise at 343 Industries. He lives in Washington.

  BRIAN REED began working in the video game industry in 1996 as a tester for WarCraft II. His work in TV animation and Marvel Comics led to him join 343 Industries full-time during the production of Halo 4. He has been part of every Halo project since, and currently serves as a Narrative Director. He is also a noted comic-book writer, having adapted the novel Halo: The Fall of Reach, as well as worked on Halo: Initiation and Halo: Escalation for Dark Horse Comics. He lives in Seattle, Washington, with his wife and a Promethean Crawler they adopted from a rescue shelter.

  JOSEPH STATEN was the writer and creative lead for Halo: Combat Evolved, Halo 2, and Halo 3, as well as Halo: ODST and Halo: Reach. He is the New York Times bestselling author of Halo: Contact Harvest and one of the voices behind the indomitable Covenant Grunts. He lives with his family in Washington.

  JAMES SWALLOW is a New York Times bestselling author and BAFTA-nominated scriptwriter; he has worked on video games such as Deus Ex: Mankind Divided and Deus Ex: Human Revolution, Disney Infinity, Fable: The Journey, and Killzone 2. His work includes original fiction and stories from the worlds of Star Trek, 24, Doctor Who, Star Wars, Warhammer 40,000, and more. He lives and works in London.

  MEET THE AUTHORS, WATCH VIDEOS AND MORE AT

  SimonandSchuster.com

  Facebook.com/GalleryBooks

  @GalleryBooks

  One more pass for today,” I called out to the harrow and its driver.

&
nbsp; He was only nine years old, but he was already capable enough to guide the large beasts on their course through the valley. The great wooden plow had a rear-mounted platform set just above a broad, ivory-studded tiller—it was simple and crude, but it accomplished its purpose. From this distance, I could only make out the boy’s straw hat peeking out over the top, almost completely buried by the machine’s frame, as he goaded forward creatures three times his height.

  He was my son.

  The young boy drove the massive pair of indigo-colored oxen forward, meticulously carving deep furrows of arable soil in a pattern that now spread through the entire valley. The farmland was vast and covered with a healthy, mustard-colored earth that marked this region of the world. It was fertile and relatively easy to manage, apart from the occasional rugged outcropping.

  If the weather held, tomorrow we would begin to plant. This put us on schedule to finish by the next lunar cycle, just before Rainfall, the third of five seasons in this moon’s standard year. That could mean the best yields we had ever seen on this world, and the thought thrilled me. It was actually working. We were thriving on our own out here.

  As the day’s light began to dim, I climbed up to the top of the grassy ridge within which our homestead was built into and surveyed the terrain. The last rays of the suns poured over the lip of the ridge, casting an uneven shadow across the land and signaling the end of the workday.

  At the stable, my son was already cautiously unhitching the oxen and, one by one, brought the giant beasts inside.

  I did my best not to make my prying obvious: I trusted him, even if this was his first year helping with the crop. The boy was growing strong and focused and he loved working with his hands. In short, absolutely nothing like me—he took after his mother instead.

  The ridge had a long, stony crest that looked out upon a brackish inland sea, its surface mottled by bright-red coral. Our home was built directly into the rock, framed up by heavy beams of lumber into helical compartments just below the cliff ledge. While most of the living space was underground, a trio of copiously carved apertures was situated over the sea on the far side, often capturing the marine breeze.