Retribution

by Troy Denning

  “And why would I do that?” Sloan demanded.

  “Because the next shuttle is loading . . .” Oriel paused to check the Pinnacle Station surveillance feeds. The loading-tube doors were already sliding open. “Now.”

  “Good riddance,” Sloan replied. His voice was deep and stormy. “Down there, your friends and the Jiralhanae can fight all they like. It will damage nothing that matters.”

  “Then you know where they will land?”

  “I know the emergency landing site is ten kilometers from the nearest settlement,” Sloan said. “That is the only important thing.”

  Oriel understood. Meridian was a former mining colony and arms-production center whose surface had been glassed during the Human-Covenant War, and reclamation efforts were just getting under way. As long as the battle between Zdenyk’s squad and the Jiralhanae occurred in the unreclaimed wastelands, any damage it caused would be of no concern to Administrator Sloan—or his superiors at Liang-Dortmund.

  “What of the damage you have caused by failing to provide a secure handover environment?” Oriel asked. “That is a violation of your contract with Dark Moon. Is that important?”

  Sloan flared red with a signal surge. “How do you know the terms of my contract with Dark Moon?”

  “Come, Administrator Sloan,” Oriel said. “Pinnacle Station sent a skiff to meet our prowler. You understand how we know the terms.”

  “ONI spies,” Sloan growled. “They’re everywhere.”

  It was the expected answer, of course. Intrepid Eye was using ONI as a cover for the entire asteroidea project, and a human AI had not been created that could penetrate her misattribution protocols.

  “Naturally I cannot confirm your suspicions,” Oriel said.

  Sloan’s image grew even brighter. “It makes no difference. The Dark Moon operatives are dead, and Pinnacle Station has no arrangements with ONI.”

  “Not directly.”

  Sloan hesitated, allowing five hundred system ticks to pass, then asked, “Are you saying Dark Moon is an ONI cover company?”

  “Not at all.” Oriel could not allow Sloan to make this particular assumption. Dark Moon Enterprises was, in fact, unaffiliated with ONI. It was being run by another of Intrepid Eye’s minor aspects—one that was unknown even to Oriel—and it had relationships with several clients who would break off contact if rumors started to circulate that Dark Moon was an ONI front. “But we do subcontract with private firms on occasion.”

  “With Dark Moon?” Sloan tipped his holographic head back and emitted a deep laugh. “A cover company I would believe. That kind of doublethink would be just like Parangosky. But a contract between ONI and Dark Moon? The bad blood between them is the worst-kept secret in the Orion Arm.”

  “Then you might be wise to remember that,” Oriel said. The Pinnacle Station surveillance feeds showed the last of the Jiralhanae floating down the boarding tube. “Obviously, we know you have been helping Dark Moon. And ONI has a long memory.”

  Sloan’s image rippled. He remained silent for a thousand system ticks—a full second—then asked, “Why should Pinnacle Station help ONI? All you have done is shoot up our people and damage our equipment.”

  “You do not wish the gratitude of the United Nations Space Command?”

  “Sure,” Sloan said. “As long as it comes with compensation.”

  “I am not certain I understand.” Oriel had no objection to paying Sloan—as long as he did the job—but she could not imagine what kind of compensation an AI would want. “Are you asking for a bribe?”

  “Insulting me is no way to win my cooperation,” Sloan said. As he spoke, an alarm sounded from the central shuttle station, and the craft the Jiralhanae had boarded dropped away from the docks and began its descent toward Meridian’s surface. “But I do expect Liang-Dortmund to be paid for the damage Pinnacle Station has taken. And I want to be rewarded for my own risk.”

  “And then you will help us recover our cryo-jars?”

  “You have my word,” Sloan said. “I’ll do everything in my power.”

  “Then I need you to destroy the Jiralhanae shuttle,” Oriel said. “They have activated the emergency override, and I have been unable to locate a bypass routine.”

  “You haven’t heard my price.”

  “And whose fault is that?” Oriel retorted. “Please hurry. Jiralhanae are sturdy. It would be best to destroy their shuttle before it enters the atmosphere.”

  “Whatever you say,” Sloan said. “Pinnacle Station has been suffering some overruns, and that little battle isn’t going to help. We’re going to need an investor.”

  “And you wish me to provide one?”

  “A big one,” Sloan said. “The silent kind.”

  “That can be arranged.” Oriel did not even need to consider the request. Intrepid Eye had access to a vast network of resources, so it would be a small matter to establish a holding company capable of supplying the funds Sloan required. Oriel initiated the articles of incorporation and queued them for transmission. “The proposal will be relayed via the Fast Gus as soon as our skiff departs Pinnacle Station. I am sure you saw the details.”

  “Twenty million credits is less than I was thinking.”

  “ONI will not be providing the funds,” Oriel said. “It will be an associated entity. There are limits to what I can promise on its behalf.”

  “But this entity will make another investment each month?”

  “Indeed,” Oriel said. “Eld Ventures will continue to invest for as long as you continue to cooperate.”

  “And if my cooperation ends?”

  “That would be a mistake, Administrator.” Oriel prepared a minor compulsion routine and launched it behind a subdued threat. The tactic was something of a risk, given that he was a fully operational smart AI and she was only a minor aspect of an archeon-class ancilla. But if it succeeded, it would guarantee Sloan’s cooperation with Intrepid Eye for a long time to come. “The director of Eld Ventures is not prone to forgiveness.”

  Sloan hesitated, then said, “Understood.”

  When he looked away, Oriel knew her attack had succeeded. She reinforced her victory by asking, “Then we are in agreement?”

  Sloan nodded and said, “There is only the matter of my own reward.”

  “The shuttle is entering the atmosphere,” Oriel urged. “Once the ionization blackout begins, it will be too late to transmit. You will be unable to take control of the shuttle.”

  “I have only a simple request,” Sloan replied. “Information.”

  Of course—that would be what an AI valued most. “Hurry.”

  “Tell me what the cryo-jars contain.”

  “Human organs.” Ionization static began to cloud the transmission from the Jiralhanae shuttle. Oriel decided to avoid further delay and added, “The tissue is required to make a vaccine that will benefit all humanity.”

  Sloan’s image clouded. “What ONI does never benefits all humanity.”

  “In this case, it will,” Oriel insisted. “Now, I have kept my part of our bargain. Please keep yours and destroy the Jiralhanae shuttle.”

  “I would if I could.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “It means I can’t,” Sloan said. “There is no emergency override bypass routine.”

  “You lied to me?” Oriel began to dump heat as her analytic routines raced into action, searching for the error in their earlier interactions and a way to patch it. “You should reexamine your construction schedule. I suspect Eld Ventures is about to show an interest in your supply chain. Your vendors could develop delivery problems.”

  “I didn’t lie—you assumed,” Sloan said. “And I never promised to stop the Jiralhanae. I said I’d do everything in my power to help you recover your cryo-jars—which I will, if we still have a deal.”

  “And what, exactly, is in your power?” Oriel asked. “You will not deceive me again, Administrator. Attempting to do so will affect how Eld Ventures views a potential investme
nt. Given what just happened here, the director might even conclude that Pinnacle Station should be recommended for placement on the UNSC Suspicious Ports list. All traffic arriving or departing would be inspected—”

  “I know what the SP list is,” Sloan said. “I can give you the shuttle landing zone, and I can point out a pretty good extraction point. But that’s all I can do. Everything else is on you and your team. Okay?”

  Oriel took 250 system ticks to review their prior negotiations and confirm that Sloan was correct about them, that he had avoided promising to stop the Jiralhanae, and realized that he was being careful to stay within those same parameters now. Perhaps he was offering all the assistance he could. Pinnacle Station, after all, was a civilian construction site, not a military compound.

  “Accepted,” Oriel said at last. “Provide the locations, and you shall have your investor.”

  “My silent investor.”

  “Of course, Administrator Sloan,” Oriel said. “As long as you cooperate, Eld Ventures is always silent.”

  CHAPTER 22

  * * *

  * * *

  0349 hours, December 16, 2553 (military calendar)

  Loading Dock 20, Fabrication Ring Delta, Pinnacle Station

  Moon Meridian, Planet Hestia V, Hestia System

  The True Light boarding vestibule stank of charred flesh and horrid carnage, and most of the dead were unidentifiable beyond their species. Several blackened bodies had beaks, suggesting they were Kig-Yar, and the ripped armor floating in front of the wrecked security station had clearly contained a Jiralhanae before being blown apart. But there was no odor of decay, and the blood globules drifting through the air were congealed, not dry. Veta Lopis estimated that the time of attack had been anywhere from ten to thirty minutes earlier.

  The only human body belonged to a female of approximately fifty. The woman had been hurled against a hatch jamb so hard her torso had folded backward. Now, she hung in the hatchway with her dented skull cocked over one shoulder, her broken arms floating limply at her sides, her legs bent upward at the knees. She had suffered only a few second-degree burns—none that had raised a blister larger than a thumbnail—and Veta thought that, miraculously, her chest might be moving.

  Veta signaled Olivia, the only Ferret accompanying her on the initial reconnaissance, to keep watch in the vestibule. Like Veta herself, Olivia wore a fluorescent-green jumpsuit with PINNACLE STATION VISITOR printed across the chest and shoulders. Up her sleeve, she carried a silenced M6P pocket pistol sufficient to handle any unexpected threats from deeper in the transport. Veta carried an identical version inside her jumpsuit.

  Veta used her thruster harness to maneuver over to the woman. A security card floated from a lanyard around her neck:

  DIRECTOR AGNES SABARA

  NEW LEAF YOSAVI FIELD LABORATORY

  Veta touched her fingertips to Sabara’s throat and felt a thready pulse. She pulled up both eyelids and found two huge, fixed pupils.

  “Agnes? Doctor Sabara?”

  Veta released one eyelid and watched it slide closed, then continued to watch the open eye as she slapped Sabara’s cheek. The pupil showed no reaction.

  “Agnes, can you hear me?”

  “I doubt it,” Olivia said. “And even if she can, you’re not doing her any favors waking her up. Didn’t you see that gray stuff in there?”

  Veta glanced through the hatchway and, in the next cabin, saw a thumb-size worm of gray matter floating among the blood globules.

  “Damn. We could have used a witness.”

  Veta’s disappointment ran deeper than that, of course. Another Gao citizen had gotten caught in one of Arlo Casille’s schemes, and this woman would be lucky if it cost her nothing but her life. Veta couldn’t help wondering how much trouble she herself would have been in now, had she killed Casille during the interrogation in the Yosavi Jungle. It had been the one thing that Captain Ewen told her she couldn’t do when he allowed her to accompany Blue Team, but still . . . Veta was pretty sure the entire Isbanola sector would have been better off if she had ignored the order.

  “So what now?” Olivia asked. She glanced back through the boarding portal, where a guard dressed in the deep-red jumpsuit of the Pinnacle Station Security Force hung floating. Armed with a Bandeus Arms low-velocity submachine gun, he wore a ballistic vest and helmet that matched his red jumpsuit. “We don’t have a lot of time to figure this out.”

  Veta nodded. “I know.”

  To keep a low profile, Veta and Olivia were the only two Ferrets looking for the cryo-jars aboard Pinnacle Station. Everyone else was back in Berthing Bay 12, waiting aboard the Turaco in full armor, ready to come running at the first hint of trouble.

  So far, it appeared that would not be necessary. Pinnacle Station security was being oddly accommodating to Veta and Olivia, especially considering their weak cover—the pair were posing as UNSC security inspectors on a surprise construction review.

  Such reviews were routine for any installation intending to receive commercial vessels registered with the UEG. But usually a whole team of inspectors descended on the facility and demanded to audit everything from material orders to blueprint alterations. Veta and Olivia had simply presented a set of hastily forged credentials to the nearest security officer, and—despite seeing death nearly everywhere they looked—they had been granted unfettered access to the entire station.

  It smacked of desperation.

  Veta maneuvered past Olivia into the boarding portal, then addressed the security guard outside. “Excuse me,” she said. “But there’s a woman still alive in here.”

  The guard, a broad-faced man with crooked teeth, flashed a broad smile. “Yes, ma’am,” he said. “So are a couple of the Jackals—but there’s nothing to worry about. We’ve removed all of their weapons.”

  Veta did not bother to hide her astonishment. “I’m talking about human decency,” she said. “These beings are suffering.”

  The guard’s smile vanished. “So are Pinnacle Station’s people,” he said. “I know you’ve seen the battle site. You passed through it on the way from the murder scene.”

  “We did,” Veta said, more puzzled than ever.

  She and Olivia had located the bodies of the Dark Moon operatives just minutes after floating onto Pinnacle Station, when they noticed a security team swarming around a huge Liang-Dortmund cargo transport. Seeing blood spatters on the hull exterior and a couple of bodies in the adjacent storage area being bagged for removal, they had attempted to bluff their way aboard on the strength of their counterfeit credentials.

  At first, they had been rudely rebuffed, but the guard had unexpectedly waved them back and explained that his supervisor had decided it would be unwise to deny access to a team of UNSC security inspectors. Veta had assumed a smug air and led Olivia through the hatch.

  Inside, they had found the Dark Moon Turaco floating in the transport’s immense cargo hold. The operatives themselves—presumably the same couriers who had been transporting the cryo-jars—had all been professionally executed. Their bodies had been left in the passenger cabin, and the cryo-jars were nowhere to be seen.

  Hoping to pick up the trail, Veta and Olivia had left the transport and followed a path of carnage, emergency services personnel, and security officers to the True Light’s berthing bay—where they had once again been allowed to board with no apparent hesitation.

  An uneasy chill was starting to run down Veta’s spine.

  When the security guard continued to look at her expectantly, Veta said, “If the medical staff can save any of these victims, one of them might be able to tell you what this mess is all about.”

  The guard’s smile returned, this time sly. “Isn’t that what you’re here for?”

  Olivia floated forward. “What did you say?”

  “Come on,” the guard replied. “How dumb do you think we are? A couple of security inspectors just happen to show up twenty minutes after all hell breaks loose? You’re ONI, right?”


  “Don’t answer that, Otis,” Veta said, using the name on Olivia’s counterfeit credentials. “We’re not going to fool this guy.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Olivia said. “I can see that.”

  The guard beamed, then clicked off his microphone and spoke more softly. “Look, no one in station security knows what the hell is going on here, but it’s pretty clear this is serious—and that it’s way above our heads.”

  “Possibly,” Veta said.

  “Definitely,” the guard said. “We’re not trained to fight Jiralhanae, and we don’t have SPNKRs. So if you guys want to clean up your own mess, nobody’s going to stand in your way.”

  “I’d still like to save the woman.” Veta spoke in a conspiratorial tone. “There are a few things that are unclear even to us, so being able to interrogate her—”

  “Would tell you nothing I cannot.”

  The voice came from inside the guard’s helmet, deep and booming and so loud the man’s face screwed up in pain. He unbuckled his chin strap and tore the headgear off.

  The voice continued to speak. “I can tell you everything that happened.” It began to rumble down the True Light’s main access corridor, from the direction of the flight deck. “In private.”

  Veta and Olivia exchanged glances; then Olivia turned to the guard. “Give us some room.” She dropped her hand, sliding the M6P out of her sleeve into her palm, then added, “Anyone who boards, dies. Clear?”

  The guard’s face paled. “Got it.”

  Veta reached into her jumpsuit and drew her own M6P, then made sure the thread microphone sewn into her undershirt was exposed. “Blue Team, be ready.”

  “Always are,” came Fred’s reply. “You be careful.”

  “Too late for that,” Veta said. “You haven’t been a good influence.”

  “I’ll try to do better.”

  “I can hear you,” the deep voice said, now speaking over TEAMCOM. “And you’re running out of time.”

  Olivia took the lead, and they advanced up the access corridor to the True Light’s flight deck. On the pad of a small holoplinth stood the figure of a bald man with a muscular build and craggy features. His eyes were set deep beneath a heavy brow, and his jaw was firm and narrow.