Part II - Asymmetrical Warfare
-Chapter 19-
2228 Hours - UNSC Military Standard Time
20 October 2550 (Military Calendar)/ (Several Weeks later)
Alcaeus Lycurgus system. Dwarf planet Hija Orbital Listening Station
Civilian Quartering Zone 2B. 'Hooligan's Hand'
Key Stokely waved his hand at the bartender without looking up from his current glass. A moment later, the next glass of brandy slid across the counter to him.
"Ya gotta tell me at some point, Key," the bartender Luca Pazzi asked, rummaging around for something beneath the counter. "Where ya been, amico?"
Key shrugged. "Out with tha spooks. Havin' fun, that sorta thing," he said, taking a sip of the drink. He wasn't even sure if he liked the drink, but it was doing a good job shaving off the edges for him. He wasn't feeling as on-rails as he had been earlier that evening.
And with the Hija Hardshellers on a by-week from the Alcaeus Lycurgus Gravball Circuit, Key really didn't have anything else to do but drink and smoke. Damn. I'm really missin' tha streets right now. 'Least I had shit to do back then.
Luca turned toward him and held up a hand. "Yeah, fuck the spooks and all that, eh." Luca had a stronger disdain for ONI than even Key did. "How's abouta' cannoli, on the house, huh?"
Before Key could figure if he wanted it or not, the double-doors opened way at the front of the Hand. Looking over his shoulder, Key spotted a lady walking in. Carrying a briefcase in one hand. Very much over-dressed for Hooligan's Hand. A purposeful stride, aimed right at Key when she spotted him. Thick sunglasses, even though they were in dim light. So, this wasn't a social thing. She was with someone - probably the UNSC - and she was looking for Key in particular, no doubt. Key could already hear the bullshit and smell the stack of files.
If Key had known better, then he would have gotten up and left right then and there. Not even bothered to see what she was bringing.
Key faced ahead again, hitting another long sip of his drink. The lady slid onto the stool next to him, watching him from up close as though she were studying his behavior. Like she was trying to read him.
Key continued facing ahead, drinking from his brandy again. "Luca - hook me up with that cannoli, son."
Luca looked at him, then at the lady, held his hands out for a second, then went into the back. Then, Key whipped out a cigarette. He fidgeted with his arcane lighter until it started working, then lit his cigarette and took several long drags. Reached over to the ash tray and pressed the tip of the cigarette into it. A second or two later, he grabbed his glass of brandy and downed the rest of it. It was a few seconds later when Luca returned, carrying the dish on a small piece of china. When he set it down, Key realized just how hungry he was. Key clasped his hands together in a gesture of gratitude and did a slight bow as Luca headed off to the back.
He glanced at the lady sitting next to him. She was still watching him closely. "You, uh... Don't take this the wrong way, lady, but I can't tell if you want a bite of this," Key said, gesturing toward the cannoli. "Or a bite a' me. Know'm sayin'?"
She sat her briefcase on the bar then, still watching Key the whole time. "You're hard to find, Agent."
Key shook his head, then took a bite out his cannoli. "Not really one of those anymore, miss. But you knew that already, yeh?"
"Mind if we talk somewhere a little more private?" She asked, though it sounded more like a demand.
There was a moment of silence. Key finished off his meal in two bites and wiped his hands, though he was still hungry. Whoever this lady was, she was all-business like no one Key had met before. At first thought, he figured she could have been with ONI. They'd been on his back ever since he'd made it off Nihdarra with Rictus. And had been responsible for stripping Key of his STA status and effectively ending his official UNSC career. But her outfit didn't look the part. It was possible she was out of one of those obscure, side departments up high in the UNSC. There were definitely enough administrative departments that even Key didn't know them all by heart.
Key wiped his mouth, pulled out his wallet, and set a 10-credit slip on the table. "I know a spot," he told her as he stood and put his jacket on.
"A spot?"
"Yeh. It's called home. Couple a' blocks this way."
When he set off, she hesitated a second before grabbing her case and following him.
They emerged from the dim lighting of Hooligan's Hand into the bright lights of QZ-2B. Quartering Zone-2B was but one small section on Hija Listening Station - despite that fact, zone 2B was roughly half the size of a city. Even the ceiling stretched upwards roughly 1 and a half kilometers. The station, though circular in design with respect to its living areas, was multi-layered. If Key looked up, he could see an intricate network of crosspaths, walkways, tramway lines, and other paths that connected the next layer of living space. The place was like being inside a maze, one where the walls stretched from floor to ceiling and were thick enough to contain businesses, administration offices, and apartment living spaces.
On the level above, Key had an apartment he used sparingly. Even before the situation with Vexx had happened, Key had used his apartment primarily for sleeping and off-duty work. Since being back from Nihdarra, though, Key hardly spent any time in it at all. His STA career was practically over, so there was no more need to spend hours on off-the-books investigating. But more so than that, being inside his apartment reminded him of the Slam too much. Too many dark memories and thoughts ran through his head.
Key sighed.
They made it to an elevator and he held the door for her to enter.
"So who are ya, anyways?" he asked her as their elevator took off, lifting them up one level.
"Araceli Isabella, Special Tasks Senior Handler and Designator."
That caused Key to give her a long look. He'd never heard of her before, and for good reason. The Handler-Designators worked specifically within a higher-up branch of Special Tasks. The difference was a delicate, yet significant one. Where Agents like Key did a lot of legwork, investigating and ballbusting, that higher branch utilized Operatives. They primarily did extended infiltration and surveillance missions. They would classically be referred to as double-agents. And those Operatives had incredibly low survival rates.
"The hell you want with me?"
"We'll discuss that shortly, no?"
Now, he definitely wanted to ditch her and not look back. Of course, that'd be against the law - he might not be a true STA anymore, but he'd signed a contract. He wasn't a free man.
He led the way off the elevator, where they proceeded to head down a number of crowded walkways before reaching a set of doors. Those doors led into an apartment complex situated in a spot overlooking a majority of QZ-2B, and it took them several long stairways before they reached Key's door. He fiddled around his wallet and pulled out a card, wiped it on his jacket, then scanned it until the door unlocked. It slid open.
"After you," he told her.
The lights came on automatically as they entered. It revealed a cozy-looking place that contained a lot of furniture - couches, plush chairs, and a number of tables, all of which contained plenty stacks of papers, multiple computers and datapads. One wall was covered with holo-stills of various criminals and terrorists Key had tracked and taken down over the years. Some of them had slipped his fingers and were still at large.
Araceli sat her briefcase on top of one of his tables, right over a set of notes that Key probably no longer cared about, and helped herself to one of his chairs. Key hung his jacket across his kitchen counter, then turned on his COM-set and switched the channel to the all-news network.
"How's about a drink?" he asked, his eyes hopping from the news and the lady sitting on his furniture.
"No. Would you mind sitting?"
"This is my place, capische?"
She leaned back in the chair and stared at Key silently from behind her sunglasses.
"Why you even wearin' those things?" Key asked as he sat down across from her anyway.
She took her glasses off finally, revealing a pair of coal-black eyes and a small scar that ran just beneath one of them. Key resisted the urge to strike up another cigarette, and waited for her to open her case. Araceli pulled out a datapad first, then tapped some buttons on it for a moment. She looked up.
"Former STA Sector-Officer Key Stokely. You came from a hard civilian life when you joined the UNSC; rose through the ranks due to exemplary conduct, talent and reliability. Until you broke a number of protocols by engaging the criminal mastermind Vexx, which led to the loss of several STAs and to your own dismissal as Sector-Officer."
"Call it what ya want, lady. I saw an opportunity and I took it. Like I told the big boss - I ain't apologizin'."
Araceli cocked her head to the side. "Ohkay. That is fair. It is good you see it that way. Because what I have here," she told him, reaching into her case to pull out another datapad, this one very thin. She sat it on the coffee table next to the briefcase. "Is another opportunity."
Key leaned back in his seat. He didn't reach for the datapad. "Define 'opportunity'."
"Full reinstatement of rank and the privileges that come with it. Including a letter of recommendation from Bridgehead to fast-track you into a director position."
"And why would I want that? I'm enjoying this stress-free, no-military thing I got goin' on," he told her.
"Are you? I've studied your file in-depth, Stokely. You come from a life most people would've... Quit from. You're from the streets, as you often say, yes? You may hide it, but you are an ambitious person. Your life is Special Tasks. And you have nothing to lose."
Araceli seemed to know things that Key would prefer she didn't. "You think so, huh?"
She gestured around the room. "The evidence is around us. You want to be in, and we want you to be in."
He thought about it for a second. To be honest, he wasn't entirely sure if he wanted back in. It was true that in some ways, he preferred his life as a STA. But the truth was that Nihdarra had changed him. Ever since being back, he felt out of sync. Things weren't as funny, food didn't taste as good, colors weren't as vibrant anymore, every face seemed identical to the next. It was like a fog had covered Key's mind; he couldn't even think as sharp as he'd done before. It was like depression, except different in some way that Key couldn't pin down. Like an emptiness that somehow filled him. Like he had absolutely no idea what he wanted to do.
Aracelie was partly right. Key had been ambitious before. He'd clawed his way out of living in shadowy alleyways, and that'd taken discipline, action and a sense of urgency. Those things had driven Key. Up until now. Now, he really just felt like spending his time sitting down and thinking. And a little bit of drinking. The more Key thought about it, the more Key realized that he had grown cold feet.
"And if I refuse your, uh, generous offer?" he asked.
"Well, your discharge will push through, and it'll be a dishonorable one. And there is no guarantee that you won't face legal retaliation. From ST or otherwise."
He chewed over that. That 'otherwise' she mentioned referred to ONI. Araceli continued. "You have no family. No wife, no kids. Nothing is holding you back, but yourself."
That was true, at least. Key reached for the datapad and briefly looked over it. At the top of the screen was an embedded photograph of a man he'd never seen before. The name read Habiki Daisuke.
"Who's this guy supposed to be?" he asked.
Araceli leaned forward. "That is Habiki Daisuke. The criminal underworld knows him as 'Setsuna'. He is head of what we believe to be the most profitable syndicate in the deep outer-colonies; an intricate network of related criminal organizations, collectively known as Exigus League. That group you tangled with on Nihdarra, the Sixhield? Exigus makes them look like your common street bandits."
"What'm I supposed to do about this guy, eh? Polish his fuckin' shoes?"
Araceli shook her head. "Not quite. And, he's not the primary target."
"The plot thickens," Key sneered.
"Scroll," Araceli told him. So he did. And when he saw the actual target, he almost laughed. It was none other than Vexx.
"You're spiffin' me, right? I already tried to off this chick once, look where it got me. And she knows what I look like." In all fairness, Key couldn't be that surprised. Though, now he wondered if ONI had a finger in this, since Vexx was their crook.
"Spiff?" she asked, probably lost by the term. She frowned at him. Then laughed. She looked him up and down. "I would not spiff you. Not my type."
Key looked at her for a second. "Hold up a second - was that an insult?"
She ignored him and gestured to the datapad. "Nobody knows where Vexx is; she's completely gone to ground. But someone in her position survives through dealings with others. For Vexx, that typically comes in the form of selling illegal weapons tech and blueprints. That is how she's made her credits. And as it so happens, we are in a position that allows us to push Setsuna into the buyer's market within the next few months."
He finished the thought. "Which means Setsuna and Vexx are going to be involved with each other in some capacity."
"Perhaps. We can't say for certain, but it is the best shot at getting to Vexx now. We want to plant you into Exigus. To get close to Setsuna. Getting to him, means getting to Vexx. We kill two birds with one stone."
The datapad suddenly felt heavy in Key's hands. He sat it down on the table, then stood and headed for his refrigerator. Key wasn't a groceries type of person, but he always kept a stock of something to drink. In this case, though, he grabbed a water bottle and took a long swig.
He turned to Araceli. She was leaning back on the couch, an arm draped across the back of it as she waited for him to return. Like this was her place and not his. She looked more comfortable than Key did, and it was Key's apartment. For some reason, it felt as though Key was losing an argument he didn't even know he was in.
From the kitchen, he could study her without having to keep talking. So far, he couldn't quite get the measure of her. She technically outranked him, even though she appeared to be around his age. And despite that, she hadn't really twisted his arm yet. But there was still some underlying sense of danger he felt from her. That was probably due to a variety of factors: the fact that she knew a lot about him but he knew next to nothing about her, the fact that she was coercing him into a mission arguably more dangerous than the last one he'd been on, the fact that she could upend his whole life if she wanted to.
Why come to me about this? Why not get someone else? Do they really want me in Special Tasks that badly?
Maybe it was time that Key started asking her the questions. Like, why is she resting her boots on his table?
"Now who's the one staring?" Araceli asked suddenly. Key hadn't even noticed she'd turned to look at him.
"It's not staring, lady. It's called assessment. I'm analyzing your demeanor."
He shut the fridge. Then, he added, "And you didn't pay for that table."
She held her hands up innocently and removed her feet from his furniture. He sat back down in his seat across from her and sat his water next to the datapad.
"So, how am I supposed to get in with this Setsuna guy?" he asked, thumbing through the datapad to read a little more of the file.
"We're propping you up as a member of his security circle. One of Setsuna's credit shipments got raided by one of our STA teams last month, and we seized upwards of 5 million cR. As far as he knows, this money is lost to him. You're going to show him otherwise, however. The story is that you were just one of many hired guns - that is, until you proved yourself as the lone survivor of the credit raid, tracking down and receiving those losses, and getting them delivered back to Exigus space. A task befitting the stature of the man you are to become. Setsuna rewards loyalty, tenacity, and ingenuity, and that story will get you into his inner-circle.
From there... It's all on you. But you're good with people. We liked what you did with the ODST in the Slam."
"That didn't quite pan out. Rictus got us out of there, not me. All I did was get us tattooed," he said, rubbing at one of the flaming wheels still branded into his arm.
"True, but you displayed a social initiative that is rarely seen within standard STA ranks."
Key sighed. He wasn't going to get out of this, not without losing his career entirely. And, truth be told, Araceli was right - the military was what'd given Key's life purpose. And he wanted - no, needed - to get that sense back.
"Making me an offer I can't refuse. Why me for this? Why not one of your operatives?" he wanted to know.
"You possess a variety of skills most suited to this task. Mission success probability is highest with you as the operating variable, more so than anyone else."
"What kinda probability? We talking... Like at least 90 percent. Right?"
Araceli didn't say anything; she just looked away.
Damn.
"Better yet,"Key said, putting a hand up. "I got a feeling I don't wanna know, know'm saying? I just got one condition."
"Ohkay."
"I'm not taking either of them in alive. That's fine with you,right?"
"With me, yes. With ONI, I can't say."
"Yeah, well fuck the spooks and all that," Key said, standing up and stretching. "When do we start?"
Lucius Cain sat quietly in a cold hall across from a massive set of double-doors. The doors had a rare black and white symbol branded onto it. It was molded in the shape of a pyramid, with what looked like an eye outlined in the center of it. This was no ordinary piece of artwork. A distinct tile was stenciled into the plaque beneath it: Office of Naval Intelligence.
He adjusted the ribbons pinned to his uniform instinctively.
After a few more minutes of relative silence, the massive doors slid apart quietly. Two people walked out - and he recognized one of them, though he hadn't seen her in months. And the other lady, he didn't recognize - but something about her seemed very unusual. Something about the way she moved.
"Sergeant Cain?"
Lucius switched his gaze to Lieutenant Jane Shepard. She'd spotted him, a small smile playing across her features. She was in uniform herself, and there was a fresh-looking rank on her shoulders. She whispered something to her companion, then beckoned Lucius over. The lady with her headed off - silently, somehow, with a gait that was both elegant and powerful at the same time. It was distracting.
Lucius headed over then.
"What're you doing here?" he asked, genuinely surprised to see Jane here of all places.
"I could ask you the same thing. The last time I saw you..." she didn't finish, but Lucius knew what she was referring to.
"Yeah, I got patched up well enough," he told her, lifting up his prosthetic for emphasis. "What's up with, uh," he gestured in the direction the mystery girl had went, but the hallway was empty in that direction now.
"She's a spartan."
"That was a spartan? You know her?"
"Yes," Jane said, but she didn't say any further on that. "It's good to see you doing well."
Lucius smirked. "Won't be for long, though," he nodded toward the set of double-doors. "I've got a lotta trouble on my hands."
Jane patted him on the shoulder. "Good luck," she told him, then walked off without further word.
There was something different about her that Lucius couldn't quite pin down. He'd caught whispers about some clandestine task she'd been involved in, but he didn't know any details. If she'd been working with a spartan, then he definitely didn't even want to know the situation. One thing that most people in the UEG didn't realize - indeed, had virtually no knowledge of - was the fact that the UNSC was engaged in a lot of dirty little wars and proxy conflicts all across both the inner and outer-colonies.
In fact, the overwhelming majority of ODST casualties came from those dark, mystery skirmishes that very few people even knew about. The Covenant War was a slow-paced process with a lot of breaks in-between conflicts. But those black-operation deployments against human enemies was an everlasting shadow war. It wasn't uncommon for news to pass down the line that, say, several dozen Troopers got killed on some unnamed moon in some uncharted section of space, fighting some unknown militant force.
Most of that information was kept sealed tight from the public, and even from military assets to a certain extent.
Lucius focused himself and headed through the doors. He stepped into a hallway, lined on either side with artistic lights and paintings along the walls. The hallway opened up at the end to a conference room. It was this room that Lucius entered, and contrary to what he'd been expecting, it was well-lit and there weren't many ONI officers. There were only three of them, and their uniforms carried no discernible ranks. They sat behind a long desk, and all of them had on glasses. Lucius honestly couldn't tell if they were military, or civilian. He actually couldn't.
Since there was no place to sit, Lucius marched into the open area just in front of them, and stood at ease.
"Sergeant Lucius Cain. You were recruited by Lieutenant Commander Maximus Griggs for an unspecified incursion mission to X-Sector 197 - a fringe star system controlled by the black-marketeer supersyndicate Sixhield. Priority task was the apprehension of Vexx, with the secondary goal of securing several key UNSC assets, including your Staff Sergeant Mago Rictus. The mission was a joint-force, combining you as lead, with Corporal Sarah Palmer, and three Acquisitions Specialists.
All three Acquisitions Specialists died, and although you successfully pulled out a number of our secondary targets, Vexx evaded you. And you had the chance to prevent her escape."
Lucius waited to see if they would continue. They seemed keen on framing this as though it were a failed operation.
"Why did you ignore Sinor's recommendation?"
"I didn't ignore him. I just disagreed," Lucius defended himself. He wasn't afraid - of ONI, or anyone - but he deeply regretted not bringing Sarah Palmer with him. He should have brought her along.
"Your decision gave Vexx the window of opportunity she needed to escape. And you were aware that this would be the case."
Lucius shrugged. "So? I had to make a call, and I considered Vexx to be a secondary concern, not a primary one. It's you guys's fault she's out there anyway." Lucius knew that he was stepping over the line just a little, but he needed to show that he was more than willing to make a procedural mess of this. And for all ONI's weight, one thing they didn't like was dealing with extensive military-politics battles.
"That's the problem, sergeant. That call was the incorrect call, and you knew it was incorrect. It'll be many months before we're even potentially in a position to bring down Vexx again. Many months, and many millions of credits."
He resisted the urge to mock the weasly little spook. "What do you want me to say? It's a done deal, and you've all read my report. I did my job, which was pretty damn good if you ask me - considering the fact that we went into a murder-zone with almost no intel to speak of. We got Key Stokely out, we got Mago Rictus out, and we even nailed Sleen. You want to get pissed at somebody? Get pissed at whichever Naval Shit-telligence numbskull that decided to recruit a fucking psychopath, who's apparently, literally too smart for your whole damn Office. Holy shit."
There was a brief moment of silence. One of them held up what looked like a piece of paper. Which meant that it was something very serious. "This is a JAG IOM notice. You're dismissed." The officer sat the paper on the table and slid it over to the edge.
Lucius shifted from one foot to the other, and pressed his thumb and index finger together. A JAG IOM - Judge Advocate General Inquiry of Misconduct. To be honest, he shouldn't have felt surprised. But the seriousness of that form had Lucius silent and still. He had expected maybe a several week pay-docking, or maybe having his upcoming promotion suspended, or anything of that sort. Quick and efficient. Never had he expected them to move forward with an Inquiry of Misconduct.
Slowly, Lucius walked to the table and snatched up the form. Indeed, his presence was requested at Luna OCS Academy one month from now to appear before a Board. They were trying to court-martial Lucius.
"You sons of bitches," he cursed out loud as he headed out the doors.
A part of Lucius felt like shredding the notice to pieces. But that would get him worse than a court-martial; it'd get him tossed into the pin. So there was no way he was getting out of this one. At least, he wouldn't be able to avoid facing the Board of Inquiry. But ONI wasn't the only ones capable of playing cards. Lucius hadn't made a lot of credits since being in the military, but he had made a lot of allies. He'd always been good with people. And he was connected enough to know the inner-workings of the UNSC like the back of his hand. Of all the skills he'd picked up over the years, the most valuable was undoubtedly his ability to finesse his way through the military.
For an IOM, Lucius would need a lot of help. He folded the paper and slid it into his pocket.
When he got outside the ONI HQ, Lucius made it to his rental car located in the main parking section around the front side of the facility. Once inside, he took off at a slow pace. Made his way off the HQ campus in a timely manner. Then he took the car down a long stretch of road and through a series of security checkpoints. It was a long ride, and there was nothing to look at besides trees crowding either side of the road and occasional security drones patrolling overhead. After finally making it away from the HQ perimeter, he took the car another thirty minutes down road, just to the outskirts of New Hue, then pulled over in a shaded parking lot just outside a hotel.
He fumbled around in the car. To an onlooker, it would've looked like he was searching for something. Which he was. He didn't find it, and figured he had nothing to worry about. So he grabbed his duffel bag from the backseat and rummaged around until he found a particular datapad. He entered a contact ID. Then he unfolded the IOM and kept it in one hand. Moments later, the connection profile on the datapad screen read SECURE; DELAY 25.
So this was going to take a while. A message popped on the communications log.
"ENGCORP Service Procurement Human Resources Regional Linkway 19. Provide UNSCSN:"
Lucius typed in '04090-71395-LC'. He sent the service number, then decided to check back into his hotel room. It was going to be more comfortable, and though this would be a 'short' conversation, it would take him a severely long time to complete it. It would be 25 minutes before Linkway 19 got his service number. And at least another 25 minutes before he got a response.
There was nobody in the lobby or the reception area when he entered - which he was glad for, because he wasn't in the mood for friendly banter. When he got on his room's floor, the door next to his opened, and the lady inside it came out wearing a bathing suit, presumably heading to the swimming pool downstairs. She smiled and waved.
"Doing good?" Lucius asked, and it was more of a formality than genuine interest in her well-being.
"I'm good, actually - oh..." she trailed off when her eyes went to his prosthetic.
"Trust me, it's not as bad as it looks. It's a lot worse, actually," he said, flexing his mechanical hand. He looked up at her. Then smiled. "Just a joke."
"Oh!" she laughed it off, but Lucius was hoping he'd make her uncomfortable enough to go on about her day. It didn't work; and he didn't want to be rude by just rushing into his room, so he stood by his door and pulled out his keycard - hoping she'd probably take the hint. It didn't work.
"Have you, umm, been in the service a long while?" she asked, turning to face him fully.
"Only a few years. But once you get one of these," he gestured towards his prosthetic. "That's how you know you've been in long enough."
She went on about something, but Lucius didn't care at all so it mostly flew over his head. He just wasn't in the mood. He was about to tell her to take a hike, when she suddenly asked him, "So you're here on official business, huh?"
Lucius cocked his head to the side, wondering how she'd figured that out. She chimed up before he could ask, though. "I figure, you're in full dress uniform, you've got a paper and a datapad in one hand, you're here of all places... Can't be those MLT hours."
Now Lucius perked up; she was spot on about the mandatory leave time. "You're in the UNSC?"
"Mm-hmm. IA all the way."
"You're in Internal Audit? Really? What's your name?"
She leaned up against the wall, her smile growing slightly more cocky. "Yep, yep, and I'm Qitarah Kahraman."
Internal Audit was a very specialized division in the UNSC. It was one of those organizations that required high-level testing. In fact, it was reserved for joint-degree officers. Which meant that all of its members had completed OCS training, alongside a traditional 3-year university degree program, which could be anything from sociology to quantum mechanics.
So she not only outranked Lucius - she was of a different UNSC strata altogether. She lived and worked out of a paid-for condo, slept on a mattress that felt like feathers, and probably ate 3 gourmet meals a day. Lucius lived and worked in training complexes, and he slept in hard foxholes filled with mud, insects and rocks. And he typically managed 1 stale ration per day.
"Well, excuse me ma'am," he said jokingly as he snapped off an awkward salute. "Sergeant Lucius Cain, reporting for duty."
Qitarah laughed at him. Then she crossed her arms and nodded toward his datapad. "ONI on you?"
Lucius held a half-smile on his face and looked off to the side. Trying to figure out what to say. He looked back at her. "They don't like me. They really don't like me."
"Perhaps I could help?"
For a second, Lucius actually considered it. But he quickly thought better of it. For one, he didn't need to be spreading his business anymore than was necessary. For two, he didn't want to involve anyone he didn't know. And for three... He wasn't certain he could trust Qitarah. She seemed ohkay, though.
"I really appreciate that, but it's probably best if I try to handle this."
"Tell you what - I'll give you my Waypoint ID. And you can contact me should you ever need anything. If you go for a swim with me."
It was a tempting offer. But Lucius really needed to get started if he wanted to beat this court-martial. "I have a lot of work to do. Like you said, it's official business. It's ONI business, it doesn't get more official than that."
"So?" she shrugged. She was starting to remind Lucius of himself, strangely.
"Well, in that case, I'll defer to your judgment. I think I packed a little something in my bag."
0944 Hours - UNSC Military Standard Time
21 October 2550 (Military Calendar)/
Epsilon Eridani II system. Planet Reach
FLEETCOM Sub-HQ 2. Northern Quezon.
Mago Rictus was sitting quietly in a corner spot on board the prowler. Trying to process everything that'd happened to him, and everything he'd learned. It wasn't easy, and he mostly felt like sleeping. But sleep wouldn't come. If he did doze off, he'd either have another nightmare, or another bad memory. Both of those were horrible experiences. He had to figure out what to do with the information Sleen had parted to him. The information about the girl. Mago wasn't even sure what her real name was at this point.
So when he heard soft footsteps approaching, he knew it was her, but didn't want to look at her. He forced himself to anyway.
"Mago?" Tamarenne asked warily.
"Were you in the Assault? You helped Sleen?" he asked, barely keeping control of his rage. Maybe half a year ago, he would be mild-tempered about the situation at worst. But these days, he was an explosive fuse waiting to be set off. Although they were in one of the lower chambers of the prowler, where the crew almost never traveled, Mago at least managed to keep his voice low.
"It matters?"
Mago jumped to his feet and closed the distance in a heartbeat. He grabbed her by the throat and shoved her up against the wall, pressing into her hard and tightening his grip. Her eyes were fearful as they looked into Mago's own.
"You're an innie, all this time. Good for nothing."
"No," she managed to get out. "Not... No more!"
"I trusted you," he growled out. Then he leaned into her more, his build massive compared to her small frame. "I ..." he lowered his voice. "I let you closer than anyone. You used me!"
"No!" she croaked out. There was just enough breathing room for her to keep from suffocating. But Mago could end that at any second. He had killed worse things, dozens of times over. He could snap her neck with ease.
She put a hand on his chest. "Your pad. I got still!"
At first, he had no idea what she was talking about. Then it dawned on him - she was referring to his HACPAD. All this damned time, she'd been holding onto it. "Where!?"
"On Shepard ship, the bathroom... in barracks."
Mago let out a harsh breath. He was so close to killing her. To crushing her windpipe and forgetting about her. To pulling out his gun and letting a round off through her skull. Nobody would miss her, and hardly anyone would even remember she existed. It'd be an easy and satisfying kill, and it would be easy to explain away to the prowler commander. In fact, he wouldn't even need to explain it. He could end her, then dispose of her without anyone knowing. Write off her disappearance as a slipspace anomaly. Be on about his day, and his life.
Instead, he let go of her and controlled his shaking hands, breathing as hard as if he'd run a marathon. Mago ran a hand through his hair. He calmed his nerves.
Then he heard somebody calling his name. In the real world, not the memory dream. It snapped him from his nap, and he looked up to see Admiral Bren J. Shepard sticking his head out of his office door.
"Sorry to keep you, son. Come on in," Shepard said, beckoning Mago over with a tilt of his head. He disappeared back into his office, and Mago followed him inside.
The office space was large, containing nothing of decor outside of of a small bookcase on one wall. And there was another officer in the room, much to Mago's surprise, sitting off to one side of the office. He'd never seen her before. He shook her hand before taking a seat across the desk from Admiral Shepard.
"Staff Sergeant Mago Rictus."
"I'm Lieutenant Aylexx Jonesyn. It's nice to meet you, sergeant. The Admiral says you two go back."
"A little bit," Mago told her. He'd been, for all intents and purposes, under operational supervision of the Admiral his entire military career - from when he was a marine, to now as an ODST.
Admiral Shepard produced a thin datapad from a drawer on his desk, but he held it in his hands. He looked at Mago with a laser-focus gaze. "How are you, Rictus? Getting enough sleep?"
"I'm good," Mago lied.
The truth was that he was doing horrible. He was under intense mental stress and exhaustion; he felt angry too often, and was undoubtedly depressed. His body felt weak, and it ached all over. He hadn't barely gotten to speak a word to his mother since finding out she was still alive. Or his sister, for that matter. He hadn't felt any better after settling the score with Sleen; Karyo Ten was still gone, and the damage had already been dealt. He hadn't had good sleep since before Vexx abducted him. His life in the UNSC was beginning to take a serious toll on him.
Mago knew that Shepard knew that he'd told a lie. But the admiral didn't press the issue. Instead, he held up the datapad to draw Mago's attention to it.
"What I have right here is for you. Before I hand it to you, I need to square up with you - Gunnery Sergeant Octus was KIA four weeks ago in a nasty skirmish we had with Eko Ektes. You'll be fulfilling his roles, as well as those of your own rank, for the time being. Which is very critical for this," Shepard said, finally handing Mago the datapad.
Mago glanced at it. The top of the screen read OPERATION: HELLZONE II.
"HELLZONE II?" he asked.
"The goal of the first HELLZONE was, in part, to shake up the Covenant's frontline invasion forces in the Karsat and Wayside Sectors. We met with mixed results. But we did gain something big. Very big, and we're going after it." Shepard was always a serious person, but he seemed deathly so now. He shifted his gaze over to Lieutenant Jonesyn.
"Long story short," she began, being very animated with her hands. "We attached experimental gravitic sub-space sensory probes to hyper-extrolocutor wave mimics on a superluminal -"
"Lieutenant," Admiral Shepard cut her off.
She relaxed a bit, and wave a strand of hair out of her face. "Um, sorry. Basically, we've found a massive Covenant shipyard on a moon in the GH-5 system."
Mago nodded. That was Garden Habitat-5; one of the many star systems the UNSC had that contained huge clusters of space habitats. GH-5 had been destroyed by the Covenant several years ago, right around the time Mago first enlisted. And it was pretty close to the 'frontline' near the Wayside Sector. A shipyard being located there would explain the Covenant presence near that sector.
"We're taking out a shipyard?" Mago asked for clarification. Such a thing seemed immensely difficult, and immensely deadly.
But the lieutenant shook her head. "No. We're capturing it."
"Capturing it?" Mago wasn't even sure he'd heard her right. He looked back at Admiral Shepard. "Capturing a Covenant shipyard?"
"Yes. And thanks to a valuable intel source we recently got hold of, we know the best time to strike. That datapad contains the basics of everything you need-to-know," Shepard told him, nodding to the device in Mago's hand. "Specifically for you, since you're unofficially acting as both Staff Sergeant and Gunnery Sergeant for Fox Company, pay close attention to the preparation section. Nothing's sugarcoated; when the rest of the 34th gets here, you're going to have a lot of high-intensity training."
There was a moment of silence as Mago tried to wrap his head around this. Fighting over a Covenant shipyard wasn't going to be a battle; it was going to be a war. A whole theater of war.
"And don't miss the meeting on the 30th. Some of HIGHCOM is going to be there, including Lieutenant General Shesty. And you're up for that medal," Admiral Shepard told him.
Mago nodded. Upon his return to UNSC space, they'd immediately filed him for the Prisoner of War Medallion, as well as a Silver Star. The Medallion had gone through. But the Star had gotten shot down in the final round of consideration. Even though Mago had taken out one of the UNSC's greatest enemies - Sleen - the conflict had been deemed a NMAI. A Non-Military, Accidental Incident. Categorically speaking, it would have been like awarding Mago for running across Vexx out in the streets and murdering her on the sidewalk.
And Mago was fine with it. He didn't feel like a hero, and didn't want to be one. He was getting awarded, while Key Stokely - from what Mago had heard - was getting blacklisted.
"I'll be there."
"Good. That's all," Admiral Shepard told him. As Mago stood up to leave, Shepard held up a hand. "Before you go, though. Take this with you."
He pulled out a sealed folder - a thing Mago hadn't ever seen in person before - containing a small stack of papers. "I need someone reliable and trustworthy."
Mago glanced between Shepard and the folder. "What do you need, sir?"
"Take this up through the Highland Mountains. To HIGHCOM. Deliver it straight to Admiral Stanforth himself," Shepard told him. Mago grabbed the folder, but Shepard didn't let it go. "Don't let anyone else take this from you. No matter who it is."
"I understand," Mago assured him.
"As soon as possible, Rictus. Do this for me," Admiral Shepard told him, finally letting go of the folder.
Mago didn't know what was in it, but it was certainly some high-level UNSC brass stuff. One thing he knew about Admiral Shepard was that the man was caught in a web of UNSC and governmental forces. Admiral Shepard had a lot of enemies.
"I will," Mago told him. He took the folder, saluted, and then left the room.
Inwardly, he wondered now about whether he'd make enemies of his own by getting associated with the admiral's business.
The Highland Mountains was a long way away - far away, in fact, in the same region Mago had done his UCMB training at. The Highland Mountains contained a number of high-profile UNSC facilities, with a ton of red-tape and a ton of security checks and personnel inquiries. HIGHCOM especially. It wasn't even easy to get there, and that was by design. But Mago was willing to do it. The Admiral was a straight-arrow, and Mago had a lot of respect for him. Plus, he needed something to set his mind on. Since being back on Reach, he'd been without anything to do for practically the whole time. Nothing to do but sit in his hotel room and shoot messages across the Waypoint with his sister. And that was a slow process itself due to time dilation.
Now things were about to get serious.
Exedis Prime System, dwarf planet Highrise.
Archer Poole Outer Control Hub
The Outer Control Hub was a small base located 3 kilometers away from Archer Poole's walls. It was a hidden base, located within a dense forest to the far south-west of the city. A line of barbed camo-fence surrounded it, with a number of small defense fortifications and camouflaged pillboxes set up within its perimeter. There was a series of local radar devices installed around the hub that were tuned to pick up nearby movement within a 100-meter radius. Of course, it mostly picked up animals that inhabited the Highrise forests. Recently, the hub's small garrison had been on high alert to keep watch for anything in particular.
Over the past few weeks, more and more UNSC forces from across the Exedis Prime System had been arriving on the planet; this was an intentional force buildup, due to Archer Poole's new neighbors. As such, there'd been a recent focus on recon patrols all throughout the region. The system's sole Marine Force Reconnaisance unit, Recon B-Raptor, was being continuously tasked with observing the Covenant's position around their downed ship, dubbed 'Touchdown'. And multiple teams of Marines and militia fighters were on rotating patrol deployments, scouting for any signs of Covenant activity that might otherwise be missed. So far, there'd been several minor skirmishes, but nothing significant that'd break the uneasy truce and warrant full-fledged hostilities between the two sides.
Captain Alexander Gree definitely hoped it would not come to that. So far, the 'peace' had been incredibly beneficial. The skirmisher Shipmistress Chol Kam had, so far, held up her end of the deal, more or less. She'd been leaking important tidbits of information relating to the Covenant's military-industrial complex, infra and superstructure. And some of it was actionable. Gree knew of at least 1 thing the UNSC was going to act on: the Covenant's troop disposition and movements relating to some shipyard that'd been discovered. Chol Kam had given over a time-schedule of the near future for their troop movements surrounding the shipyard. And if Gree wasn't mistaken, the UNSC was going to take advantage of that. He hadn't gotten confirmation of that yet, though.
He had just gotten confirmation, however, of Covenant presence in Zone Charlie, which was to the far north of Touchdown. He hopped up from his seat and tapped on the microphone, his eyes jumping to Colonel Locksley's as he spoke.
"Repeat last?"
The COM crackled again and the marine's voice came through, sounding out of breath. "Baseplate Actual, this is Raptor 2-2; I repeat again, we have eyes on a Covenant infantry patrol in Z-Charlie. Standby for count," the sergeant said. He was speaking quietly. A moment later, he came back on.
"Ten grunts, and five jackal regulars, bearing northeast toward grid 025. How copy?"
Colonel Locksley came over to the microphone and leaned in. "Solid copy on all 2-2. Confirm their heading, then egress back to Baseplate. Don't let them spot you, Sergeant Canners."
"Copy that, Colonel. Raptor 2-2 out," the marine said.
Locksley turned to Gree. "They're getting bolder. That's on our side, and it's heading for west of Archer Poole."
"I know," Gree said as he leaned up against the command console.
The command room was large and spacious, with a number of computer consoles and radio equipment, but it was starting to feel small. Their scuff-ups with the Covenant forces had been increasing as of late. And the last thing Gree wanted was open hostilities. He had set up a direct communication line with the Shipmistress, but he hadn't used it yet. He didn't want to let Chol Kam know that he was keeping track of her movements. Of course, he knew that she knew. But if he contacted her about it, that would likely serve to escalate things further. There was enough tension as it was. Best keep as little direct contact as possible.
Moments went by in silence. Gree and Locksley were the only ones in the command room.
"You look worried, Alex," Locksley commented with a smile. "You started this." She had taken a seat across from him, next to the COM station to wait for word from Raptor 2-2.
She'd grown to be a friend over the past several weeks. And she'd proven herself to be an incredibly competent and skilled marine. Gree wondered why the UNSC had deployed her out here, so far from the frontline sectors. He wondered. But he certainly wasn't displeased by it. He was more than glad to have met her. Of all the UNSC personnel in the system, Locksley was the only one who was in the same age range as Gree and seemed to have had similar experiences in the military. That meant a lot, because as the years went on, there were fewer and fewer people that Gree could relate to on a personal level.
"I don't get nervous," he told her. "You know that."
A few seconds later, the COM lit up. "Raptor 2-2 to Baseplate - we're engaged!" the marine shouted the words against the backdrop of gunfire and explosion. "We've been ambushed! Platoon-sized force, firing on us from 021 and 020. We're pinned!"
"Son of a bitch," Locksley cursed. She got to the microphone before Gree could even react. "Hang on, 2-2. Help is on the way."
She immediately switched the channels, her hands moving efficiently across the console. It was her years of experience - even more than Gree, truth be told. An overhead map popped up on the COM-screen in front of the station. Several grids flashed red in the areas where 2-2 had indicated Covenant presence. A number of other dots were spread out around those grids, indicating the location of other patrol elements active in the area. Locksley activated the COM again.
"Baseplate to Raptor Actual."
"Raptor Actual, go ahead Baseplate," the response came almost instantly.
"Redirect all available units to Z-Charlie 020 by 021, all-haste. Raptor 2-2 is Tango-Direct, enemy forces at platoon numbers. How copy?"
"Raptor Actual, solid copy on all. Redirecting Raptors 2-3 through 2-8, to Z-Charlie 020 by 021. Requesting confirmation of orders."
"Orders confirmed Raptor Actual. Baseplate out," Locksley ended the connection.
She turned to Gree. "You ready?"
"Already ahead of you," he said, heading straight toward the armory. Raptor was the callsign for Marine Recon unit B-Raptor, and they couldn't afford to lose any of them. He and Locksley were already armored up, just for something like this happening.
Staff Sergeant Vikol met Gree and Locksley in the armory with a team of marines. "We heard the wire," he said, strapping a radio-pack onto his back. "Whole team's ready to ride."
Gree could understand Vikol's eagerness. Way out here in the Exedis Prime system, there was hardly anything resembling action. And despite recent activities, there was still very little going on overall. There were a lot of eager troops ready to get their hands dirty. But that needed to wait.
"You're staying here, Vikol," Locksley told him, getting to it before Gree did. "We need you to hold down the Hub in case they plan a full-on attack."
Vikol was visibly disappointed, but he didn't argue.
Gree loaded his BR55 and grabbed several spare magazines. Then, he hefted a M41 SPNKR, taking more than a moment to secure the large weapon across his back.
He thought of letting the staff sergeant take his place. But he needed to get a firsthand look at what Chol Kam was trying to pull. And there was no way Locksley was going to stay put. So he and the colonel emerged from the Hub, armed with battle-rifles and ammunition, and took a spare transport-hog from the Hub's garage.
"I'll drive," Locksley told him. There was no arguing. Gree slid into the passenger seat and held on tight as she peeled off from the Hub, the tires kicking up chunks of dirt like a storm.
They drove hard in the direction of Raptor 2-2, barreling over shrubs and thick tree roots, and going full-scale airborne off various hills and rises. Gree hadn't been in the field like this in a long time - indeed, hadn't been in a combat situation in over a year. But he wasn't afraid. He'd been a combat veteran by the age of 17. The only thing that changed was the battlefield and the enemy. This wasn't a real battle, but he put his game face on nonetheless. Combat was a serious affair, and in this situation, he was hoping to save marines. Suppress the Covenant enough to pull out 2-2. He took a moment to set up his helmet's COM channel, cycling through until he found the relevant network. He filtered out most of the background chatter.
"Raptor 2-2, this is Captain Gree. Give me a sitrep."
It took a moment before the sergeant came back. "We've got two wounded and we're pinned tight. What's the E.T.A on the help!?"
Gree looked over at Locksley. "How far are we?"
She shifted into fifth-gear and gunned the engine all out. She was entirely focused on driving and didn't even respond. So Gree listened out for the sound of gunshots trading. It wasn't easy to hear over the sound of the engine, but he could tell they were getting close. They'd likely get there before any other Raptor elements. He activated his COM again. "One minute, sergeant. Hold tight."
About a minute and a half later, Locksley slid the warthog into place behind a large tree, coming to within three inches of crashing. Plasma bolts were sailing by overhead. And there was a squad of marines hunkered down in cover ten meters ahead, firing downhill at enemies Gree couldn't see. An explosion rippled the forest about 60 yards to Gree's 9 o'clock; several bushes were vaporized entirely, and the ground was scorched and blackened into a crater. If anything had been there, it was now gone. Gree hopped out the warthog, battle rifle in one hand and SPNKR slung over one shoulder, keeping his head low and running over to the squad of marines with Locksley right behind him.
Gree fell into cover next to the marine corporal. Literally fell, hitting the ground hard and rolling onto his back. "You 2-2!?" he asked, rolling back onto his belly into place behind a boulder that protruded up from the ground.
She shook her head. "We're 2-5. 2-2's about 15 meters that way," the corporal said. She pointed at about 11 o'clock. "They're pinned in the gorge. Covenant positions are all around this site to 12 through 2 o'clock."
Locksley came up on Gree's left and peeked out of cover for a second. She fired off a few rounds, then scooted back behind the boulder. "Eighty to 100 yards out, Captain."
He nodded, then tapped on his COM. "Baseplate Actual to Raptor 2-2."
"We're reading you, Captain, go 'head!" Sergeant Canners shouted frantically.
"Prepare to move on Raptor 2-5's position. We're going to screen you with the M41."
"-Got you loud an' clear, sir!"
Gree looked over his shoulder. "Clear the backblast!"
Several seconds went by as the marines shifted their positions, giving Gree space to fire the SPNKR. He set his battle rifle down and hefted the rocket launcher with both hands, then scooted his way into a firing position just around the side of the boulder. Locksley got alongside him on the right, feeding two rockets into the barrels as Gree set the range. At 100 yards max, the SPNKR would be spot-on.
"Ready to fire," Locksley said as she secured the rocket-housing. She slid over to Gree's lefthand side this time, then leaned in close and pointed with her arm as she spoke. "Aim for a broken tree on this side, and the line of bushes on this side."
"Yeah!" Gree said. He was excited. This was the first time he was handling explosives since Reach, back when that little Marine recruit had saved his life. What was son's name? Cain? I could use him now.
Locksley patted him on the back, then rolled away out of his peripheral sight. "All of you, get ready to shoot," Gree heard her say to 2-5.
Gree waited 5 seconds. Then he stood and braced himself against the boulder. He fired back-to-back, aiming for the spots Locksley had called out. A second later, those positions erupted in twin blazes of fire, ash and shrapnel. Plumes of smoke and dirt shot upwards, along with what looked like a dead jackal or two. Gree couldn't quite tell. The shots seemed to have hit their mark.
When he ducked back behind the boulder, Locksley and the rest of 2-5 popped out of cover and let loose a cannonade, the entire team firing on the Covenant positions to force their heads down. It was thunderous, and it seemed to have worked. Gree slung his SPNKR again and found his BR55, then crawled back into a position where he could see Raptor 2-2.
The marines were scrambling out of cover from a series of trees and bushes, making their way back uphill and out of danger. At least two of them appeared to be wounded, and a third - who looked to be Sergeant Canners himself - had to be supported by 2 others. They weren't going as fast as Gree would have liked, but so long as the Covenant couldn't get accurate beads on them, they'd be fine. For that matter, Gree shifted his gaze to across the gorge. He couldn't spot any Covenant in particular, but there was still occasional inaccurate return-fire. The screen seemed to have worked.
That is, until Gree spotted a trio of dark shapes moving fast along the Covenant line. At first, he couldn't tell what it was. Then he spotted the unmistakable olive-green armor drab of a skirmisher commando, leaping from atop a tree and sailing towards 2-2. It slid onto the ground, then tucked into a roll and kept up its momentum.
Gree aimed his BR55. "Skirmishers! Take 'em out!"
He shot at the leading commando. But the rounds sailed through it as though it were transparent. Then Gree realized it was a decoy - a type of holographic projection skirmisher commando units occasionally used in the battlefield. Tricky little jackal bastards.
When the decoy flashed and dissipated, the real skirmisher - at least, Gree assumed it so - leaped up from a well-camouflaged location off to the right of 2-2, along with another skirmisher. They fired on the marines before anyone could react. A round from a needle-rifle split one of the marines through the neck, killing the man instantly.
By the time Gree and the others opened fire on the skirmishers, they had already leaped and dodged their way into cover, once again using their camouflage to hide in the gorge.
Raptor 2-2 finally made it up the hill and out of danger, though they were missing one. Sergeant Canners had his arms slung around two marines that were practically carrying him, and a grimace covered his face. There was a noticeable plasma burn that torn through his torso armor, scarring him a gnarly black.
Locksley stepped in and gave out orders. "You two - get Canners and the rest of the wounded onto the warthog; fall back to baseplate. The rest of you, we're going to cover the retreat."
As Locksley spoke, Gree made his way out the line of fire and tabbed through his COM. "Captain Gree to Baseplate. Sergeant Vikol?"
"I'm reading you, Captain. What's the word?"
"Secure the Hub, alert status Red. Skirmisher Commandos are active in the area and they might hit you. Be on the lookout for our warthog - Sergeant Canners and the rest of our wounded are coming in fast."
"Copy that. Baseplate won't fall on my watch, Captain. We'll be waiting for Canners. Vikol out."
Hours later, things had quieted down to where Colonel Locksley had switched Baseplate's alert status to yellow. Despite that, the troops stationed at the Control Hub were still on edge. Even now, as Gree walked around inspecting the perimeter, he could sense the unease and tension in every marine present. Most of them were hunkered down in foxholes, and they were jumpy. Gree made sure that his presence was announced every few meters. It wasn't uncommon for inexperienced troops to commit friendly fire by mistake, shooting at the first thing that moved. And night time only made that more of an issue. And out here, the talk of skirmisher commandos running about had sent the younger marines and militia troops into fantasy realm; all day, there'd been whispers of Covenant ghosts possibly sneaking behind lines to assassinate people. Skirmisher ghosts, slipping through the ranks like demons and killing unwary fools.
That wasn't going to happen. Baseplate had too many defense systems in place to safeguard against that threat. But that fact didn't stop the troops' minds from wandering.
When Gree was satisfied with the line, he made his way for the command bunker. The guard saluted as Gree slipped through the gate.
Inside the command room, Gree found Colonel Locksley leaning back in a chair, with her feet kicked up on the COM station and her helmet tilted to cover her eyes. She was asleep. Or so Gree thought. When he sat down across from her, Locksley tipped her helmet up.
"How's it look?"
"The same. Everyone's still jumping at the first shadow they see," he told her as he rolled his chair closer to the COM station. "And they're pissed about the guy who got KIA today."
"Can you blame them?" Locksley asked, but Gree didn't answer. He looked at her, saw his reflection in her hazel eyes. Realized just how glad he was of her presence.
Then he ran his fingers across a number of keys, sifting through various communications networks and channels. The COM-screen brought up a list of local connections that ran through the Hub. The list wasn't that long. There was a contact for the spaceport Stellarstone, several contacts for the various listening posts scattered throughout the system, a pair of contacts for Archer Poole, and a contact for the carrier UNSC Musashi that'd recently arrived near the system's edge.
Gree keyed in a specific sequence of numbers and symbols. A moment later, the COM-screen brought up a new contact labeled IE712-TOUCHDOWN.
Colonel Locksley sat up in her seat and rolled near. "What're you going to do?"
"We need to figure out what's happening. Put a lid on whatever it is they're doing."
"We need to do more than that. Get the Musashi to blow them to smithereens."
"I understand that," Gree told her. He honestly did. "But we have to play this smart. And the Musashi is still several days away."
Gree selected the contact. It took about half a minute before the line was established, and another half-minute before the translation algorithms kicked in.
"Huu-mons," a scratchy and inhuman voice filtered through. It was Chol Kam. "I have been waiting."
"What do you think you're doing?" Gree demanded. "You're pushing it way too far."
There was a stretch of silence before Kam responded. "A little mild expansion doesn't hurt anything, Cap-tan."
Kam was trying to play some game, and Gree didn't like it. After the firefight earlier today, he'd deployed several recon drones to Z-Charlie after pulling out B-Raptor. And like he had suspected, Chol Kam had sent in a sizable force to the gorge that'd begun digging in. At least several hundred jackals, setting up a perimeter and defenses and fortifications. As though they were establishing a foothold. And that foothold was on the UNSC's side of the borders they'd established with Kam.
"You killed one of ours."
"And you, several of mine. I should be demanding answers from you."
"I'm going to kill her myself," Locksley said, a frown burrowed on her face. Gree waved her off.
"What do you want, Kam?"
"We're just... Exercising our legs," Kam replied. She didn't say anything else.
Gree grunted. "You try something like that again," he threatened. "It's war." He almost mentioned the Musashi, but that would've been a colossal mistake. In warfare, information and deception was everything. And Kam was smart, if not anything else; he had to use whatever advantage possible when dealing with her. If Kam believed that Archer Poole was weak, then that was a good thing.
"Here is a parting gift," Kam said. A moment later, the line cut off, but the COM-screen read INCOMING DATAPACKET.
The file took a brief moment to filter through the COM station's security systems and checks. When it finished, a string of numbers and coding lines ran up the screen. Gree exchanged a glance with Locksley, neither of them sure what this was going to be. After a moment, the file opened, revealing more numbers and names. He stared at the data. Locksley scooted up close to the COM station and began opening one of the links to Archer Poole.
"We should send this straight to Phoenix," Locksley told him. Phoenix was Archer Poole's AI, and if anyone could decipher the file, he could. Gree didn't argue, and Locksley shot the data packet to Phoenix.
They waited in silence for Pheonix to get back to them. Gree, for his part, was focused on trying to determine what kind of a game Kam was playing at. There'd been brief skirmishes before, but none of those involved significant numbers. And those hadn't even been firefights; rather, just warning shots and pop shots exchanged between both sides. But today, it had been a full-fledged firefight. It was a significant escalation compared to anything else that'd happened. Moreover, Kam was setting up some sort of firebase. So there was more to it than just a simple border conflict.
The COM station line activated.
"Phoenix to Baseplate Actual," the soft-voiced AI came on.
"Go ahead, Phoenix. You got anything?" he asked, turning up the volume a tad.
"The data-packet contains troop dispositions, defensive weapons systems and platforms, and detailed terrain layouts and facility schematics."
Gree and Locksley exchanged another glance. "For what?" Gree asked. A wave of nausea shot through him. If this was for Archer Poole, then it was undoubtedly a threat - no, a warning.
"The system coordinates attached to the file indicates the GH-5 System. That is, the intel is the Covenant Giga-structural shipyard."
"Phoenix, Locksley here," the Colonel said as she took over the call. "Are you certain that's what this is?"
"Virtually so."
They continued discussing the data packet, whilst Gree found himself lost in thought. Chol Kam must be expecting the UNSC to go after that shipyard. It was the only reason why she'd send even more intel on it. And that wasn't an entirely unimaginable thing - Kam was smart, after all. There weren't many inductive logical steps to make to figure that the shipyard would be getting attacked. But now, things had just gotten incredibly risky.
Because it was possible that Kam was playing Gree and the UNSC. That this entire thing had been a ploy orchestrated by some Covenant grand-strategist. Their showing up in the system and landing on Highrise, putting on an effective display of a Covenant splinter-faction. All to goad the UNSC into dedicated mass resources into attacking that shipyard. Where a trap would be lying in wait.
Not only was such a scenario possible - it was feasible. The Covenant knew that they were winning the war. And they also knew that the UNSC was growing more desperate by the year. And it wasn't even a dent in the pocket for them to spend a single ship and thousands of troops; if it meant the chance to obliterate a full-scale UNSC Battleforce, then that price was so worth it, as to not even be a question.
Locksley turned to face him. Phoenix had gone off the line. "I'm going to file this straight to HIGHCOM, first chance."
"Wait," Gree said, holding out a hand.
He took a moment to explain his concern.
She shrugged. "Ohkay. I get that. HIGHCOM has to know, either way. Everything that jackal's sent so far has at least been reliable."
"Ohkay."