0713 Hours, August 20, 2542 (Military Calendar)
Lambda Serpentis System, Near abandoned ship Icarus
John drifted, arms out, reveling in the feeling of weightlessness. It was once a feeling that made him uneasy – that made him feel helpless. But now, it was a feeling of peace. It was calm. It was a step away from all the mess.
"You still with me over there? We're about to blow the hatch."
Fred's voice brought him back to the present. He turned to Fred and nodded, tightening his grip on the hull.
Despite the layers of clothing and the vacuum-rated faceplate, Fred's wide grin shone almost as brightly as the sun. John had come to take pleasure in their EVA maneuvers for the peace – Fred had come to love them for the explosions.
The charge erupted soundlessly, blowing the exterior hatch off the small cruiser. John and Fred, posted on opposite sides of the doorway, each grabbed a handhold on the hatch and pulled it free of its housing. There was no atmosphere left within the ship, having drifted dead in space for several weeks now. There was, supposedly, something of great value to John and his crew aboard. Silently, the men floated into the derelict.
John wasn't quite sure what killed her. The crew all successfully escaped, though the Covenant hadn't deemed such an insignificant ship carrying such an insignificant cargo worthy of salvaging. Which was where John and his crew came in.
Fred took point through the tight corridors of the ship, the flashlights in the shoulders of his bulky EVA suit illuminating five meters of passage out ahead of them. John followed closely behind, ensuring their tether line remained untangled in the event of an emergency retrieval.
"I've got you on thermals," Kelly's voice came over the radio. "You two move slower than a three-legged dog wearing hobbles."
"Big talk from the woman sitting pretty in familiar territory," Fred fired back.
Their banter could continue for hours. The two seemed to take some pleasure out of egging one another on – a pleasure John usually tried to accommodate. But at the moment they were on a schedule.
"Kelly," he said, forestalling her next retort, "we'd be moving a mite faster if you told us where to go."
From her position Kelly was reading through the Icarus's schematics. Comparing the schematics with her thermal readings of John and Fred's position, she would give them turn-by-turn directions to their target.
"Third hatch on the left," she said long-sufferingly. She sounded bored, which usually spelt trouble for John. His closest friend from childhood, he'd known Kelly long enough to know that when she got bored, things tended to get interesting for everyone. These days, interesting often wasn't a good thing.
"Copy," John answered, patting Fred's shoulder. The other man pushed off, moving at a much quicker pace down the hallway while John anchored himself in a doorway and fed tether. Eventually Fred reached out a hand and connected himself to the side wall, crawling back a few meters to the hatch that he had overshot. After a moment, he waved John forward.
John turned himself upside-down and planted his boots firmly on the ceiling of the hallway. He then pushed off, soaring through the zero-gee environment with a nimbleness garnered from years of experience. He connected with his crewmate's outstretched hand and firmly clamped his hand around the other man's forearm, allowing Fred to reel him in and bring his feet back to the ground.
Fred waited at the hatch for John to reorient himself before hitting the door release. There was enough residual power left in the Icarus's system to open the doorway, at least, and the hatch slid open with ease. Through the doorway lay an expansive room, pitch dark and uninviting.
"What are we looking for again?" Fred asked as he shone his light across the room. The cargo hold was full of odds and ends, from partially assembled farming equipment to freeze-dried animal rations. After the weeks spent in vacuum, it would all be useless unless stored within a vacuum-sealed container, such as the one they were currently after.
"Vac-sealed box, one by two meters," Kelly answered. "Covered in Covenant symbols."
It took less than a minute's searching to locate the box. Five minutes after that, the pair had the container secured between them and were retreating back down the hallway toward open space.
"Reel us back in," John said.
"Copy," came the answer from Linda, posted in the cargo bay of their ship. The winch their tether was on began to tighten, slowly pulling the men and their new acquisition from the wrecked Icarus. John kept one eye over his shoulder as they were retrieved – despite the fact that no life had been detected on the ship, and that by all rights nothing could have survived there in the weeks the ship had been floating lifeless, there was a certain amount of unease he was simply unable to shake whenever he entered those abandoned husks.
Perhaps it was that he felt as though he were treading inside a tomb that kept him nervous. Maybe it was how he'd never reconciled the fact that he was no longer a soldier and always expected attack when treading on unfamiliar territory. Either way, he took comfort when they neared the hatch.
He finally directed his focus forward as they were pulled free of the Icarus. This was one particular view he never tired of – Serenity, displayed in all her glory.
A Firefly-class mid-bulk transport, deemed essentially useless by modern shipyards, was not what most would call "glorious." To John, however, she was the most beautiful sight he'd ever beheld. She was tough, fast, and effective. In many ways, she was as much a part of his team – and fit in just as well – as any of the others. Serenity was always a welcome sight.
Eventually, they landed in the airlock. After the airlock repressurized, they began the removing their bulky EVA gear and finally opened the inner airlock door. Linda was waiting just inside, hands on her hips. "Took you long enough," she said, "I was starting to think I'd have to come out after you."
"Everybody's a critic," John answered with a sly grin. "You're welcome to take my place if you think you could do it so much faster."
Linda just rolled her eyes but smiled as she grabbed one side of the crate to pull it inside. "We need to confirm that the cargo is good."
Fred ran a hand through his disheveled hair. It was a nervous tick the man developed almost immediately upon allowing his hair to grow out past the regulation crewcut of military life. "It better be good. I ain't dragging this thing around just for fun."
John knelt down in front of the keyboard that accessed the crate. He fished through his pocket until his fingertips found purchase on the slip of paper where he had hastily scribbled the code to open the chest. He scanned through the alien symbols slowly, aware that if he were to miss on even one key the crate would lock itself down.
When he finished inputting the sequence, the top hatch popped open with a satisfying hiss. He vaguely registered the sound of more footsteps entering the hold as he opened the crate and pulled a gilded bar from within. He lifted the bar to the light, scanning the reflection that came off of it for any telltale sign that the bar had been tagged by the Covenant. Satisfied, he fingered one corner and peeled back the metallic wrapping to expose a condensed meal bar encased within.
"Well, if that ain't the shiniest thing," said a voice behind him. The newest member of the crew, Miranda, was standing by Fred's side, looking eagerly at the bar in John's hand.
She was a girl of just 17 years, but was one of the most gifted mechanics he had ever met. He'd taken her on the crew as a favor to her parents – her father was once an officer in the UNSC, with a large target painted on his back after the Covenant won the war. Her mother was, in many ways, the closest thing that John himself had to a mother. He owed her his life – the least he could do was take on her daughter.
John passed the food bar to Miranda. "Test it out," he said with a smile. "If it's poisoned, you ought to be the first to find out."
She smiled brightly in spite of his joke and took hold of the bar with both hands, bringing it to her mouth and biting off the corner. Everyone waited silently, staring at her intently as she chewed. Suddenly her eyes shot open wide, and she let out a joyful squeak.
"This is amazing!" she said. "I don't know what it tastes like, but I want more of it."
With a smile, John went to the comm on the wall. "Kelly, plot a course for Meridian. We've got a sale to make."
Meridian was a bustling world, at least as far as frontier worlds went. Not exactly the ideal of galactic equality, Meridian was built, rather, on the purses of the rich and the backs of the poor. It was unimportant except for its agricultural footing, and as such was largely ignored by the Covenant's patrol routes.
Which made Meridian the perfect place for ships like Serenity.
Dust billowed through the air as Serenity's gangplank slowly lowered to the ground. A dull shrieking sounded, the effect of a faulty hydraulics line. John did his best to ignore it. Miranda could repair it if it became a problem, and he had more pressing matters to tend to. Principally the sale of Covenant-marked foodstuffs in his smuggler's hold.
"Alright people, you know the drill by now," he said, turning to his assembled crew. "Linda, take the Goose and go for a supply run. Miranda, you're staying put with Serenity. Get a few passengers lined up for us while we're gone, will you?"
Miranda huffed indignantly. "I want to go with you," she said, crossing her arms over her chest.
John sighed. The argument was not a new one. They had taken Miranda on their crew nearly five years ago – when she was barely twelve years old – as a favor to her parents, who were both of a position that would have endangered her during humanity's integration into the Covenant. From that young age, the girl had always fought to be included on the more dangerous aspects of their dealings.
He turned to Fred, silently pleading for help. From the moment Miranda joined their crew, those two shared a special bond. John had long speculated on what it was, exactly, that formed their close link. Kelly liked to joke that Fred was desperate to have a little sister to take care of and that Miranda didn't mind having a nearly seven-foot-tall super soldier wrapped around her finger, and John had to admit that her observation didn't seem far off. Either way, the close bond between them was extremely important to John's mental health at times such as these.
Fred stepped forward, laying a heavy hand on Miranda's shoulder. "You know why you can't come," he said. "Someone's got to keep their eye on Serenity. Besides, we're going to need some paying passengers if we're going to keep her in the sky, and everyone knows you have the best eye for money."
Miranda kept her arms resolutely crossed, refusing to meet any of their eyes.
Fred sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Look," he said after a moment, "if you find us some good customers – and I mean the kind who don't even barter price – then I'll teach you how to shoot Linda's old rifle the next time we make it out to the rim."
At that, the young girl turned. Where the beginnings of a pout had a moment before threatened to spill out onto her lips, her mouth had spread into a tight, thin line. "Promise?" she said, her tone completely serious. She struck out the small finger on her left hand.
Fred sighed again before reaching his own small finger out and entwining it with hers, then turning their hands to press his thumb to hers.
Miranda's face nearly split in two with her smile. "Yes!" she exclaimed, wrapping her arms tightly around Fred's midsection. "I'm going to find the best-paying folks on Meridian," she declared confidently.
"I'm sure you will," Fred said, ruffling her hair with one large hand. She yelped and jumped back, swatting at him and attempting to straighten her mussed hair.
"Time to go," John said, relieved that the young girl had been placated. "Badger's waiting, and I'd rather not hang around any longer than we rightly have to." He turned to Miranda. "You've got less than an hour to drum up those passengers, kid. Try to go for the really rich ones."
Miranda threw him a two-fingered salute, and the crew all began to move at once. Miranda raced to the side of the hold and produced a folding chair for herself to wait in before picking out customers. Behind her, Linda fired up their four-wheeled M247R – affectionately named "Goose" by the crew – and took off down the gangplank. John himself turned and left the ship, Fred and Kelly following behind.
John's mind was preoccupied with their upcoming negotiation. Their buyer was good. She provided coordinates and targets, they retrieved and delivered them. The old woman was a shrewd barterer, but she was fair with her prices. John liked to think she held a certain soft spot for him.
Her middleman, on the other hand, was another story. Formerly an intelligence operative who worked under their buyer, the man now went by no other name than Badger. John considered his taking of the name a great disservice to the animal.
Badger was a wildly unpleasant little man who seemed to delight in holding power over anyone, particularly the crew of Serenity. John wasn't quite sure why. Perhaps he knew who John and his crew used to be, and for some reason he resented them. Perhaps they had wronged him somewhere in the past. Perhaps he was just rotten to the core.
"I hate Badger," Kelly voiced his thoughts as they came to the man's base of operations. "Should've called himself Snake. Would've been more accurate."
"You never know," Fred answered. "Maybe he came by the name honest. His mother took one look at him and said, 'Well I know just the name for this thing.'"
"Let's save all this etymological talk for later, shall we?" John said as they came to the front entrance. "For now, everyone needs to play real nice so that we can get our money, offload our product, and get out of here."
His companions grunted discontentedly as John keyed in a code into the pad beside the door. The code was designed to identify them, declaring their intent to sell. Unsurprisingly, though, the small video display above the keypad flashed to life and a small man in the rags of what once might have made up a sharp suit appeared.
"What's your business?" he asked, his thick accent hiding none of his surly attitude.
"Sale," John grunted. Badger liked to dangle his position as liaison between John and the buyer like a cruel child dangled a string before a kitten – only taking joy in the frustration of his subject. John knew that the less he responded to Badger's instigations, the quicker it would lose its fun for the little man.
"What kind of sale?" the man in the screen asked, tapping a foot indignantly.
John made a show of checking his wrist, pretending to read the time on a watch that wasn't there. "Salvaged goods," he responded gruffly.
Badger grew impatient. "What kind of goods, mate? All that muscle between your ears making you hard of hearing now?"
John folded his arms over his chest and said nothing.
Badger mirrored his stance, more than happy to engage in the waiting game.
"Hey Kelly," Fred asked, just loud enough for the microphones to pick up his voice. "How long do you think it will take for her to notice that we haven't called in?"
"Oh, you know her," Kelly answered at an equal volume. "She's probably already looking for someone to lynch. The woman doesn't like to be kept waiting."
The tiny translucent Badger began to grow agitated. John couldn't help but allow a smirk to cross his face.
"Did you hear about what she did to the guy before Badger?" Fred asked, continuing on in his loud voice. "What was his name again? Smith?"
Kelly chipperly answered, "Yeah, I remember Smith. Squirrely little guy, right? It ain't often that you hear somebody's getting buried in buckets."
"Enough chatter," Badger interrupted angrily. "She's waiting for you." He waved frantically to his cameraman to terminate the video before the door slowly, noisily, cranked its way open.
His team checked their weapons at a table just inside the door. At least, their more obvious weapons. Fred still had a small throwing knife tucked inside his boot, and Kelly's belt was lined with det-cord, the buckle hiding the activator. John himself was the only one without any weaponry on his person – but even without, he was far from harmless.
Badger waited beyond the weapons' check in the larger receiving area of his seedy establishment. The little man impatiently waved John forward. "Didn't you hear?" he sneered, straightening the tie he wore over a collarless shirt, "The old lady's waiting. She ain't as patient as I am."
John resisted the urge to roll his eyes. The sooner he was done dealing with Badger the better.
The four of them made their way to a private back room. In a place like Badger's, such rooms were typically used for some of the more questionable business discussions – those negotiations which were held by dancers paid by the hour. This particular room, however, was different. Instead of a pole and a rather uncomfortable sitting arrangement, the room was dominated by a large screen on one wall and a code scrambler in the center of the room. This place was likely the most secure location on all of Meridian – and it was for that very reason John's buyer continued to work with such a repugnant partner.
Even before entering the room, John could see the faint glow of the transmission. She was waiting for them, and on this count Badger was actually right – she was not a patient woman. Her face filled a display that spanned an entire wall, and though she was at the fringe of known space John couldn't help but feel some trepidation entering her presence.
"Maggie," he said as he stepped into the room, spreading his arms wide in a friendly gesture. "What a sight for sore eyes."
In his previous life, John would never have dreamt of addressing Vice Admiral Margaret Parangosky so informally. But times had changed, and he had changed as well. They all had. There was no other choice.
The former head of the Office of Naval Intelligence's most clandestine department, however, was not in the mood for pleasantries.
"A little birdie's been in my ear this morning, John," she said, her voice disgruntled. "It tells me that there's a shipment of Covenant foodstuffs that was reported stolen from a derelict. Do any of you know what that means?"
"That you're upping our price because the product has now become a collectible?" Fred asked with a smile.
"You've got marked goods," she answered, paying the man no heed. Maggie must have been nearly 90 years old, and she was never a particularly large or physically capable woman even in her prime. There was no doubt, however, that she was by far the most dangerous person in attendance to this meeting.
"All I've got," John answered measuredly, "is exactly what you're paying me for," He liked to think that she had a soft spot for him, but no one got to the position she had obtained in the former United Nations Space Command hierarchy by giving from the goodness of their heart.
"Oh, you don't have to worry," she said, her wrinkled visage lightening with a smile. "You'll still get your pay. But you're going to have to bring it to me direct."
John paced slowly around the room. "We weren't planning to make a trip clear out to Whitefall just yet," he said conversationally. "We're going to have to renegotiate price if you expect us to drop it off at your doorstep."
The old woman's smile grew wider. "You're getting better, son," she said, her voice betraying genuine pride. "You make a fair point. I'll give you the 10% off the top that I usually offer to our little friend there in the corner."
On the far side of the room John heard Badger burst to his feet. No one bothered to acknowledge his outburst.
"It's the least he can do after he lost me so much money last week," Maggie said, her voice ice-cold. Behind John, Badger sat down silently. "But for that much," she continued, "you'll have to transport one more thing for me."
John rolled his eyes. "We're no delivery service, ma'am," he said.
"Oh, you won't even notice it," she said, waving her hand dismissively at him. "And since you're making the trip anyway, you might as well bring it along."
John thought for a moment. He turned slightly, just enough to catch Kelly in the corner of his eye. She was looking off to one side, communicating silently with Fred. Eventually she turned to John and held her right hand palm-down, then brought it up to the left side of her neck. She masked the gesture under the guise of scratching a nonexistent itch, but it was in fact one of the hand signals the Spartans had developed as children in their early years of training.
All-clear.
She and Fred agreed to the offer.
"Alright, Maggie," John said, "we'll find some corner to stuff your luggage. Have your stinky errand boy deliver it to Serenity by sundown."
"I thought you'd see it my way," she said, a twinkle in her eye. "I always told the others you were smarter than you looked. Make sure to check in when you're arriving in-system. We'll have a party waiting for you."
With that, the transmission terminated.
"Badger," John said, turning to leave, "I'd say it was a pleasure, but, well, I've known you too long."
"The feeling's mutual, believe you me." Badger responded haughtily from the corner. "Dear old Maggie's package will be waiting for you by the time you get back to that scrap pile you call a 'ship,'" he jeered with a pointy-toothed grin. The man was missing one more tooth than the last time they'd been in close proximity. John wished he'd been there to see him lose it.
He turned and led the three-person parade out of the dingy establishment in silence, continuing back to the port in the same fashion. Meridian was a small, largely unimportant colony – but they could never be too careful. As they came to Serenity's open bay door John waved Kelly and Fred up to the bridge with a subtle hand motion before entering the ship himself.
True to Miranda's word, she had found three passengers. One of them stood near the foot of the stairs that led up and out of the cargo bay, an unassuming man in a scratchy-looking coat and holding a briefcase. Another – a muscular man of dark complexion and graying hair and mustache – busied himself with helping Linda offload supplies from the Goose. The third was fussing over a crate in the middle of the hold, kneeling by its side and scanning over the entire thing.
This passenger was suspiciously well-dressed when compared with their usual clientele. John had no idea whatsoever when it came to fashion or quality material, but by her dress and mannerisms he took the woman for someone who cared deeply about both. She turned, staring directly at him with cloudy gray irises that seemed to suck him in.
"Captain," Miranda said when he arrived at the foot of the stairs. "Let me introduce to you the finest passengers Serenity's ever had aboard her. This fella's name is Clarence," she said, pointing to the man in the uncomfortable-looking coat, "that gentleman helping Linda out is named Avery, and she –" she turned her attention to the woman, but John cut her off.
"Lots of work to do, Miranda," he said gruffly, "Let's save introductions for after we've dusted off. I need you to inform these lovely passengers you've scrounged up that our flight plan's changed. We're making best speed to Whitefall, and then we'll be spending some time out in the rim. If they aren't shiny with that, hand over their money and wish them a fond farewell."
Miranda opened her mouth to respond, but again John interrupted.
"If any of them want to stay, that's their prerogative," he said, "but there'll be no refunds on my boat once we take off."
Again, Miranda attempted to respond.
"Badger's supposed to have sent some package over that we're carrying along with us," he plowed on, forestalling whatever comment she was trying to make. "Make sure it's strapped down before we take off." He turned up the stairs toward the bridge before stopping and turning back to her. "Speaking of that, have you seen it? I don't rightly know what we're supposed to be carrying yet."
"That's what I've been trying to tell you, Captain," Miranda said exasperatedly. She once again pointed at the two men. "They're the passengers," her finger swung to the finely dressed woman kneeling beside her large crate, "and that's the package."
John stepped back off the stair. "You mean . . ." he said, pointing vaguely in the woman's direction.
"Yep," Miranda said chipperly. "One of Badger's guys – the ugly one, with that thing on his nose – dropped her off just before you all got back."
John sighed, rubbing his eyes. "Just get them checked in, alright?" he said, turning back up the stairs and out of the hold.
He made it to the bridge, where Fred and Kelly were finishing preparations to launch.
"We'll be ready to go at sundown, Cap," Fred said from the co-pilot's seat. "Kelly's plotting our course now."
Kelly hummed absentmindedly in the pilot's couch. "Yessir," she said, tapping several keys on the control suite in front of her. "Plotting the course clear out to Whitefall. Right to the rim. Weeks before we thought we'd be back out there."
John couldn't help but let a small smile creep into the corner of his mouth as he watched Fred in his peripheral.
"Alright, you caught me," Fred said, throwing his hands up in the air in defeat. "I didn't think we'd be back out to the rim soon enough for Miranda to actually remember that I promised to teach her to shoot."
"You sure didn't," Kelly said in an almost sing-song tone. "Isn't it funny how things work out sometimes?" She leaned back into her chair, lacing her fingers behind her head. "Of course, you could always just break your promise to the kid," she prodded, looking directly at Fred.
The other Spartan glowered but remained silent.
"Sucker," Kelly snickered. She then turned to John. "Ready for takeoff. Whenever you're ready."
John nodded, looking out the viewport ahead of them. "Call it in and let's get off this rock," he said, his thoughts on the oddly well-dressed woman in the hold. "The sooner we're done with this thing, the better."