VIII

Rey knew that if this plan was going to work, he'd need the right people. A plan as such was only as good as the people involved, so he needed to recruit. A handful of names already circulated through his head after his discussion with Damon. The corporal was on board, albeit reluctantly. Who wouldn't be, right? He knew, though, that it was going to be a hard sell to anyone else. Damon was a UNSC soldier, trained and involved in numerous conflicts with the Covenant. Soldiers saw what civilians often overlooked: the threat, the tactical side of matters, and the eventual solutions. Everyone else just saw the threat and how it may've affected them. Black and white.

Once he had the people, Rey knew that was only the first step. The success of this operation required strategic perfection. He didn't care for the word. Nothing was ever perfect, and no plan was ever fool-proof. Still, if 100% perfection wasn't possible, then he'd settle for 99.99%. Just one percent shy wasn't too shabby. Then again, if left up to chance, that one percent could be the one negative that had the power to ruin everything, to lose everything.

The thought of failure was prevalent in his mind. Some might think he was being a pessimist, some deranged, and others uncommitted on what to label him as. But he had their trust, at least from those who mattered. The rest were too indecisive; calling his praise one moment and doubting him the next. People. You can't satisfy all of them, even if they didn't realize you're the reason they're still drawing breath.

That was one reason why he found himself in the living quarters of the camp. The people needed to see his face, to know that he was in the trenches with them. Politicians used the tactic often: shake hands, ask about your welfare, make promises, keep morale high. Anything just to make everyone feel secure, as if to say, 'I'm the same as you are'. Many didn't believe it, but it was the truth. He didn't have some fancy room in the command center of the camp; he didn't have more food to eat and cleaner water to drink; he didn't have a lush bed with a firm mattress and a thick comforter to keep him warm. Everything they had, he had.

So don't turn your nose up at me. I eat the same crap you eat, sometimes less.

Rey couldn't fully blame them, though. Their living conditions weren't comfortable, especially for the families. Rooms were sectioned off into blocks no larger than your standard warehouse storage units. Used originally store the base's long removed Mongoose riders, it was the only place to keep everyone. It was also one of the coldest areas in the building, forcing DEV to divert most of the heating there. There were some rooms that was as cold as the moon's surface, uninhabited and left forever desolate. If this plan didn't work, more and more sectors would have to be cleared out and shut down to conserve power. Sooner or later, even that wouldn't be enough.

It infuriated him that he spent so much time thinking about the worst and rarely concentrated on the silver lining that kept them afloat. "Take a day off," some have told him. If only that were possible. But he wasn't here to make friends with the rest of the camp, not today. No, there was someone he needed to see.

He went down the line of living blocks, nodding to every few that were open, while others were sealed off by a thin curtain. There were a few families, having one or two children between them. More mouths to feed, more people to keep alive. Kids ran back and forth, playing with homemade toys in their endless imaginations: screaming, laughing, taunting, heavy breathing. He supposed the UNSC didn't think to pack contraceptives along with the rest of the supplies. But whatever. You couldn't stop people from doing what they wanted, even if it placed a burden on the rest. Typical. But there was good people here, hardworking and valuable. Natural peacekeepers and social leaders to maintain general order. Rey would never be able to thank them enough. He had too much on his plate to make room for riots.

Rey was midways down when he found who he was looking for. A woman was standing amongst a few of the seasoned members of the camp, handing out bowls of food and medications from the tray in her arms. She crouched down beside one of them in a wheelchair, brushing her wiry blonde hair behind her ears before pulling a thin plastic container from her back pocket. Rey made his way over, standing just off to the side of her. His shadow fell across her diagonally, and her unsettling icy blue eyes edged into the corners.

She looked over her shoulder at him, still crouched. "Reymond? Funny to see you around this time." She unlatched the plastic container, lined with a variety of multicolored pills and tablets.

"D'you have a minute, Astrid?" he asked her.

Astrid Schäfer pinched a pair of pills between her fingers, noting the mild impatience in his voice. She figured she couldn't avoid him forever. "Sure. Just let me finish up. I'll meet you by the containers."

"All right." Rey regarded the elderly, turned, and left out.

Rey paced for the better part of ten minutes, teething his right thumbnail but refusing to bite. He had only had five cigarettes left on him, with one full pack back in his bunk. That was twenty-five total, the last of his personal stash. He could get more, but it wasn't worth the hassle with Faraji; the man's price, for what he wanted, was just too high. And where was Astrid? Did it really take that long to give the ole' folks their meds? Maybe she was making him wait, to really make him think. He wasn't changing his mind.

Astrid came around the distant corner, walking in an unhurried gait. She still wore what everyone else might've considered peculiar in their circumstances: grey slacks with matching blazer, black undershirt, and modest heels. Rey felt underdressed.

She closed the distance between herself and Rey, their frames dwarfed by the empty cargo containers stacked behind them. It was a relatively quiet area, save for the occasional squawks from the children in the blocks. She dug her hands into the pockets of her blazer, looking straight on in Rey's eyes with an awaiting expression.

Rey gestured to the opposite side of one of the containers. "Let's get out of earshot."

Astrid sighed out of annoyance, ultimately going along. She followed him around to the backend of the container, feeling foolish for actually checking to see if anyone saw them. Of course they didn't. No one paid that much attention to anything, but eyes and ears usually perked up when Captain Anderton came marching.

"People won't develop conspiracies if they see us talking," Astrid underscored.

Rey shifted his feet. "How is everything over here, the overall morale?"

Astrid's brows furrowed. So he was going the small talk route? If that was his way of chiseling away at the frozen ice of the discussion, then she'd play along. But Astrid took her time to answer. There wasn't a simple answer, at least one Rey would realistically believe. Everyone's attitude was basically the same in one form or another.

The stages of grief had long since subsided, concluding in reluctant acceptance. A few often regressed into depression and anger, but it never lasted long enough to cause any issues. There was 76 of them in all, 77 once the latest pregnancy finished its course. Seventy-six out of 115 initial lives. Thirty-nine dead, and she doubted that number would remain unchanged.

"I don't know what you expect to hear. They're managing the best they can. Most of arguments that happen are more out of frustration than anything else." She pressed her right hand against the container, tapping. "It's been a while since they've heard any good news. They could use some. Anything at this point would raise their spirits."

"I know," Rey concurred. "That's why I'm trying to do something about it. Have you reviewed the data I sent you?"

There it was. Astrid winced, arms folded. "I have."

"And?"

"I don't know what you expect me to say, Reymond. What, that this is a great idea, that there's no other option? You're probably right; this could very well be our last chance. I looked over the details. We're practically on life-support. DEV estimates two years before systematic shutdown begins."

"All the more reason we need that engineer here to help us."

"And what makes you think this Covenant alien would dare help us? I was an operations coordinator for twelve years, so I'm no stranger out-of-the-box ideas. However, I've never recalled being a part of an op that involved capturing a member of the Covenant race to help us in a positive light. Capture for study, sure; capture and interrogate, most certainly; capture to form an alliance, never even discussed. We're in a war here, Reymond. This mission you're planning—"

"Planned," Rey impeded. "This is happening."

Astrid shook her head with a laugh. "Then why come talk to me? Want my blessing on this mess?"

Rey exhaled, fingers itching to grab a smoke. He fought the urge, landing his restless hands in his pockets. The conversation had gone exactly the way he thought it would; the same as it did with Damon. Only Astrid wasn't Damon. Both disagreed, but solid reasoning was enough to get Damon on board. Astrid was an entirely different creature. Nothing would convince her, not under their present circumstances. Maybe if they had squads of marines or helljumpers, her mindset would move in sync with his own.

"I didn't come here expecting you to agree with me," Rey explained to her. "Hell, Vasher ain't even open to this; but in order for this to work, I'm gonna need my best people on it. I'd rather not do this without you. And just think—this could give us five to six more years to figure out how to get us out of this mess."

Astrid walked a little way away from Rey, incredulous. She forced a stream of air through her nose. "I'm no pessimist, Reymond, but it's not like the UNSC left a ship here for us to take. They dropped us off, flew away, and said they'd be back." She pulled back the sleeve on her blazer, glancing at a figurative watch on her wrist. "It's been four years. Let's say we capture this engineer and it extends this place's lifespan; what then? You had to have thought about it."

Rey had thought about it; he couldn't help but to. Only the foolishly inexperienced went ahead without giving due thought to the end game. He knew that the elephant in the room was the that the engineer was ultimately a wildcard. If it didn't cooperate or attempted to sabotage them, it would have all been for nothing. An immense risk, yes; but how could you measure the risk of not trying, to let life slip through your fingers because you were too worried to even attempt an effort? It was survival, nothing more.

"I have a plan here, Astrid. It's just the first step of many. Your first steps are always crucial."

"You can also fall in your first steps, crucial or not," Astrid replied.

"I want you to coordinate the mission."

Astrid extended her neck out, blue eyes expanding. She found herself practically gawking now, having to rein herself back in. "First, you tell me about this suicide mission and now you want me to lead it?" She laughed with her hand over her forehead. "I can't be responsible for this, especially if you end up dead."

"My choice. Now, are you in or not?" Rey had nothing else to add and waited.

Jacen stood outside of Naomi's room, tucked away in the cleared out vehicle maintenance bay near the living blocks. It was getting late, and many were beginning to retire to get some sleep. Lights began to switch off one by one outside their individual rooms as the chatter started to die down. There was still 32 hours left before the moon's night cycle began.

He knocked on the office door twice of the small room sitting in the back of the maintenance bay, half-hoping she wouldn't answer. Maybe she was asleep, out cold from everything. That would've been best; he wasn't up for what was on his mind. To his dismay, however, mild footfalls emanated from inside until the door opened in front of him.

Naomi stood on the opposite side, dabbing her wet onyx hair with a towel. She gave him a once-over from head to toe. "Can I help you, sir?"

"I'm looking for a Columbian hobbit." Jacen looked over Naomi's 5'7" frame. "Fairly new species. Have you seen one?"

Naomi appeared to think deeply on the question, staring up at the ceiling with searching eyes. "I'd check Africa. Always something new there."

"Comical." Jacen went inside past her, hit with the smell of fresh steam and a soapy fragrance.

Naomi pursed her lips and shut the door. "Please, invite yourself in."

She eased him out of her path and disappeared into the small washroom in the back.

Jacen went about the perimeter of her room, toying with the little knickknacks she'd collected over the years: bits of metal she crafted into shapes, .50 caliber bullets with designs carved into the copper shells, chunks of rocks from the moon's surface. A museum of sorts. He didn't expect her make this place so… comfortable. For some, they kept their gear packed for four years, just waiting for the day the UNSC descended out of the sky to take them home. Jacen didn't live by their optimism.

"I talked to Aaron earlier." Jacen sat on the edge of her unmade bunk.

Naomi poked her head out from the washroom with a grimace. "Ugh, what possessed you to do that?"

"Wasn't my idea. It's been quiet seen we got back from the raid. Aaron thinks the captain is working something out regarding that thing we found."

Naomi came out in a black tank and briefs, massaging lotion over arms stitched with healing red scraps. She gave Jacen a look and sat down beside him. "If we want us to go back and kill it, then he can ask Aaron to do it. I'm not interested in going back." She grabbed a brush from atop the metal footlocker and began running it through her hair. "Makes me think we should've killed it when we saw it."

"Maybe," Jacen shrugged. "I'm starting to think the captain didn't mind that we didn't kill it on sight."

"We'll never know. He isn't the sharing type." Naomi got up, flipped open the footlocker, and pulled out a pair old jeans with dozens of micro rips in the thigh, knee, and shin portions. She sighed heavily. "Look, we need to talk."

"We are talking," he replied.

Naomi rolled his eyes. "Jacen."

He looked back at her and pinched the tip of her nose. "Oh, it's your serious face."

Naomi swatted his hand, holding it by his wrist. "Are you done?"

Jacen withdrew his hand from her grip, face dropping. "All right. What do you want to talk about?"

"Us."

Jacen's forehead wrinkled. "Us?"

"Yeah, us." Naomi crouched in front of him, head low to stare up into his down casted eyes. "I need to know that we're not getting weak."

Jacen found her words, for the moment, peculiar. Weak? As far as he could tell, they'd maintained sufficient strength to keep going. They weren't like the others who were frequent complainers that hung on a fraying thread. It would only take a slight nudge to put them over the edge, to make them desperate. For the most part, he and Naomi had kept a level head, so what exactly was she trying to get at?

"I don't believe we are," he answered. "But I'm guessing you feel differently."

Naomi maintained eye contact, unblinking. "I do. I'm afraid we're getting comfortable, settling in. Let's be honest here; they don't trust us, and I certainly don't trust any of them. They're not our friends." She looked away, index finger between her teeth. "Maybe we should've left with them."

Jacen wagged his head in disbelief. "No. That was their choice. They chose to leave, and they're probably dead because of it. No probably; they are dead. We're still alive."

"Yeah, barely." Naomi stood, walking over to the windows that looked upon the southern tip of the living blocks. "I got a bad feeling, Jacen. Can't put my finger on it, but it won't go away."

Jacen worked his jaw, juggling the awkward puzzle pieces of the conversation. Some of the pieces just didn't seem to fit, but a few were beginning to land perfectly. "Is this what the raid was about?"

Naomi turned, confused. "Que?"

"The reason you were reckless, trigger-happy. Our plan was stealth, but I got the feeling you were looking for a fight. Was that your way of proving you aren't weak? If so, that's a dangerous test."

"That's mierda! I wouldn't risk our lives to prove a point."

"I didn't say it was intentional, but I've fought with you long enough to know that that wasn't you. We're not weak, not like everyone else. But we do have to keep our heads down. When the time is right, we'll make a move. Until then, we're just—"

Jacen stood up.

"What?" Naomi mimicked his motions and turned to face the door.

Jacen walked towards the door, cautious. "Someone's here." He removed the sidearm from his thigh holster, easing it behind his left thigh. Naomi did the same behind him, tucking her gun in the small of her back. Jacen opened the door.

"Oh, hello!" DEV greeted.

Jacen exhaled, the tension in his body ebbing away. He slid the gun back into the holster and placed his hand on the doorpost. "Yes, DEV."

"I hope I'm not interrupting." The A.I. flew underneath Jacen's arm and into the room, hovering between the two of them.

"Depends," Naomi said. Her hands remained behind her back. "What do you want?"

DEV noted the mild hostility in her voice, filed it away for later. "Both of you have been asked to join Captain Anderton within two hours in the central building. It's urgent that you come. Can I count on your attendance?"

Jacen and Naomi said nothing for a beat. They exchanged a look between one another. Had the cube heard their conversation? If he had, was there really anything of substance he could find troubling? It was unlikely, but they would give the A.I. the benefit of the doubt and play along.

"We'll be there," Naomi agreed.

"Excellent!" DEV buzzed out the room, displaying a thumbs-up emoji on his screen. "Remember: 'If you're early, you're on time. If you're on time, you're late.'"

Jacen forced a smile and shut the door.