Greenhorn V2

by acceptmyusernamealready

The old sailor's adage puts it this way: treat your ship well, and she'll take care of you. Of course, everyone knows they're just referring to basic reactor maintenance, equipment checks, and keeping the fuel injectors clear. Everyone knows that thinking the ship is actually alive is crazy. Right? Well, a certain Charon-class frigate and friends have something to say about that.

6. Chapter 6

"Thank you for your cooperation."

The ONI agent stood up and gathered her notes and audio recorder. Amber watched her closely, trying to tease out a hint of the woman's inner thoughts. No luck, though, her poker face put the most seasoned gamblers on the Lunar Circuit to shame. Amber would know; some of her crew counted—had counted among that number. She could remember them gleefully counting their winnings like it was yesterday instead of thirty years ago…

"Uh, you're welcome? I guess?"

"Don't say it if you don't mean it." The agent snapped her briefcase shut and looked up. "Though on reflection, that's a bit rich, coming from someone like me. In any case, you won't breathe a word of what we discussed to anyone." It wasn't a request. Amber quickly nodded, trying to massage away a painful prickly sensation in her legs, quite a feat with her wrists linked by a short length of tough metal cable. She was becoming less enamored with her body by the minute. "Well, I'll be seeing you around. Auf Wiedersehen and au revoir and all that."

"Wait!" Amber slapped a hand over her mouth and flushed red. The agent stopped and turned, one eyebrow raised.

"Yes? I haven't got all day."

"U-uh—" Amber nearly quailed under the absolute lack of care in the agent's gaze, but she swallowed the lump in her throat and forged on. "F-forgive me, can I ask a question?"

"Eh?" The agent looked down at her watch and shrugged. "Sure, whatever. Mess hall's serving 'til 2, currywurst and cabbage stew special." Her mouth bent oddly, like she was trying to frown and smile at the same time. "It's rather on the nose, but at the same time I'm looking forward to it too much to get mad. Too bad you won't be seeing a bite of it."

"Um…" Amber had, in fact, had a question in mind, but the agent's unexpected acquiescence and the thought of food had temporarily occupied her headspace. The spaghetti MRE had already parted ways with her stomach, and despite having no experience with either the idea of freshly cooked meat and vegetables had her mouth watering.

"Oh, fucking gross, close your mouth! You look like a dog."

"Ah. Sorry." What else could she really say? Amber wiped the corner of her mouth, trying to compose herself and recall her question. "Do you really think that data can prove my innocence?"

"Oh, this?" The agent wiggled her briefcase. "No. People are stupid, and data on its own is never enough to convince anyone of anything. But is it enough to form an argument for a stay of execution? Yes." She leaned forwards, a leering smirk on her face. "Of course, the strength of that argument depends on your continued cooperation. If you were to violate my most generous terms… well, it'd be a shame if some less flattering data were to accidentally find its way to a few less-friendly parties, wouldn't it?"

Amber had no response to that. The agent's smirk grew wider and she straightened back up, . "Behave yourself, alright? Peace." On cue, the cell door slid open. Briefcase hanging from one wrist, she walked past the guard at the door without a backwards glance. As she left, the marine shot an acidic glare at Amber then slammed her fist against the door control. The thick slab of metal slid back into place with a hiss and a thunk, leaving Amber to wonder how, within two days, she'd been reincarnated as a human being, imprisoned, then hired — was hired the right word when blackmail was involved? — as an ONI informant.

But, more important than her new job, was the revelation that she stood accused of being a war criminal, confirmed responsible for the destruction of one world and quite probably several more, along with hundreds of millions of deaths. She was a soldier of a mysterious alien empire whose sole purpose seemed to be destroying humanity. The evidence was there, heaps of it, in the form of video recordings and after-action reports and lifeless balls of rock covered with ruins floating through space. Her crimes were undeniable.

So why couldn't she remember any of it?

---

A few of the more idle men and women he passed bothered to salute, but for the most part Garcia was ignored as he walked down Infinity's long hallways, just another officer on a ship lousy with them. His sole marine escort — just a corporal named Laughley — did turn a couple of disapproving heads with his lackadaisical posture, but on the whole it was a welcome change from Turul where, as highest ranked officer and therefore de facto military governor, he was constantly stopping to listen to civilian requests and grievances. However, the sheer length of Infinity was starting to get to him, and he was beginning to doubt whether he'd done the right thing in coming. "Verdant, are you sure Admiral Lasky sent the invitation?"

Verdant's voice came through his neural implant, echoing in his mind. Reasonably. Would you like to read the message again?

"Well, like you said, we are early. The fact that they've let us come this far is encouraging, but I don't want to be rude…"

Bit late for that. Think of the marine, Captain. You've made him walk all this way, surely it wasn't for nothing?

"I suppose…" Thinking about his actions, Garcia couldn't help but feel like a prize idiot. Rushing off on a hint that Admiral Lasky wanted to meet him, forcing a unit of marines to come along and the admiral to make accommodations, — was he really that desperate to go somewhere, do something? Was this what he was reduced to now? At least Verdant's tipoff had proven true, with a request for a meeting coming soon after boarding the Pelican, but Garcia couldn't help but read a hint of irritation into the wording, as if Lasky had been forced to send the invitation much earlier than intended. "I've made an ass of myself already, nothing for it but to go the whole way."

Highly unfortunate phrasing, but I agree with the sentiment." Verdant took on a teasing tone. Remember, the sooner you get this done, the sooner you can see, what was her name again? D-a-w—

"Quiet, you. And what's wrong with that, anyway? Can't I want to see a friend?"

Oh, so it's friends now? I'm all for friendliness, Captain, but relationships are like fine wines — they need time. Patience is a virtue and such.

"And I'm not sure I like what you're implying there, so shut up and be a good backseat driver, will you?" The last part came out a bit louder than he intended, drawing a few odd looks from passing sailors. Garcia smiled apologetically, then snuck a glance at Laughley. The marine seemed not to have noticed, but then again he didn't seem to notice anything — keyword there being seemed. His visit to the Infinity might have ended in her medbay when a utility cart blindsided him in a busy intersection had Laughley not reached out and plucked him back in the nick of time, without so much as blinking or losing that ever-present flat, dead-fish look in his eyes. Garcia couldn't tell how much of that was natural and how much was deliberately affected to unsettle him, but he couldn't deny the man's efficacy. "How close are we?"

Just a little further now. The crowds thinned out as he drew close to the admiral's ready room, Laughley ever two steps behind him. A marine standing guard within a small sentry post came to attention and saluted as he approached. Behind him, the corridor split into a t-shaped intersection. One path lead to a conference room, another to the CIC, and the final one to Lasky's quarters. Annnnd here we are, like I said. I'll be going silent now so you two can have a private conversation. Spill the tea later. Peace.

"Don't get into any more trouble, hear me?" Verdant provided no response, but Garcia heard a small, haughty sniff as she signed off.

The marine held his hand out. "Your ID, sir." Garcia presented his identification badge and waited as the marine ran his credentials. "One moment." He handed the badge back with one hand and pressed a button with another, leaning into a small microphone. "Admiral Lasky, one Captain Garcia to see you, sir."

"Send him in, please," came the reply. The marine nodded and typed something into his computer.

"Understood. Captain Garcia, Admiral Lasky is expecting you in his ready room." Reaching out to the control panel, he suddenly stopped, eyeing Laughley. "Apologies, sir, but the admiral requested privacy for this meeting. Your guard will have to remain outside."

"Ah. Well, that is…"

"Ugh, yeah, yeah, I got it." Laughley tipped his helmet back to rub his temples. "There a place for me to sit or something? 'Cause I ain't gonna stand for half an hour, that's for sure."

"I'm sure I can find something. In the meantime, Captain, if you please."

The ready room door was already open as Garcia approached. The compartment itself was a relatively modest affair, a brightly lit room occupied by a nondescript desk, a small bookshelf, a coffee table, a few chairs and a potted plant in the corner. Another door, partially open, lead to a bathroom and sleeping quarters. Small light grey patches, rough around the edges, marred the walls, marking where splinters from a disintegrating Abyssal 30 cm railgun shell had torn through.

"Ah, Captain." Admiral Lasky himself sat at the desk, staring intently at a computer. "Please sit. I'll be with you in a moment." He motioned to a pot of coffee sitting on the table. "Help yourself, it's fresh."

"Thank you, sir." Closing the door behind himself, Garcia grabbed a paper cup from a nearby stack and filled it with hot coffee and just a spot of creamer. It was a high quality brew, its fragrance filled with complex notes and aromas. "Perks of rank," he muttered quietly, taking a sip and savoring the rich aftertaste and delicate hints of sweetness. "I've got to find out the source."

At the smell and sound of pouring coffee, Lasky turned his computer off with a sigh and a click and stood up. "Apologies for the wait," he said, walking over to the table and pulling up one of the chairs. "It's been a while since we spoke. How have you been, captain?"

"Oh… managing." Garcia's posture sagged as he ran a hand over his face. He held back a curse as he realized he'd forgotten to shave. "Normally I'm first in line for a bit of peace and quiet, but this feels… different, somehow."

Lasky raised an eyebrow. "Oh? Do tell."

"Feels rather like everyone's waiting around for something to happen and nobody can properly rest. And that's alright too, milling around in a staging area's nothing new, but when your ship's laid up like Scorpia is… well, being unimportant is one thing. Being useless is another."

"Hmph. Some would consider themselves lucky to have sat through it. A matter of perspective, I suppose." Lasky lifted a cup from the stack and swirled the coffee around in the pot. "Strictly between you and me, but Governor Leonard could use a bit of it," he said, slanting a baleful side-eye towards his desk.

"Oh?" Garcia took another careful sip of his coffee, curiosity and propriety battling behind a carefully neutral expression. Curiosity wrestled propriety into the mat, and he asked, "Is something wrong?"

"Though I understand why it's a damn good thing that we're ultimately subordinate to a civilian government, sometimes I still find myself falling into the 'damned politicians' mindset." Lasky began pouring himself a cup as he continued, "Governor Leonard insists that I resume the flow of commercial traffic through Epsilon Eridani immediately, and while I sympathize, he doesn't understand that if the Abyssals come back we can't afford to be dealing with a mess of panicking freighters at the same time. I've explained that we just need a little more time to be sure, but he must ultimately represent his constituents. I just wish he wouldn't be so… intransigent." He drank, made an appreciative noise, then set the cup down and folded his hands in his lap. "But enough about my troubles. We have something to discuss."

"I… I suppose so." Though I honestly don't know exactly what that is.

"You don't really know about what, do you? I guess that's to be expected. I didn't include many details in my invitation." A brief shadow of irritation flitted across Lasky's brow and his words contained a hint of acid. "In my defense, you didn't leave me much time to write it."

"Ah, well, about that…" Garcia smiled sheepishly. "I blame my AI?"

"Feels like a common theme these days. AIs going behind our backs, making life difficult." Lasky shot a meaningful look at the roof. "Consider this an official reprimand. It was quite a hassle to find accommodations for you plus a squad of marines. And the preparations made to keep our chat off the books… well, I hope the half-measures Roland slapped together can take their place."

Garcia felt his face warming up and kept his gaze focused on his coffee. "My… my sincere apologies, sir. I didn't intend to be a burden. If Roland needs assistance, I'm sure Verdant—"

"Quite unnecessary." Lasky stared at him with narrowed eyes for a few more seconds, then waved his apology away with a grunt. "It could've been worse. At least no one was left standing around like an idiot. No harm, no foul. Just don't make it a habit of rushing off on any rumor or hint. I've done it and seen it done before, it never ends well, particularly if the rumors have anything to do with aliens or ancient technology."

"Duly noted, sir." There was definitely a story behind that, but much of the Requiem Campaign remained classified for a good reason. Shivering at the thought of ONI agents appearing in the dead of night, Garcia tried to change the subject. "I let my eagerness get the better of me. I'll do better in the future."

"As well you should. Dash and daring are all well and good and romantic, but this isn't the 18th century. They won't serve you well in your new position, Captain."

"Of course—" Garcia blinked, uncertain he'd heard correctly. "Excuse me, sir, my new position? I'm still Scorpia's captain."

Lasky made a funny noise and shook his head, gesturing with his cup. "Let's be frank. Scorpia was a fine ship, but right now she's a wreck that's not going anywhere anytime soon. You're commander of a pile of scrap, Captain." Garcia winced but stayed silent. As much as he loved Scorpia, he couldn't deny reality. "It's nothing to be ashamed of. From what I've had time to read, it was a quite a feat simply to get out of Roseport alive. The fact that any of the evacuation made it out as well is simply icing on the cake. But it does leave you in the awkward position of being a captain without a ship."

"It does, doesn't it?" His coffee suddenly didn't taste so good. "But unless you've got a spare destroyer sitting in the yards, I don't see that changing anytime soon."

"Spare ships is a problem I would love to have," Lasky remarked dryly. "In the meantime, I'll have to make do with too many officers. While your combat record is undistinguished, to say the least, there is a certain… incident which caught my eye. Whitehall ring a bell?"

Garcia's face darkened for a moment and he set his coffee down. "Whitehall? That was nothing special."

"Oh yes?" Lasky reached behind him, grabbed a datapad, tapped it a few times and turned it around on the table. "So why was it so hard to dig up any information on Battlegroup Theseus?"

A chill went down Garcia's spine. "Sir, how did you—"

"You need friends in high places to pull some of my stunts. Sometimes those friends owe me a few favors as well." Lasky sipped his drink, looking very pleased with himself. "There's not much use going over every fine detail. Classified weapons projects are a dime a dozen, I'd wager half the Navy's been involved with NAVSPECWAR in one way or another. And classified weapons projects going sideways are also depressingly common. What stands out about you, though, is the fact that you managed to handle that little mess with a bit more subtlety than a pile of bricks."

"And that's supposed to mean—?"

"The Navy has a less than stellar track record of adapting to situations as they come. Battlegroup Stalingrad, Procyon III, the entire Requiem Campaign, naval history is littered with inefficiency, intransigence, and a general inability to change tactics as the situation requires. I'm guilty of it myself. Even when the test went sideways, you managed to keep your head on your shoulders and extricate your battlegroup. Most other officers I know would have rammed their ships against the problem until the problem won, sticking to orders like they were a replacement for a brain. Though it got you sanctioned and blacklisted from ever commanding a formation again, that shows a certain… flexibility that I might find useful."

"Useful, sir?" Garcia chuckled despite himself and shook his head, throwing back the dregs of his coffee. "Pardon me, but—what, do you have some secret weapons projects of your own, or—oh." Realization struck him like the aforementioned pile of bricks. "Ohhh."

"I knew I saw a spark of intelligence in you. Good to see it wasn't a one shot wonder." Another tap projected a rotating hologram of a woman, bits of data and charts swirling around her image. "Now, we've had Forward Unto Dawn in our, shall we say, employ for a few days, under strict guard and observation for a few days more. In that time, we've seen no signs of sabotage, espionage, or general disloyalty or hostility." Lasky waved the image away and replaced it with a ONI emblem. "I've also, for a few days, had an ONI operative under observation. I assume you're familiar with the one?"

"I can guess who you're talking about."

Lasky pulled a face. "Let's just say she's been snooping around and getting awfully close to a few subjects I would prefer she not get close to."

"That does sound awfully like our friend Agent Berlin. What's she done with Dawn?"

"Nothing as of yet, but I think it's only a matter of time before she makes a move to stake ONI's claim on her. And once she does — well, have you ever read Alice in Wonderland? Except instead of a rabbit hole, it's an ONI black site."

"What?!" Garcia shot to his feet, empty coffee cup crushed in his fist. "She can't do that! Dawn's under Naval custody, even ONI can't just swoop in and snatch her like that!"

Lasky motioned for him to sit down. "Ah, but you've hit the nail on the head." The admiral's expression turned bitter. "I'll be brief. You said it yourself, Forward Unto Dawn is in Navy custody. She's not a Navy asset. As such, our authority over her is tenuous at best and without any real standing, insofar as claiming it supersedes ONI's. So yes, they can just swoop in and snatch her like that."

Garcia slumped forwards, elbows on his knees. "All due respect, sir, you're making this all sound quite hopeless." He raised his gaze to meet Lasky's. "But you wouldn't have called me in just to tell me so, would you?"

"Three times makes a pattern." Lasky smirked, but quickly returned to frowning. "Of course, establishing her status as a naval asset is easy enough. Just grant her a commission and throw her under someone's command. The problem is, if I plan to justify her existence as an active combat asset, I need to actually use her in combat. I've got no problems with that; the problem is finding the right commander. Someone who's both available, and exhibits certain characteristics that I'm looking for. So, Captain." The smirk was back, full force. "I think it's high time the Navy asserted a bit of authority in the face of the Office of Naval Intelligence, what say you?"

"Sir… if you're implying what I think…" Garcia gulped and unconsciously crossed his arms. "Why me, sir?"

"It's a question I've been asking myself. More coffee?" Lasky shrugged when Garcia shook his head. "Suit yourself. Flexibility aside, why would I choose a strictly average, unremarkable, semi-secretly sanctioned destroyer skipper for this job? Why you, specifically, over any number of more experienced or higher ranking officers, or officers who have distinguished themselves in combat? If flexibility was my only criteria, mavericks, loose cannons, rebels, and those damned wannabe action-hero "fuck the system" types are a dime a dozen."

"I almost feel like you're trying to talk yourself out of your own decision, sir."

"So based solely on that criteria, you're the last man I'd have tapped," Lasky continued, as if Garcia had never spoken. "As you must've gathered though, there's something more to you. Since that little outburst during the staff conference — count yourself blessed you're not getting a reprimand for that as well — I've had my eye on you. Most of my staff see Forward Unto Dawn as little more than a weapon, a tool to be used and discarded. You though, you seem to to also see her as a person. Someone who has their own will and spirit. A soldier, yes, to take orders and carry them out, but not to be thought of as a machine to be used until broken." Dawn's image came back and Lasky frowned at it. "Call me a sentimental fool, but I think that our experience with Spartans shows us that there is a limit to what even super soldiers can tolerate, only so much before they crack. And what about one who has that strength, but not the years of training, indoctrination, and propaganda?" He glanced up at Garcia. "So there you have it."

The captain sat in silence for a few minutes, digesting everything he'd heard. "I…" He gulped and had another go. "So what is my official title, sir?"

"Never did get around to that, did I? I had a few ideas, some bad, some worse. In the end though, I rather liked the sound of Commander, Fleet Auxiliary Forces." Lasky smiled and spread his hands. "Rather an upgrade in title, if I say so myself."

"Fleet Auxiliary Forces…" It was rather a mouthful. He'd have to come up with a shorter name, but something more dignified than 'shipgirl'. In the meantime, though… "I think like the sound of that as well, sir."

"Then it's settled!" Lasky clapped his hands together. "You start immediately. Of course, you'll still need somewhere to base out of, so I'll grant you an office on Infinity until provisions can be made to repair and upgrade Scorpia's command facilities."

"My thanks, sir." Head still spinning, Garcia took that as his cue to stand up. Lasky followed him, extending a hand. "Um, is that all?" he asked, only half-conscious of the handshake.

"I would hope so." Lasky frowned down at his datapad. "Let's see… chew you out, grant you command, I think I hit everything on my to-do list. Unless there's something you wanted to bring up?"

"Actually, just one question, sir. When Verdant briefed me about this meeting, she also reminded me of the Abyssal we captured. I'd just like to know the current status of the prisoner, sir."

"Oh, that thing." Lasky's voice oozed distaste. "I know Berlin's also been talking to that thing. It's insisting that it doesn't know what's going on, but I don't buy it for a second. ONI can have it for all I care. Maybe they'll wring some useful intel out of it."

Something about that situation nearly gave Garcia pause, but he wasn't in a position to question it. He simply smiled, thanked Lasky one more time, and left the ready room, basking in the afterglow of a promotion and keeping his own skin, the issue of an alien prisoner already far from his mind.

---

"Is my shirt inside-out?"

"No, why?"

"Then why's everyone staring at me like it is?"

"If I had to hazard a guess, the power-armored posse you've rounded up."

"The what—?" Dawn twisted her head around, sweeping the area with radar and lidar. "Oh, for the love of God… "

Spaced at regular intervals, forming a rough square centered around her, were four MJOLNIR-clad Spartan IVs. They silently kept pace with her, never quite looking straight at her but at the same time never looking away. Their armor stood out against the sterile white corridors and the ship's crew gave them a wide berth, but she'd somehow managed to completely miss them until Roland pointed them out.

"Someone needs to work on their situational awareness," the AI fragment riding around in the back of her head observed in a sing-song tone. "For the record, I don't feel anything when you hit yourself like that."

"Shut up," Dawn growled, rubbing the red spot where she'd slapped the back of her neck. Determined to go back to ignoring the highly conspicuous super soldiers, she fixed her eyes forwards and continued on her way. To anyone else, she appeared single-minded, focused on nothing besides some distant objective. Inside, however, her mind was a million miles away, replaying the day's events.

After several hours worth of questions, during which Dawn alternated between wondering if Spartans could sleep standing up and contemplating bashing her brains out against the table, Roland had finally called an end to the 'pre-interrogation'. At that point, Dawn would have gladly accepted a cell in the Oort Cloud so long as it had enough room to stand and stretch.

"Thank you for your cooperation," he'd said, deliberately oblivious to the prickly hell her legs were going through.

"As if I had a choice," she'd grumbled, trying to massage some sensation back into her wrists and find any resemblance of slack in her ankle restraints. "Can I go back to bed now?"

"Of course. I see no reason to keep you any further." The AI gestured to the door. "Now, gentlemen, as we discussed?"

"Affirmative." Even though she knew they were there, Dawn still jumped when the Spartans dropped their camouflage. Two of them came forward and unchained her from the table and floor, then helped her stand on wobbly legs. She murmured thanks while trying, with limited success, to rediscover how to walk, then started when one of the super soldiers took hold of her hands. "Hold still." A moment passed, and the cuffs around her wrists and ankles fell away.

"Huh?" Dawn blinked, then looked to Roland. "W-what? What's this about?" She kept her hands and feet still, afraid this was some kind of test. "Aren't I still your prisoner?"

"Now that's such an unfriendly word, isn't it? It's been two days and change and you haven't tried to kill anyone yet. Also not sure there'd be anything we could do about it if you did, but that's besides the point. I'd like to think we're on better terms now. Call yourself… a visitor, if not quite a guest."

And so once more, Dawn found herself being led through Infinity in the company of four people who could give the Master Chief himself a run for his money in the quiet game. This time, however, there were no binders around her wrists and ankles. In addition, one of the Spartans had given her an actual pair of shoes, sweatpants, and a warm Navy-issue hoodie— Dawn didn't want to think too hard about where they'd been keeping them in that tight-fitting armor — to combat the incessant chill of Infinity's air conditioning that seeped through her hospital gown. Even she knew that the outfit was whatever the opposite of fashionable was, but it was comfy and soft and warm, so much so that when a nondescript door opened onto a small room with two sets of bunk beds she didn't even bother to change before collapsing on the lower left bed and passing out.

If she'd dreamed — could she even dream? — it hadn't been a very long or memorable one, because almost as soon as her eyes closed she was being woken up by an irritating voice next to her ear. She tried to bat it away, but only ended up passing her hand through a yellow hologram.

"Okay," she said, sitting up groggy and with a mouth tasting vaguely of titanium and stale deuterium, "Were you watching me sleep? Because that's creepy as hell and might be a crime."

Roland shrugged nonchalantly and pretended to inspect his fingernails. "Just the last 10 minutes or so. And what're you gonna do, call the cops on me? You sleep like the dead, by the way."

"Comes with the territory. Consider it me learning about my new physiology." She looked down at her pillow and turned it over quickly, hoping Roland hadn't seen the drool stain. The innocent smile on his face said he had. "ANYway! You really couldn't have let me sleep for a little longer? It's really quite nice. I remember a few of my crew always had a hard time waking up for watch, I'm beginning to sympathize."

"You slept for 10 hours straight and missed breakfast, it's practically lunchtime. Any longer and you'd have missed out on all the fun we've planned for you today."

Still half-asleep she might be, but Dawn could still hear the suspiciously cheery tone in Roland's voice. "Who's 'we'?" She dug the heels of her palms into her eyes and tried to boot up all her mental processes. Her engineers snickered at her over ethereal cups of coffee, and she made a mental note to cut their supply off whenever she got back into armor and could get at them. "And what's 'fun'?"

"Spoilers. Now put me in your head."

Dawn stared blankly at the opposite wall while her brain went through a few final pre-flight safety checks. As it did, her half-lidded gaze slowly turned towards Roland like the second hand on a rusted grandfather clock. "Excuse me, what?"

The AI rolled his eyes and adopted a patronizing tone… at least, Dawn assumed it was patronizing. "You heard me, stick me in. Just because we're giving the leash some slack doesn't mean we aren't keeping an eye on you."

"Please, please don't say it like that," she groaned, "and that's not what I mean and you know it. How the hell am I supposed to uplink with you when I don't even have an implant for you to sit in?"

"Actually, you do. Surprised you haven't noticed yourself." Dawn's hand flew to the back of her neck. Sure enough, her fingers brushed the hard plastic surface of a neural interface port embedded in her skin. It felt so natural that she hadn't even noticed it, but now she couldn't stop prodding at it. "At this point I can only guess that you were born with it, which isn't natural in any way, shape, form, or definition of that word, but what about this situation is? Concerns about UNDA certified organic status aside, load me up."

"Ass. Is there a chip for me to yank, or…?"

"Hah hah hah hah hah, no. We're not that far along that we'd trust you with a physical chip yet. Based on our chat, I know you have some remote data transfer abilities, so I've configured myself for remote upload. Anytime you're ready, just beam me up, Scotty."

"That's… not even close to my name." Now that she was aware of her implant, Dawn was also uncomfortably aware of the presence it occupied in her mind. Nothing obtrusive, but just like a little box in the corner of her consciousness, waiting for her to open it. Just like how if she thought about her breathing she couldn't stop thinking about it ah fuck other thoughts other thoughts other thoughts! With a vigorous shake of her head, she preparing the implant for an upload, hovered her hand over the holotank, then hesitated. Roland's smile faded as he waited for her to proceed.

"What's the matter? Servos freeze up?"

"Sorry, it's just… aren't we moving a bit fast here? I hate to ruin whatever we've got going on here, but I can't forget that just a day ago I was pretty much a prisoner. A well-treated one, mind you, but there was always someone watching me, you know? And fast forward to now, like you said, you don't trust me with a physical chip. Do you really trust me to not somehow fuck with an upload of you when you're loaded in back there?"

"First of all, I'm just a fragment, so it's no skin off my back if you pull a fast one. Second of all, even if you are just slightly superhuman, I can still think laps around you." The smile was back, with just the tiniest bit of threat in it. "If anyone's fucking anyone, it's me."

"Pervert." It felt like her position in this odd relationship had shifted, and not for the better, but what choice did she have? Dawn placed her hand on the holotank and initiated a data transfer, setting a few subtle quarantine and tripwire protocols in her internal networks. She didn't know what Roland might be able to do in her head, but those would slow him down by a millisecond or two and alert her… in theory. Ice water trickled down her spine and it was all she could do not to shiver violently as the AI fragment integrated itself with her systems. "Well? Cozy?"

Eh. There's plenty of elbow room up here. Cute firewalls by the way, they're almost endearing. Subtle as a brick, but endearing, like baby's first… Roland trailed off, and when he spoke again his voice was flat. You've got to be shitting me.

"Huh? Is something wrong?" Her worry further blossomed when Roland failed to answer for a second. "Hey, this is my head we're talking about here!"

This spaghetti code is a travesty and an offense to common decency. These protocols haven't been used in decades! Forget combat efficiency, I want to rewrite these out of secondhand embarrassment.

A sense of relief was tempered by wounded pride and righteous anger. "Don't you dare!" Dawn shouted into thin air, "and quit poking through my head! I swear, if you mess my brain up because you couldn't resist fiddling with some code—"

Relax, relax. For how archaic and convoluted the architecture is, it hardly interfaces with your wetware at all. And now that I can get a good peek at your brain—

"You're looking at my brain?!"

— the software is almost like an entire parallel organ, like the command protocols have molded themselves into an organic pattern, yet I can see that they're completely distinct from your actual neural structure. From what I can make of it, the entire structure is capable of independent function, yet subordinate to the control nodes which interface with your brain. And there are other nodes which seem to connect off into nowhere… could those be the interface locations for controlling your equipment? It would explain why the connections fizzle off into the void. Fascinating… this could make for an excellent paper or two. Would you mind providing—

"Shut up! Get out of my head! Get out! Get ouuuuut!"

And so, thirty minutes, an angry lecture about boundaries and consent, a repentant-but-not-really smart AI, and a life-size game of Chutes and Ladders later, Dawn found herself in her present location, in a foul mood that four power-armored paparazzi were doing nothing to improve. While being near the Spartans still caused her ruthlessly suppressed internal Master Chief fangirl squeal, their constant presence was starting to grate. "You're the ship AI, aren't you?" she whispered. "While you're living rent-free in my head, mind calling the G-men off?"

Sorry, no can do. Spartan Ops, stubborn, insular bastards that they are, are outside my jurisdiction. You'd have to talk to the local Spartan Commander, and he only reports to the top brass in the system — that's Admiral Lasky.

"Okay, so when can I see him? 'Cause on one hand you lot are letting me wander around with four limbs free, and on the other hand…" She waved towards the Spartans. "I don't know a lot of people, but I get the feeling that those I do wouldn't like being followed around by four silent cyborgs who could feed them their own spines with a side of broken teeth. So I'd just like to clear up these mixed signals before someone inevitably misunderstands something and people, specifically me, get hurt."

We'll see. For now, just follow your nose. We're almost there.

"If I didn't know better, I'd say you were trying to give me high blood pressure. And my nose? What am I, some kind of—" Dawn's steps slowed to a stop as a cloud of chemicals wafted over her. Her mouth instantly began watering as smells she couldn't even begin to describe filled her nostrils. She forgot that she was standing in the middle of a busy hallway, forgot she was on a warship, even forgot that she was surrounded by people with guns who were just looking for a reason to shoot her; all she knew was that she needed to find the source. Distantly, she heard Roland talking to her, but her nose had superseded her other senses. Almost in a daze, she wove her away around sailors, marines, and trolleys piled high with all manner of crates and barrels, following the concentration gradient towards the source of those heavenly odors.

Oi, people have to mop that floor.

"Shut up," she replied, turning left through a wide doorway and getting a faceful of the most wonderful scents ever to grace her nose — though considering their competition consisted of smoke, titanium, blood and hard vacuum, there really wasn't too much of a contest. It was enough to set her stomach to rumbling and snap her out of her high. Wiping saliva from the corner of her mouth and ignoring Roland's tutting, she made her way into the expansive room before her. "What… is this?"

It's… it's a mess hall. Have you never seen a mess hall before?

"It's so… so big." Roland left the low-hanging fruit on the branch as Dawn wandered deeper into the table-filled space, the Spartans quietly fanning out behind her to take positions around the edges, active camo up. She drew a few odd looks as she made her way down the rows, but for the large part the mess hall was filled with sailors coming off of 8-hour long watches. Most of them just wanted to be left alone with a warm meal, and of the few who noticed her, fewer cared. "There's… so much…"

So much what?

"So much food." She approached the serving counter, then paused. "Am I… am I allowed to eat this?"

No, this is a test to see if you can be trusted to act responsibly around valuable UNSC assets such as powdered eggs. Since we're a little past the 'enemy of my enemy' stage, figured it was alright to get you off IV nutrition and put something solid in that flesh sac. Unless you prefer to be fed through a tube? For all I know… As Dawn made a beeline for the trays, he continued, more hesitantly. What's so impressive? I mean, it's a bigger mess hall than normal, but Infinity's a big ship.

"Huh?" Ladling cabbage stew onto the tray, Dawn stopped to think. "Oh… well, food was a little hard to come by towards the end of the war. The Covie War, I mean. Hard to feed a few billion people when your farms are glass." Her voice stayed carefully light, but a shadow flitted across her expression, gone as soon as it came. "Well, I say that, but there was always food, just… well, plenty of days on quarter- or eighth-rations, is all." She began helping herself to sausages with curry ketchup, tongs trembling near imperceptibly. "So I better eat up while I can!"

…I'm sorry. That sounds difficult.

"Not looking for your pity." Dawn set the tongs down more forcefully than necessary and shouldered her way out of the line, bumping into a female officer on the way. "Excuse me," she said, scanning for an empty seat. Behind her and out of sight, the woman did a double take and stared hard at her back, holding up the line until someone yelled at her. Muttering in German, she forced an apologetic smile through her teeth, grabbed one last sausage, and headed in the same direction.

Filled with people grabbing some food before going on duty or relaxing after coming off, elbow room was a precious commodity in the mess hall. Dawn found herself sandwiched between an ordnance technician and an electrician, both of them too busy with their own conversations to notice one nondescript girl in a hoodie. Dispensing with a knife, she speared the sausages with a fork and tore chunks off with her teeth, a little bit more forcefully than strictly necessary. A few minutes passed like this, with Dawn attacking her food like it owed her money in blissful mental silence. It couldn't last forever, though.

… hey, look. I really didn't realize where you were coming from. I didn't mean to be insensitive. I'm sorry.

Roland's tone was unusually subdued, with none of his usual dryness. Dawn contemplated letting the tension stew, but eventually relented.

"Whatever. It was kind of unreasonable for me to expect you to realize that. I just… I dunno why, it ticks me off when someone apologizes for something they had nothing to do with, instead of for what they actually did." Her voice was beginning to rise, and she shot an apologetic smile to the crew members on her left and right before continuing in a whisper. "I couldn't tell you why I feel that way. It's not even anger, really; hell, I don't really even know what to call it. Look, I apologize as well. It's a tired excuse, but all of this really is still new to me. I'm still figuring out how to deal with, you know, being human; just bear with me."

What do you think I've been doing this whole time?

The words were sarcastic but the tone was warm. The tension faded from Dawn's shoulders and she started to eat again. However, she'd barely begun to bite when when Roland piped up once more.

Uh oh. Trouble. Do exactly as I say. Don't move.

"Huh? Trouble? Where?" An exasperated groan echoed in her mind as Dawn craned her neck around like a flamingo.

What did I just say?! Okay, forget stealth and subtlety and what not. Look left. You see that mean-looking girl with a full plate? Yes, that one, approaching fast. No, lost her, to the left, nope, to the right now y'all, one hop — there you go. That's an ONI agent.

"ONI—" Dawn stuffed a fist in her mouth and waited two seconds. "ONI?!" she hissed, much quieter. "Shit, is it 'cause of me?"

Most definitely. If I've read her correctly, she's definitely coming for you. Oh, it'll just be a 'conversation', but it'll be a conversation that ends up with you following her somewhere you don't want to go. And no, before you ask, ONI authority trumps your Spartans by a country mile. They won't do anything.

"Crap. What do I do?"

I—hm. Know what? I just might have a plan. Spill your drink.

"Pardon me? Do you want everyone—"

You heard me. Spill. Your. Drink.

Dawn swung her legs up and banged her knees against the table, upending her water and several nearby cups as well. Curses flew at her as she jumped to her feet, apologies spilling from her lips as she grabbed napkin after napkin and threw them onto the rapidly spreading puddles.

"Sorry, sorry!" she exclaimed, face flaming red, smiling sheepishly and offering meek apologies and her napkins to her dripping victims. "Sorry, here, let me dry this up." Several sailors stood up to wring out their shirts, blocking the ONI agent from approaching for a few more moments. Dawn ducked under the table, ostensibly to retrieve a cup which had rolled under, really to hiss, "Okay, what's the next step, Indiana?"

Indiana— oh, very clever. Just keep wiping and act natural… or as natural as you get.

"Some plan right there. Aren't you some bigshot AI? Surely there's a bit more of a spark in your matrix than that—"

"Ahem."

The sailors parted way, allowing a man in an officer's uniform through. He had commander's leaves on his shoulders and wore a pair of rather ill-fitting glasses. Caught with sodden napkins filling both hands, Dawn froze in a half-crouch, afraid to salute lest she look like an even greater idiot with water running down her face.

"Here, let me help." The officer bent down next to her and used his own napkin allotment to sop up a puddle of water. "Quite the spill."

"Y-yeah…" Dawn sighed and gave up on the soaked napkins and instead added the bottom of her shirt to the fight. "Sorry, sir. I stood up too quickly."

"It happens… hm." The officer stopped wiping and looked at her closely. "Hm. Your ID isn't registering. Name, rank, department?"

"Uh—"

Elizabeth Varley, corpsman third class, Medical.

"Elizabeth! Elizabeth Varley. Corpsman second — third! Third class, Medical, sir."

Smooth as a chainsaw.

"Medical? You don't show up on the personnel rosters. You better come with me."

"Fuck." Dawn swore under her breath and stood up, shirt dripping. "Uh, sir, I just—"

The officer's expression, combined with the unsympathetic faces surrounding her, cut her protest short. As a last resort, she glanced at the places where she thought the Spartans were, but there was no sign of movement on their part. With a sigh, she lowered her head and allowed the officer to lead her away, though not without casting a look back at the ONI agent still stuck behind a solid wall of sailors. The look on her face was absolutely livid.

"Step in here, please." Some ways away from the mess hall, one of Infinity's medbays was only occupied by a single corpsman manning the intake desk. He looked up as the officer approached, nodded, then pressed a button. Dawn heard the compartment door lock behind them, followed by a shutter falling in front of the desk and blocking the corpsman from sight and sound. Confused, she looked up, only to see the officer removing his glasses and the insignia from his shoulders. "Never thought I'd ever wear those again. Simpler times…"

"S-sir?" What the hell was going on? Dawn had been expecting to be thrown in the brig, or a severe dressing-down at the very least. But a medbay? "I'm afraid I don't understand what's happening?"

"My apologies for bringing you here under false pretenses." Something about the man's voice was familiar… "Do you recognize me?"

"Uh." Dawn felt like a prize idiot. "I really don't, sir."

"The hologram quality wasn't the best, but I hoped you'd at least recognize my voice." The officer shook his head. "Admiral Thomas Lasky. A pleasure to meet you in person, Forward Unto Dawn."

"Admiral Lasky? Shit—" Reflex launched Dawn into a salute. "My sincere apologies for not recognizing you, sir! And for my language, sir! A-and for my—"

"At ease, at ease." Lasky waved her down, shaking his head. "I suppose my powers of disguise were greater than I gave them credit for. Amazing what a pair of glasses and a change of uniform will do when people aren't looking too closely." He arched an eyebrow at her. "You, on the other hand: Elizabeth Varley? Really?"

Oh, everyone's a critic.

"Shut up-!"

"I'll take the blame for that one, sir." Roland materialized on a nearby holotank at parade rest. "That's exactly the kind of name I'd come up with, so I can only assume that my fragment's been doing a passable impersonation of me. How's he been, by the way?"

It took Dawn, in her slightly shell-shocked state, a moment to realize the question was meant for her. She tore her gaze away from Lasky — though it still flitted back towards him — and turned to face Roland. "Uh, fine, I guess. Fine. Could stand to brush up on whatever privacy laws still exist, though."

You're no fun.

"Don't be afraid if you ain't got nothing to hide." He snapped his fingers and pointed down at the holotank. "Put your hand here so I can reintegrate and get him out of your headspace. Come on now, don't be shy." Dawn stretched out a tentative hand, but then stopped and looked at Lasky. He nodded, and she finished her motion and tapped the holotank. A cold, trickling sensation, like meltwater streaming down a mountain, rushed down her spine, and she was left with a deep sense of emptiness in the recesses of her brain. In contrast, Roland closed his eyes and stretched his arms out like he was receiving a blessing. "There's the stuff. Interesting, interesting. I'll make sure to go over this later. In the meantime, please, call me if you need anything. And Admiral— attitude is everything in sales."

Lasky shook his head as Roland blinked away. "Cheeky little bastard, isn't he? What would I do without him…" Dawn's eyes snapped back to the Admiral as he stepped towards her. "Once again, my apologies for the false pretenses. I would've liked to conduct this in a more formal setting, but ONI has eyes everywhere."

Dawn found her voice, though it still held a note of surreal disbelief. "Ah—then, why here?"

Lasky shrugged. "Ethically, it would be an exceedingly questionable for me to invite you to my ready room, and both the CIC and ship's bridge are bugged to high hell. Even ONI can only stretch themselves so far, though, and this medbay is one of the few places that isn't monitored." He gestured to the still-shuttered intake desk. "I have faith in Corpsman Bryde's discretion — and Roland's security measures."

"Sir? Aren't you — aren't you afraid I'll attack you? Or something?"

"Well, given your track record, short though it may be, I hardly think that'll be an issue." He gestured to a spot of empty air. "And I doubt that they'd let you anyway." On cue, four Spartans dropped their active camoflage, just for a moment. Then they disappeared again, but the threat lingered. "So how about it? Will you attack me?"

"Probably not." When the hell…? Astounded as always at the Spartans' ability to be such a non presence, and more than a little intimidated, Dawn brought her eyes back forwards. "Er, well, that aside, it's a pleasure to meet you as well, sir…?"

"Hm." Lasky pulled up a chair and gestured for Dawn to grab one as well. "Well, it's not all fun and introductions. I have a bit of business with you. And close your mouth, you look like a fish."

"Ah."

"Better. I have an offer for you."

"I'm all ears, sir." I think it's one I can't refuse.

"Don't give me that look, I'm not forcing you to do anything. It's just that if you don't take the offer, well —" Lasky waggled his hand. "It's a trope at this point, but I can't guarantee free room and board in the Oort Cloud aren't in your future."

Dawn swallowed hard. She remembered rumors about the Black Cells and the Midnight Facility as far back as 2550. God only knew how much worse they'd gotten 30 years later. "I'd like to stay within one AU of any stars we encounter."

"Wonderful." Lasky coughed and settled himself better. "Now, normally, I'd precede this with more formalities, but I think we're at the point where I can skip to the point. Forward Unto Dawn, are you willing accept a field commission as an ensign in the UNSC Navy Fleet Auxiliary Forces?"

Dawn blinked and tilted her head to the side. "A… commission?" There were many things running through her head at that point, most along the lines of what is happening, but she blurted out the first asinine thing to reach the surface. "Don't I need to go to college first?"

"Setting aside glaring issues of official documents and identification, I wouldn't wish the quarter system on my worst enemy. At least student loans wouldn't be an issue… but I digress. I have the authority to perform a field commission. This would put you under the command of an officer I think you know well—"

"Captain Garcia?" Dawn asked excitedly. "He's alright, then? 'Cause I kind of forgot to check in on him and I feel pretty bad about it—"

Lasky held up a hand to forestall further rambling. "He's alright." Pausing for a moment to collect his thoughts, the admiral made a distinctly un-admiral-like gesture as he massaged his temples. "Being under a official naval jurisdiction will make it significantly harder for ONI to appropriate you as a research asset. Though I do hope to make good use of you in combat, that's really the primary purpose of this maneuver. Despite your unique abilities, I think you've more than shown that you are your own person, and while it's not complete freedom I'm guessing that you'd prefer the chains of naval service to the tighter chains of being a test subject." He spread his hands in a there-you-have-it gesture. "So, how about it? Will you accept?"

Dawn sat quietly for a few moments, looking at the ground. "… I have to say, there's not much of a choice here, sir."

"I'm sorry. But the fact is you've made yourself too valuable to too many people at this point. Your only real choice is whose asset you want to be. I suppose you could always try going rogue and striking out on your own… but I'd imagine that a sufficient number of AP rounds is enough of an argument otherwise?"

"Fair point." Sitting back up, Dawn sighed and shrugged. "Alright, fine. Honestly I think I've been waiting for something like this to happen. I mean, it's not like I'm gonna be doing much different, am I? Shooting aliens, saving the world, might as well get paid for it… I do get paid, right?"

Lasky couldn't stop himself from rolling his eyes. "We'll have to set up a savings account, but yes, you will get paid the standard rate."

Dawn clapped her hands together, consciously ignoring her utter lack of financial literacy. Surely that was one of those things you could learn from a book. "Great! When do I start?"

"Just as soon as we get the paperwork in, so about a day, give or take." Lasky stood up and extended his hand. "Congratulations, ensign. Welcome to the Navy."

The corner of her mouth turned upwards. "Don't think I ever left." She stood as well and shook his hand, then shuffled her feet uncertainly. "Um, if there's nothing else, I think I'd like to go lie down and mumble into a pillow for a few minutes. Sir."

"Well, there's nothing on my end, but I've been talking at you this whole time. It might not be completely appropriate, but is there anything you would like to ask me?"

"Anything I'd like to ask?" Come to think of it… An odd shadow passed over Dawn's face before she frowned. "As a matter of fact, yeah. What's happened to Amber?"

Lasky blinked in confusion at the sudden change in subject. "Amber? I'm sorry, I don't follow."

"You know, my friend? The one you've got locked up?"

A slight clanking noise sounded as at least one of the Spartans stepped forward at her suddenly hostile tone. Lasky put a hand out to call them off as he pursed his lips in thought. "I see. You mean the Abyssal, then? I told you before—"

"Admiral. Sir, I know what it looks like, and it looks bad for her. But you have to believe me, Amber is not the threat you think she is. Something weird's going on, and I don't think she was in control of her actions." Dawn leaned forward, tone becoming ever more urgent. "Sir, forget my personal feelings. I think she could be of great use to the UNSC if you just gave her a chance. Intel or otherwise, just — I can't say why, but if she falls into ONI's hands, we're all going to regret it."

Lasky tilted his head back at the sudden heat in her words, narrowing his eyes down at her. His lips parted and something, most likely a reprimand, was on the tip of his tongue. Before it could come out, though, the the shrieking of claxons pierced the air.

Dawn nearly fell over backwards. "What the—"

"General Quarters, General Quarters, all hands man your battle stations. Set Condition Red throughout the ship. Standard flow of traffic, repeat, standard flow of traffic. General Quarters, General Quarters, all hands man your battle stations…"

Dawn looked around wildly as the Spartans dropped their active camo and leapt forwards. Two of them flanked Lasky while the other two placed themselves next to her, taking hold of her arms firmly but not roughly. Lasky himself appeared to be communicating with someone via neural link, eyes closed and nodding and lips moving in silent pantomime. Dawn could only wince as the blaring alarms assaulted her heightened senses, trying and failing to hear herself think over the shrill sirens before a new announcement interrupted the call to General Quarters.

"Admiral Lasky to CIC. Repeat, Admiral Lasky to CIC."

Lasky looked up, nodded one last time, then turned to Dawn."There's been an incident. I'm afraid we'll have to finish this discussion some other time." He gestured to the Spartans. "Escort her to Hangar Alpha. Roland will give you further orders upon arrival." Flanked by two supersoldiers, Lasky walked briskly for the exit, only pausing to nod farewell. "It was a pleasure speaking with you, ensign. We will talk later."

As he left her sight, Dawn could only murmur, "You as well, sir," before the Spartans began marching her forwards, leaving no room for words at all.

---

"All units immediate execute, report combat status and maneuver to rally points."

"All squadrons, scramble, scramble, scramble."

"Enterprise on station, strike wing is fueled and in the tubes, holding position directly behind the main battleline."

"All ODPs reporting Condition Red set, ready for action."

The atmosphere in Infinity's CIC was remarkably calm and professional, especially considering that the fleet might soon be on the receiving end of a second massive Abyssal offensive in nearly as many days. Despite juggling both the demands of a change of watch and bringing the fleet back to full defensive readiness, the officers juggled both tasks with remarkable aplomb, efficiently briefing their replacements who smoothly slid into vacated stations to seamlessly take over tasks such as coordinating fleet wide flight ops and point defense sectors.

The marine at the door saluted crisply as Lasky half-walked, half-ran into the CIC, Spartan escort having peeled off for their own duties. "Admiral Lasky, sir!"

"At ease, marine." Lasky returned the gesture and made his way towards the central display. The large holotable, the beating heart of the CIC, was already consumed by a whirlwind of information. Readouts and displays came and went like soap bubbles, delivering the torrent of data flowing in from hundreds of ships scrambling to make ready and reposition in response to the sudden alert. The staff somehow made perfect sense of it all, no doubt helped by Roland, who was helping direct efforts from his avatar in the middle of the display and whispering in everyone's headphones at the same time. That avatar turned and saluted as well as Lasky approached.

"Glad you could join us on such short notice, Admiral. What'll it be today?"

"Fleet logistics and deployments, please." As the central display split in two, one half showing unit locations throughout the system and the other supply and readiness levels, Lasky continued. "Roland, sitrep. Give me a timeline."

"Yes, sir." Roland nodded, for once completely serious. "The time is 1358 hours. At 1351 plus 10, RSO Euler registered an incoming unscheduled slipspace wavefront. At 1351 plus 23, RSO Fermion confirmed the detection and pegged the mass at at least a carrier battlegroup equivalent. The alert went out on all channels at 1351 plus 42. We're working on triangulating the exit coordinates now, but it looks to be in the vicinity of the superior jump point. I've ordered all units not in Reach orbit to get their butts back here, on the double, and also mobilized all civilian shipping and orbital facilities for evacuation duties."

Lasky pinched the bridge of his nose and blew out a long breath. "Okay, that's good. As soon as we have those coordinates, transmit them to the carriers so they can jump their bombers in. We're in no shape for another slugfest, we've got to hit them before they can get their jump jammers up. Oh, and pass the order for all ships to run stress tests on their equipment. If our gear is going to fail, I want it to fail now and not in the middle of battle."

"Yes sir."

He gave supply levels a final once-over and nodded. "Ammunition and fuel are lower than I'd like, but serviceable. Battlesphere display." The display shifted to show a simplified representation of the entire Epsilon Eridani system. Lasky zoomed in on Reach, magnified the space elevators and marked them, saying, "I also want at least two cruiser divisions and two destroyer divisions guarding each evacuation site. We're not getting flanked like last time."

"I'll pass that on. Orbital patrols on high alert."

"Ah, is that so? Thank you." Nodding, an officer stood from his station and called out, "Admiral Lasky, all spaceports and tethers report ready to commence civilian evacuations. Should I give the order?"

"Negative." At Roland's surprised look, Lasky elaborated. "We haven't finished recalling commercial shipping, and I'm already diverting all the ships with significant carrying capacity from the battleline that I can afford to. If I give the order now, I'll be subjecting the security forces to a panicked crowd of civilians with nowhere to go. They've got enough on their plates. Once those ships are formed up, though, it's green light."

The officer nodded in response and typed something on his console. "Understood sir, no go until transports are ready."

Across the room, another officer let out a short grunt of exasperation and raised her hand, eyes focused on her console. "Admiral, all units are proceeding with equipment tests. Updating results now… it, uh, it isn't pretty, sir."

Red light flashed on the display as cruiser Foreign Shores suffered a breakdown in her main battery power supply. This was quickly followed by battleship Helios and cruisers George S. Patton and A Moment's Rest losing most of their propulsion in quick succession, then all of DesDiv 4 reporting through lasercom that their superluminal communications were inoperable. Roland could only offer an apologetic grimace as reports of other equipment problems, minor and major, trickled in though the battlenet. "We haven't had near enough time to repair all of the battle damage. Just be thankful nobody has expl—"

"Don't! Just, just don't finish that thought." Lasky waited with bated breath, but it fortunately appeared Roland hadn't jinxed them. Unfortunately, within five minutes, over twenty ships had been rendered combat ineffective by various equipment failures, failures that could easily have been prevented by a day in the shipyards but there just hadn't been enough time or space. Better it happen during testing than combat, but still. "Goddamn. Alright. Are we done?"

"Ideally."

"And we live in an ideal universe, don't we? All units experiencing equipment failure will withdraw at maximum speed and get fixed ASAP. We can manage for a while, but eventually we'll need every ship on the line." His neck was beginning to feel tight from bending over. Taking a moment to twist from side to side to stretch it out, Lasky caught another officer taking worried glances at the battlesphere visualization hovering over the table. "Is everything alright, lieutenant? If you have concerns, I'm giving you permission to speak."

Startled, the lieutenant looked around like a student not expecting to be called on in class. "M-my apologies, admiral, but I was thinking… well, standard procedure is to call for reinforcements around this time, but the Abbies took out our interstellar beacons. If Cormorant made it to Earth, then they won't be sending a back up fleet… I know it's out of line, but I was wondering if we have enough forces present to hold the line. We only barely managed last time, and that was because… well…"

It was out of line, but it was also an elephant in the room Lasky needed to address eventually — were they on their own? Better now than later. "With any luck, even if HIGHCOM doesn't dispatch a full fleet, they'll at least send a battlegroup to check in on us. After all, even if we beat off the first attack, we were still attacked, and Sydney hasn't received a full after-action report yet. They'll want to see with their own eyes… if only to chew me out." The atmosphere smothered his attempt at humor. The lieutenant didn't look completely convinced, but it was enough to make him turn his eyes down towards his own console. However, his words made Lasky remember something, an asset he hadn't considered and an ace up his sleeve he'd forgotten he could play. "Roland, are you still in contact with Forward Unto Dawn?"

"Is my fragment still living rent-free in her head, you mean? Yes."

"Where is she right now?"

"As you asked, I'm directing her towards Captain Garcia and keeping them both out of the way. Why?"

"Belay that order. Get Dawn down to the nearest launch bay and Garcia up here. I want her on the battleline."

"I feel I have to ask, sir, are we just completely trusting that she's on our side now? And I thought the whole point was to have Garcia as a babysitter, not anywhere important?"

"I don't think we have a choice in the matter, not if this attack is anywhere near the size of the last one. And so long as he's going to be in charge of Dawn, he'd better know how she fights in a fleet setting." Lasky paused and grimaced. "Not to mention that's it's just goddamn rude of me to assign him a command and then yank it away without at least cluing him into what's going on." Roland's expression remained troubled, but he conceded with a respectful nod and said no more. "Attach Forward Unto Dawn to Battleship Division Two, and swap it with BattDiv One in the center. Move One to anchor the left flank, it's looking a little shaky."

"Done. Hopefully we have more than a one-shot-wonder on our hands."

"Admiral, Fermion has rupture coordinates!" All eyes in the CIC swiveled towards one of the sensor officers. "Time is 1410 plus 57. Coming through now, sir. Coordinates are… 1.6, 0.01, 30, standard system reference axis, error margin negligible in all dimensions. Estimate exit time at 1424 plus minus one minute. It's right on top of the IJP, sir."

"RSO Euler confirms."

"RSO Bohr confirms, adds refined mass estimate as carrier battlegroup plus cruiser battlegroup."

"Fermion and Euler agree with Bohr."

The display updated with the new information, a bright red region representing the likely exit point of the incoming mass. Other areas appeared, representing firing arcs, maneuver cones, and likely vectors of approach. Lasky paid special attention to the regions representing ODP availability, running mental geometry to figure out how many of the powerful guns could fire on the approaching ships.

Roland made his job easy. "Manassass, Quezon, and Debrecen clusters are in firing arc. New Alexandria will be available in one hour, fifteen minutes." He continued before Lasky could even ask his next question. "I have CruDiv 2 and DesDiv 11 at one hundred twenty three thousand kilometers, DesDiv 24 coming along at one fifty five, and your lucky numbers today are 7, 29, 55."

Despite himself, Lasky cracked a smile at just how well Roland knew him… or was he just getting that predictable with age? "Vector them for intercept. Have them stand off at ten thousand klicks with torpedoes ready, prepare to scatter mines in a saturation pattern and run if the situation becomes untenable. Roland, relay rupture coordinates to Enterprise and have her pre-charge micro jumps, target on those coordinates, and start coordinating a battle line pivot to face the rupture, formation Uniform-India-One." Lasky switched channels to Infinity's internal command net and patched through to the bridge. "Captain Shen, do you read me? What's Infinity's status?"

"All departments report ready for action, sir. Bridge is standing by for orders."

"Understood. The fleet is adopting formation Uniform-India-One, bring Infinity to formation position one-alpha."

"Understood. We will The CIC door slid open as he spoke, admitting one disheveled Captain Douglas Garcia. "Ah, Captain. Sorry for the short notice, I wasn't expecting to be seeing you again so soon either."

"I-It's no p-problem, sir," Garcia replied, saluting while his shoulders heaved with rapid breaths. "A-apologies for my… appearance."

Lasky turned, returned the salute, eyed his posture, and shot him an odd look. "Did you run here?"

"From the tram station… should have flagged down a trolley… but I didn't want to be a bother."

"In the future, do be a bother. Are you aware of what's happening?"

"Vaguely, sir." Recovered, Garcia moved closer so they weren't speaking across the room. "I gathered we're under attack."

"By what appears to be at least a heavy probing force, yes. Based on our mass estimates, I doubt this is a Regret, but a deliberate attack. Our regular forces could deal with that alone, but I've deployed Forward Unto Dawn into the battleline in anticipation of more to come." Lasky gestured to draw Garcia's eyes to the display, where a new friendly dot had suddenly appeared within the UNSC line. "You're here to better observe her capabilities. We need to know how she fights in a proper fleet action, but that goes double for you as her commander." Garcia nodded, determined, then sent a slightly less certain look at the display table.

"Er… is it okay for me to stand here, sir? Should I find a seat or something?"

Lasky quelled an urge to roll his eyes. "It's a table, not a holy shrine. So long as your security clearances are up to date?"

"Of course. I always make sure to file the paperwork every six months."

"Good for you. The one time the forms go through late…" Repressing rising memories of the ninth circle of administrative hell, Lasky spun the display for a better perspective on fleet maneuvers. "Roland, please explain the current plan for Captain Garcia."

"My pleasure, sir. Sit down children, class is in session." Red lines representing projected future courses criss-crossed the 3D space as Roland's disembodied voice spoke. "We're rotating to face the enemy, armor front and center and mobile units swinging around the flanks. As soon as all units form up, the main line will accelerate with the intention of giving close battle. If the Abyssals focus on the harassing mobile units, the charge will smash straight through their line. If they focus on the main force, the destroyers, frigates, and light cruisers will have free reign to whittle them down for us. And if they split their attentions, that works just as well. Study pages 81 through 102 and be ready for the exam on Tuesday."

"For the record, there is no exam," Lasky said, turning back to Garcia as the red lines faded away."Your thoughts?"

Engrossed in the display, Garcia failed to respond until Lasky loudly cleared his throat. "M-my thoughts, sir? Is it appropriate for me to be giving advice?"

"More appropriate than any old butterbar with a tactics manual and a sketchpad, at any rate. I'd also like to see that my trust is justified by at least a hint of tactical acumen. Now, thoughts."

"Ahem." Garcia coughed, straightened his uniform, and squared his shoulders. "I can't help but feel that Forward Unto Dawn would be of more use deployed with the mobile force, on the flanks. Based on available combat data, which admittedly isn't much more than a roll of film and some liberal imagination, her firepower operates at roughly a heavy cruiser level of effectiveness while maintaining a corvette's levels of maneuverability. Therefore, the firepower increase granted by adding her to, say, a destroyer division would be proportionally much greater than if she were to operate in a mainline battleship division, and would also allow her to flex her maneuverability advantage. Additionally, the threat she presents could lead the Abyssals to focus their attacks on her, granting the rest of our forces room to operate and acting as more of a force multiplier than she could be when anchored in line."

"Hmm…" Lasky tapped a finger against the table, sending a jolt of doubt through Garcia. "It's a risky move. The mobile forces operate beyond the effective range of the main battleline, so there's no covering them if things go sour, and believe me they will… but at the same time, every minute a battle drags on is also dangerous, isn't it? We have a weapon now, we shouldn't be scared to use it. You have a point. Roland, send to CruDiv 5, immediate execute, detach for independent flank maneuvers. Attach Forward Unto Dawn to them and move CruDiv 8 to fill their spot."

Roland rendered a rigid salute. "Roger roger, transmitting now. CruDiv 5 repositioning to the flanks."

"Thank you. ETA on that wavefront?"

"ETA five minutes to rupture. Projected time to position for all friendly forces is eight minutes."

Garcia cursed softly. "Damn. Abbies will have an early positional advantage. There'll be a few minutes before we're ready to attack."

"As long as Enterprise doesn't drop the ball, her bombers should buy enough time to even the playing field."

"Let's hope they do." Lasky glanced at Garcia. "And let's hope that our ace can close whatever gap's left after that."

Part of a commanding officer's duty was to express public confidence in their subordinates, no matter what they really felt, but Garcia could almost believe himself when he nodded and said, "I know she can." A small, tired, but genuine smile was his only reply.

The minutes passed like molasses. Officers gave constant status updates, the tiniest bit of tension leaking into their voices. The mobile detachments continued to accelerate into position, Dawn's icon blinking steadily in their midst. Fighters swarmed around their motherships while more sat waiting in launch tubes, waiting to replace losses and reinforce their comrades. The fire control systems continued to run hypotheticals, refining firing solutions for any formation the enemy could appear in. Transport ships gathered around the space elevators, poised whisk the gathering civilian population to safety under the watchful eyes and guns of cruisers and destroyers. More ODPs came into the firing arc, ready to pour Super MAC fire into any Abyssal ship that dared poke its bow into Epsilon Eridani's light. As a last few ships maneuvered into position, the fleet was the definition of readiness, and Lasky knew that, but the wait was still agony. He almost wished he was in one of the Rapiers doing corkscrews around Infinity, just so he could physically control something… but his place was here, no matter how much his hands itched to wrap around a control stick, an assault rifle, anything. A glance to his side told him that Garcia felt much the same way, a bouncing foot giving away his agitation as his eyes stayed glue to Dawn's icon. His eyes flicked up to the clock. 1424 hours… any moment now.

"Radiation, radiation, slipspace ruptures detected."

"Ruptures detected, ruptures confirmed."

"Acquiring location, acquired, 1.6, 0.01, 30, standard system reference axis."

"Coordinates confirmed, ruptures confirmed at superior jump point."

Lasky shot bolt upright as the main display flashed red. "All units, finalize positions and prepare to attack. Confirm their identity and force composition, but assume hostile contact profile!"

Roland nodded and disappeared, but his disembodied voice remained. "Understood! All units, prepare to engage the enemy."

"Here we go," Garcia muttered, but sounded hesitant. "Such a small force… what are the Abbies thinking?"

"Cherenkov radiation, entity transition registered!"

"Confirm multiple high-mass contacts!"

"All units, come to battle—"

A signals officer threw out his arm with a wordless shout. "Wait! Signals received! Multiple units report receiving signals from the contacts!"

"Cancel previous orders, repeat, cancel previous orders! Stand by to engage, but do not engage until I order so." Lasky gestured dramatically at the signals officer, unable to avoid being caught up in the moment. "Confirm identities immediately!"

"Understood. Verifying signals now… signals match transponder patterns! Repeat, receiving transponder signals!"

Another officer joined in. "Transponders received. Identifying — UNSC transponders. Repeat, UNSC transponders received. Verifying composition: one carrier division, two cruiser divisions, four destroyer divisions. Flagship is UNSC Implacable."

"Transponder patterns verified, IFF codes verified."

"Analyzing emission profiles… emission profiles confirmed, UNSC match, repeat, contact emissions match UNSC profiles."

"Multiple units in agreement!"

"Visual confirmation in progress… confirmed." An audible sigh rose around the CIC. "UNSC forces confirmed, repeat, UNSC forces confirmed." The display updated in a rush, blotchy red turning into cool blue as the UNSC eagle spread its wings above the newly identified friendly warships, accelerating away from the superior jump point and blasting identification codes on all channels.

"Thank God." Lasky allowed himself a deep breath out. The way Garcia's hands maintained a white-knuckle grip on the display table as he muttered a small prayer of thanks did not escape his notice. "All units, stand down from Condition Red, repeat, stand down from Condition Red. Do not, repeat, do not engage, but remain at action stations." To the comms officer: "Get me a channel with Implacable—"

Roland cleared his throat. "Comm request from Implacable, for Infinity, sir. Shall I open a channel?"

"Beat me to it, did they?" Lasky nodded wearily. "Send it through. Patch it to the CIC speakers."

"Understood. You're on live."

The speakers recessed above the display crackled as a signal came through, wavering as the superluminal connection established itself, then steadying into a slightly tinny voice accompanied by a hologram of a man in an officer's uniform, tension written in every line of his body. "This is Rear Admiral Brandon Voigt to Epsilon Eridani Command. Please respond, over."

"Voigt?" Lasky muttered under his breath, then cleared his voice and fixed his collar. "This is Admiral Thomas Lasky. Admiral Voigt, not that it's not a pleasure to see you, but what are you doing here?"

"Admiral Lasky…?" Voigt closed his eyes for a moment and let out a breath, shoulders shagging as tension fled his posture. "Sir. I…apologies for the short notice. I see everything's under control in the system, then?" He looked to the side and did a double take. "Our sensors register massive amounts of debris and battle damage. Were you attacked?"

Lasky arched an eyebrow. "Yes? And you've missed all the fun, I might add." A hint of crossness slipped into his voice. "We're all on edge, if you can't tell, so a little advance warning would have been appreciated."

Voigt blanched at his tone. "M-my apologies, sir, once again. I'm sorry we didn't come any sooner."

Lasky held an icy glare for a moment longer before letting the poor man go with a sigh. "The blood is long dry. The important thing is we managed to fight the Abyssals off for one more day," he said, leaving out how exactly that had happened. The entire system might know about Forward Unto Dawn by now, but there was no reason to freely let that information go much further than that at present. "It would have been nice if our call for reinforcements was responded to, but I understand everyone has their own orders."

"Your… call for reinforcements?" Voigt muttered to himself, then looked startled as he realized he'd spoken aloud. "Ah, pardon me, sir. It's only that… well, we haven't received any communications from Reach in three days. At first we thought it was merely a technical error, but when the silence continued… and we couldn't form a connection… As of yesterday, COM net has gone insane with worry. That's why we came." Voigt sighed and shook his head. "Well, that's blood on all of our hands. Again, my sincere apologies for the scare. I see your interstellar beacons are intact; comm troubles, then? I'll relay the message that Reach is okay, but in the meantime, do you require any assistance or reinforcement? We'll spare all the forces we can—"

Lasky held up a hand and leaned forward, brow furrowed. "Not so fast. What do you mean you haven't received any comms in three days? We sent out a signal for reinforcements at the start of the battle, three days ago."

"You did. You did? But we… beg your pardon, sir." Voigt turned to the side and spoke to someone offscreen. "Lambert, double check our comm logs for any messages from Reach within the past three days. Did we miss anything?"

A gravelly voice answered from offscreen. "Negative, sir. No communications from Epsilon Eridani Command were logged within the past three days. Last communication occurred three and a half days ago, a routine status ping. Would you like a playback?"

"Negative," Lasky called out, "check for communications from HIGHCOM or FLEETCOM, please."

Voigt glanced to the side. "Do it, Lambert."

"Understood, Admirals. Checking… the last communication from High Command occurred two days ago, an inquiry into our contact status with Epsilon Eridani Command. No further transmissions have been received from any unit or station within High Command, Fleet Command, or the Solar System."

The air in the CIC grew cold, beyond even the climate control's efforts. "And… how many routine transmissions were due in that period?"

"Over that period, protocol dictates the automated transmission of six standard status inquiries from all central network nodes, and two standard status inquiries from all other nodes. We received none. All other active nodes transmitted as expected during that time."

"Six missed communications." Lasky leaned back as the implication hit the CIC like a tidal wave. "No communications from Earth or Reach…"

Garcia wore a look of dawning horror on his face. "There is massive redundancy built into the Solar System's comms. Only the heat death of the universe would cause every transmitter to go out. Or… whatever happened to us, it seems. Since the universe still exists, that means… Earth…" Garcia made eye contact with Lasky and saw the same horror reflected in the admiral's eyes. "Earth could be…"

"Quite so. We'll have to catch up some other time, Admiral Voigt." Lasky was already switching the display to a fleet logistics readout. "As soon as you're back in range of your own beacons, transmit the following message to all sectors for me: Requesting all available forces make immediate course for the Solar System and assemble in Saturn orbit. Prepare for heavy naval and ground combat with Abyssal forces. Roland!"

"Yes, Admiral?"

"Get our top twenty five percent most combat-ready units resupplied and refueled, and pull the 8th and 17th Mechanized from the surface. We need to get to the Solar System as fast as possible."

"Consider it done, sir. Give me a few hours." As Roland disappeared, Lasky turned back to see Voigt's hologram still there, an utterly confused look on his face.

"Admiral, I need your forces to remain here for the time being. As the most senior officer in this system, I'm giving you temporary command of the Epsilon Eridani defense forces. I need someone to watch over the system while I'm in the Solar System."

"I-certainly, sir, but… I'm afraid I'm a bit frazzled over here. Why?"

"It all adds up." Lasky turned his eyes towards where fuel level readouts were spilling out across the display. "Why haven't our couriers returned? Why has there been no investigation or relief fleet sent? Why hasn't HIGHCOM contacted you or anyone else in two days? And why does your description of their circumstances match up with ours?" He closed his eyes and let out a heavy breath.

"Earth is under attack."