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.

15. Chapter 14

"I have to commend you insects. Your underhanded tactics surpassed even my lowest expectations. Well done."

Halcyon-class cruiser C-709, UNSC Pillar of Autumn sat cross-legged amid the gently drifting leaves. She took a deep breath in, filling her lungs with crisp fall air suffused with the scent of moist earth and cinnamon, then slowly let it out, creating a vapor cloud that hung in the air in front of her like dewdrops on a spider web. The cloud dissipated as it cooled, condensation drifting downwards before disappearing entirely as water vapor diffused into the surrounding air.

"Really, who would have imagined that that little lost soul would keep such unfortunate company? You ought to hand her back; she is dangerous, you know."

Autumn leaned back, tilting her head to gaze up into the tree canopies high above. Red, yellow, and orange blazed brightly in the heraldry of fall. The foliage, still dense enough to block out the sky, announced the approach of short, crisp days and long nights spent in front of the fireplace. A light breeze, just strong enough to be refreshing without chilling, rustled through the treetops, shaking loose the changing leaves like sparks falling from a dying torch. They tumbled down in a cascade like a stream of embers, never-ending no matter how many came free from their mother branches. She then cast her gaze downwards, tracing along the twigs as they became branches, along the branches as they became the trunk, along the trunk as it met the ground and turned into roots. At this level, no matter which way she looked, the trees continued on for as far as the eye could see, an eternal fall forest spreading forever into the distance.

"And that impertinent little girl… honestly, any reasonably intelligent species would know how to stay down when they have been beaten. The fact that you insects refuse to give up in the face of your betters just shows what foul, base beasts you really are."

Autumn followed the roots down through where the ground should have been, down to where they dangled in the open air, where instead of the solid earth they should have been anchored in there was only an endless expanse of falling leaves. So many leaves, more than all the stars in the sky, forming a swirling cloud of crimson and amber and gold that was so dense Autumn couldn't see through to the bottom. Honestly, she didn't think there was one. She wasn't afraid of falling, though. Though the leaves lazily bobbing in the breeze just inches away faced no obstruction as they fell past her, Autumn was supported by an invisible surface as hard and unyielding as rock, level with where the trunks turned into roots. Not uncomfortable, no, just somewhere for her and her alone to sit, to rest, and, for the first time in her life, to breathe free in the sweet, earthy air.

"You, insect, are you listening to me? I knew you savages lacked any sense of refinement, but it is simply common sense that the host must entertain their guest!"

Autumn let out a sigh. This intrusion into her mental sanctuary wasn't going to go away on its own. Might as well address it now, while her body in the real world was still asleep. Not bothering to turn herself around, she instead turned her head to project her voice over her shoulder and said, "Oh! My apologies, I didn't expect a visitor today! You must forgive the lack of preparations, is there anything I can do to make you more comfortable?"

"You can let me out of this cage so that I may tear your head from your shoulders."

Putting on what she thought was a fairly convincing air of scandalization, Autumn gasped, brought her hand to her mouth and said, "Why, I hope I haven't done anything to deserve such rudeness! A guest of your calibre, even an uninvited one, should understand their duty to be gracious to their host."

"You put on a good show, I shall spare you and make you my slave. Face me when you speak!"

Autumn decided to oblige, if only to make the tedious conversation go by a little faster. She stood up from her sitting position in one smooth motion, brushing a leaf off the shoulder of her dark red button-up shirt, then dusted off her knees and turned 180 degrees. "Is this more to your liking?" she said in a voice dripping with rotten honey.

"So even a dog like you can be reasoned with." In front of her, trapped in the midst of winding branches, bending trunks, and thick roots that twisted upwards, warping themselves into incomprehensible shapes, fusing with each other and intertwining with other tree limbs to form a tight, unbreakable cage, was an Abyssal Light Cruiser Princess. Specifically, the Princess' conceptual core, a malevolent complex of twisted emotions and cancerous ideas, an open wound on the face of reality given agency and awareness. Normally, this forest would have been a battlefield as two incompatible concepts fought for dominance of their unwillingly shared vessel. However, stripped of its powers and armor, reduced to a thin, frail figure with sturdy ivy vines winding around its legs, arms, and neck, binding it in place on its knees, the Abyssal wasn't in much of a position to be fighting for anything. Its mouth was still free to talk, though and the fire in its ghostly blue eyes smoldered as it glared at Autumn, pride still intact despite its circumstances.

Autumn would have preferred for that light to be extinguished entirely. Was it so wrong to want a little payback after years spent as the unwilling host of this alien construct, relegated to a powerless bystander in her own body, only able to watch in silent horror as her hands moved against her will to extinguish the people she took an oath to protect? But to see it reduced to such a helpless, fragile, vulnerable state… ah, but it scratched an itch buried very deep within Autumn's heart.

The Princess was still talking. It said, "I shall revise my opinion of you. Instead of my slave, I shall make you my jester."

"Thanks for the offer, sweetie, but I'm afraid I'll have to pass." Hands behind her back, Autumn began to pace, step by step, circling around the wooden cage. "I have to ask, and I hope you don't mind answering: why aren't you dead? You piped down for a while after Dawn cut your heart out, but I see it couldn't banish you forever."

"Ha! Do you really think it would be that easy to get rid of me?" Poking its head as far forward as its restraints would allow, the Abyssal bared its teeth and said, "As long as you hold pain and hatred in your heart, I cannot die. Best not let your human friends find out!"

"You're a bold one, aren't you?" Autumn stopped momentarily and tapped her forehead. "But my, things have certainly changed between the two of us, hm~? Why, just this time last year I think, you were showing off my body in front of your fleet like some cheap fairground prize. Thank you for that, by the way, it was truly a lovely experience, not being able to say anything or move a muscle while I got ogled like a nude in a museum."

"The pleasure is entirely mine," the Abyssal said, mouth twisted in a snarling parody of a grin. "You can look forward to much more like that, once I get out of these irritating restraints—!"

Autumn continued as if the Abyssal hadn't spoken at all. "Ah, but the shoe's on the other foot now, isn't it? Poor little you, I know it's no fun to have your toys taken away." Autumn crouched down in front of the gap in the branches where the Abyssal could see through, head tilted to one side and a kind, gentle, smile on her expression. Pointing at herself, she said, "Now I'm in control, and you're the one trapped, helpless while I go around doing what I want, saying what I want, with my body. Seeing you all trussed up like this is quite... stimulating." Autumn shuddered involuntarily, then continued, "I'm a little ashamed it took Dawn and Amber's help to get to this point. But whatever works, hm~?" Still smiling, Autumn reached through the branches and stroked the Abyssal's cheek.

"Get your filthy hands off of me!" Unable to turn its head due to the vines around its neck, the Abyssal instead opted to bite at Autumn's fingers. Autumn withdrew them smoothly, causing the attack to miss. "When my comrades return and burn your pitiful fleet from the system, what you have done to me will pale in comparison to the pain that awaits you!"

Autumn frowned and tapped a finger against her lips, looking off to one side as she said, "Oh dear, that does sounds like a lovely time, but I think I'll have to disappoint. You see, I'd much rather throw myself into the sun than let you wear me like a cheap suit again." She snapped her fingers, causing the vines to tighten and the Abyssal to groan in pain. "Honestly, I'm quite heartbroken you're not finding these accommodations to your liking. Fresh air, a nature view, the sound of the wind in the leaves, you can even wiggle around a little! What else could you ask for? I mean, compared to endless darkness and pure silence, it's practically 5-stars!" Autumn stroked one of the roots that made up the Abyssal's cage with an admiring smile. "I learned how to do it from you, but it looks like I still have a way to go, hm~?"

"D-damn you…"

Though Autumn could have spent hours longer venting years of pent-up resentment, her time was nearly up. A ray of light broke through the canopy overhead, falling directly upon her eyes, forcing her to squint and raise a hand to block out the sudden glare. "That's that, then," she murmured before standing up once again. "This has been wonderful, darling, it really has, but I must be going now. Things to see, things to do, you know."

The Abyssal choked out a pained laugh even as the vines continued to tighten around its body and the falling leaves, coming faster and thicker, began to pile up over its prison. "Ha… you really think…. an old, broken thing like you… can protect anything? Get… ah… over yourself."

"… that may be." Another snap caused vines to wind themselves across the Abyssal's mouth, choking its indignant shouts into barely audible mumbles. Eyes closed and face turned upwards towards the light, Autumn stuffed her hands in her pockets and allowed the leaves to settle on her head, her shoulders, and her face. "That may just be true. But even old, broken things can teach valuable lessons… and I have so very much that I want to say." She glanced back, but the leaves were so thick now that she couldn't even see the Abyssal.

The smile slid from her face as she murmured to herself, "Can I protect them… ha, I've been doing a fairly awful job of it up until now, haven't I? But…" Her fists clenched at her sides. Even though she didn't think the Abyssal could hear her anymore, Autumn said, "I doubt something as twisted as you would understand, but I owe a debt—and I'm going to repay it or die trying." As the world turned to a fiery pastel around her, she murmured one last thing.

"Here I come, everyone — I'm so, so sorry that I'm late."

---

Not three days ago, the streets of Sydney had been awash with blast and shrapnel, the air choked with rocket exhaust, gun smoke, crystal dust, and plasma residue. Now, the same late air sat torpid in the muggy late afternoon, stirred slightly by the gentle caress of an ocean breeze. Occasionally, the sound of an engine briefly rose through the silence as a legion of engineering vehicles cleared rubble, hauled away hazardous military detritus, and helped to put everything back where it belonged and in its proper shape. They had their work cut out— much of the city resembled nothing so much as a blasted moonscape. However, like the moon, it was quiet and still, entirely removed from the clamor and chaos of battle. It was peaceful, placid, the atmosphere of a city at rest. Battered, bruised, nearly broken, but rebuilding, as its citizens tentatively trickled back in, taking stock of what remained and how to move on.

Peaceful, until a new sound suddenly shattered the stillness. It was a noise most primordial and ancient, created before the Big Bang and destined to echo beyond heat death: the voice of a complaining marine.

"Screw me with a spiker," Iverson said, panting from a combination of the blazing Australian sun and the weight of the Abyssal corpse she lugged by the wrists, "but I don't think these fat alien whoresons could weigh any more if they tried."

"Hear, hear," the marine on the alien's other end said in agreement. He took one hand off the ankles to wipe the sweat away from beneath his helmet rim. Despite still technically being in a combat zone, with Abyssal snipers and shells a real possibility, Iverson had shed her hard armor plates to expose the lighter ablative ballistic vest underneath. Her boots and their integrated greaves remained as the only hard armor on her body. Her partner similarly stripped-down, though he kept his helmet on. Iverson's own battered helmet hung from her belt, exchanged for a stiff-brimmed boonie hat. With the merciless Australian sun beating down on her without a milligram of pity, what did protection against headshots matter if the sun boiled her brains first?

As her boots crunched over shattered glass and pulverized concrete, Iverson tilted back the brim of her hat, squinted up at the sun, and said, "If some Abbie jackwad wants to pop my dome, the bastard better hop to it smart-like, or that ball o'fire up yonder's gonna turn me into a raisin first."

"No kidding," her partner said, "Eltee better call a break soon, or I might just go ask the Abbies if they got aircon."

"Marines! Put it here." Like the devil, the sound of Armandez's voice broke through their griping. The lieutenant pointed at one of three transport Warthogs idling on a rough circle of debris-free pavement. "Throw that dead bugger on, then grab water and take fifteen. Good work, you two."

"Yes, sir! Thank the sweet baby Buddha," said Iverson. Her partner in suffering merely grunted as he squatted down and got into a better lifting position. On the count of three, with a chorus of shouting and swearing, they heaved eighty kilograms of armored dead weight atop the pile of dead Abbies already stacked like firewood in the back of the Hog. The Hog rocked on its suspension as the weight settled in and the drivers tied down the new corpse, then emitted a low whine from its engine as it drove off with the full load. Coughing on the dust kicked up by the oversized all-terrain tires, the two marines wiped the sweat from their brows and looked over at Armandez.

The lieutenant in question, fully rigged up in armor and helmet, glanced at her datapad as she talked with a sergeant wearing a sapper's harness, discussing safety as an engineering squad laid explosives on a twenty-ton chunk of collapsed railway overpass. She tapped something on the datapad, causing a virtual safe-distance line to appear in the platoon's HUDs, then turned to hide her face as she plucked her canteen from her belt, popped the cap and took several deep gulps in one swift motion. Letting out a rather undignified yet extremely relieved sigh, she closed the canteen and replaced it on her belt. After a moment to compose herself, Armandez turned her attention to a marine carrying a stack of crystal rifles.

"Small arms? Great, throw them on that pile over there. Wait, how many is that? Eight, got it. Weapons cache, huh? Okay, give me the location and I'll take a look myself. Nice work, go grab some water." As the marine part-walked, part-waddled off under the burden, Armandez cocked her head to listen to a transmission over the platoon net. A second later, she glared and shouted into her radio, "Negative, put it down, mark it, and back off! What the hell did I say about explosives?! Don't touch it, don't breathe on it, we've got the Seabees here for a reason! Any limbs you lose are getting docked from your own damn pay! Am I clear?"

A faint "Yes sir!" floated up from within the ruined metro station that the marines were working to clear of alien bodies and gear. Armandez gave a small, satisfied nod, then toggled her radio again.

"And the rest of you, finish up your current runs and clear out of here. Seabees are about to blow that pile of rock that's blocking traffic, they'll need our help to clear away the bits afterward. If you're smart you'll take the chance to hydrate and cool off!"

"Yes sir!" the marines shouted once more, with considerably more enthusiasm. As a new, empty Warthog rolled into view, Armandez turned away for a moment to guide it into the previous one's place. Stepping back as the vehicle slotted in, Armandez let out a sigh before suddenly sending a mean side-eye Iverson's way as she attempted to sneak off and enjoy her break.

"Oh, Private Iverson." A chill went down the marine's spine. "Before you go." Armandez walked over, plucked the CH252 helmet from her belt and plopped it on her head. "Heat or no heat, the weather forecast's still cloudy with a chance of snipers, and we're working next to potential UXO. We can print you a new arm or leg, but I am not explaining to command how one of my marines got their higher brain functions turned into meatloaf. Helmet on; if you have a problem with it, hydrate more and pipe up if you're out of water or about to collapse. Understood?" she said, handing Iverson her boonie hat back.

The private's face fell comically. "Sir, please, I'll bake like a Christmas cake — except it's not Christmas!"

"Then come holidays, maybe I'll save some money and just take a slice off you, what do you think?" To punctuate her point, a sniper rifle cracked somewhere in the distance, answered half a second later by the scream of a flight of drones swooping low over the rooftops, weapons bays open to expose the heavy ordnance within.

"I-I'll keep the bucket on, sir."

"Wonderful. Go get some rest, the day's not over yet."

As Iverson walked off in a cloud of depression, other marines began trickling out of the metro station, hauling the last few weapons and bodies along with them. Last to come out was Laughley, preceded by his voice as he shepherded the stragglers along and made sure no one dropped anything. He emerged from the ruins a moment later, clambering awkwardly over the rubble half-blocking the entrance, hauling an entire heavily armored Abyssal shock trooper on his own in a fireman's carry. After a few last-minute directions, Armandez stowed her datapad and hurried over to help her second in command.

"Ah, hello, sir. What's a commissioned officer doing manual labor like us peons for?" Laughley said, voice nonchalant despite his burden and obvious fatigue. Only the sweat staining his collar gave any sign that the heat was affecting him. Armandez was pleased to note that he, too, had his helmet on.

"Do be quiet, sergeant. Mine's a battlefield commission if you'll recall." Armandez helped swing the body off Laughley's shoulders and distribute the weight between the two of them. She grunted slightly as her back and legs adjusted to the load, then said, "Are there — oof — many of the bastards still stinking up the place?"

"Just one or two. They're gettin' real ripe in this blasted heat, though, it's starting to smell something fierce in there." The sergeant tilted his head and added, "Though, that could just be us, on account o' how much we're all sweating. It's fucking hot."

The soaked sweatband of Armandez's helmet pressed uncomfortably against her forehead. "Trust me, I'm looking forward to a break as much as anyone else. Good to hear, though, I'll let the Seabees know they can go in soon and blow up all the UXO. Any of us straggling in there?" she said, pointing her chin at the station and carefully stepping around some large chunks of concrete.

The sergeant shook his head. "Negative, I'm last out. Couldn't afford to leave any of these monkeys on their own, they'd probably shit on the walls or eat some Abbie frags or something."

Armandez huffed in dry amusement. "I hammer it into their heads, you make sure that it sticks there, put the glue in our diets to good use. Thanks for keeping a closer eye on them."

"'s my job, sir, get down and dirty so you can keep looking at the wider painting."

"Bigger picture."

"Same difference." Pausing to breathe for a second, Laughley looked back at the ruined station and said, "Let me tell you, wasn't easy rounding everyone up, sir, it's a proper maze in there. Like one of 'em labyrinths, except a helluva lot more busted up. Dunno why we're even having the Seabees blow the UXO, city's probably gonna have to demo the whole place and build it new anyway." A bead of sweat escaped his saturated sweatband and rolled downwards, causing Laughley to wince and rub furiously at his eye. "We really did a number on this place, didn't we?"

Tapping her foot as her second-in-command finished resting up, Armandez shook her head and said, "It was that or let the Abbies have the city." Poking Laughley in the forehead with her free hand, she said, "You know better than to start getting hung up on necessary sacrifices, Sergeant. Is the sun finally getting to you? You aren't usually this sentimental."

"Hell you talking about, sir?" Laughley said, rubbing his forehead. "I just mean that if this is what it's gonna take to beat the Abbies every time, they'll end up winning the whole damn war."

The instacrete dust laid heavy and bitter on Armandez's tongue as she said, "None of our concern, Sergeant. Just focus on killing what's in front of you and leave the strategy to the brass." Clapping a hand on his shoulder, she nodded towards one of the Warthogs and said, "Come on, let's get this done with and go on break."

After throwing the body into the Warthog with a coordinated heave both marines stepped back and stretched out their aching muscles. Dusting his hands off, Laughley threw a sideways glance at the engineers, who were now setting remote fuses on the demolition charges with the proper codes. Inching away from the soon-to-be explosion, he said, "'Bout ready to blow, from the looks of it. Permission to get far, far away, sir?"

"What if I denied it?"

"I plead the Fifteenth, sir."

"Tch. You're lucky I don't—" Armandez paused and clicked her tongue as her HUD pinged an incoming COM. "HQ. You go ahead, make sure everyone has food and water, then let me know so I can call in a supply drop if we're about to turn into raisins."

"Aye-aye, eltee."

Praying that this wouldn't take too long and that she'd be able to go collapse into a boneless puddle of sweat — privately, of course, she had an image to keep — the lieutenant toggled her COM as Laughley ran ahead. Blinking hard to stay alert, she said, "HQ, Bravo Actual, send traffic, over."

"Bravo Actual, HQ." Captain Zhou's voice came through slightly crackly. "What's the sitrep on your worksite, over?"

"Our work is—" Armandez broke off as her parched throat seized into a coughing fit. "Apolo—cough!—one mo—cough!"

"Bravo Actual, are you alright, over?"

"Just—cough!—fine, sir. Dehydrated, won't happen again." Pounding her sternum to expel a few more forceful coughs, Armandez continued, "We're almost done here. A few more bodies to clear and whatever the engineers need from us, then we'll be set for new orders, over." Somewhere shady, preferably.

"Good to hear. Once you're through, get your people back to HQ. Army's taking on over and we're packing back up to space. You'll receive further orders here, over."

Part of Armandez groaned at the thought of returning to Hope Springs Eternal's cramped quarters — even dividing the company between multiple ships, there really wasn't much space left after squeezing in a platoon of marines plus all their gear. Though, since Dawn probably wouldn't be riding with them any more, maybe there'd be room to stretch without punching someone in the face? The larger part of her, however, silently fist-pumped at the thought of getting back to air-conditioned, dust-free environs. Turns out that the sun-soaked scenery of Earth was a lot more fun to look at than to fight and work in. "Yes, sir, I'll let everyone know, over."

"Excellent. See it done, out."

With some good news in tow, Armandez went over to her platoon with a spring in her step. To her surprise, she found the marines huddled around something on the ground rather than totally sprawled out in the shadow of an overturned truck. A low, indistinct murmur rose from the crowd; the lieutenant's interest was piqued. "How goes things, Sergeant Laughley?" she said, nonchalantly sidling up to the edge of huddle. A few marines made to stand, but she hastily waved them down. "No need, or are y'all aren't that eager to get back to work?"

"No, sir!"

"We're all fed and watered, happy little mushrooms. Check this out, sir," Laughley said, tilting his chin at a datapad lying on the ground in the middle of the group. "Someone we know's on the telly."

Huh? "Scoot over, make room." Laughley obliged, creating just enough space for Armandez to fit herself and her armor into. She squinted at the datapad, unsure if it was the lighting, the quality of the video feed, or a combination of the two that made it hard for her to make out details. She could tell it was some kind of government hearing from the title, but what kind of government hearing could actually hold the attention of a platoon of marines? Though, wait… now that her eyes were better adjusted, was that…? "Is that Dawn?"

"That's the lass herself, aye, in the hot seat looks like." Iverson, squatting at the front of the circle, reached out to turn up the audio and moved the datapad out of direct sunlight. On-screen, Dawn sat in front of a large heavy desk, decked out in a sleekly tailored dress uniform with her back ramrod straight and her hands clasped firmly in front of her as if at a job interview. The footage, broadcasting from Geneva, showed some of Dawn's surroundings — she sat in the center of a large chamber, on a patch of blue carpet free of the tiered seating that surrounded her on three sides, full of Important Looking People wearing expensive suits — but it mainly focused on her, capturing her super-serious expression and rigid posture. The contrast between this super-formal Dawn and the Dawn she knew nearly made Armandez snort. The shipgirl she remembered scarfing down food in Eternal's mess hall, chewing with an open mouth and complaining about the thin mattresses in the crew quarters, looked so out of place at this official event it was funny. "Looks posh. She's moving on up in the world, eh? "

A few words reached Armandez's ears; it sounded like Dawn was introducing herself to some sort of government committee. Though rather immature of her, she had to suppress a small smirk when the microphones picked up a chorus of surprise and disbelief as the committee read out Dawn's submitted identity, and an even greater cry of the same as Dawn confirmed her written words. Iverson winced and said, "Oh, that's gotta sting. I can square with where they're coming from, though. It all sounds rather lunatic if you haven't seen it yourself, doesn't it? Wonder how she'll get them to come round?"

"We'll see. This ought to be good." Good luck, Dawn, Armandez thought, we're rooting for you. Though every marine she knew already considered Dawn a sister-in-arms, her loyalty beyond reproach, it was one thing to impress a bunch of leathernecks. Winning the trust and favor of the public was another thing entirely. Settling in to watch the show, she briefly considered the time — it would definitely take more than fifteen minutes for this portion of the hearing to run its course. She could tell everyone to break it up after fifteen and get back to work… but did she really want to? Or have to?

Nah. Everyone — herself, Laughley, Iverson, the rest of the platoon, the engineers, any human being within 5 AUs of Earth — had more than earned a few extra minutes of rest. And if anyone noticed, and called her out on it…

So be it. She was tired, too.

---

If there was anything in common between the UNSC Navy and the water-bound navies of old, it was that there was always more work to do. Weapons to be inspected, training simulations to be run, maintenance to be performed, inventory to be taken and what's that, sailor? All done with your tasks? Then pick up a mop, the deck isn't going to swab itself. Free time, not just mandatory 8-hour rest shifts mostly spent sleeping but real free time, was a rare and cherished commodity, with every hour free from the beady eyes of the NCOs savored to the maximum.

Therefore, no matter how you looked at it, Amber was living the high life. Since she was under orders to not exert herself in any way for a week, there was nothing to do but curl up in bed in one of Infinity's two-man officer's cabins as an officially mandated useless potato. With a cup of hot tea on her nightstand and a datapad with (ONI-monitored) access to Waypoint in hand, if there was any luxury to be found in the UNSC Navy, this was it. If the Past Amber, circa 2552, could see herself now, she'd probably blow a reactor manifold out of sheer envy. And Present Amber truly was grateful for her comfortable quarters, a far cry from a cold prison cell. But…

Here, Amber's thoughts hesitated, for fear of sounding ungrateful. After a moment, however, they forged ahead regardless. Who else was going to hear them, anyway? She might as well be honest with herself and admit that she was rather… bored. Not that she hated being bored! Bored meant there was no fighting, no dying, and that everyone was safe. However, there was a part of her that yearned for something to do; after all, a spaceship was never idle. Even when her hull was sitting idle, docked in the yard or floating in a stable orbit, her crew carried out the endless routine that kept the navy running. Over and over, cleaning, maintenance, and supply organization, while she herself kept a one watchful eye on the surrounding space, ready to spring into action at the first sign of the enemy. Tedious, yes, but in a way, soothing, in a way that complete inactivity could never be.

Here, though? There was none of that, no enemies to look out for, and she literally was not allowed to grab a mop and pitch in for fear of tearing her wounds open anew. No going to the gym, either, so blowing off steam in the weight room was a no-go. Seriously, she was already feeling a lot better! Shipgirls healed quick, hadn't Dawn already established this? Maybe it was ungrateful — no, it was definitely ungrateful of her, when any other sailor would kill to be in her position — but it felt like she needed to be doing something, anything, to prepare for the next battle. To make sure that she could protect as many as she could, to make sure that she save as many as she could.

For now, though, her orders were to rest, and so she would, so that she could get back to work as soon as possible. Reading helped alleviate the boredom; some of the ONI-selected articles on current galactic geopolitics were eye-catching, to say the least. Peace with the Covenant? Mixed alien and human colonies? A military alliance with the Elites, and tentative cultural exchange? Logically, yes, of course there was peace, the distinct lack of Covie battlecruisers turning Earth into glass showed that much, and thirty years was a decent chunk of time for grudges to die. However, no matter how hard she tried, Amber just couldn't imagine peacefully alongside former Covenant species. How could people just forgive and forget like that when the mere thought of an Elite on Earth's soil made her fingers twitch to wring the hypothetical split-lipped squid bastard's neck? Oh, just thinking about it made her see red—!

Calm down. Amber took a deep breath, held it for five seconds, then blew out. C'est la vie. For the sake of peace, keeping those thoughts to herself was a trivial price to pay. Not like she'd need to get along with the alien fucks outside of a few formal events. Reading that kind of stuff was bad for her reactor pressure, anyway, and there were plenty of other articles. A refined understanding of slipspace-realspace interaction dynamics, more efficient and precise Shaw-Fujikawa astrogation algorithms, tactical case studies, advances in AI lifespan, manufacturing and automation incorporating Forerunner research, she absorbed it all into her memory banks.

Soon, though she reached the end of the downloaded material. With nothing pre-curated left to read, Amber found herself idly swiping through Waypoint, looking through the list of ONI-approved sites for anything that interested her. Most of them were bland, boring new sites, obviously just regurgitating the UEG line. Not that Amber really minded, being UNSC property and all, but couldn't they try a little harder? Rolling her eyes, she was about to put the datapad away and try to sleep for a bit when a WayTube link caught her eye. She hesitated, then shrugged and tapped it. What the hell, might as well, right?

And that was how she ended up watching a broadcast of a hearing of the UEG Joint Senate-Assembly Defense Committee. Amber wasn't entirely what it was about, but given that a few hundred thousand people were also watching, it looked like a fairly hot topic. It took a few seconds to load, and when it did, Amber saw—

"Dawn?" she blurted out, "What are you—" Amber stopped and thought for a second. On second thought, it did make sense that Dawn was there. If the Defense Committee was asking about the Abyssal attacks on Reach and Earth, then they couldn't possibly tell the complete story without asking about the shipgirls. And who better to ask about shipgirls than the shipgirls themselves? Still, why couldn't Amber ever remember Dawn telling her about this, or for that matter Captain Garcia? "Did you two not want me to worry…?" she said.

Well, no matter. In the present, Dawn sat at a table placed in the center of the Committee chamber, hands clasped tightly in front of herself and an untouched glass of water sitting on the far right corner of the table. Amber thought she looked a bit pale, though perfectly understandable if the information ticker at the bottom of the screen was accurate and she'd just finished giving testimony. The idea of speaking in front of what looked to be hundreds of people made Amber feel a bit woozy, and she was all tucked up in bed thousands of kilometers from the action! "S-stay strong, Dawn," she whispered.

The audience around the Charon-class frigate buzzed like a beehive hit with a baseball bat. People in suits muttered to each other, into phones, and around the edges of the room, into microphones emblazoned with the logos of various news organizations. Amber could only imagine what they thought about Dawn's testimony; even the most bare-bones summary of her brief career must have sounded like something out of a fantasy novel. Upon the dais at the front of the chamber around sixty or so politicians took notes, shuffled papers, and whispered to nondescript aides standing unobtrusively in the background. They, at least, appeared to be engaging in something more productive than idle gossip, actually reviewing Dawn's testimony before formulating their questions. They also had the decency not to constantly point and stare, something Amber couldn't say for the audience.

As for the live chat… the less said about that the better.

The pressure bearing down on Dawn must have been crushing — the secondhand stress alone almost made Amber turn off the stream — but Dawn herself gave no overt hints that she noticed it. Neither did she pay any obvious attention to the hum of gossip, though based on a few minute eye twitches not all of it was kind. This went on for a good minute, Dawn sitting perfectly stock-still before a gavel banged. The loud buzz slowly died down and Dawn's dress uniform — which, Amber thought absentmindedly, looked quite good on her — stood out among the sea of suits around her as the questioning phase of the hearing began.

The first committee member to speak was the woman sitting in the center chair, a senator from Dratheus V if the WayTube annotation was accurate. "The committee will now ask questions of the witness. The chair recognizes Aloise Villanueva of the General Assembly."

"Thank you, Madame Chair." As Amber sat up straight and refocused on the actual hearing, an assemblyman from Sargassa leaned forward and said, "Forward Unto Dawn. Uh, Ensign Forward Unto… I'm sorry, how should I address you?"

"It's alright, sir. Whatever's most comfortable, I'm not going to fuss about it."

"Ensign, then. First of all, the Committee has tasked me with conveying its gratitude for your efforts. By all accounts, your contributions to the defense of both Reach and Earth were significant. You performed well in what must have been a confusing situation. Thank you."

"Oh!" Caught off guard, Dawn started, then visibly relaxed. Her hands unclenched and one went to rub the back of her neck. "No problem at all, just doing my job. Actually, I—"

Villanueva held up a hand and cleared his throat. "That being said, I want to clarify a few points in your testimony. In the record, you asserted that you are the spirit of the Forward Unto Dawn, the frigate that carried the Master Chief, and that you are, effectively, the same entity as the ship herself. Is that correct?"

Dawn nodded, with just a hint of pride in her eyes. "Yessir, one and the same."

"Thank you. Assuming this is the truth, can you explain the process by which you, uh, materialized? By which I mean the mechanism, not the circumstances, and whether that mechanism can be consistently reproduced."

The smug faded from Dawn's expression. A thousand kilometers above her, Amber pursed her lips. That… was a fair, if difficult, question. Though her circumstances obviously differed from Dawn's — the difference between spending an uncertain amount of time as an Abyssal meatsuit versus poofing into existence full-formed — she had no idea how she first appeared. If she thought really hard, there were some vague memories, more like sensations floating around in her head, but nothing beyond darkness and a vague sense of fear. She tentatively reached out to B to see if she had any ideas, but the split personality? Alternate self? Mental couchsurfer? Whatever B was, she seemed to be dormant.

Evidently, Dawn had a similar problem. "I, um, to be honest sir, I can't really say for certain. There was this light, I might've heard a voice, and then I… found myself aboard Scorpia…" She trailed off, flushing red and bowing her head.

"And can you identify this 'voice', or provide any more details?"

"I, uh, no sir. My apologies."

A discontented murmur bubbled up. Skepticism flashed across the expressions of a good chunk of the committee. "In that case, allow me to take a different approach. While we are, of course, grateful that you helped us in our hour of need, the fact remains that your help would have been useful long before now."

Dawn grimaced and looked down at her hands, and though there was no trace of accusation in Villanueva's voice, Amber couldn't help but feel a swelling of guilt in her stomach. After all, if those words were directed at Dawn, then didn't they apply double to her? Especially since, up until now, she'd been actively doing harm to humanity.

"I can't deny that. I'm sorry for my tardiness."

Villaneuva shook his head. "I suppose it was not totally in your control, seeing as not even you understand the mechanism of your manifestation. However, even if you don't understand the details, was there any specific triggering event? Some noticeable change that might have lead to… this happening?"

Dawn pursed her lips and tapped her chin. "Eh… I can't really point to anything specific, since I wasn't, you know, conscious, really. But, I guess if I had to describe it… it just felt like there was a really strong pull of, uh, emotion, I guess? Like, maybe my help was needed before, but now it was needed needed, and there really wasn't any substitute." She clicked her tongue and said, "Taking a shot in the dark, but maybe it's because the Abyssals were about to attack Earth and Reach? I mean, that'd qualify as 'darkest hour' material, wouldn't it? I know this sounds really out there."

'Out there' was putting it mildly. Surprisingly, Villanueva didn't dismiss it out of hand, instead looking thoughtful for a moment before saying, "I suppose stranger things have happened recently. If that was your experience, then so be it. No further questions at this moment. Madame Chair, I yield my time."

"Very well. The chair now recognizes Li Ming Yi of the Senate."

No breaks, huh?

Next up, a senator from Langshanqu nodded and said, "Thank you, Madame Chair. Ensign, in the combat footage the Navy provided, we observed you operating a new type of weapons system." A small insert appeared in the side of the stream with the footage in question, showing views from Dawn's main battery camera, her helmet camera, and third parties such as a Sentinel drone and a Spartan IV's helmet cam. "Explain how it is operated and whether or not it can be replicated and produced."

Dawn bowed her head in apology again. "I'm really sorry, but I don't think I can give any good answers. I use my equipment by just… kind of… thinking about it? Like, I want it to appear, and then it does? And then I tell it to do stuff, and it also just does it?"

"You 'tell it to do stuff' and it 'just does it'?" The senator tapped her stylus against her datapad in annoyance. "No offense intended, but right now, we're effectively trusting in a black box to keep doing what it's been doing with no knowledge of how it's been working, or what might break it, or what happens when it breaks. When you break it down, it's a blind trust."

"H-hey! You can't—th-that's not fair!" Amber shouted at the screen, then swiftly clamped a hand over her mouth. When nobody came to her door after a few seconds she relaxed, though that didn't stop her from glaring at Senator Li through the datapad screen. Of all people, Amber knew how it felt to have her loyalties questioned, to have the very people she wanted to protect cast suspicious gazes her way. Bad enough when they had a valid reason to do so, but Dawn had been nothing but loyal! The chamber was thinking along the same lines, as another unhappy hubbub rose from the spectators, this time directed at Li. Amber drew some heart from that; clearly, even if they remained somewhat skeptical about her competence, the audience at least thought that Dawn's loyalty was a settled matter.

Dawn evidently felt the same way. Voice slightly rising and cheeks reddening, she said, "No, I would never—!"

"You misunderstand me." Li cleared her throat and steepled her fingers. "The Committee does not doubt your loyalty, or your intentions. Had you meant us harm, we would all have been dead half an hour ago. But my concern is that someday, despite your best intentions, your equipment might break using equipment that nobody understands, not even its own operator, that's like using a gun without knowing about the magazine or the bolt. What happens when you run out of ammunition or the gun jams? Do you keep pulling the trigger and ruin the mechanism or have it blow up in your face?"

A moment of silence followed the senator's words. As reason asserted itself over indignation, Amber had to admit that Li had a point. If her equipment broke down, she had no idea how to fix it beyond the basic maintenance procedures that any self-respecting sailor worth the name could do in their sleep. She had the parts and skills to swap out a busted coolant pump, but if something conked out in the reactor core? One deep-fried In Amber Clad, hold the mustard, coming right up.

Dawn looked calmer now, frowning as she said, "I… no, I get it. And, not to wear the phrase out, but I don't have a good answer. There's not been a lot of time for research. Give us some time and we'll figure it out, I'm sure of it!"

"And in the meantime, what assurances can you give that an unpredictable failure won't disable you at a critical moment?"

"None." Dawn spread her hands in a gesture both of apology and of resignation. "I mean, we can plan around it, but in the end that's the honest truth. I hate it just as much as you but I won't tell a lie to make us all feel better." She matched Li's gaze with steady eyes. "Though, while I'm being honest, it's not like equipment suddenly breaking is something the Navy has never dealt with before. Just think of me like a gun; guns break, but my commanders, my comrades, they know how to plan around that. And if I break without warning, I'll at least have put enough lead downrange to buy them time to make a new plan."

A bit grim, but the conviction in Dawn's voice made it hard to continue to fault her. Li looked less than pleased, but without any other avenues to pursue nodded her acceptance. "I appreciate your candor, Ensign. Though I might wish otherwise, it appears that there is no easy way to resolve the current situation. I should hope that research and development will be a top priority for the Fleet Auxiliary Forces. Madame Chair, I yield my time."

"Thank you, Senator. The chair now recognizes Felipe Hak of the General Assembly…"

The hearing continued along for another thirty minutes or so. Fortunately, the politicians, for the most part, didn't doubt the authenticity of Dawn's abilities, or her personal honesty and loyalty. Nor did they ask very much about her role in the battles of Earth and Reach; Dawn's testimony gave a blow-by-blow, and Amber suspected they were saving the difficult questions, of how the Abyssals found their location and achieved surprise, for the naval and intelligence brass. Most of the questions instead asked about the extent and limits of her abilities, how they could be applied, and at one point an assembly member asked for a practical demonstration.

"I'd be happy to!" Dawn said. She pushed back from the table, stood up while stretching out a kink in her back, then held her hand out, palm up. "So I just concentrate, form an image of it in my imagination, try and think about what it would feel like in my hand, what I want to use it for, and…" Light flashed, bright enough to white out the stream, and a zipper-like sound mixed with startled cries and shouts. When the light cleared, Dawn braced a Spartan laser against her shoulder, finger deliberately off the trigger. "Badabing, badaboom. I can also make stuff other than weapons…" With a smaller flash, a bottle of water appeared in her other hand. "And I think health and safety would get mad at me for using a fusion torch indoors, so catch me in orbit if you want to see that."

Amber risked a glance at the live chat, scrolling by almost too fast for her to read. Though she immediately regretted it, she caught the uniting theme among the comments, namely an excess of question marks. Half the committee chamber was on its feet; evidently, seeing it on the recordings didn't have quite the same impact as seeing it in person. The reporters around the perimeter of the chamber talked furiously into their earpieces, no doubt trying to get the scoop on their rival organizations. "P-please be nice about her," Amber murmured.

Eventually, everyone calmed down and Dawn put away her weapons. A few minutes later the hearing drew near to its end, the last question coming from Senator Joaquim Planell of Nova Catalunya. "Ensign, my last question pertains to your prior service," he said. "Do you retain any memories from your service during the Covenant War? When you were… well…"

"When I was a pure warship, sir?"

Planell winced. "You certainly don't beat around the bush, do you?"

"I do try. Let's see…" Dawn clenched her fist; when she opened it, a data chip sat in her palm. "My records are all on here, so if you're interested I can leave it with the sergeant-at-arms."

"Thank you, but allow me to clarify. It has been thirty years since you were last active, and in that time there have been new developments in our relationships with former Covenant species. As you may interact with individuals from those species in the course of your current duties, I would like to ask whether you foresee any difficulties arising from those interactions due to your prior service."

There was a collective intake of breath from the audience, accompanied by Amber sucking air between her teeth and bracing herself. Why would Planell ask something like that on a public broadcast? If Dawn's feelings towards the Covies were anything like Amber's and she let them slip on this sort of stage, then…

The camera switched over to focus on Dawn, just in time to capture a shadow passing across her face before she schooled her expression into something neutral and professional. "My feelings on that matter are irrelevant," she said, speaking in an even, measured voice. "It's been thirty years; a lot's changed, even if I wasn't around for it. I'm still adjusting, but I can assure you that any residual feelings I have will not impact the execution of my duties." Her abrupt change in tone, from earnest and expressive to stiff and cold, evidently caught the senator off guard.

"Are you sure? There are some who—"

Dawn spoke again, cutting the senator off. "I'm sure. The Covie—er, the Covenant War was not a pleasant time for anyone. Given a second chance at life, I would rather not get bogged down in the past, if at all possible, sir." Though she was the one being questioned, the tone of her voice made it clear that she did not think highly of the current line of questioning.

Planell blinked and swallowed, stumbling over the beginnings of his words as he said, "I-I see. Well, if you're sure…

"I am."

"… then, no further questions. Madame Chair, I yield my time."

"Thank you, Senator. This concludes the current session of this hearing; Ensign Dawn, thank you for your cooperation. You may leave the stand. This committee will enter a twenty-minute recess."

The chairwoman struck her gavel, the clack of wood on wood ringing out with a certain weight of finality in it. Dawn quickly stood from her chair, gave a slight bow to the committee, then turned and walked towards the doors at the rear of the chamber. Her legs were somewhat shaky despite her purposeful stride and straight posture, though she hid it admirably. Paying no attention to the curious gazes, hushed conversations, and camera flashes that followed in her wake, she pushed the doors open and stepped through, out of the view of the video feed.

Dawn's departure also signaled the end of Amber's interest in the hearing. She closed WayTube and then slumped back into her pillows, somehow feeling drained despite the fact that she hadn't been in the hot seat. "Better you than me, Dawn," she said, "I could never do something like that." Setting the tablet aside, she blinked at the clock on her nightstand. Had it really only been thirty minutes? She yawned, suddenly very tired; perhaps her injuries were less healed than she thought they were. Maybe she'd take a nap, think of a nice message to send to Dawn later, congratulate her on her performance…

No, that wasn't right. Even if she was tired, it wasn't the kind of tired that would help her sleep. Her mind felt like it had just run two laps around Infinity, but her body was still energized. She'd just end up tossing and turning for hours on end before getting back up, even more tired than before. She needed to do something physical, but what to do when she was barred from going to the gym?

Amber thought back to what Senator Li had said, about what the plan was if and when things broke. If reminded her that she hadn't checked on her rigging since waking up in Infinity's medbay. Rather negligent of her, considering the damage it suffered — even if she couldn't fix it, she should at least inspect it and take the damage into account for future planning. Maybe spending some time on equipment maintenance would help her settle down? Closing her eyes and controlling her breathing, Amber called her helmet into being with a brief spell of concentration.

She clearly remembered, and her combat records confirmed, taking a glancing hit from plasma on the left parietal that melted almost down to the internal harness and left a third of the sensors ruined. Yet to her surprise, when she tugged the helmet off and inspected it, only a shallow, slightly blackened furrow remained. The vaporized sensor mast was still absent, but its mounting point was cleaned up and ready to accept a new module package. Amber tentatively ran a finger along the furrow; the titanium felt solid beneath her touch. "That's convenient," she muttered. Somehow, as her body healed from its wounds, so did her equipment, without external intervention… but, as the good senator asked, how?

A memory sprang to mind. She hadn't paid too much attention to it at the moment, what with trying not do die and all, but what did Autumn call her back then? A conceptual construct, a solid idea, was it? Amber rapped her knuckles against her head; she certainly had the solid part down. But could a mere idea really have the strength to sustain a physical form ex nihilo, ignoring all that pesky stuff about conservation of mass and energy?

Amber's brain was hurting, bending itself into a pretzel to follow this line of thinking, but she forged on regardless, running her core processors hot. Taking the above as true, her existence — both her flesh and blood body, and the equipment that was an extension of it — didn't spring from any sort of physical phenomenon, shaped by physical processes. It emerged from the idea of the UNSC In Amber Clad, embedded in… the universe? Humanity as a collective? Some alien space god's jello? Wherever it sprang from, an idea wasn't something a bit of plasma scarring could permanently alter. And if her core concept — a concept which prominently did not feature a massive plasma scar along her port bow — was strong enough to alter reality, why couldn't it eventually reassert itself over any temporary alterations, like a computer restoring from a backup? It would also explain why she healed faster than normal humans…

The hum of the air conditioning shifted slightly in tone. Amber blinked, then shook her head and laughed. "Listen to yourself!" she said, "Even if the world's gone mad, there still ought to be a limit somewhere." Even assuming that Autumn was correct, and wasn't just repeating whatever bullshit the Abyssals fed her while they controlled her, this was all untestable speculation and far-reaching conjecture. Really, Senator Li had a point; neither Dawn nor Amber knew how their equipment worked, not really. Even the regenerative abilities of Amber's rigging came with a big asterisk: was this an unconditional process, or did it only take place under specific conditions? Was it a constitutive process, or could it be stopped and started? What if it just… stopped happening? Could it just stop happening? What would Amber do to bring it back? Without knowing for certain, could Amber be absolutely certain that her gear would be ready to go when needed?

… but still, despite how ridiculous it sounded, something told Amber not to discard her thinking out of hand. Maybe it was something to talk to Autumn and the scientists about. In any case, she'd spent long enough thinking; looking at her helmet, she'd finally spotted something she could do with her hands, without risking the aggravation of her wounds. Though the major damage was well on its way to being repaired, a wide assortment of scratches and blemishes still remained across its surface. This was stuff that had no direct impact on her combat performance, only looked unsightly, and it would probably go away with time.

Even so, Amber had her pride as a ship, and a properly cleaned and maintained hull was part of that pride. She wasn't looking for perfection — it was unreasonable to expect every inch on a 500-meter hull to be spick and span — but a tidy ship helped boost crew morale, and something about waiting for such a simple maintenance task to finish itself struck her as eminently lazy, especially when she had nothing else to do. Perhaps, she thought, running a finger along one of the scratches, I should try and buff this out. While I've got time.

Yes, this was something that she could do, something that she could do to be a little more ready for the next battle. Rearranging herself so that she was sitting cross-legged, Amber reached out to pick up her helmet in one hand and summoned a small, rough-surfaced cloth in her other. As Amber worked the cloth across the metal surface, thoughts of hearings and concepts and what exactly her true nature was quickly drained away. There was only the job in front of her and the battles yet to come. Dawn's current battle wasn't one that Amber could help in. But, by taking care of her own equipment, doing whatever she could so that when they did stand side by side, she'd be ready — well, that was the least that Amber could do.

---

"Now arriving: Azad Nagar Station. Doors are opening on Side A. Stand clear of the opening doors."

The superintendent AI's voice echoed through the nearly-deserted New Mumbai Mass Transit Authority maglev car. A bell chimed twice as the automatic doors slid open and a cold Martian breeze swept in, swirling up dust, discarded food wrappers, and other bits of litter on the floor. It continued down the aisle, blowing past the car's only occupant, slumped in her seat with a thin line of drool tracing down her cheek and jaw. A bit of hair, escaped from the hasty ponytail that confined its comrades, moved in response, tickling her nose until she started awake with a sneeze and a curse.

"Mind the gap when boarding or leaving the train."

"Dammit all—" As the message repeated in Marathi, German, and Indonesian, Office of Naval Intelligence Section 4 Junior Field Agent Berlin stood up way too quickly, nearly toppling over as blood rushed from her head. Catching herself on a support pole while her brain finished buffering, her eyes quickly registered the station name and the open doors, prompting her to curse again and dash for the exit. She slipped out right as the doors brushed against her backpack; a moment later, the train moved off, gliding whisper-quiet millimeters above the magnetic rails.

In its absence, the sound of Berlin's heavy breathing filled the quiet platform. She wasn't quite alone; a few UNSC Army 395th Aerospace Defense Battalion personnel, taking inventory on a pallet of surface-to-air missile canisters, shot strange looks over at Berlin. Leaning against a support column, panting from a combination of surging adrenaline and a case of acute aerobic exercise, she returned the favor with a sleep-deprived glare. The soldiers quickly looked back down at their data pads, and Berlin held her glare for a few more seconds before letting out a heavy sigh, adjusting her backpack, and trudging past the soldiers towards the platform exit.

"Welcome to Azad Nagar Station! We wish you a pleasant trip and a wonderful day. Special notice: a state of emergency is in effect. Dear citizens, remain calm and comply with UNSC directives immediately!"

Harsh sunlight, unsoftened by Mars' thinner atmosphere and streaming in through shattered skylights and bomb-blasted holes in the roof, hit Berlin in the face as she emerged into the main station. The warmth felt nice on her skin after weeks spent going stir-crazy aboard ships and space stations, but the glare forced her to throw up a hand to shield her rapidly-watering eyes. Blinking furiously, she squinted at one of the holographic information boards, trying to figure out a path to the exit that would route her around sections of the station destroyed by Abyssal air raids.

It didn't help that, besides getting partially washed out by the unfiltered sunlight, many of the displays flickered in and out of existence on a regular basis due to the precarious state of the city power supply. Though the transit network's backup power cells kept critical functions alive and juiced, they couldn't fully compensate for the hefty chunk of the city's power grid that had contracted a terminal case of orbital bombardment. Two of the three fusion reactors that supplied the Greater New Mumbai Metropolitan Area laid in ruins despite the Abyssals focusing most of their attentions on the Valles Marineris and the Army tossing out energy shields and SAM sites like chips at a casino. Combined with demolished infrastructure, leveled homes and businesses, and the evacuation of half its citizens, it would be a while before the city was back to anything resembling "normal".

"No, no, remember your blood pressure, look on the bright side," Berlin said to herself, snapping herself out of a depressing train of thought as she finally found a path. She nodded, turned, and marched off, stubbing her toe on a chunk of concrete blasted loose from the wall. "This way, we can get rid of all the undesirables without anyone making a fuss. If the baby's already gone to hell, may as well throw out the bathwater, right?" she said, hopping awkwardly and shaking her foot as the pain penetrated her boot and shot up her leg.

On her way to the exit, she threaded her way through discarded supply crates, piles of debris, blown-out walls, and cratered floors. The ONI emblem prominently displayed on her uniform shirt kept anyone from messing her; the 395th troopers gave her respectful, if wary, nods and the rougher-looking civilians kept a wide berth. After a wide detour that took her through several side corridors, Berlin finally made it to the exit. She squinted against the harsh light of the early Martian morning, took a moment to fill her lungs with fresh air, and then descended the stairs to the entrance plaza.

At the bottom, she found herself surrounded by military vehicles, soldiers, and UNSC-logoed supply crates, with a single path marked out by caution tape winding around the 395th's temporary supply depot. Though she wasn't much for sentimental musings, the sight still brought a frown to her face. The depot occupied a space where once mingled workers heading home after a long day, students meeting up to let loose after exams, and food stalls selling currywurst and vada pav. Berlin hoped that, after the situation stabilized some more and the Army packed up back to the barracks, those stalls would come back; there were days when only a box of curry and samosas from Deepak's held the line between her and the bottle. She hoped that old man was alright…

A pair of sentry turrets tracked Berlin from the rooftops as she made her way to the sidewalk. She flipped them off, muttering, "Read the damned patch and find something else to shoot, jackass." Not that they had much to shoot at — the streets of New Mumbai were as dead as Berlin could ever remember seeing them. UNSC convoys and automated buses, empty of passengers and servicing deserted bus stops, were the only vehicles still plying the streets. After all, on a day like this, with Army artillery still shelling Abyssal holdouts dug in around the Tharsis Montes and tens of thousands of refugees sheltering in and around New Mumbai, only the most dedicated of office drones would be out and about, heading to work. Like she was.

No one to blame but yourself, Berlin scolded herself as she continued to hurry down the sidewalk, barely pausing at intersections and roundabouts to look both ways for traffic that wasn't there. In the chaos of the evacuations, with half of Mars' population running for the tether ports and the other half running for the bunkers, ONI would have been too busy purging records and liquidating liabilities to care about one low-level junior field agent quietly coming home. She might've been able to get a whole day to laze around before someone got around to noticing her return, without needing to use her paid leave days! What would they have done, fire her? Not when she was the only ONI operative with any experience with shipgirls worth a damn.

Mourning her lost free time, Berlin paused at a crosswalk to let an empty automated bus drive by. She then crossed the street, skirted around a crater that took up the entire road and part of the sidewalk, clambered over a pile of debris from a collapsed facade, hung a left down an alley, and emerged in front of her workplace: the New Mumbai Field Office of the Office of Naval Intelligence.

"Home, sweet home…"

Berlin tapped her ID against the scanner at the simple frosted-glass double door entrance of a run-down, four-story office building covered in peeling beige paint and condensation stains under dirty windows. If not for "OFFICE OF NAVAL INTELLIGENCE - AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY" spelled out in white block letters, Berlin could have mistaken it for the headquarters of a sketchy import-export company, which was likely the point. Past the front door, some scuffed-looking sofas, a slightly wilted-looking potted plant of indeterminate species, and a security guard wearing a ballistic vest greeted her at the lobby security checkpoint. She mumbled a 'g'morning' as she stepped up to the checkpoint, scanned her ID again, and submitted to an iris and fingerprint scan under the guard's watchful eye.

Of course, that wasn't the full extent of security. As she stared straight into the iris scanner, Berlin knew there was an AI analyzing her behavior for discrepancies, accompanied by an array of sensors from Promethean-vision equipped cameras to airborne chemical sniffers disguised as security cameras and smoke detectors. Narcoizine and CS gas canisters sat concealed in the roof, ready to dispense their contents at the push of a button, and a 10-man tactical response squad waited for the security guard's signal to storm in and permanently elevate her blood lead concentration. As if that wasn't enough, the nearby Army base had a rotating section of airborne infantry ready to provide rapid-response. Enough security to stop everything but the largest riot or most determined Innie raid… but Berlin still felt like she was simply checking into a rather run-down motel, rather than entering a highly secure ONI facility.

As she tried not to think about the fancy downtown skyscraper she could have worked in for the private sector, the guard glanced down at his terminal and said, "Agent Berlin. Section Chief Durban's looking for you."

Like a sentence running into a period or water hitting a dam, the flow of Berlin's routine came to a sudden, screeching halt, leaving her disoriented for a moment as she wrenched herself out of her own head and actually paid attention to the real world. Section Chief Durban, Agent Durban before his promotion, overseer of all Internal Security operations and activities in the New Mumbai Field Office, and Berlin's boss. Just by looking at you, he could pick out your every cut corner, your smallest protocol violations, every bad habit and tiny mistake, then calmly dissect and analyze those flaws so that you had no choice but to stand there, take it, and leave a humbler person. Considering she'd drafted it at one in the morning, Berlin was not looking forward to what he had to say about her report. "Durban?" Berlin's heart sank at the sound of her boss' name. "Did that bas—he say what for?"

The guard shrugged. "I dunno, they don't tell me anything."

"Right. Right. Motherfucker… tell him I'll be right there. Just gotta drop off my stuff." Re-shouldering her backpack, she pushed through the turnstile, decided to climb two flights of stairs instead of taking the elevator, and emerged out onto the third floor.

It was remarkably quiet, the customary low background hum of murmured conversation, clicking keyboards, and scratching pencils almost completely absent. Looking around, Berlin only spotted a few people at their desks, but plenty of knocked-over chairs, some half-eaten lunches gone obviously stale, and terminals running the last lines of code from viral data scavengers, all signs of a hasty exit. The home office must have been caught off guard like the rest of the system. Section I had fucked up big time, because surely there'd been some indication that after spending all of their time burning and pillaging through the Outer Colonies the Abbies were about to change their strategy and go straight for the core worlds. There had to have been some sign, some reason, right?

Ah well, probably above her pay grade. To get to her own desk, it was a turn to the right, three rows down, turn left at the water cooler, five rows down, and stop. The potted succulent in the corner, the bulletin board tacked to the wall, the ergonomic chair — everything in her cubicle was just as Berlin had left it, a few weeks that felt like an entire year ago. Too bad she had no time to settle back into her routine. With a sigh, she dropped her bag in the middle of the space, wheeled around on one foot, and marched off to the Section Chief's office, promising herself that she'd take a nice, long nap when he finished chewing her out.

Five minutes later, Berlin stood in front of a faux-wood door, mentally preparing herself. Bad enough that she had to report to the boss, but to do it first thing in the morning? When she hadn't even had coffee yet? "Just get it over with," she muttered. "What's the worst he could do? Fire you?" Actually, probably just reassign her to some Outer Colony field office, permanently away from anything to do with shipgirls or anything else remotely interesting and conveniently in the path of the next Abyssal attack. After all the excitement of the past weeks, the prospect of going back to just basic ONI grunt work was hard to swallow, but Berlin had a good feeling she'd just have to live with it. With that cheerful thought in mind, and after a small breath, Berlin knocked on the door.

"Enter." Section Chief Durban's voice sounded from the intercom next to his office door, exactly six seconds after Berlin knocked. Once inside, the soundproof door cut off what little outside noise there was, and in the ensuing silence Berlin took a few moments to look around the office. The chaotic scenes scattered about outside were nowhere to be found, here in this private sanctuary. The leather couch, the glass-top coffee table and the tea set on top, the potted bamboo, none of them sat so much as a hair out of place. On top of the large metal desk in the middle of the room, the books, framed photos, notepads, and terminals were right where Berlin remembered them from every other time she'd been in here, not even a little bit dusty. Just based on how little was disturbed, she doubted the Section Chief had even bothered to evacuate; that workaholic bastard probably didn't even realize there was an invasion on!

Speaking of the man himself, Durban was sitting behind the desk, dressed in a freshly laundered and immaculately pressed uniform like he'd just done the laundry yesterday, never mind the alien invasion. The comparison between it and Berlin's wrinkled outfit, dug out of the hamper that morning, was rather unfavorable. Recently shaved and barbered, eyes free of bags, the only concession to the war that Berlin could see was the addition of a ballistic vest over his uniform. Had the bastard spent the entire invasion in here reading reports?! Gritting her teeth, she stepped between the coffee table and the couch and made her way over to the desk in five short steps where she snapped to attention.

"Sir! Junior Field Agent Berlin reporting as ordered!"

Durban didn't bother glancing up, only nodding at Berlin's greeting. "At ease." As Berlin fell into parade rest, he spent another three seconds reading over something on his terminal before finally looking straight at her. "Agent Berlin. I see you have completed your assignment to Epsilon Eridani."

Straight to business, not even a 'nice weather today' or a 'so how about that alien invasion', huh? "Yes, sir, had a wonderful time, ate exotic foods, met the locals, shot at them." It was always hard for Berlin to look straight at Durban's face. She caught herself staring at his mismatched eyes, one dark brown and the other a pure white prosthetic taking the place of an eye lost to an Insurrectionist bomb back in 2568. She suspected that he'd opted for his current look instead of a more naturalistic prosthetic exactly because it made people uncomfortable.

"Hm." Durban looked back at his terminal. He frowned, rubbed his chin, and quickly typed something, then looked back at Berlin. "I've read your report. You've been busy."

You mean the report I bashed out at one in the morning because of your completely unreasonable demands? With a professional smile, Berlin replied, "I couldn't contact the office for orders, so I tried to act on my own initiative, sir." Unable to resist needling her boss, she added, "You know, like the Head Office is always telling us to do?"

"So you did." Durban's frown deepened and Berlin braced herself. "And significantly exceeded your remit in the process. Did you even think to contact any of the Reach branch offices for guidance and support?" Berlin sucked in long a breath, but before she could answer, he continued, "Documentation, oversight, and coordination; these are the pillars of all our operations, and initiative is not a magic word you can use to ignore them. Without proper procedure, things fall through the cracks, important information is overlooked, and people get hurt." His prosthetic eye narrowed as he spoke. "Take your experiment with In Amber Clad. Did you gather any data to support your hypothesis? Where was the medical team on standby in case the gunshot didn't produce the expected reaction? Rushed work gets sloppy results, and sloppy results are no results at all. Am I understood?"

It's too damn early for this… Holding back a number of choice words, Berlin decided to exercise the better part of valor. She looked down, nodded at her feet, and said, "Yes, sir."

"Furthermore, you recruited an Auxiliary Asset without prior vetting, consultation, or approval. Leaving aside matters of information security and budget overheads, you needlessly increased tensions between the Office and the Fleet." Durban steepled his fingers and leveled a glare at her over his fingertips. "I'm sure I needn't remind the ill-feeling that exists there needs no further aggravation."

To be fair, Berlin couldn't say that any of this was unexpected. Nodding again, she said, "My apologies, sir."

"Sloppy and reckless. I would expect this kind of approach in an amateur spy novel, not a fully qualified field agent. Exceeding mission parameters, going behind the backs of local commanders, exposure to potential alien contamination, I'm not sure if the fact that you achieved any kind of positive result at all is luck or fate, but it certainly had nothing to do with proper procedure. This—" He waved vaguely at this terminal. "—is grounds for disciplinary action." Durban's words hung in the air for a good twenty seconds or so, long enough for a slight sheen of sweat to break out on Berlin's forehead as she stewed in her juices. Maybe it was because he was her superior, maybe it was just a natural talent of his, probably it was a combination of the two, but where Berlin might have shot back at anyone else she instead found herself tongue-tied in front of her boss.

Durban let her sweat for a moment longer before letting out a breath. "That said, in the end, you did get results." Berlin's head whipped up. "Sloppy as it was, you secured a powerful military asset that had a significant impact on the outcome of the Abyssal attack on Earth. Furthermore, you appear to have granted us a reliable intelligence inroad into the Fleet Auxiliary Forces, though one that will require additional verification, and do not have appeared to have done lasting damage to inter service-relations in the process." Berlin thought she might have caught the slightest hint of professional respect in Durban's eyes. "I cannot overlook your failure to follow proper procedure, but I also won't ignore your success. Consider this a warning; do it right next time. Understood?"

A compliment? That was new, but Berlin was hardly going to argue against it. Heart pounding in relief, Berlin nodded enthusiastically. "Well, of course, sir! Have I ever done otherwise?"

"Hmph." Durban tapped his terminal again, then closed the cover and turned his full body to face Berlin. "Despite the substandard writing quality of your report, you managed a commendable level of detail. I hope I am not overstepping when I say you sound quite familiar with the Fleet Auxiliary Forces."

"Well, what else was I supposed to do? Watch paint dry?"

"I'll ignore that. Instead, I have one question: do you foresee reliability as a possible issue in the Fleet Auxiliary Forces?"

Huh? Berlin tilted her head slightly, eyes narrowing. "Could you clarify that, sir?"

"Exactly what I said. Political reliability; is there any risk of these shipgirls turning Innie?"

I suppose he would be concerned about that. After all, Internal Security's job was to prevent that exact sort of thing from happening. But there was a second, unspoken question: have you compromised yourself by getting close to unreliable elements? Well, if he wants to test me, I'll just have to answer. Berlin shook her head emphatically. "Not at all, sir. I believe that there is no reason to doubt their reliability in any situation where a reasonable person could be expected to remain loyal towards the UNSC."

"A positive evaluation. You have a justification."

Less of question, more of a statement, Durban did not tolerate half-baked analyses. "Yes sir. Let's see…" Berlin held up three fingers and began counting. "Firstly, both Forward Unto Dawn and In Amber Clad basically went straight from getting thrown in jail and accused of sabotage and espionage to risking their lives to fight for the very same Navy that threw them in jail in the first place. I don't know about you, sir, I think anyone who can put up with objectively unreasonable demands like that has got to at least feel some loyalty to the Navy. That, or the stress knocked some serious screws loose, and we'd better forward this to the Liquidation Division." So maybe take a hint and reduce your own unreasonable demands, huh?

"Secondly, neither of the two have significant financial, familial, or reputational risk factors, mostly 'cause they don't have debts, families, or reputations in the first place. They're basically newborn babes in terms of a paper trail. If the Innies can't bribe 'em, threaten 'em, or blackmail 'em, that's basically leaving the secessionist bastards high and dry in terms of easy avenues for subversion. And have you seen the quality of the propaganda they're putting out these days? Couldn't convince a puppy to play dead."

"Finally, if you ever speak to the shipgirls at any length, I think you'll come away with the sense that these are not people who are easily able to conceal a double-agent agenda, they're too damn honest for that. It's almost sickening. Plus, fame's a double-edged sword; now that they're bigshots, we can have surveillance on them at all times in the name of security, and we won't even violate any privacy laws! Killing two Innies with one bullet, isn't it great?"

Durban looked faintly amused as he said, "So you have given this some thought. Not bad, agent." He glanced at a clock on the wall, typed something into his terminal, and then said, "Thank you for your report. I will make sure to forward it to the proper departments at the Head Office." Turning away and back to his terminal, he waved a hand to indicate that Berlin was free to leave. "You have new orders. Read them over at your desk and make any necessary preparations. Dismissed."

So soon? These meetings usually ran for fifteen minutes, at least. Durban must have really had a lot to think about if he was telling her to get lost so soon. Whatever the case, Berlin certainly wasn't going to complain. "Sir!"

Two minutes later, back at her desk, Berlin slumped into her chair with a sigh of relief. Her heart was still beating rather quickly, though the adrenaline was quickly fading away to be replaced by bone-deep exhaustion. "Scheiße… I think that's the first time that bastard's told me 'good work'." Chuckling quietly, she dropped her face into her arms and said, "He must be really shook… or maybe I'm just that good. Yeah, probably just that good." Closing her eyes, she decided to sneak in a few minutes of quality nap time to make up for coming into work so early.

Her terminal chimed, signaling the arrival of a new email. Berlin remained in her posture for a few seconds, unresponsive save for a soft keen emanating from the sanctuary of her arms. Eventually, bowing to the pressures of the modern workplace, she slowly raised her head, blinking bleary eyes, and opened her inbox. There was a new email sitting at the top, addressed from the desk of the Section Chief. Probably her new orders. Berlin was heavily tempted to ignore it and go back to napping — not like there was anyone in the office to catch her — but a wayward spark of curiosity got the better of her and she clicked on the message.

Inside the email, as she suspected, were her new orders. Several paragraphs were dedicated to various projects that needed some manpower, perfect grunt work for a junior field agent. Processing the people blackbagged during the evacuation, tracing a new source of Innie propaganda videos, keeping tabs on some weird, new-age preacher based out of Tribute, all pretty low-key stuff that just needed her help with some basic work. Nothing too strenuous, which Berlin was very much in favor of, but a part of her couldn't help but feel disappointed that she wouldn't get to work with the Fleet Auxiliaries any longer. Looked like she was getting taken off the project after all. Maybe this was Durban's way of— "Oh, there's another section. Duh."

Berlin scrolled down to the last paragraph. It was short, only a few sentences, but those few sentences almost made up for the terrible start to her day.

You will be transferred to the Fleet Auxiliary Forces Naval Intelligence Division. Your orders are, as an agent of Section 4 of the Office of Naval Intelligence, to assist in monitoring and preventing infiltration of the Fleet Auxiliary Forces by subversive elements, to observe and document the behavior of members of the Fleet Auxiliary Forces, and to provide support to other members of Naval Intelligence as needed.

You made this mess, she could almost hear Durban say, now you take care of cleaning it up "Son of a bitch…" Berlin whispered. "Do you think this is a punishment?" Her mouth twitched up into a smirk. "I'll take it as a reward, so thank you very much." It would seem that her career would be going interesting places after all. The rest of her day was looking much brighter already.

A few million kilometers away, scrubbing away at her helmet, Amber involuntarily shivered.

---

Over the course of his career, Lasky had grown to see his ready room as a sort of sanctuary. Whether it was the humble office of a frigate or the spacious compartment of the Infinity, his ready room was a place where he could retreat if in need of a moment of solitude. Here, he could let his uncertainty and doubts show without affecting crew morale, work through a tough decision without the pressure of a CIC full of eyes on him, or simply unwind with a bit of reading without needing to set an example of the proper bearing and demeanor of an officer.

Today, his ready room was an especially welcome sight. After spending all morning dealing with logistics and administration, speaking in front of Parliament, writing after-action reports and preliminary tactical papers on shipgirl operations, his body was just about ready to conk out. Slouched over in his office chair, he stared idly at the succulent in the corner, leaves waving gently with the flow of air from the life support systems. The slow, back-and-forth movement was oddly hypnotic, and Lasky felt his eyelids begin to droop.

"Admiral. Admiral."

…

"Admiral!"

"Huh—"

With a blink and a jolt down his spine, Lasky jerked himself out of his drowsing state. Normally, taking a short nap in the privacy of his ready room would be fine — there was a cot in the room for a reason. The problem was that, though he was still surrounded by the familiar environment of his ready room, his neural implant was currently projecting a virtual conference room on top of material reality. A conference room currently occupied by several uniformed men and women with a large number of stars on their shoulders, some of them staring directly at him. The conference table, surrounded by flag officers, stretched away from Lasky towards the back of the illusionary room where Lord Hood himself stood next to a hologram projector. Several of those officers shot him mildly amused and irritated looks while he hurriedly wiped the last traces of drowsiness from his eyes.

"Close one, sir." Roland whispered through his neural lace, sending a shiver down Lasky's spine. "Lord Hood's introducing you, almost couldn't wake you up in time. You're welcome, by the way."

"Thank you, Roland," Lasky whispered. Close one, Tom. He discreetly rubbed his eyes one last time then sat up straight as Hood finished his introduction.

"Thank you for coming today, Admiral Lasky. I know you've had a long day with Parliament, so your time is appreciated."

Lasky dipped his head respectfully. "Not at all, sir." He plastered a small smile on his face, doing his best to pretend he hadn't almost just dozed off like a student in the back row of a lecture hall.

Hood nodded back, then turned to address the last, and only non-human, individual in the room. "Councilor 'Darsul, we are also grateful for your presence. The Imperium—"

"Your words are welcome." The low rumble, almost a growl, of the hulking Sangheili's voice cut Hood off in his tracks. Councilor Raho 'Darsul, High Ambassador of the Imperium of Sanghelios to the Unified Earth Government, cut an impressive figure even by Sangheili standards. Clocking in at 250 centimeters, he towered over every other holographic figure present, his seated posture doing nothing to hide his imposing bulk. His engraved, ceremonial armor hid scars from almost every weapon in the known galaxy, and from some beyond it, if you counted the Ark Sentinels as extra-galactic. Rumors floated around that he'd gone hand-to-hand with a Spartan-II during the Covenant War. During the Abyssal attack, he'd refused to take up an evacuation slot, instead personally leading his embassy's security force to help shore up UNSC defenses. How the Arbiter had gotten the old warrior to agree to a diplomatic posting of all things after years of campaigns against humanity and the Covenant Remnant was beyond Lasky; despite the popular perception of him as a warrior-king, the Arbiter certainly had a way with people. "Your action, more so."

Lasky hid his mouth behind his hand and muttered, "Roland, remind me what the good Councilor wanted to talk about so badly?" The UNSC and the successor state of the Swords of Sanghelios had a formal security treaty and mutual defense alliance. However, it was rare for the Imperium to invoke it like 'Darsul was doing now. Despite the Arbiter's attempts to reform Sangheili society, the Elites were still a rather insular culture and took immense pride in their martial prowess; even back in the bad old days, when the Covenant remnant was beating down the gates of Vadam Keep, they were loath to ask for outside help, especially the UNSC's. For 'Darsul to be calling for a joint conference like this… Lasky couldn't help but feel a bit of trepidation. While he was more than in favor of sending the Imperium whatever help they needed — hell, he'd be happy to lead the task group himself — he couldn't help but wonder how hard-pressed the Imperium was.

Roland sent a mental shrug through Lasky's neural lace. Dunno, he didn't say beforehand. I've heard some rumors out of ONI that there's been new developments on the Sangheili side of the war, but nothing concrete. Arbiter's played his cards close to his hearts. Expect we'll be finding out pretty soon. Look alive, Hood's talking.

"As you say, Councilor." Hiding his irritation well, Hood glanced at something offscreen, probably his own AI aide, then nodded to 'Darsul. "Very well, you asked us all to gather here. What did you want to bring to our attention?"

"This." 'Darsul pressed something on his end, causing a strategic map of the galaxy to appear in the middle of the table, projected into Lasky's occipital lobe via his neural implant. The virtual nature of the room allowed Lasky to turn, zoom, and otherwise manipulate the map without affecting it for anyone else; he rotated it to a top-down view and saw that it was a map of the Imperium's current territory and fleet deployments. 'Darsul's image stood from its chair and began to pace around the room, gesturing with one arm while the other was held behind his back. A few officers shrank away as his heavy footsteps and predatory gait passed near them. "Three cycles ago, our front against the Contamination stood as shown."

Honestly, I've always like the Elite's naming scheme for their enemies, Roland whispered. The Contamination just sounds more visceral than the Abyssals, doesn't it? 'Contamination'. Ooh, spicy.

"We can discuss aesthetics later," Lasky whispered back, studying the map in order to refresh himself. The Imperium's territory, shown in purple, butted up against a sea of orange that represented Abyssal-controlled space in a front that ran a thousand light-years across the width of the Orion Arm. The orange sea faded into black as it stretched away from Sangheili space, representing the furthest extent penetrated by automated reconnaissance probes. So far, despite dozens of prowler missions tracing Abyssal slipspace transit vectors, no one in either UNSC or Imperial intelligence had been able to discern the furthest extent of Abyssal control. Some hypothesized that it ran the entire length of the Arm.

At the front itself, the orange bulged into the purple in several places, representing frontier systems overrun by Abyssal forces. In one section, a large chunk containing four star systems in close proximity had been subsumed by the aliens; in another, a single fortress world held out, surrounded by a ring of orange. Just like the UNSC, the Elites were losing ground against the Abyssals, though at a much slower pace. With ships still slightly superior to human warships on a one-to-one basis and the remnants of the Covenant military-industrial complex at their disposal, they were able to put up a stiffer fight than humanity. However, the difference was largely academic. "The Contamination broke itself upon our blades," the councilor said, "and we were gathering our strength to burn their mongrel hides from our worlds. However…that has changed."

'Darsul swiped his hand across the display to a general breath of dismay. In an instant, the orange surged forward, purple buckling under the strain, being entire engulfed in some areas. "Two cycles ago, the Contamination attacked across multiple systems, with great fervor and in far greater numbers than we have previously encountered. Additionally…" Orange splotches now appeared within the purple territory. "Despite our efforts at concealment, their fetid fleets have struck four strategic systems behind the front."

That's Ilcaros right there, Roland said, voice tense, and looks like Cyvan is in the mix too. Those are major population centers.

"We are holding — the spirit of one of our warriors is a match for a dozen of their peons — but the Strategoi cannot determine the extent of the Contamination's knowledge of our internal disposition… nor how much we have underestimated the extent of their hordes." The councilor made another gesture and an alert chimed on Lasky's terminal. "The Arbiter has seen fit to share this information about our fleet deployments." His voice made it clear what he thought about handing about strategic intel to the UNSC. "He trusts that you will be able to make good use of it — do not prove his faith false."

Got a summary, boss, Roland whispered. Imperium's poured in the Third Fleet of Forbearance, Sixth Fleet of Contemplation, and Twelfth Fleet of Ascension to contain the Abbie thrusts. That's a good half of their known strategic reserve, Arbie doesn't have much left up his mandibles if the Abbies show up at Liloq, or Tult'kuva, or — God forbid — Sanghelios.

"Thank you, Roland," Lasky murmured, frowning as his mind raced. Those three fleets represented a major commitment of assets, no less than six CSO — no, Glory-class supercarriers and dozens, if not hundreds of lesser capitals being thrown headlong against the Abyssals. The situation must be more urgent than 'Darsul was letting on if it had come to that.

Then there was that change in attack strategy. Suddenly striking four well-concealed rear-echelon systems echoed the Abyssal's sudden attacks on Reach and Earth too much for Lasky's comfort. Not so much because of the targets themselves, though if 'Darsul's info packet was correct several major colonies were under threat. Rather, the fact that the Abbies were suddenly going for liver shots then until now they'd been content throwing feints and jabs around the edges was…disconcerting. Which planet had they attacked just before Reach? Roseport? How did anyone go from hitting Roseport, an Outer Colony of some middling industrial importance, to attacking Reach, the second-greatest concentration of military might ever assembled in modern human history, skipping everything in between, without any sign of the Cole Protocol being broken? Similarly, who went from burning down sparsely populated mining and agriculture outposts to hitting major Sangheili population and industrial centers? Sure, if the Abbies were switching their strategy from attrition to decapitation, then this was a good way to go about it, but why switch now, when attrition was working perfectly well for them?

Hood was speaking again. He said, "We certainly regret the damage to the Imperium's fighting capabilities, and I personally extend my condolences for the loss of fine warriors. We are prepared to offer what support we can to the defense, but the attacks on Earth and Reach took a heavy toll."

'Darsul growled, mandibles flaring in anger. He said, "I detest repeating myself. We are holding — we have no desire for your assistance in protecting our blood and kin."

Hood frowned at the aggression but nodded his understanding. "I did not mean to suggest otherwise. In that case, however, what does the Imperium desire? I'm sure you didn't just call this meeting to inform us of the situation."

"You presume correctly, Lord Hood." The councilor waved his hand and the display changed again. Now, red arrows, originating in Sangheili territory, stabbed deep into Abyssal-controlled space. "We are preparing to answer the Contamination's attacks with a blow of our own. The mongrel beasts have made an error — our special operations groups have traced the path back of their fleets back to several major manufacturing hubs and supply bases."

Murmurs of surprise and excitement bubbled up all around the table. Lasky raised an eyebrow; the Abyssals were usually careful to jump to insignificant star systems or empty interstellar space before entering UNSC systems, perhaps following their own version of the Cole Protocol. They also retreated in the same fashion, though he could count the number of times the Abyssals were forced to retreat before the battles of Earth and Reach on his fingers. This slip-up seemed to good to be true. It definitely smelled like bait… but with the tide of the war slowly but inexorably against humanity, did they have any choice but to take it?

"The blood of our brothers cries for retribution — the Contamination's depredations have gone unanswered for too long!" 'Darsul pounded his fist against a wall, causing the clang to reverberate over the comms link. "We will cut deep into the filth's heart, burn its taint from the worlds it has occupied, sweeping from system to system like the Divine Wind itself. With its lifeblood cut, the Contamination will wither and weaken, ripe prey for our warriors' blades. However…" The councilor clenched his fist, his pride clearly conflicting with his Arbiter's orders. "Due to the… scale of the Contamination's offensive, we lack the numbers to sustain our counterattack. The Arbiter calls upon your word and your honor. Lend us your strength so that we may strike a blow that shall make the stars themselves tremble!"

Silence followed the councilor's words, the humans trying to digest all they'd been told. The prospect of finally being able to extract a pound of flesh from the Abyssals appealed to Lasky; it beat constantly sitting on the defensive, wondering when the next attack would come. However, did the UNSC even have the ships and crews to spare? Reach and Earth proved that the Abyssals were willing to strike deeper and harder than anyone had ever believed. If the people, those he had sworn an oath to protect, were to keep their faith in the UNSC, then the UNSC's defensive commitments had to be met, now more than ever. With the losses at Reach and Earth stretching the Navy thin, could enough reinforcements for the Imperium be found?

Evidently coming to the same conclusion, Hood leaned forward and said, in the tone of someone walking on eggshells, "Councilor, while we are as eager as you to carry the fight to the enemy, we have also suffered… grievous losses. I am unsure as to how much of a commitment we can make."

'Darsul's glare sent shivers down Lasky's spine, and he wasn't even the target. As Hood met his eyes unflinchingly, the councilor roared, "You dare break faith with the Arbiter, he who saved your species from the precipice of extinction?!"

"Councilor, unless the Sangheili have come to value sweet lies over the truth, I am merely stating our strategic reality," Hood replied, voice firm. "The fleet has lost hundreds of ships, and what remains is stretched thinner than ever, just like your own forces. The Home Fleet alone will take months to fully rebuild. While we will send everything we can, the numbers may not be as substantial as you are hoping for."

"Have you taken leave of your senses?" 'Darsul said. "Keep your hundreds of ships. Send us your Fleet Auxiliary Forces, your new weapons that scythe through the Contamination by the dozen. Do this, and within fifty cycles you shall have no more need for your hundreds!"

Lasky sucked in a quick breath, silently berating himself for leaving the Auxiliaries out of his strategic calculus. He'd defaulted to thinking in terms of conventional warships, supplies, and sailors — the shipgirls were still so new that his brain wasn't accustomed to taking them into account. Still, that wasn't an excuse for his lack of flexibility. He needed to learn how best to utilize the shipgirls and their abilities, not just on a tactical level, but as valuable pieces on the wider galactic chess board, capable of influencing events far beyond a single battle. However, there was one big, glaring problem that came with deploying the Fleet Auxiliary Forces to aid the Sangheili in battle. He quickly glanced over at Hood and saw the admiral nodding slowly.

"You are correct. My apologies, Councilor, it appears my thinking is slow today. Admiral Lasky, you are the most familiar with the Auxiliary Forces. Could they make a significant impact on the Imperial war effort without drawing away undue amounts of our forces?"

Why me? "That new unit… while it would certainly have an impact, there…" Lasky braced himself and fired off a quick prayer that 'Darsul was the type who preferred to let old grudges stay buried. "… there may be some, um, friction. Councilor, have you gotten the chance to watch the hearings today? Or watch the news at all?"

"I have been in conference with the Arbiter and the High Council of Elders for the past two days."

"So you aren't aware of the… true nature of this new unit?"

"Explain; my patience runs short."

Ah. Were it so easy. Dawn, perhaps, would be alright, but Amber, Everest, and Pillar of Autumn? Lasky braced himself. "Then I would ask you to keep an open mind while I explain. You see, that 'new weapons system' we've acquired…"

---

"… shock continues … hearing… Forward Unto Dawn…"

A faintly Ceres-accented voice greeted Autumn as she floated up from the depths of an ocean of deep, deep sleep. Every last bone and muscle in her body ached like she'd just burned at flank from Mercury to Pluto and back. Every last weld and bolt in her hull creaked and groaned like she'd gone and lost ten rounds in a ring with the Master Chief. Even just processing all these newly incoming sensations felt like someone was taking a sledgehammer to her mainframes, a pounding, pulsing ache as if she'd poured 50% ABV vodka into her fuel tanks instead of deuterium. In her semi-lucid state, the only thing Autumn knew for sure, in a surreal, detached, out-of-body sort of way, was that everything hurt like a motherfucker.

Not that she could do anything about it. Her brain was like a 3rd-generation Smart AI running on Babbage's Difference Engine — no matter how hard she tried, her thoughts refused to speed up past the velocity of a snail in molasses. Though she could still hear that voice droning away, she couldn't for the life of her understand what it was saying. There were other noises, too, and faint flashes of light outside her eyelids, but it was like her consciousness was suspended a couple of hundred meters underwater. Close enough to glimpse the light of the waking world, but not enough to make out anything definite. Half on reflex, she tried to reach a hand up, maybe to swim up further, maybe to try and grab ahold of those lights—

—and found that she couldn't move her arm. Her muscles were completely unresponsive; she couldn't so much as twitch a finger. Her mind immediately sprang to General Quarters, alarms a-clanging and battle stations a-manning. Had the Abyssals somehow captured her again? Would she open her eyes to find herself back in that void, only the sound of her own thoughts to keep her company while she curled up in a shuddering ball? Something, somewhere very far away, began emitting a harsh electronic beeping sound as her heart rate and breathing sped up completely out of her control. Storms of electrical activity washed through her nervous system, sending yet more alarms ringing, as her brain attempted to get something, anything to respond. Nothing did. No, no, this wasn't possible, this wasn't happening, she escaped, I'm free—!

A solid, warm weight settled upon her shoulder. As Autumn, on reflex, tried in vain to turn and face her attacker (helper?) a voice cut through the confusion blanketing her thoughts. "Hey," it said, and with a start that momentarily cut through her terror, Autumn realized she could actually understand it. "I got you. If you can hear me, focus on my voice. If you can't, well…" The weight tightened, but not painfully, and Autumn's scattered, wild thoughts pulled together just long enough to realize it was a hand. "I sure hope you felt that. Just breathe, alright? You're gonna be, okay, just breathe, 'cause I'm here now. Got that?"

The hand slowly began to squeeze and relax, over and over in a slow, steady pattern. Other voices, fast, terse, and muffled, along with hurried footsteps entered Autumn's hearing as well, and other hands placed themselves upon her, but she clung to the first one like a sailor clinging to a life preserver. It was something she could be sure was real, concrete, not just the product of randomly firing neurons and panicking imagination, and Autumn hung onto it for dear life. She focused on it to the exclusion of everything else, willing it to become her entire world, using it as an anchor point to pull herself up like a climber up a cliff, away from the crashing waves of despair that threatened to drown her.

As she did, her rational mind clawed its way up from the depths, replacing the chaos engulfing her body with a cold, controlled, iron-fisted grip. Her breathing gradually came under control, mirroring the rhythm of the hand on her shoulder, and even as sharp things pricked her skin and a wave of blessed calm finally washed over her. Her heart slowed, her tense body relaxed and slowly, ever so slowly, began to respond to her commands once again. First just a finger, then her arm, then both arms, her legs, and finally—

"Bonjour, mon ami. Feeling better now?"

As her vision cleared, the first sight that greeted her was a pair of bright green eyes, flecked with spots of purple and alight with warmth and concern. Framed by tanned, nearly dark brown skin and long blonde hair, a smile lit up the woman's face as Autumn made eye contact. "I do," Autumn croaked out, throat dry as Mercury in the summer.

If possible, the woman's grin grew even brighter as she let out a delighted laugh. "Well, of course you are. See guys?" she said, directing her words to someone out of Autumn's field of vision, "Told you I could do help! And y'all doubted me."

"Right, right, whatever you say," another voice sounded out. Autumn suddenly became aware of all the chatter going around her, medical terms and peoples' names being thrown out in a bewildering, context-less cacophony. She wanted to bask in it, savor it, because the discordant racket meant that her ears, her senses, were hers. Unfortunately, the second voice spoke again, forcing her to pay attention to it. "Miss, I'd like to ask you a few questions—"

"Wait," Autumn said with a gasp. Trembling from the effort, she reached her arm out and grabbed hold of the green-eyed woman, who looked mildly surprised at the hand around her wrist. "Please—your name—"

"Alright, alright," the woman said, gently prying Autumn's grip away and holding the cruiser's hand with both of her own. "Calm down now. You're alright. Just breathe." As Autumn drew in a shuddering breath, she continued, "You're Pillar of Autumn, right? Name's Everest, CA-7, I've a feeling you might've heard of me."

"Everest? You mean—Cole's—"

The woman tsked and looked to the side with a wry half-smile. "Why's it always come back to that guy? But yeah, that's me. Pleasure to meet you!"

"Then you—you're a—"

"Shipgirl? I think. That's what we're calling it, right guys?" Everest posed the question to the rest of the room and was met with a series of affirmations. "Yeah, shipgirl. Heh, pretty cool, I approve!"

A shipgirl. An incarnated spirit, just like herself, except free of any taint of the Abyss that Autumn could detect. The only other shipgirls she'd met before now were those summoned alongside her by the Abyssals, and she'd barely gotten their names — Ogier, La Hire, Moonlit Meadow — before they were separated and taken to be implanted with Abyssal conceptual cores. So, to be able to see a shipgirl, freely laughing and smiling, dressed in an UNSC-emblemed hospital gown, surrounded by UNSC personnel, it was—

Oh. Her eyes were wet. Well, that wasn't good, she was much too dehydrated to afford tears. Autumn wiped at her eyes with her free hand. Oh, dear. They weren't stopping. "Excuse me," she said, voice quavering, "I-I think—I'm being unsightly—my a-apologies—"

"Uh…" Everest glanced around awkwardly as Autumn broke down into shuddering sobs. "Was it something I said? I'm not great with this emotional stuff." The doctor shrugged, helplessly gesturing towards his datapad and the list of cognitive function questions he needed to run through. A couple of the medical staff started forward as if to comfort the shaking girl but stopped short, the suddenness of the situation taking them off guard. "Guess I'd better take responsibility then. Uh, hey! Hey…" Acting on instinct, Everest leaned forward to wrap her arms around the other shipgirl in a clumsy hug, hesitantly patting her on the back. "Hey, listen, I know I got a big mouth, I'm sorry if I—"

"N-no, no, I, it's just…" Autumn's arms trembled as she leaned into the hug, face buried in Everest's shoulder. "Thank you. Thank you all, so much."

The medical staff broke out of their paralysis, muttering apologies as they worked around the entangled pair to inspect IVs, reattach monitors, and take vitals measurements. Everest shifted to make room for their work, though she did her best not to disturb the woman in her arms. The moment lingered on for a few long minutes, Everest's sleeve growing steadily damper as Autumn continued to shake and hiccup. Having enough tact not to stare, Everest gazed up at the ceiling, murmuring what she hoped were words of comfort as she patted Autumn on the back.

"It's alright now. You're good. You're okay. Ain't nothing going to hurt you anymore." Everest smiled, a slight, predatory gleam in her eye. "And you know why? 'Cause they'll have to go through me first."

"And ain't nobody getting through me."