Chapter 1 - Pactum
September 27th, 2544 (12:05 Hours – Military Calendar)
Epsilon Eridani System, Reach
Aboard Punic-class supercarrier UNSC Trafalgar
:********:
Duncan would have maybe given an arm or a leg for a glass of water. It wouldn't give him the satisfaction of being free but it would've been enough to deal with the dryness in his throat. He certainly wouldn't mind a fair share of water and freedom together. Today he was lacking in both.
The UNSC Trafalgar doubled both as the flagship of the Epsilon Eridani Fleet and the pride and joy of the Navy. As one of the few of the Punic subclassification it was also an architectural marvel, especially considering its 4-kilometer length.
It was Duncan's first time onboard. He only wished it were under better circumstances. That wasn't to say it wasn't a ship of the line, but more so that the brig happened to be his least favorite location.
The Forward section of Levels H through L were nothing but isles upon isles of holding cells, 200 in total. Each individual cell could accommodate four each. Most were unoccupied save for a few dozen, the two belonging to Squad Epsilon being among them.
Pairs of Marine MPs patrolled along the catwalks, rifles in hand, as they moved across the brig's five levels to make routine checks on the prisoners held within.
One pair was passing Duncan's cell. He crept from where he was on the floor and stopped just short of the bars. "Hey Donaldson."
The named MP stopped midstride to turn to him. "What?"
Duncan forced his eyes to look pleading, even though he was just as ready to attack the man and take the canteen attached to his belt. "Spare any water?"
Donaldson snickered. "You just had breakfast not too long ago and now you're already thirsty?"
Duncan shrugged, laughing away the façade. "You see, ugh….no, I didn't. Help a soldier out, please?" He pointed to the canteen.
The MP shook his head. "You can wait, you won't die. I mean, you're a Helljumper, aren't you?"
"Yeah but-"
Donaldson carried on walking with his partner, leaving Duncan with nothing except a parched mouth. He slipped back and sat against the wall, sighing in defeat.
Nova sat against the opposite wall with her head resting on her knees, probably softer than the cell's four wall-mounted bunks. Dressed in an orange prison jumper like himself, she exited the mental headspace she'd drifted into to escape the monotony of staring at the same wall for the last two weeks to shake her head in pity. "Should've just shivved him and taken it. You know Donaldson's a piece of work."
"That would've only made it worse, no?"
She arched an eyebrow at him. "We're already in prison. What more can they do?"
"Maybe shoot us."
The two of them turned to the speaker, looking past the Staff who was sleeping on one of the top bunks to see Zack crouched near the far wall with his back turned to them. Duncan could tell he was doing something to the wall.
"Honestly, I'll take a bullet over a plasma bolt any day." Nova exhaled. "At least one only kills you, the other one just roasts you from the inside out until you stop kicking."
"Graphic." Duncan laughed.
Nova shrugged. "Reality's graphic. I'd still rather be getting shot at by plasma than rotting away on this ship for the rest of the war, wouldn't you?"
"I'm kinda split on that." Zack admitted. "What about you, Irish? Ready to get shot at again?"
Duncan didn't know how to answer. On the one hand this was the most R&R he'd had since first arriving on Reach. On the other hand, it was still prison. They had spent almost two weeks here waiting on a sentencing.
He couldn't help thinking about how they'd gotten here in the first place.
Shortly after boarding the Swiftsure, the ONI Lieutenant Commander had them arrested by Marines. The Staff told them not to put up a fight, although Deaks threatened bloody murder when a private relieved him of Silver Buddha.
They were kept within the brig for the remainder of the trip then were transported to the Trafalgar while the rest of 7th Battalion returned to Falchion, without them of course.
Duncan didn't regret anything and he doubted anyone else did either. That didn't change their current situation. They were at Agent Cordova's mercy, and for however long, they would probably never be free again.
Despite that reality the ODSTs almost seemed to ignore it, treating their stay aboard the Trafalgar as more of a vacation than anything else. Considering what they'd somehow managed to survive back on Miridem, it wasn't so bad a comparison.
Each night they slept soundly then met together during their few free hours with the rest of the squad. They ate together in the cafeteria at mealtimes while everyone else looked on, whispering about them being ODSTs and telling others to avoid them. Duncan didn't mind the clout. It made him feel a bit bigger than he actually was when the larger inmates kept their distance.
While the idea of a hiatus was nice and fun, it fizzled out once they were sent back to their cells. All they could do then was sit and think and try not to look suspicious since the MPs tended to check their cells more frequently than anyone else, thanks to their being ODSTs. Pros and cons abounded.
Yet there were two major cons that kept Duncan up at night: Erica and Noah. It sunk in day after day that he might never see them again. The promise he'd made to Erica on the day he decided to join the ODSTs haunted him. He wondered what they were up to right about now, if they would ever find out what happened to him, or if they would ever forgive him for winding up like this. He couldn't stop torturing himself with wondering what it might be like if Noah had to grow up without a Father, then the pain would only sink in deeper when he remembered that, in a way, he already was.
"Do you regret it, Iris?"
It was the Staff. He'd managed to fool them all again by feigning sleep and had taken notice when Duncan took too long to answer the question.
"No sir." Duncan said. "Just thinking about my folks back home is all."
The Staff opened one eye to look down at him. "Don't think too hard, you'll only end up hurting yourself if you do."
Duncan could never say his squad leader was out of touch. That small piece of wisdom hit close to home in more ways than one. It made sense. Worry wasn't going to do him any good, even though it was the single strongest tether he felt connecting him to Erica and Noah at this point.
"Yessir." He replied. He wanted to change the subject if he could. His curiosity led him to Zack who was still crouched near the far wall. However, he looked like he was leaning towards something, a drawing, with his mouth open.
"Zack?"
Zack suddenly stiffened. He turned around, quickly retracting his tongue into his mouth. As he did, Duncan saw the feint outline of a hamburger drawn on the wall with a black marker, and it was glistening.
Everyone got an eye-full of it before Zack could back-up in front of it. He glanced between their suspicious expressions as he gave a toothy smile. "He-, hey, what's so interesting? What are we all staring at?"
"Zack?" Nova said, now arching a brow his way. "Did you-, were you just…licking the wall?"
Zack shook his head enthusiastically. "No."
"Did it taste good?" The Staff asked.
Zack looked up at his leader. He seemed to give in and sighed, hanging his head low. "No."
Nova fought to stifle a laugh. "Why don't you try some salt next time, see if it works?"
The radioman blushed. "Leave me alone. I just-, look, I wanted something other than what we already get here. I know roast beef is better than the standard MRE Pack we get saddled with for weeks on end. That doesn't mean I don't want anything else."
"And what do you want?" Nova asked, still laughing.
Zack folded his arms across his chest to show he wasn't kidding. Nova held up her hands. "Okay-okay, explain."
"Well, back in Crisium there's this restaurant chain called World Cuisine. Ever heard of it?"
"I think they've got a bunch of locations on Reach too. They're pretty solid foodwise."
"I know right?" Zack said, his face lighting up with vigor. "Listen, they've got the best and I mean the best burgers. I hear they're even planning on making a Moa Burger to add to the menu." He clawed at his agape mouth as he stared wide-eyed at the ceiling with rapturous awe. He pointed back to the burger drawing. "That is my life's final goal, to eat that thing. I'm fine with dying afterwards once I get to try it out."
Nova couldn't keep herself from laughing again. "And what if they take a long time to add this… 'Moa' Burger?"
Zack's eyes were beamed with determination. "I don't think you get it; I'll live as long as I have to. The point is…" he held his hands over the depiction. "This will be mine."
Nova looked between the drawing and her squadmate, shaking her head in pity. "And still you keep asking me why you don't have a girlfriend yet."
The Staff sat up in his bunk. "Use that spit of yours to erase it before the next patrol comes."
Zack turned a deeper shade of red. "I-, no but-"
"I could make it an order, trooper. If they find out you have a marker on you then there'll be hell to pay."
The radioman turned towards the spawn of his creativity in defeat. "Copy."
In the funniness of the situation Duncan felt himself loosen up. He drifted to another topic, one more lighthearted and a bit more hopeful. "So, if we get out of here and I get a chance to go back home on rotation, where do you guys think would be a good place for a family vacation?"
"Luna." Duncan said as he maneuvered his sleeve to smudge away the drawing. "Keep it local and keep it simple. You'll get to see a nice Earthrise too. It almost makes me miss home now that I think about it."
"I'm thinking Havana, Cuba back on Earth." Nova said contemplatively. "Never went myself but I saw a few advertisements on Waypoint. The beaches there are beautiful, I'm hoping I get to go there one day honestly."
"Casbah, Tribute." The Staff added in. "Best place for attractions, especially historical ones. That's what I like at least. You should probably talk with your wife about it first."
"Yeah, will do." Duncan said. "In terms of distance, I'm thinking Havana, then Luna and Casbah. I like all of them really."
"You just better hope they're still there once this war ends." Nova said.
She had a point. Seeing his first glassing had hammered that point home to him that nothing, no matter how massive, lasted forever.
Footsteps outside brought everyone's attention to the cell bars. The two MPs from earlier stopped in front.
Duncan carefully glanced over at Zack and was relieved when he saw that he'd already erased the burger drawing.
Donaldson came close to the bars holding his MA5B one-handed. "Chow time. You know the drill."
The ODSTs got up and assembled in the center of the cell with their hands held high. Donaldson swiped a card over a wall scanner and the bars slid aside. He got to work patting everyone down, except Nova who was handled by his female counterpart. Once they were done, they allowed them to walk out and escorted them along the catwalk.
As they walked, Duncan noticed dozens of other inmates being allowed out of their cells but not being escorted. They four were the exception, them and the other half of Epsilon walking on the opposite catwalk under the watchful eyes of MPs.
"Are we really that scary?" Zack asked, noticing the same thing. He looked over his shoulder at Donaldson. "What do yo think?"
The MP grimaced, enough of an answer to please Zack who laughed to himself. "Guess we are."
Duncan didn't mind it too much. He was just relieved. At least he could finally get some water.
:********:
If there was ever a blight on Lieutenant Commander Riat Cordova's life, it would have to be the man she was currently waiting for in the Trafalgar's Hanger Bay 4. He was an acquaintance on occasion and an enemy when it was expedient. There was no telling on which basis he was coming to visit her today. The fact remained that after a year without any contact whatsoever, he had suddenly reached out to her asking for a meeting.
She'd decided to entertain him simply because he said he had an offer for her. Then there was the fact that she was actively looking for a distraction that might take her attention away from her current dilemma.
Since the Battle of Miridem, and the hijacking of her initial mission, she had been left to rot in a perpetual state of being on standby. Her superiors told her to remain on the Trafalgar until further notice. Their last correspondence was almost two weeks ago. In that time, she had done little except muse over operational reports declassified throughout data-streams shared between Subdivisions of ONI Section II. That, and deciding what charges she would level against the ODSTs of 1st platoon that had sabotaged her mission. The potential data-breach that her failure posed was on her. Her only saving grace was the fact that a team of Spartans had been redeployed to Miridem to conduct the asset denial and partial recovery operation in her place. They cleaned up her mess for her. She hated to see it that way but that didn't stop it from being true. She speculated that it was the reason why she was being kept on standby for so long. It was a kind of unofficial probation, a way for her higherups to say that it wasn't really her fault she was accosted by rogue special forces, but at the same time wanting to temporarily place her on suspension until the proverbial 'heat' died down.
She hated all of it yet couldn't protest any of it either.
Cordova was pulled from her thoughts when one of the doors to Hanger-4 opened. At first the transitional tunnel beyond looked empty save for the flashing emergency lights indicating oxygen recompression.
Then she saw it.
It started off as what looked like a gathering of angry flies. Then the shape grew more defined and the high-pitched whine of thrusters came to ear.
The craft's stealth ablative coating flickered off and its full image appeared. It was a UNSC Prowler. By its matt-black color, as well as the impressionable appearance of a cybernetically augmented Bat, she deduced that it was a Corvette class.
The ship carefully emerged from the transition chamber then rotated 180 degrees in the hanger bay before descending on one of the larger landing pads. Its landing gear emerged from the bottom, allowing it to settle down with a light thump, as if it didn't want to disturb any of the other spacecraft or hundreds of air-service and hanger personnel moving about their business throughout the hanger.
The ramp descended from the belly of the craft. The moment it touched the ground a familiar figure came strolling down its length.
The first thing she noticed was how unassuming he was, so unassuming that it seemed deceptive. He sported a dark gray UNSC Navy Officer's uniform with a large collar guard and armored vest whose color almost made him blend in with his ship. The Pyramidal insignia of the Office of Naval Intelligence adorned either of his shoulder pads. However, he lacked the dignified air of an officer as he took his time nonchalantly sauntering down the ramp with his hands buried in his pockets.
His slicked back hair appeared brown and his eyes almost midnight black. He looked tanned. Whether it was a trick of the light or if he actually changed, Cordova couldn't tell as he stepped out into the hanger's overhead lighting. The illumination pried away her first observations of him as his skin turned abnormally pale. His hair appeared as its normal black and his eyes a familiar gray sheen which darted from left to right, searching for something before finally settling on her.
He spotted her on the ground floor and gave a slight smirk. She held back her scorn as he turned for the pad's stairwell. She felt her right hand shifting towards her sidearm then quickly checked the action. Old suspicions died hard.
She watched him descend the stairs and stroll casually towards her. Her attention settled on the vest' nametag, 'CDR. D. Tarkovsky'. He offered her a hand.
"Hey GF, how's it going?"
Cordova felt her blood boil. She refused to let her irritation show, knowing Agent Tarkovsky's observant nature too well to risk it. "I told you before not to call me that."
Tarkovsky retracted his hand and looked disappointed, a well calculated expression. "Geeze, I thought we were on an informal basis here." He rubbed the back of his neck and sighed. "I guess time doesn't heal all wounds, huh?"
"Cut the crap. What are you here for that you wanted a physical meet-up?"
He held out his hands defensively. "Hey now, I just wanted to talk. That's all, talk. It's been a few years since I've last seen you. I figured we could have a little chat, maybe catch-up."
'A chat'. The trap had already been set, she realized. He was waiting for her to walk into it and asking nicely. She knew she was probably playing with fire but she decided to humor his little mind games, for now at least. Perhaps in doing so she would discern his real intentions.
Cordova nodded towards the far end of the hanger where there was an exit door. It was a five-minute walk, long enough for a casual 'chat'.
Tarkovsky followed her lead down the walking space on the ground floor. They were initially quiet as they passed under the shadows of looming helipads holding Longswords. The sound of whining hydraulics, rolling carts and the banter of normal conversation filled the void between them.
Tarkovsky spoke first, although with the ease of someone who was already talking. "So, how is she?"
"Who are you talking about?"
He gave her a knowing look. She was already aware who he meant. She just didn't want to give him the satisfaction of an easy conversation starter. "She's fine."
The other agent nodded. "I'm assuming life at Camp Lincoln's treating her well then."
Cordova felt a flash of worry course through her veins. She suppressed her reaction again. She scolded herself internally that she shouldn't have been surprised at what he knew.
"I would assume so, yes. She seems to be adapting quite well from what she told me when I last checked in."
"Good to hear." Tarkovsky said. "I was more than a little surprised when I found out she left us. I know it must have cost an arm and a leg to get that okayed by she-who-must-not-be-named."
"Who?"
"The Queen of England herself of course. The Immortal one."
"Ah…it did. I think it's worth it though, it's what she wanted to do so…I support her decision."
"That's incredible, seriously. The fact you guys actually managed to pull it off. She's the first of us to ever get away like that. I doubt its ever going to happen again."
He perked up at some thought. She noticed his grin widen slightly. "Speaking of us, have you spoken to White recently?"
"Even if I did, I wouldn't tell you."
"Sounds like a no then. I was curious to see if you haven't been isolating yourself from the family."
"You're not family."
"Like a family."
"No, you're not."
Tarkovsky sighed. "Geeze you're stubborn. Fine, I guess 'we' don't count." He was about to say something else when his attention drifted upwards towards a craft parked atop one of the passing landing pads. It was the latest and most evolved derivation of the F-series jets of the past, the F-41 Exoatmospheric Multirole Strike Fighter. It was a Broadsword, the Longsword's cousin.
He pointed up to it. "You know, those things have an Atomic internal reactor, Quantum-based slipspace capacities and Lowered emission drives. The whole package." He squinted up at a crew doing maintenance on a removed section of protective wing paneling. "I'm guessing they're doing shifts at 3 to 6, maybe 9 to 6 seeing how tired the crew chief looks. Then again, his other assistant looks lively so I'm thinking it's a 1 pm gig. They're probably overhauling the starboard wing, purging the aeronautic systems for a retouch and recalibration." He glanced back to find Cordova staring at him incredulously.
He shrugged. "Sorry, can't help myself sometimes. I'm a Navy guy after all, noticing a ship's finer details can't be helped."
Finer Details.
Cordova knew that if there was a such thing as 'a man's man' then Tarkovsky was a Spook's Spook. The average ONI Agent knew how to wield information as both the proverbial stick and carrot, using their knowhow to apply the appropriate motivation to those they needed to manipulate. Then there was Tarkovsky who had taken that technique and perfected it. He disguised the carrot as the stick and vice versa without anyone knowing which was which until he deemed it useful to tell them. Where most agents feared information leaks, he was a leaking faucet, always drip-feeding data-hungry associates what they thought they wanted to know, unaware that in actuality he was catching them in his web. He never made it seem like anything more than desirable intel, only to come back months and sometimes years down the line to tie everything together in a way that prompted them to act in his favor.
So far, he had talked about two people she knew. Then there was the F-41. How did that all connect? She wasn't sure, not yet.
"Enough games." Cordova said. "Get to the point. Why are you here?"
Tarkovsky shrugged off the question. "Well, I personally don't like rushing into things but…I came because you want to give me something."
Cordova arched a brow. "And what exactly do I want to give you?"
The other agent pulled out a datapad from what at first looked like a seamless section of his vest and turned it on, typing one-handed as he spoke. "I heard you ran into a little bit of trouble during your last op. Word is that a couple of ODSTs gave you the sack on Miridem. As you can imagine, and I certainly can, that doesn't bode well with anybody in the intelligence gathering sector."
Cordova's eyes narrowed to slits. "What are you getting at?"
He kept typing. "What charges are you lining up for those troopers?"
She fought the urge to grind her teeth in order to tell him. "Insubordination, assault of an officer and, I'm not fully sold on it but due to the magnitude of our mission at the time, aiding and abetting of the enemy."
Tarkovsky whistled. "The big three? You might not get away with that last one since it'll be harder to prove." He turned to look her in the eye. "However, none of that will be necessary."
Cordova stopped in her tracks. "Why is that?"
Tarkovsky took a few steps further then stopped near the stairwell of another pad. He smiled at her while flicking down his screen. "Because you've got eight bargaining chips to use to your advantage. Play your cards right and you might just get a full house."
Cordova started catching on. Realizing that sensitive information was about to be discussed, she decided to keep them walking so no one else would overhear. "Explain."
"Here's the gist."
He handed over the pad. She immediately recognized the faces of Squad Epsilon along with attached service career and civilian life files beneath their names and ranks.
"These guys got you in trouble with some pretty big fish." Tarkovsky said. "Personally, I like that they were willing to knock you unconscious to save a whole bunch of civies. It's pretty noble if you ask me."
"Good thing I didn't."
"But now they're in trouble." He continued. "And you're about to rain down a whole lot of hell on their heads for what they did. I understand you're following protocol. I'm simply saying there's no need to punish them, not when we can get a good use out of them."
Cordova spared him a sharp look. He must have noticed as his grin widened. "It's a waste what you're planning to do to them. It's certainly not going to get you out of the hot water you're in. However, it just so happens that they have a specialty that me and my CO are looking for."
"I assume you mean Ackerson?"
"You wouldn't be wrong in that assumption." He paused for a moment, seemingly gathering his thoughts, something that Cordova thought he never did since he was such a conversationalist. "Those troopers happen to be among a very small few trained in the usage of an experimental equipment…one that will be critical to the success of his Special Weapon's Program, you know, the one I told you about two years ago?"
He had told her.
Cordova swallowed, accepting that they were on the precipice of discussing more highly classified info than she'd even been expecting. "Go on."
"You want to give me those ODSTs because it'll help both of us out. Think about it this way. Firstly, considering how valuable Ackerson's program is and has been to the war effort for the past few years, if the higher-ups find out you donated assistant personnel to help the program, boom, no more hot water. Secondly, those troopers don't have to face court martial, not if you drop the charges in exchange for their service. After they're done, they can return to active duty with the rest of their battalion."
Tarkovsky pointed out a link to a file. "Open that."
She did, albeit reluctantly. The link opened up to the image of schematics. Cordova connected the dots. How could she not after spending the better part of all of February supervising the training for the usage of these same devices by the ODSTs?
"And what about you? What do you get out of all this?"
"I get to fill out my recruitment quota. We need people for this particular job and you just so happen to have them."
Cordova breathed the plan in. "You seem confident that I'll hand them over. What makes you so sure I will exactly?"
"I can tell the face of a person caught in the purgatory of an unofficial suspension." He leaned closer. "You want off the Trafalgar. I want those ODSTs. Those ODSTs undoubtedly want their freedom. Everyone wins this way."
The Lieutenant Commander briefly thought back to how the AI, Mr. Green, had told her Tarkovsky would have no trouble convincing HIGHCOM to commence a certain operation. She hated the memory because right now he was making more sense than she was willing to admit. She wanted her next mission. But she also wanted to see those ODSTs pay the price for putting her in this position to begin with. Maybe this was the best way for all those desires to be satisfied, just using a less direct approach than the stockade.
"Its…a good plan." She turned to him. "Even though it is, I'm only willing to accept it on two conditions."
"Being?"
"First, a question. Were you involved in Operation BAGMAN, that situation on Epsilon Eridani IV?"
Tarkovsky's lips tightened enough for her to notice. He looked like he was weighing his options. "I can neither confirm nor deny that I planted an EMP charge on the portside hull of that ship 20 minutes in advance of the arrival of the main battlegroup into local space…if that's what you're asking."
"I knew it, a Prowler was involved. So it was you that knocked out the Omen's electronics?"
"Like I said, I can neither confirm nor deny that, or that Ackerman decided to keep me on for the main show after delivering all the equipment you were training with to Anchor 9 for transit to the Juno."
There was that web again. "Alright, that's all I needed to know. The second matter is this, I'm only willing to drop the charges if the ODSTs agree to your offer. If they don't then it's a one-way ticket to the stockade for them. If they do-"
"They will." Tarkovsky interrupted.
"Do keep in mind that these troopers are willing to go against the grain to do what they think is justified. If they don't choose your offer willingly then there's no way you can convince or coerce them to do otherwise."
Tarkovsky gave a light chuckle. "I guess the bruise on your forehead taught you that?"
She glared hard at him. It merely made him laugh hardier. "It's a deal then." He stopped, again, taking back his pad and extending his hand.
She reexamined the gesture and found it not so challenging to take it with her own hand and shake. There was a minute mix of hesitation in the act and the other agent must have sensed it. "Like I said, no worries. I'll be taking them off your hands."
"I hope so."
"I know so." He turned to leave.
"Wait, I haven't even told you where they are yet."
"Don't worry." He said, walking on without looking back. "I know where to look."
He waved back to her. "I'll make sure to tell you how it went."
Cordova watched him walk the rest of the way to the exit until he disappeared behind the closing doors.
Her mind still swarmed with information, as was often Tarkovsky's modus operandi to drown a person with intelligence in order to knock them off balance.
Everything always connected one way or another. She wasn't sure what he was going for when he mentioned the two persons she knew. She did, however, know that for a 'Navy guy', he had somehow gotten every detail about the Starfighter wrong. The F-41 didn't have an Atomic internal reactor, Quantum-based slipspace capacities or Lowered emission drives. That didn't stop her from noticing the pattern. Atomic, A, Quantum, Q and Lowered, L. Then there were the numbers: 'doing shifts 3 to 6, maybe 9 to 6' and 'a 1pm gig.' She placed them together to form an Alphanumeric code.
AQL 36961. Or rather, AQL 3696-1
It was an Artificial Intelligence identification number. She didn't recognize it at all.
Then she remembered something else he said: 'Purging the aeronautic systems', 'retouch and recalibration'.
She froze for a heartbeat when the revelation dawned on her. Cordova quickly took out her own pad and rushed into the administrative suite. She scrolled through isles of files until she found something in her downloads. It was an unfamiliar file extension, one nearly buried among many others whose names it had copied to camouflage between them. She pressed it and was immediately alarmed.
Inside was the disguised source code of what she knew had to be an AI's subroutine. Judging by its extensions, it was connected to multiple avenues of communications, including her own contacts and recent conversations.
She immediately engaged her counter-intrusion software to terminate the subroutine's source, however long it had been on her device. At the same time, she sent the signal to activate the dead man's switch on her main server to purge everything. The software uprooted the intruder's virus-like connections in less than 3 seconds.
A post-autopsy of the killed subroutine popped up, revealing every application it had connected to. Many of her communications had been observed by it. What terrified her most was how it possessed access to the ventilation systems of several places she had been to recently.
She checked its source code. It matched the one she'd discerned from Tarkovsky's secret message. She wasted little time setting up defensive software meant to block out whatever origin or medium that Subroutine had used to get in.
There was no way an AI could have accessed her through her regular service lockouts. Not unless it had an encryption key to bypass those firewalls, a key that could only have come from someone further up the chain of command. That part worried her more than the first revelation.
Cordova looked back at the door Tarkovsky had just walked through. She felt a little shaken and secretly thankful, realizing that he had probably just saved her life.
:********:
The Staff walked with cuffed hands down a hallway with his two MP escorts. He wasn't sure why they had called him out or where they were leading him. Since he had no clue what their final destination was, he decided to stay quiet until they arrived, then figure out the situation from there.
After ten minutes spent navigating along hallways, they stopped on what he assumed to be somewhere amidship. They stopped at an unmarked door which slid open.
Judging by the rectangular steel table at the center of the medium sized space before him, The Staff pieced together that it was an interrogation room.
Out of the corner of his eye he noticed a man sitting on a nearby windowsill with a view of Reach's upper atmosphere. He could tell he was Navy. The bulk of his concerns revolved around the ONI insignia on his shoulder.
The mysterious Navy commander didn't turn to acknowledge them once they entered. Instead he gazed upon the planet with a wistful look, as if he were remembering something.
"Remove his restraints." He said.
One of the MPs used a key to take off the cuffs. The Staff rubbed his sore wrists, relieved to have them free again.
"That will be all gents, you can leave."
"Sir?" One of the MPs spoke up. "Are you sure?"
The agent waved a dismissive hand.
The two MPs gave each other a concerned look. As ordered, they saluted and left, closing the door behind them.
The Staff refocused on this ONI Agent, glancing between him and the chair. "Am I supposed to sit down?"
"You can."
The Staff pulled out a seat and settled down. The table was bare, the air tense and he had yet to be told why he was even here. His attention resettled on the agent. He saw his name tag, 'CDR. D. Tarkovsky'.
"Is there a reason I'm here, sir?"
"Yes." The Commander took out a pack of thick cigarettes from his pocket and held it out to him. "Sweet William?"
The Staff shook his head. "I don't smoke."
"I see. A shame, you'll be seeing a lot more of these where you're going."
"Sir?"
The man sized up the ODST for a moment. "Staff Sergeant David Atell, is that right?"
The Staff gave a tentative nod.
"I'm Commander Tarkovsky and I must say, I am a fan. That whole thing you did back on Miridem, knocking out that Lieutenant Commander to save all those civilians, taking out those AA Cannons with a fraction of the force normally required, then making it back alive to the Swiftsure. If it were up to me, I'd say that you deserve a medal, not a court martial."
He sighed. "However, said LC is not happy about it for obvious reasons. I'm sure you know that she's lining up charges against you for your actions. If what she's thinking pans out in the courts, it means bad news for you and your remaining ODSTs."
The Staff's eyes narrowed. "My apologies sir, but I'm aware of the predicament of my men. Might I respectfully ask why you've called me here specifically?"
Tarkovsky grinned. "Straight to the point. Alright then."
He pointed to a datapad on the table that The Staff hadn't noticed there before. "I've got an offer for you. Turn it on, check it out. It might just save your life." He said the last part with a quiet forebodence that the Staff took with a hint of concern. He did well to hide it as he took the pad and turned it on.
What appeared first were three structural schematics of a drop pod. He knew the shape of an HEV when he saw it. Then he looked again, realizing it was a different model than the standard issue. "…I recognize the design. What does this have to do with me and my troopers?"
"Glad you asked." Tarkovsky slipped off the window to walk towards the table. Instead of taking the seat he remained standing and rested his hands on the table's smooth surface. "During a mission months ago you and your ODSTs trained in its usage along with the rest of your company. Since it was an experimental design, you're currently among a small pool of people with experience using this equipment. You're also the only ones currently available for our use since you've been pulled from active duty."
The Staff clenched his jaw, feeling a cold weight settle in his gut. He could tell he wouldn't like the answer but asked the question on his mind anyway. "I'm sorry, 'our' use?"
Tarkovsky's grin turned to an amused smirk, as if he'd finally gotten to the point that he wanted to all along. "I want you and your squad to work as facilitative personnel for the Office of Naval Intelligence."
The Staff felt his eye-twitch at the string of words leading to a conclusion that, were it a person, he would have shot if someone made the mistake of giving him a gun. The ever-perceptive agent took notice and held up his hands.
"Please understand what we mean by this. Think of it as a paid internship."
"And what exactly are we being paid?" The Staff asked.
"Your freedom." Tarkovsky said, shrugging. "I came to an agreement with Lieutenant Commander Cordova. She's agreed to drop all charges against you if you decided to accept my offer. Do understand that after your designated period of service, you will be allowed to return to active duty with the rest of your company. How does that sound?"
It sounded like he was being asked to pick his own poison to the man who had spent most of his military career fighting to survive. The Staff never knew that a lifetime spent avoiding people like this would culminate in him being forced against the wall and told to either join up or throw in the towel. Knowing how shady ONI was from an outsider's perspective, he almost found himself regretting what he'd done to the LC. Almost.
The Staff shook his head. "Sir, I'm…thankful for the offer, however I-"
"Declining wouldn't be in your best interests." Tarkovsky deadpanned, taking the pad from him. "Nor would it be in the best interests of your men."
The Commander typed something then passed it back. The Staff found himself looking at a long list of criminal charges, several of which were highlighted.
"These are the charges against you: Insubordination and Assault of a CO while under extremely vital operational conditions. If proven in court, this combined carries a minimum of a lifetime sentence for everyone involved. Everyone. But those two are the least of your worries." He pointed to one in particular. "Possible aiding and abetting of the enemy, if proven under the articles of the Insurrection Act of 2430, comes with a hefty punishment. I'm sure you know what that is."
The Staff felt the cold feeling in his gut swarm into a blizzard that freezer-burned through his veins. He knew it was a possibility, but now he was certain that the Lieutenant Commander had the intent to use it. He shut his eyes as he answered. "Execution."
"For all parties involved." Tarkovsky finished as he walked around the table. "That, we cannot allow. Not for people of your caliber that this war needs." He sat on top of the Staff's side of the table and rested a hand on his shoulder as if he were a friend. The Staff only felt a tinge of despair, and to a lesser extent, fear. It wasn't for himself but for his troopers whose faces all flashed through his mind. They were as much family to him as the one he'd left behind. He shut his eyes even tighter as he realized how hopeless their situation actually was.
Tarkovsky removed his hand and leaned back a little, somewhat relaxed. "I'm sorry to tell you what you should already know, Staff Sergeant. When you cross us, the smart thing to do is to find a way out for yourself. Then again, maybe you were trying to do the honorable thing in getting arrested. I understand the sentiment although I think if it were me, I would've done the opposite and made a run for it."
He leaned forward again. "So, what's the verdict?"
The Staff knew he was walking on ice. Whatever he said next wouldn't decide his fate alone. The entire squad would share it. He couldn't simply lead them to the lethal injection room, not if he could save them and get them back on the frontlines. But to work for ONI? He wondered which was worse: being euthanized or working for employers who had a track record of making even the most insane conspiracy theorist seem like he had a point.
"What…will we be called upon to do?" The Staff asked.
The Commander's smirk eased into a satisfied smile. He could tell they were getting somewhere. "I can't tell you everything now, not unless you agree. The skim-level of information I can give is that you will be assisting the training of personnel that hold…extreme value to both the UNSC's current and future efforts against the Covenant. Rest assured; your work will be vital."
The Staff took a moment to consider the matter. It didn't sound all that terrible. He was still curious as to who these personnel were yet kept that curiosity to himself. "How long will we be expected to work for you?"
"Can't say. Not yet at least."
"What about our status while we're doing this?"
"You'll be temporarily listed as Missing in Action. For obvious reasons we can't simply say you went to work for us."
The Staff suddenly caught himself. Was he really about to make a deal like this? Still, the alternative was even worse. Nova, Deaks, Hector, Yuri, Rico, Zack and Duncan: He couldn't bring himself to sentence all of them to their deaths or rotting in a cell for the rest of their lives for a plan that he arguably deserved all the blame for. He especially didn't want Duncan to suffer that fate, remembering that he still had a kid of his own. The Staff Sergeant quickly shut off the thought, knowing why he took exception to his being a Father. He looked the agent straight in the eyes. "Am I allowed to speak with the rest of my squad about this matter?"
"If I wanted you to, I would have brought them here as well." Tarkovsky said drily. "This isn't really a job interview where I interrogate everyone involved. You're the squad leader. The call rests with you."
"Can I at least get some time to consider it for myself then?"
"No. Neither of us has the time. I need an answer from you here and now. A simple yes or no will suffice."
The Staff swallowed as he closed his eyes again, tighter this time. For some reason he found himself thinking about Harper and Joels. His chest felt a little heavier at imagining their tough and determined faces ready to face anything the world had to throw at them. They had faced just that, and it cost them everything and everyone under their command. He held back the sensation inside that he had kept at bay since Miridem, one that could drive him to grief if he weren't careful to hold it back behind the need for strong leadership. Now wasn't the time for anything else. Now it was his turn to make a final decision not only for himself, but for everyone else as well.
His mouth opened as his mind forced it to yield to his resolve. He said the one word that he needed to, accepting that he would probably hate himself for it after.
Pactum – Agreement