Halo®: Mortal Dictata

  Staffan noted the name. “Halsey.”

  Naomi shrugged. “Yes.”

  “She’s the one behind all this?”

  “I tried not to mention her because people get pretty heated about it. Especially Vaz. And BB. Actually … the entire crew. Vasya wants to see her strung up for war crimes.”

  “I knew I liked that Russian for a reason.”

  “Dad, the more I tell you, the more dangerous it is for you.”

  “They’re going to shoot me or stick me in solitary for the rest of my life anyway. It’s already over. I just want you to promise me that you’ll get a message to your brother—”

  “Dad, please, don’t…”

  “You have a brother and a sister. You know you do. Just get word to them, anonymously or however a smart girl like you does this stuff, that their dad didn’t desert the family. Don’t let them go through what your mother and I did. Please.”

  This adult Naomi was mostly a stranger who looked and sounded familiar. Staffan loved her anyway. She stared at him with a blank expression that just wasn’t her, probably the mask she’d learned to put on in that awful place on Reach and now couldn’t take off. For a moment, though, it flickered.

  “I don’t know how much time we have,” she said. “I could be called away from here at any second and I might never see you again.”

  “Are you going to leave the Navy? Are you going to spend any time getting to know your family at all?”

  “I’m curious to know what I missed and never had, but I’m probably too … look, this is my family. My comrades. You know how it is for soldiers. They form very strong bonds under fire. Well, Spartans … we’re even more like that. I don’t know if I could ever fit in with a civilian family.” She put her hand on his arm, hesitant and uncertain, as if she knew family were supposed to touch but hadn’t learned how to yet, like a rifle drill that still wasn’t quite second nature. “And I’m worried about what’s happening in my head. I’m starting to feel like a victim for the first time I can remember. That’s a bad combination. I’m stuck with the physical changes, I don’t think I can adapt how I feel, and I don’t know how negative that’s going to make me.”

  “You would have stayed happy if I hadn’t done this.”

  “But we crashed into you, Dad. And I don’t think it was a matter of being happy. But I did feel there was a point to it, and now I have to reconsider what that is. I’ll deal with it.”

  The ship shivered. It was an elevator kind of feeling in the stomach. Port Stanley had jumped to slipspace. “How long have we got?”

  “I’ll stay here until I’m called.”

  “I love you, sweetheart. There wasn’t a day that went by when I didn’t wonder where you might be and what you were doing.”

  “I know.” Naomi nodded and took a long, nervous breath that she seemed to think he wouldn’t notice. “Halsey told me that you weren’t coming to save me because you knew I had to become a Spartan. But I worked out pretty soon that you’d never have abandoned me. You just couldn’t find me, that was all. And then I was made to forget everything, until now. Now I recall some of it.”

  Staffan wished she hadn’t said that. He tried to imagine her waiting for her daddy to come, believing he’d let them take her. It was unbearable. It ripped his heart out. If he ever found himself within an arm’s length of that woman Halsey, he’d kill her. Not in the way most people used the term, angry yelling and insults: literally. He would take her life with his bare hands. Kidnapping Naomi had been one crime, but telling her that her father knew and did nothing was off the scale. If evil had any definition, that was it as far as he was concerned.

  “I was going to build you a doll’s house for your birthday,” he said, trying not to let the anger choke him and ruin what little time he had left with her. “Like the one you wanted.”

  “Oh, I remember the one in the toy store window.” Naomi managed a smile. “It was huge. Like a separate world you could step into.”

  “I just made one for Kerstin. All the little pieces of furniture, too. Penance, I suppose. I bought you something else for your birthday instead. A planetarium lamp. You know the kind I mean? It projects star maps on the ceiling. I got you the version with Sansar’s night sky. I’ve still got it.”

  “I think I would have loved it.” She pushed her hair back from her face with her palm facing out, the one gesture that reminded him of Lena. His wife had had that mannerism as well. “The little girl. The clone. It must have been terrible for Mom because she was sure she was me, but how did you take it?”

  “I loved her as my own, because I needed to,” Staffan said. “And she deserved to be loved by somebody. She thought she was you. I gave her the best life I could.”

  He couldn’t tell what effect that had on Naomi and he probably never would. She squeezed his hand, another mechanical gesture she looked like she was trying hard to learn.

  “You’re a good man, Dad. I’ve known enough good men to be able to tell. I know how much I loved you back then, too, and I know I love you now, however different the program made me. You came for me. I knew you would. And that’s all I need.”

  They carried on talking, but that was the real end of the conversation, her good-bye. What followed was just sound. Staffan felt like he was drowning, sinking below the water and trying to reach up to grab her hand, but there was nothing he could do to get her back and it felt like losing her for the third time.

  If he’d had control of the battlecruiser at that moment, he would have had no hesitation in targeting this Halsey and all the unfeeling machine of state expedience that supported her, erasing the cancer in a flood of white-hot molten glass. His only regret would have been that it was too quick and might have taken others like him with it. He tried to drink in and absorb all he could of Naomi’s face and voice so he would have something to draw on if he had years left to him, and then he thought of Edvin and Hedda, and Kerstin, and poor Laura trying to cope with the crater left in their lives.

  He wanted them to forget him and move on. Living in hope the way he’d done was a life sentence.

  You’re a Spartan too, Osman. You might not have had all the surgical alteration, and you might have more of a life, but you’ve been through the same as Naomi. Kidnapped. Taken from parents who loved you. How can you do this?

  “Your admiral,” he said. “Vaz says she’s going to be head of naval intelligence one day.”

  “I should say Vaz shouldn’t tell you all that, but it’ll probably be reported on Waypoint eventually.”

  “Tell her she should know better, and to do things differently this time.”

  The blue box of light faded in through the cell door and made him start. He wasn’t sure he’d ever get used to having an AI around constantly like that.

  “Is our time up?” he asked.

  “I wouldn’t put it that way, sir,” BB said. Naomi gave him a slightly puzzled look. “But we need Naomi on the bridge to plan the mission. She’ll come back later.”

  “So you’re going to storm the ship, Naomi?” Staffan asked.

  “It’s what I do, Dad. You can see my armor.”

  BB drifted over to Staffan as if he was sidling up to him. “If you could talk to Sinks, we might not need to fight the Kig-Yar. He could help. He’s obviously loyal to you and nobody else.”

  Staffan could smell a maneuver. Talk the Huragok into letting us board, and your daughter won’t have to risk her life. BB was right, though. The Kig-Yar would probably fight, and the last thing Staffan wanted was for Naomi to be hurt because he wouldn’t help. It was elegant blackmail. If he ever got out of here, he’d make them pay for that.

  “I’ll ask him to tell me how many there are on board, and where he’s trapped them,” Staffan said. “But I still have a price. I’m going back to my family, one way or another.”

  BB slipped away. Naomi got up and opened the door. “I promise I’ll come back,” she said.

  Staffan watched her go and concentrated on remem
bering the final glimpse of her in case it was his very last. He wasn’t sure if she’d made her choice, but it sounded as if her answer was no. If she’d said yes, he couldn’t imagine ONI letting an asset like that leave as long as she was useful to them, whatever Osman said.

  Have I given up? That’s not like me. Look what I’ve done with my life. Lena wouldn’t know me if she saw me now. Okay, I’ve come this far. I’m not going to roll over and take it now.

  He’d think of something. They needed him. He’d get his chance.

  He waited, but Naomi didn’t come back. Then he felt the ship drop out of slipspace. If the battlecruiser was still there, he’d find out pretty soon.

  The door swung open and Mal stuck his head inside. He was in full armor now, helmet clipped to his belt. “It wasn’t locked,” he said. “You want to come and see this?”

  Mal didn’t seem at all hostile considering what had happened to him. He was actually quite sociable, like the rest of the crew. Maybe it was out of respect for Naomi. Staffan followed him to the bridge and the first thing—the only thing that he saw for long seconds—was Naomi, standing there in blue armor and anonymized by her helmet, just like the propaganda images. It felt like she’d been snatched away from him yet again. It took all his concentration to shift his focus to the viewscreen and not stare at her, trying to see his child in that dehumanized shape.

  Good-bye, sweetheart.

  He cleared his mind as best he could and thought like Andy Remo had taught him, looking for the opportunity and ignoring all the rules. The curved hull of the warship was hard to pick out until Port Stanley moved and he could see the side dimly lit by Qab, nearly a billion kilometers away.

  “Where did they cut their way in?” he asked. His chest felt hollow, as if his heart would never beat again. “Looks intact to me.”

  “Maybe the Huragok’s repaired it already.” Mal held out Staffan’s radio to him. “Call Sinks. Tell him we need to come aboard and get rid of the Kig-Yar.”

  It was the first time Staffan had had access to comms since he’d been captured. He thought briefly about sending a message home, but it would end up being short, incomplete, and the last he ever made. So he bided his time. He took the radio and chose his words carefully. Osman was standing at the viewscreen with data projected into the glass, making the whole thing look like a helmet’s head-up display.

  “We’re not detecting any other ships,” she said. “So the missionary vessel didn’t come for them. Not yet, anyway.”

  “Can anyone detect you?”

  “No.”

  Staffan keyed the ship’s code. “Sinks? This is Staffan. I’m in a ship at your position. I can see you.”

  It took a little while for Sinks to respond.

  “I’m sorry about that. We got here as fast as we could. Tell me about the Kig-Yar. How many are there? We’ll come on board and remove them.”

 

  “Where are they?”

 

  “We need to board, Sinks.”

 

  Staffan looked at Osman. She nodded.

  “Okay,” he said. “But I need to bring a pilot, because I’m not good at flying ships. Is the bay clear?”

 

  Staffan switched off the radio but didn’t hand it back. “Who’s going to take me over there, then?” He nodded at Vaz, his compromise between someone he almost trusted and a life he was more prepared to lose than his daughter’s. “Sinks knows Vaz. Or at least he’s seen him.”

  “And he told me he doesn’t like me,” Mal said. “No point pissing him off, or we’ll end up chasing the ship all over the galaxy.”

  Fine. Go on thinking that. Staffan had only given Sinks one alternate set of coordinates and he seemed to be sticking religiously to his orders. But it was clear that the Huragok wasn’t behaving normally. Staffan couldn’t be sure exactly what he’d do if pushed.

  Vaz shrugged. “If you trust my piloting skills, I’ll do it. BB had better help out.”

  “All you need to do is get me on board and give me access to the computer,” BB said. “You might have to physically insert a chip to get me into the system, though, so be prepared for anything. There’s no telling what Sinks has locked down until we get in there.”

  “We’ll stand by to board from the other position if you run into problems.” Naomi moved confidently toward the doors, all assured movement and precision, and Devereaux and Mal followed her. “What are we going to do about the Kig-Yar if they surrender?”

  “In the interests of diplomacy, give them a Spirit and tell them to get lost,” Osman said. “They’re hardly likely to call ‘Telcam and tell them who took his ship, are they? But we really can’t take prisoners right now.”

  Staffan couldn’t tell if that was an ambiguous order to shoot them anyway. Would his daughter really do that?

  Mal turned at the doors. “We’ll hope they open fire so we can try to slot as many as we can, then, ma’am.”

  Staffan caught another glimpse of Naomi as she disappeared ahead of him. Before he lost sight of her, she turned and gave him a thumbs-up, but then Vaz caught his arm, and he wondered if the gesture was aimed at the Russian.

  “Don’t worry about Naomi—pity the Kig-Yar who gets in her way,” Vaz said quietly. He had a strong accent that was oddly endearing. His hold on Staffan’s arm felt more like he was steering his granddad than marching a prisoner. “And stick close to me. I’ll see you’re all right.”

  “I can take care of myself,” Staffan said. “Especially if I have a weapon.”

  Vaz stood back and ushered him down the ladder to the deck below. “I give you my word. I won’t put you at risk.”

  Staffan teetered on the edge of every moment being his last—the last time he saw Naomi, the last chance he had to escape, the last chance for everything. He seized every second. He turned and gripped Vaz’s arm.

  “Promise me something.”

  “What?”

  “Look after Naomi. You know I’m never going to be allowed to be with her. But take care of her, and I swear I’ll cease my activities. You understand? I’ll be out of the insurgency game as long as she’s okay.”

  Vaz blinked a couple of times. He put his hand on top of Staffan’s, a heavy military-issue glove. “I’d take care of her anyway,” he said. “But you have my word. Do I have yours?”

  “You do, Vaz.”

  “We have a deal, then.”

  Staffan trusted his gut, which had never let him down, and decided Vaz was a man he would trust with his life. Right now, he had to.

  UNSC BOGOF, APPROACHING PIOUS INQUISITOR

  “You won’t let me crash, will you, BB?” Vaz said. “I’ve never done a hangar landing.”

  “Of course not.” BB had already aligned Bogof for the approach without his higher centers even getting involved, like a human’s unconscious ability to stand up and walk. “Because Dev would never let you forget it.”

  “Can Staffan hear me?”

  “You know when you’re using secure audio, Vaz. Check your HUD.”

  “I don’t trust it.”

  “But you have to trust me. I’m a doctor.”

  “Like I trust them.”

  BB was entirely reliant on Bogof’s sensors to detect the hull of Pious Inquisitor and to feel his way around electronically. He could see the aft port bay doors still closed, with no sign yet of having been cut open, but there was no link and exchange between himself and the ship’s computer to coordinate docking—to knock on the door, to be recognized and welcomed in, and then shown to the comfy chair reserved for guests.


  BB sent a very restrained request to be allowed to communicate with the nav computer rather than trying to sneak in this time. He knew he was on the right data frequency, but it met a dead end that felt like running into a padded wall. Sinks had probably detected the virtual thud. There was no point blocking threats if you couldn’t tell when you’d been attacked. It kept you safe, but you couldn’t learn anything from that, and Huragok were as ravenous about acquiring information as he was. Sinks would have eyes in his ass, as Spenser was fond of saying.

  I suppose we’re lucky that Adj only gets stroppy over decorating cakes.

  He could have asked Staffan to make radio contact and try piggybacking on the signal again, but that was asking for trouble. What exactly was wrong with this Huragok? Was he actually defective at all, or did he happen to have a different personality or different programming? BB felt he knew more about them than anyone else in the UNSC—including Halsey—and he understood the Forerunners’ design objectives, as she should have done. They were self-directing engineers whose purpose was to maintain and adapt a wide range of the most advanced technology the galaxy had ever seen, some of it organic. What did they need in order to do that?

  How would I design a Huragok from scratch? What have we missed here?

  BB scoped the specifications while he waited an eternity for Sinks to react to a gunship at his back door. Huragok had to be dexterous and physically strong—craftsmen, mechanics, technicians. They had to be capable of understanding every field of technology from particle physics and materials science through to software. They had to have biological expertise—medical skills, effectively—to deal with organic structures. But to use all that in the ships and far-flung places they would find themselves operating without supervision, they needed behaviors—to learn and make decisions independently, share information, protect and self-maintain, and replicate. In human terms, they would need to think, form opinions, fear dangers, plan, socialize, cooperate, communicate, teach, take care of each other, and have children. And they needed to love their work with unswerving obsession, or else any creatures that intelligent, capable, and communally organized would find lots of other things in the universe more worthy of spending their time on than sweating away for someone else.