Oblivion, page 37
Stone’s face reddened. “Would it surprise you to hear—”
“The Master Chief has answered the question,” Nett said. “There’s no reason to badger him.”
“I quite agree,” Cole said. “You may proceed, Commander Nett.”
“Thank you, Admiral.” Nett turned to John. “Now, Master Chief, was there a time when you asked the castaways to assist—”
“Wait,” Stone said. “I wasn’t finished. We need to establish whether Commander Petrov was deliberately marooned.”
“She volunteered,” Cole said. “That was established when the Pelican’s crew chief told us about her order to collect the Spartans and—I quote—‘get the hell out.’ ”
“Sir,” Stone said, “Respectfully, Commander Petrov wasn’t aware at the time that her marooning would be permanent.”
“Permanent?” John thought he might have some trouble picking up his jaw from the floor thanks to this bombshell news. “I thought she wanted to establish a deep-support base on Netherop.”
“She may have wanted to,” Stanforth said, “but the Covenant rendered that idea moot. They’ve seeded the entire planet with orbital mines. We can’t even get a drop pod through now.”
John’s gut sank. That was definitely the last thing he had expected. “How about messages? She needs to know that we saw Covenant operatives being left behind as we extracted. They could still be active on the planet.”
“We’ve tried,” Stanforth said. “There’s no way to know whether she’s received any of our transmissions. But if she has, rest assured that she’s going after them. Petrov is as tough as it gets. The Covenant is in for one hell of a fight.”
“I agree, sir,” John said, still reeling from the surprise. “This is the last thing I expected to hear.”
“So you can see how this changes her circumstances,” Stone said, seizing his opening. “If Commander Petrov was tricked into being marooned—”
“Lieutenant—enough. She volunteered,” Cole said. “I said that was established, and all the unforeseen circumstances in the galaxy won’t change that fact.” He nodded to Nett. “Please continue, Commander.”
Stone sank back in his chair, fuming. Stanforth glared at John, and John wished more than anything right now to be wearing his helmet and reflective faceplate.
Nett asked, “Master Chief . . . was there a time when you asked the castaways to support Linda-058 during a combat operation?”
“The details are classified, ma’am,” John said. “But, yes, I can confirm the request.”
“And the request was honored?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“At great personal peril?”
“I would assume so, ma’am,” John said. “I wasn’t there, but the evidence suggests that was the case.”
“I understand.” Nett turned to Cole. “And what did you promise in return?”
Stanforth leaned forward. “It doesn’t matter what he promised. A Master Chief is still an enlisted rank, and enlisted ranks don’t have any authority to make promises on behalf of the UNSC.”
Roselle turned to glare at John, and John began to understand why Stanforth was trying to pressure him. The Castoffs had clear insurrectionist sympathies, and given what they had learned about Spartan capabilities, Stanforth would not be eager to let them out of ONI’s control.
Understandable, but it didn’t matter.
Cole nodded to John. “Go ahead and answer the question, son.”
Son. But finally, from someone who was worthy of saying it. “Yes, sir.” John turned back to Nett. “I promised them a Sharpfin escort corvette—”
“A Sharpfin?” Stanforth gasped. “Are you out of your mind?”
“I’m sure we can find one somewhere,” Cole said. “What else, Master Chief?”
“That the UNSC would take them to any planet they wanted to live on,” John said. “Even if it was insurrectionist-controlled.”
Stanforth turned to Cole. “You see the problem, right?”
“Settle down,” Cole said. “We don’t even know that there’s a problem yet.”
Stanforth turned to Samson. “Tell us where you want to live.”
It was Roselle who answered. “We want to live on Gao,” she said. “We have heard that Gao is a free world.”
Cole winced, and John knew why. Gao was practically in full rebellion—even with the Covenant invasion starting to turn toward its sector of space.
“I’d say we have a problem now, wouldn’t you?” Stanforth asked Cole. “Gao is Hector Nyeto’s home planet.”
John’s teeth clenched at the mere mention of the man’s name. The former commander of a prowler wing, Hector Nyeto was a traitor and insurrectionist mole. Just a few months earlier, he had done his best to get John and eleven other Spartans killed during the Spartans’ first big operation against the Covenant. After being exposed, Nyeto had escaped with three Razor-class prowlers, and he was now believed to be hiding in the Gao jungles, beyond ONI’s immediate reach.
Still, John couldn’t conceal his astonishment, and Dr. Halsey actually slapped her brow. Only Lieutenant Commander Nett seemed unfazed.
“So what?” Nett said. “Assume that Nyeto is on Gao. All that really means is that the Gao insurrectionists already know about the SPARTAN-II program. What harm can come of letting Samson and Roselle settle their people there? Whatever Netherop’s castaways know about Spartans, surely it pales in comparison to Nyeto’s intel.”
“In comparison to what Nyeto did know.” Stanforth’s tone was mild, but he did not sound like a man on the verge of yielding. “There have been advances since then.”
“Really?” Nett asked. “You’re suggesting that people who’ve been cooking over open fires and digging for water for three generations are going to understand those advances? After spending less than a day with the Spartans? Are you serious?”
Stanforth shook his head. “We can’t know what they understand.”
“I think we can. But, if it makes you feel better, I’m sure Samson and Roselle would promise not to reveal anything they’ve learned about the Spartans.” She turned to Roselle. “Right?”
“Sure.” Roselle nodded enthusiastically. “If John keeps his promise, we’ll keep ours. No one will ever hear anything from us about John and his giant friends. You have our word.”
Stanforth looked at the ceiling, but Cole was not so quick to dismiss the offer.
“Well, John?” he asked. “Can we trust them?”
John didn’t even have to think about it. The Castoffs were as shifty as a valley breeze, but once they’d made a deal with him, they had risked their lives to honor it. And if he couldn’t behave just as honorably after giving his word . . . well, then, what was he even fighting for?
He turned his gaze toward Samson and Roselle and held their eyes until he received a subtle nod from each of them, confirming that this was a deal between just the three of them and not the UNSC, and then he looked back to Cole.
“On this, you can trust them,” John said. “If they say they won’t talk about me or the Spartans, then they won’t. I’m sure of it.”
“Very well. It’s decided then.” Cole turned to Samson and Roselle. “We’ll get you to Gao as soon as we can find a way to do it that won’t cause another war.”
“With our Sharpfin?” Samson asked.
“Absolutely,” Cole said. “Just as soon as we can locate one.”
“Not so fast.” Stanforth raised a finger. “There’s one thing I want to make clear.”
“Clear is good,” Samson said. “We like clear.”
“We have assets on Gao,” Stanforth said. “We hear things. And if we hear so much as a whisper about anything that happened on Netherop, we’ll hunt you down and put a stop to those rumors. Permanently.”
Roselle was unfazed. “You won’t hear any whispers from us. We won’t betray John.” She braced her arms on the table and leaned forward. “But for a man in your job, you’re a very bad liar. If you could reach someone on Gao, this Nyeto fellow you all seem so concerned about would already be dead.”
Stanforth’s eyes flashed, and John thought for a moment that Roselle had just blown the deal. Then the admiral chuckled, leaned back in his chair, and let out a full-throated laugh.
“Fair enough, Ms. Roselle.” He stood and reached across the table, offering her his hand. “We have a deal.”
Roselle stared at his hand for a moment, then reluctantly accepted it. “Don’t make us regret this, Admiral. You wouldn’t enjoy it if we had to hunt you down.”
Stanforth’s smile broadened. “I appreciate the warning, Ms. Roselle.” They shook, then he turned to Nett. “I think we’re done here, Commander. Dismissed.”
Nett smiled, then rose and touched Roselle and Samson on the arms. “If you’ll come with me, I’ll escort you back to your compartments.”
Samson seemed bewildered. “We won?” he asked, rising. “In a UNSC court?”
“Court of Inquiry,” Cole corrected. “There’s a difference. But, yes . . . you won. You can thank the Master Chief.”
Nett was already escorting the pair around John’s end of the table.
When they stopped, Roselle said, “Thank you, John.” She took both of his hands in hers, then said, “You will come and see us, yes?”
“Count on it,” John said. “But maybe not on Gao. The last thing anyone needs right now is another war.”
Ninth Age of Reclamation
47th Cycle, 110 Units (Covenant Battle Calendar)
Cave of Eternal Reflection, City of Darkness
Planet N’ba, Eryya System
In the wadi below, a woman sat alone in N’ba’s long night, roasting plant pads over an open fire. Her thin face was framed by a tangled mat of blood-brown hair, and her weary eyes never seemed to leave the skewers she occasionally turned over the low flames.
How long the woman had been sitting there, Nizat ‘Kvarosee could not say. He knew only that she had come in the darkness and built her fire, and in the time he had been watching her, she had filled ten large bags with the roasted plant pads. The process might have taken her two units or twenty—Nizat could not tell, and he no longer cared. Time on N’ba had become eternal, day followed by night in endless repetition, light and darkness and light again with no meaning and no escape.
And how could there be?
To escape was to flee, and it would be folly to do so when it came to the will of the gods. They had taken Nizat from his beloved Sanghelios, from his clan and his hereditary keep, and placed him here on N’ba for a purpose. If he could no longer see that, then it was he who had been blinded, not they.
The one thing that Nizat did know about the woman was that she had arrived with the humans who had come to capture the Steadfast Strike. She could not have arrived after that. To prevent Nizat from being rescued by the return of a loyal captain, the Silent Shadow would have placed a shell of self-directing plasma torpedoes in orbit around the planet. This was what Nizat himself would have done, and he had good reason to believe it was what they had done. Since the Fleet of Swift Justice’s departure, he had seen five fireballs plunge from the sky.
Nizat knew with certainty that none of those fireballs had been the Quiet Faith. The vessel’s shipmaster, Qoo ‘Weyodosee, was too timorous to mount a rescue operation beneath the watchful eyes of the Silent Shadow. Instead, he would gather more vessels to his cause, then activate the Luminal Beacons and attempt to win the forgiveness of the Hierarchs by destroying ONI.
And in his success lay Nizat’s sole hope of redemption. If ‘Weyodosee prevailed, the gods would see that it was only through Nizat’s planning and inspiration, and surely they would absolve him of his past mistakes and welcome their loyal servant back onto the Path of Divine Transcendence. Given ‘Weyodosee’s habitual timidity and customary lack of boldness, that was a small hope indeed, but it was better than none at all. In his current circumstances, hope was all that remained to Nizat.
Hope and faith.
Nizat’s contemplations were interrupted by the arrival of Tam ‘Lakosee. Like all the Sangheili marooned on N’ba, the faithful steward had grown as gaunt as a skeleton, and his skin had turned ashen and scaly. ‘Lakosee dropped to his haunches next to Nizat and stared down into the wadi where the woman had made her fire.
“We must make our move, Worldmaster,” ‘Lakosee whispered. “It will be light soon, and we will lose our advantage.”
Nizat continued to watch the woman. She wore a sidearm on her hip, and a long gun leaning against a nearby boulder was never far from her reach.
After a moment, Nizat whispered, “How do you know?”
“That we will lose our advantage?”
“That it will be light soon.”
“Because it has been dark for a long time.”
“How long?” Nizat pressed. “Here the darkness is interminable, and we have no way to count units. So, I ask again—how do you know?”
‘Lakosee’s tone grew harsh. “We know because we are hungry. Do you not feel it?”
“Ah.” Nizat continued to watch the woman. If she had heard ‘Lakosee’s outburst, she showed no sign and continued to turn her spits. “So the gods have sent us this human because you are hungry?”
“The gods or fate, I do not care,” ‘Lakosee said. “We are hungry, and we need weapons and water bladders. She can provide for all of those needs.”
“Perhaps,” Nizat said. “But I cannot help wondering what she needs in return.”
“Why do you care?”
“Because if she was truly sent to us by the gods, the last thing we should do is misuse their gift.”
“And if she was sent to us by fate?”
“Never trust in fate,” Nizat said. “It is an excuse for poor thinking.”
‘Lakosee clacked his mandibles in frustration. Still the woman did not look up.
“We are hungry, Worldmaster. There is not much meat on her bones, but there is some. If you will not join us, we will—”
“Tell me, Tam: How many plant pads can one woman eat?”
“Those are teardrop pads,” ‘Lakosee said quickly. “If you roast them, they will keep for a long time.”
“True.” Nizat paused, then asked, “And how many bags of teardrop pads can one woman carry?”
“Not . . . ten.” ‘Lakosee fell silent, then finally said, “Perhaps we should watch her for a while longer. She may have companions hiding in the dark.”
“A worthy thought,” Nizat said. “And while we wait, perhaps we will see the gods’ true purpose in sending us this gift.”
“It pains me to say it . . .” ‘Lakosee sank to his knees. “But I often worry that our gods have forsaken us.”
“As do I, Tam.” Nizat laid a hand on his steward’s shoulder. “And so . . . I pray.”
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
* * *
* * *
I would like to thank everyone who contributed to this book, especially: my first reader, Andria Hayday; my editor, Ed Schlesinger; our copyeditor, Joal Hetherington; our proofreader, Susan Rella; Jeremy Patenaude, Tiffany O’Brien, Jeff Easterling, and all of the great people at 343; and cover artist Christopher McGrath. It’s been a blast!
More from this Series
HALO: Renegades
Book 25
HALO: Shadow of Intent
HALO: Saint's Testimony
HALO: The Fall of Reach
Book 1
HALO: The Flood
Book 2
HALO: First Strike
Book 3
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
* * *
* * *
TROY DENNING is the New York Times bestselling author of more than thirty-five novels, including Halo: Silent Storm, Halo: Retribution, Halo: Last Light, a dozen Star Wars novels, the Dark Sun: The Prism Pentad series, and many bestselling Forgotten Realms novels. A former game designer and editor, he lives in western Wisconsin.
FOR MORE ON THIS AUTHOR:
Authors.SimonandSchuster.com/Troy-Denning
SimonandSchuster.com
Facebook.com/GalleryBooks
@GalleryBooks
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