by Kelly Gay
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Hello again, Reclaimer
PROLOGUE
“Find what’s missing. Fix the path. Right what my kind turned wrong.”
I have rolled these three sentences, these twelve words, in and around and through my internal processes like nimble, devoted fingers on prayer beads, coaxing out their secrets and meanings, wading neck-deep into an ancient past clogged with wrongs.
They are simple words, mostly unremarkable on their own, but strung together exponentially problematic.
An imprint of the Librarian, the esteemed ancient Forerunner, the Lifeshaper, with her uncanny ability to anticipate and plan and manipulate Living Time, gifted me these words and a key precisely six months ago inside a mountain in Africa. Had I known then what it led to, I might not have taken it.
Her faith in me is both humbling and devastating.
After all this time, why couldn’t she let me be?
Our old friends and enemies are gone. There is no one left to share in the shame of the past. No one left to shoulder the burden she places upon me. Nothing good can come from opening the deep, dark wounds of history.
Sometimes dipping your toe in still water does not go unnoticed.
A lesson taught to me by my mother over a thousand centuries ago in Marontik, along the mud banks of the slow river Sahti, where the crocodiles slumbered with one eye open.
Back then, I was Chakas. Back then, I was human, blissfully unaware on my backwater planet of Erde-Tyrene—Earth, as it is now known. Such brief time I had there… Before the Flood reemerged and threatened all sentient life. Before the Forerunners launched weapons of last resort to cleanse the galaxy. Before I was swept up into the fray, losing my humanity to become 343 Guilty Spark and tasked with firing one of those awful weapons and then monitoring it for the next one hundred thousand years alone.
Alone. Alone. Alone.
Waiting for life to creep back into a silent galaxy…
As I grew from child to man, I thought I knew better than to listen to silly warnings from my mother. Adventure, thieving, trickery, foolish bravery—those were the foods that nourished my soul, and I devoured them with enthusiasm, those wild and heedless thrills, which filled my lungs like a rare cold wind and left my skin tingling and my chest heaving.
For a very small speck of time, I knew what it was to be truly and recklessly and fragilely alive.
Until the young Forerunner Manipular, Bornstellar, arrived in Marontik seeking his own adventure and treasure. His presence ignited within me and my small Florian friend, Riser, a geas—genetically imprinted predispositions and commands placed in us since birth by the Librarian—to guide Bornstellar to Djamonkin Crater and release her husband, the dreaded Didact, from his cryptum.
Ancient gods playing games with mere mortals…
We were linked, the three of us, our fates entwined far more tightly along the world-line than any of us could have imagined.
And all that remains of us now is… me.
And while the thrills of my youth, the wind in my lungs, and the tingling of my skin are lost, never to be experienced again, only remembered and simulated, I endure. A superior artificial intelligence, now with my human memories restored, in command of a fully functioning armiger construct, one that gives me the body I lack and the ability to shape and mold and re-form to my liking.
She said I was a singular marvel, and she was right.
But what good is a singular marvel without a purpose?
A question I did not have to ponder long, apparently. She knew I would take up her cause before I knew myself—as all good mothers do.
If not me… then no one.
A dramatic sigh builds within me.
I went looking for a gift, and I got one. With it and those twelve words, along with a crew of human salvagers, and a hybrid starship, I am here.
We are here.
Gathered on the bridge of the Ace of Spades, in the Sagittarius Arm of the Milky Way galaxy, staring beyond the floor-to-ceiling viewscreen at a monstrous technological wonder suspended in space and outlined in blue.
I never wanted to see a Halo again.
Especially this one.
THREE WEEKS EARLIER
CHAPTER 1
Sonata / Helice-12 System / August 2558
There wasn’t a single exhaust trail or cloud in the atmosphere, nothing to spoil the deepest blue sky in all the colonies. Field after field of intense green stretched in giant waves straight to the cobalt horizon. The wind rolling down from the highlands bent the tips of waist-high florus crops, revealing an emerald shimmer beneath slim upper leaves, a shimmer that mirrored the wind’s path, racing up and down the hills like a shiny green ribbon loose in the breeze.
It was hypnotizing.
The scene soothed Rion Forge’s soul. It was an affirmation and a reminder. She counted herself lucky to witness and explore far more of the galaxy than most ever would: the stars and their systems, planets and moons, biomes and landscapes, and plants that bowed to the wind and revealed their glittery underbelly. It had been easy to forget her passion for exploration and space when most of her time in the last year was spent running and grieving and trying not to get herself or her crew killed.
If only today were about exploration, and not the cold, hard truth.…
She wasn’t sure which was more amazing—the view or that her mother had chosen to call this place home.
Laine Forge had never been a nature lover, never liked to take walks in the local park back home or get her hands dirty tending the few container plants Rion’s granddad insisted on having around. Yet here she was, living her life in the very environment she’d always avoided. Granted, people changed all the time, but this change was hard for Rion to wrap her head around. That her mother had left Earth for an idyllist community on an Outer Colony ag planet made Rion realize that she might never have truly known her mother at all.
Rion shifted on the old Mongoose ATV to look behind her. The cargo bay doors were just closing, the Ace of Spades engaging her shiny new bafflers and rendering the ship nearly invisible. Ace was still the same sleek Mariner-class vessel she’d always been, but she’d also had one hell of a makeover, thanks to a Forerunner upgrade seed. The seed had been custom-designed by Spark to integrate Forerunner technologies with Ace’s existing framework and operating systems, creating a unique retrofit and comfortable user interface that gave Rion and her crew greater flexibility to navigate the stars quicker and more safely than ever before.
They’d set down on Sonata at the edge of a florus field, one of thousands, with a swath of dense forest at their backs. To the south, a dirt road edged the field and would eventually lead to the community where Laine lived on the outskirts. South was the way to go, but Rion couldn’t seem to make the quad move.
Out in space, light-years from home, it was easy to lose track of those left behind, easy for the days and weeks to stretch into months and years. The longer the gap widened, the harder it became to reach out and reconnect, as though time created its own wall, every passing moment adding strength to a barrier that now seemed impossible to break.
She’d faced Brutes, hinge-heads, Hunters, and Jackals; toxic landscapes, mutiny, starvation; had built one of the most successful salvage operations along the Via Casilina, and yet she couldn’t seem to
muster the courage to put the damn quad in gear and face her mother. No matter how Rion spun it, there was no getting around it or out of it, no excuses good enough to abort this particular mission.
News like hers deserved to be heard face-to-face. Family to family.
Upon arrival in the Helice-12 star system, she and Spark had completed a sweep of the area and then a thorough evaluation of Sonata’s orbital defenses and communications array. It was your standard Outer Colony complement for an agricultural world. Besides the population and pristine beauty—at least on this side of the planet—the real thing of value here was Florus Corp’s one and only export—refined florus—which provided all-natural, good-for-you, non-glucose-based sweetener to the entire galaxy. Florus’s green stalks had long ago been studied and synthesized, but those other competitors just couldn’t compare to the organically grown real deal. And that only happened here in Sonata’s rich blond soil, where Florus Corp reigned supreme.
Standard defenses or not, she and Spark had taken great care with their approach into the planet’s atmosphere.
After fleeing Earth six months ago with what the Office of Naval Intelligence believed was their high-value asset, the organization had been relentless in their pursuit. Rion had no doubt that ONI had tracked down every member of her and the crew’s families—friends, customers, rivals, all of them. Every known associate would have been interviewed and put through a series of neural markers and psych evaluations. Surveillance would have been initiated for a time and was perhaps still ongoing, depending on the relationship.
That’s what happened when the newest member of your crew was an artificially enhanced human mind housed in a technologically advanced armiger construct. ONI knew him as 343 Guilty Spark, former monitor of a Halo installation. Rion and crew simply knew him as Spark, a being whose knowledge and abilities were unparalleled assets that any civilization would kill to get their hands on.
Now after six months and the dust having settled, a few things were working in her favor. ONI would know based on interviews and interrogations that Rion hadn’t seen her mother in sixteen years and that they hadn’t spoken in twelve, and there was nothing to suggest a change in the status quo; the chances of her turning up here were slim to none.
And as broad and far-reaching as the UNSC’s intelligence organization might be, ONI simply didn’t have enough resources to station effective teams to monitor everyone known to Rion and her crew on a long-term basis. And they certainly couldn’t sideline dozens of capable starships across Rion’s vast stomping grounds in the hopes that one day she might turn up. It just wasn’t feasible—the galaxy was too damn big to spread the fleet so thin.
A sleeper agent or two at prime locales was a possibility, but the most likely scenario was general surveillance via tech, paid informants, and locals. Good thing Rion had her own advanced surveillance. If anything should go wrong, any messages in the area sent, any ships suddenly dropping out of slipspace, Spark would initiate immediate evac. They’d be off planet and into slipspace before ONI had a chance to assemble.
In reality, though, Rion knew the biggest risk they faced from ONI was the hefty reward they were advertising across the galaxy. That kind of outsourcing was the real headache and caused all manner of self-serving opportunists and experienced pros to crawl out of the woodwork.
Another current of wind flowed in from behind her, the florus leaves bending once more to reveal their shiny underbelly, and off the ribbon of green raced.… She could watch the effect all day—and would if she could get away with it—but she had stalled long enough.
Putting the quad in gear, Rion began the journey south, and tried to focus on the pleasant feel of warm wind against her skin instead of her growing apprehension.
* * *
The small farmhouse was just off the road, set in the slope of a gentle hillside, behind a dark indigo-colored stone wall and a wide patch of short, leathery grass. White and pink cone-shaped flowers lined the front of the house, the blooms brushing against the windowsills. The residence was made of the same striated indigo stone as the wall. Wispy green bushes and potted flowers were set on either side of a sturdy pale-wood door.
In the sloping yard, a pair of overalls, three towels, and a white blanket hung on lines strung between two T-shaped poles. There wasn’t a vehicle parked in the dirt driveway, though she spied two old ag-carts in the shed as she pulled in, parked, and cut the quad’s engine.
The simplicity was staggering.
For a long time, Rion stared at the house, preparing what she’d say and working up the courage to do what needed to be done.
John Forge, United Nations Space Command Marine Corps sergeant, crew member on the Phoenix-class warship Spirit of Fire, son, husband, father… was gone.
He’d been gone for a very long time.
In the early stages of the Covenant War, the Spirit of Fire had pursued a Covenant destroyer into slipspace and was never seen or heard from again. For the next twenty-six years, its disappearance remained a mystery, a thorn in the heart and soul of every family member of those eleven thousand crewmembers on board.
But the Spirit hadn’t been lost with all hands like the UNSC told the families years ago. The crew had survived the journey through slipspace and come out the other side to a Forerunner shield world, one that held an entire fleet of technologically advanced warships sought by the Covenant. Had the enemy acquired that ancient fleet, it would’ve ended the war before it ever really began. Humanity wouldn’t have stood a chance.
If things had felt off the last six months—and they certainly had—it was because Rion had little interest in this new reality. At least in the previous reality her father was out there somewhere, still alive, still existing among the same stars and systems that she did. There was comfort in that. Far more than she’d realized.
Leaving Earth, running with pirates, scavenging the leftovers of one battle after another, buying her own ship, becoming a respectable salvage captain… the good and the bad—it all began with John Forge. Sharing the news of his passing, putting the words and knowledge out there, was final and irrevocable.
And delaying the inevitable was only making her nerves worse.
Resolved, she swung her leg over the seat, hopped off the quad, and straightened her shoulders before heading around to the front door.
As she cleared the corner, a woman appeared around the other side of the house.
Rion froze at the sight of Laine Forge.
Aging, she had expected, but this version of her mother had done a complete one-eighty. Gone was the carefully cultured city girl, and in her place was an overall-wearing, loose-braid-over-one-shoulder, bare-arms-with-biceps, middle-aged farmer with a steely glint in her eyes, no makeup, and a smudge of dirt on her brow.
Laine’s step faltered at Rion’s sudden appearance and her face drained of color. “Lucy?”
Clearing the tightness from her throat, Rion dipped her head in greeting, surprised she’d managed to hear her given name over the pounding of her heart. “Hey, Mom.”
CHAPTER 2
When Rion dressed that morning, she’d stared at her reflection, trying to see her adult self through her mother’s eyes. A teenager’s face no more, but one hardened by time and conflict. Frown and laugh lines had worked their way into smooth skin. Bright, hopeful eyes were now jaded by life experience. Her lithe body had become hard and solid and strong. And there were scars too. Plenty of those to go around…
Rion had chosen her worn-out fatigue trousers, utility belt, and light jacket over a tank top, braided her long dark hair into a low knot, and armed herself with the usual light accompaniment: utility knife, stun gun, and M6.
Tiny green songbirds with blue beneath their wings flitted back and forth from the two blond-barked trees near the house, furiously chattering, singing, and bringing much-needed noise to the silence that stretched between mother and daughter.
Seeming to recover from the shock, Laine moved toward the front door with
a stiff gait. “What are you doing here?”
A warm welcome wasn’t expected, but Rion had hoped for one nevertheless. She wanted to smile, to laugh, to breathe easier and know her mother had missed her or was at least glad to see her.
But there was no hug. No smile. No gladness.
Laine gestured to the front door. “Here, why don’t you come inside.” She continued to stare at Rion with confusion, as though she couldn’t believe what she was seeing.
Rion ducked through the doorway into a small, well-built house with an open concept—small living room to the left, stairs in the center, and to the right a kitchen, which Laine entered, going to the sink to wash her hands. After drying them on a dish towel, she turned and gave Rion the once-over. “Last time I saw you in person, you were just a girl.”
“I was sixteen.”
Laine leaned against the sink and reiterated her point, “Like I said…,” though Rion hadn’t been disputing it. “What are you, thirty… three now, right?” Rion dipped her head as Laine’s gaze became more critical. “You look like him,” she noted. “Even more now than you did back then. You always carried yourself like him too. Like a soldier.”
If only those words were a compliment or simple observation, but Rion knew them as the insult they were. Turning tail and getting back to the quad was starting to look like an excellent idea.
Laine’s eyes softened somewhat. “Please. Sit down. I just made some fresh agani juice. We grow them here on the farm.” She picked a green fruit from a bowl on the wood counter and tossed it.
Rion caught the small oval on the fly. It fit neatly into the palm of her hand, the fruit’s rind thin and covered in tiny dull spikes. She brought it to her nose and caught the scent of citrus and lemon and apple all rolled into one.
“It’s like a lime, only sweeter. Do you remember…?”
“Granddad used to bring limes home from the commissary every once in a while.” A rare treat. “Don’t think I’ve had one since.” Rion rolled the agani around in her palm, watching as Laine retrieved a glass pitcher from the counter and poured two glasses of a pale liquid. “So, Sonata,” Rion said, attempting to fill the quiet with idle conversation. “Didn’t peg you for a farmer.”