by Troy Denning
“It’s not me I’m worried about.” Veta looked back to Fred. “You do this, and you’ll start a second Insurrection. You know that, right?”
Fred shrugged and peeled the nanocomposite armor off his legs. “That’s a risk FLEETCOM is willing to take.”
“And the explosion won’t be all that dramatic,” Kelly added. “Most of the blast will be downward.”
“Into the cave,” Veta realized. “You’re going to destroy the Forerunner base.”
Fred and Kelly exchanged glances, then Fred said, “Possibly.”
“Relax, Mom,” Olivia said. “We’ve done it before. It hardly ever starts a war.”
Olivia’s tone was just light enough to suggest she might be joking, but her faceplate was expressionless and it was impossible to tell. Veta was not sure she wanted to know anyway.
The Spartans were keeping a careful eye on the jungle canopy, and in the lead Warthog, Ash swung the Vulcan back and forth, tracking the searching aircraft across the valley. Veta knew that the Wyverns were equipped with forward-looking infrared imaging systems for finding and tracking ground targets. But she also knew that the Montero Jungle’s thick canopy would render the technology difficult to use—particularly at the high speeds the Wyverns seemed to be maintaining for fear of another Spartan missile attack.
Had Veta been asked to place money on the outcome of the hunt, she would not have bet against the Spartans. And, given that Arlo Casille would assume control of the Forerunner base if the Spartans failed, she wasn’t sure it was such a bad thing.
A repetitive chirping broke out in Veta’s thigh pocket, and she felt her comm pad begin to vibrate. All heads instantly pivoted toward the sound, though the only visible scowl was Fred’s—all the others remained hidden behind faceplates.
“That had better be a comm pad,” Fred said.
Veta nodded, but she left the comm pad in her pocket. If she didn’t answer, it would stop chirping in a couple of seconds, then decline in thirty. “Probably just my mother.”
Fred and Kelly exchanged glances, then Fred said, “So answer it.”
“Yeah,” Kelly added. “It might be a while before you two talk again.”
It wasn’t Veta’s mother, who had passed away two years earlier—and besides, this was a GMoP pad. There weren’t many people who could open a channel to it, and most of them were dead.
“Aren’t you worried about giving away our position?” Veta asked.
“Not really,” Fred said.
“Gao doesn’t have a global positioning network,” Olivia added. “I kind of thought you’d know that.”
“I was thinking about triangulation.”
“From a comm satellite in geosynchronous orbit?” Fred asked. “Not anytime soon.”
“Well, in that case . . .”
With four Spartans watching her every move, she pulled the comm pad from her pocket and looked at the screen.
“Shit,” she said. “It’s Arlo Casille.”
Knowing how it would appear if she declined the call—or tossed her comm pad into the jungle—Veta simply looked across the transport to Fred.
He shrugged. “See what the man wants.”
Veta took off her helmet and waited until the churning of a passing Wyvern faded, then answered the call with her customary “Inspector Lopis.”
“Veta!” Casille’s voice was warm, almost ebullient. “What a relief to hear you, alive and well.”
“I’m certainly better off than the rest of my team,” Veta said.
Casille’s voice grew instantly somber. “Yes, what a tragedy. I promise you, those responsible will pay.”
Veta wondered if that meant Casille was going to shoot himself—or let her do it for him. “I’m looking forward to that.”
“And you have my word you won’t be disappointed. But how are you doing? I’m told that you’re being held captive by the Spartans.”
“More or less,” Veta said. If she asked them to, she suspected the Spartans would let her off in the jungle. But if she did that, her chance of bringing Intrepid Eye to justice would be even smaller. “I’m being treated well, under the circumstances.”
“Frankly, I find that surprising,” Casille said. “But I don’t want you to worry. We have a rescue operation under way. I’m sure you can hear our Wyverns searching for you.”
Veta glanced up at the canopy and, hoping that the noises overhead were not being picked up by her comm pad microphone, she said, “What Wyverns? They bugged out after the Spartans shot down two.”
Fred’s brow shot up and Kelly’s helmet tipped to one side.
Casille cursed. “You’re sure? They should be in the same valley.”
“Minister—”
“It’s actually President now,” Casille corrected. “Sadly, my predecessor wasn’t up to handling this crisis. The People’s Cabinet had to remove him.”
Veta’s stomach began to churn. “Because of the Keeper attack?”
“Precisely. Tejo Aponte wanted to offer logistical support to the UNSC—while they were attacking our own people. Can you imagine?”
“A lot of things have happened recently that I could never have imagined,” Veta said. “For instance, I could never have imagined you turning Wendosa into a battlefield.”
When the only response was silence, Veta knew her suspicions were correct. Arlo Casille was too cunning to deny it and risk being exposed as a liar, but he certainly wasn’t going to admit it—not over an unsecured comm channel.
Finally, Veta heard another Wyvern approaching and realized she needed to give Casille something else to listen for. “Why would you do such a thing, President Casille?”
“I didn’t ask to be named president. But I accepted the responsibility for the good of Gao—and I hope you’ll do the same, Inspector Lopis. The republic is in grave need of a new Minister of Protection.”
And there it was—the bribe that confirmed Veta’s worst fears, that proved the presidency of Gao had fallen into the hands of a despot and a criminal, a man who could be allowed access to Forerunner technology only at the peril of worlds.
Veta assumed her warmest voice. “I’m flattered, President Casille. But first we need to see whether I come out of this in one piece.”
“Then help us find you,” Casille replied. “Are you sure you don’t hear any Wyverns? They should be near your location.”
As he spoke, Veta saw Kelly lean close to Fred’s ear and report something. Fred’s expression fell.
“Hold on, Mr. President,” Veta said. “I’ll listen for them.”
She covered the comm pad microphone, then asked Fred, “What’s the problem?”
“Our ride can’t make it,” he said. “Too many Wyverns around. They’ll shoot her down before she gets here.”
“How much time do we need?”
Fred turned toward the front of the transport. “Mark, how much time on the counter?”
“Six minutes, twenty-five.”
“I think I can buy us four or five,” Veta said. “Maybe I can misdirect Casille, get him to concentrate the Wyverns over those decoys you sent out.”
Fred looked to Kelly, who nodded and said, “Five would work.”
“I said four or five.”
Kelly looked away. “So I’m an optimist.”
Fred grew pensive. Completely out of his Mjolnir now, he was clothed only in his boots and the tech suit he wore beneath his armor. Under other circumstances, Veta might have been impressed by the sight. But less than ten minutes from thermonuclear destruction . . . maybe not.
At last, Fred nodded. “What do we have to lose? Do it.”
Veta took her hand away from the comm pad. “President Casille?”
“Still here,” Casille said. “I thought we’d lost you.”
“Not yet.” Veta lowered her voice, as though she were whispering, then said, “I can hear Wyverns, but they’re faint. They must be a long way behind us.”
“That’s not much help, Veta. Can you give
me anything else?”
“We’re not actually in the valley,” she said. “We’re climbing up the wall.”
“That’s good,” Casille said. “Maybe you could hold your comm pad up. If I can get a recording, a tech can probably figure out how far away you are from the Wyverns.”
And then Veta knew the real reason Casille had called—the reason he hadn’t bothered to ask why she still had her comm pad, or why the Spartans were allowing her to use it.
He already knew she wasn’t really a prisoner.
“That might be risky,” Veta said, continuing to play Casille’s game. She nudged Olivia, then raised a thumb and forefinger in the shape of a gun. “I’ll give it a try, but there’s something else first.”
“Everything helps.”
“Before we started up the hill, we crossed a bridge,” Veta said. “There was a sign pointing toward the Singing Grottos in one direction and the Well of Echoes in the other.”
Kelly flipped the safety off her weapon and swung it vaguely in Veta’s direction.
Veta took a deep breath, then said, “We went toward the Well of—”
The muzzle of Kelly’s battle rifle pushed into Veta’s cheek, and she decided she had laid her trap as well as she was going to. She tossed her comm pad high into the air over the far side of the Warthog, then winced at the deafening rattle of Olivia blasting it out of the air.
“Explain,” Kelly said.
Veta simply pointed at the sky. Her ears were still ringing from the sound of Olivia’s rifle burst, but she was betting that about now, the Wyverns would be turning toward the Singing Grottos.
In fact, she was betting her life on it.
Veta hardly dared to breathe as the Spartans raised their faceplates toward the sky and she waited to see whether her plan had worked. Every time the Warthog bounced over a rut and her body shifted, she expected to feel a BR55’s armor-piercing round exiting the back of her skull.
Instead, after ten seconds or so, Kelly lowered her rifle and sat back in her seat, then looked up the road as though nothing untoward had happened. Deciding to take that as vindication, Veta put her helmet on and leaned into the back of her seat, then looked toward the front of the vehicle.
“Hey, Mark,” she called. “How much longer?”
Mark checked the counter, then said, “Four minutes fifty.”
“Then our ride is on the way?”
“It’s on the way,” he said. “All we have to do is get there.”
Veta nodded. She had no idea how far it was to the Well of Echoes, but travel time was hardly the sort of detail Spartans would overlook—and she was determined not to let her anxiety show any more than it already had.
They rode in silence for another thirty seconds, then Kelly finally said, “Okay, Lopis, I give. How’d you know Casille would send those Wyverns the other way?”
“He never asked why I still had my comm pad,” Veta said. “He already knew I wasn’t a prisoner.”
The thrum of Wyverns flying in rotor mode sounded from the jungle behind them and began to grow steadily louder. The Spartans fell silent and looked toward the sound, then seemed to relax.
“Sounds like two of ’em to me,” Olivia said.
“Same here,” Fred said. “Probably just insurance, scouting this way to see if Lopis was telling the truth after all.”
“You sound awfully calm about that,” Veta said. “What happens when they find out I was telling the truth?”
“We do what we always do,” Mark said. “We take ’em out.”
The other Spartans nodded in agreement, then returned their attention to Veta, and Kelly asked, “So Casille knew you weren’t a prisoner?”
“Right,” Veta said. “Is this really the time to be explaining this?”
Fred smiled. “Relax, Mom,” he said. “It’s under control.”
Veta looked back down the road toward the approaching Wyverns. The thrumming of their rotors seemed to be rising, and Veta expected cannon fire to begin shredding the jungle canopy at any moment. But if everyone else thought the situation was in hand, then it probably was. And even if not, Veta wasn’t going to be the one who showed fear. She scowled across the passenger tray at Fred.
“Don’t call me Mom,” she said. From the Gammas, she could tolerate the nickname—even if just barely. “I hate that.”
Fred feigned a hurt look. “So what should I call you?” he asked. “Soldier?”
“Anything but Mom,” Veta snapped. The Wyverns were so close now she could feel the pulse of their rotors in her chest. She turned back to Kelly and said, “Casille never believed I’d give away our position. He was just trying to establish a sound point.”
“A sound point?” Fred had to raise his voice to make himself heard. “Never heard of it.”
“A technician searches for the sound of aircraft in the transmission background,” Veta replied, also raising her voice; she would have just used TEAMCOM, but Fred didn’t have a helmet or a comm set. “If you know where enough aircraft are when you hear them, you can triangulate an UNSUB’s location when he placed the call. It’s a bit more technical than that, and it takes time—which is the whole reason Casille was trying to keep me talking in the first place.”
“So, when you actually told him where we were going . . .” Olivia let her sentence trail off, then gave an approving nod. “Nice move.”
“But if you stay on Gao now, you’re a dead woman,” Mark said, speaking over TEAMCOM. “You know that, right?”
“Yeah, Mark.” Veta glanced down the road behind them and saw the jungle canopy beginning to dance beneath the Wyverns’ rotor wash. One way or another, this would probably be the last time she ever looked out on the Montero Jungle or any of Gao’s other natural wonders. “The thought had occurred to me.”
“Good,” Mark answered. The Warthogs crested the hill and slid to a stop, and Mark’s voice came over TEAMCOM again. “Two minutes twenty, people!”
The Spartans burst into action so quickly that the Warthogs were half-empty before Veta realized the vehicles were being abandoned. She reached down to grab the drone satchel and discovered that Kelly already had it. Then she went for her battle rifle and found Fred pointing her into the jungle.
“Leave everything!” He reached into the pile of scrap that used to be his Mjolnir and tapped a touchpad on the fusion reactor, then pointed into the jungle. “Fifty-two meters—not fifty-three, not fifty-four. Don’t fall off.”
Veta jumped out of the Warthog. “Don’t fall—”
Her question was swallowed by blazing cannon fire, and even before her boots hit the ground, the jungle began to fall around her. Veta sprang into a front dive and rolled, then scrambled five meters forward and finally dared to lift her head out of the undergrowth.
She found herself surrounded by a tangle of foliage so dense she could barely see to the end of her arm. There was no sign of any Spartans—of course—and she had lost track of where Fred had been pointing when he told her, fifty-two meters.
Mark’s voice came over TEAMCOM. “One hundred seconds.”
Veta spun in a circle until she found a trail of smashed ferns and club moss leading back toward the Warthogs. She could see the transport coming apart beneath a hail of cannon rounds, and there was a column of smoke rising a few meters in front of it, where the reconnaissance vehicle had been abandoned. She turned in the opposite direction and ran ten steps, fifteen. Bits of frond and wood began to rain down as cannon fire swept through the jungle above her.
Veta did not look back. She did not want to see death coming.
An armored hand shot out of the foliage and clamped on to her arm, then jerked her off her feet.
“Follow me, soldier!” a female voice commanded.
Veta tried to get her feet back on the ground and run, but the effort was futile. She was practically flying through the air in the Spartan’s grasp, making twice the time she would on her own. Besides, she was moving in the right direction. She turned to see who
was pulling her along and found herself looking at pale copper Mjolnir and an awkward helmet with a goggle-like visor. So, Linda-058.
A low crackle began to build behind them.
Linda dived to the ground, and Veta along with her. The crackle grew fierce, then a silver light flashed through the jungle and Veta felt instantly sunburned. She would have screamed, but before her mouth could open, the air left her lungs and the chest-crushing weight of a compression wave stomped down.
The weight vanished just as quickly. Veta raised her head to find a snarl of toppled trunks where there had once been jungle. About twenty meters ahead, the devastation ended at the rim of a huge, cliff-walled canyon—the Well of Echoes, no doubt.
The booming din of exploding ordnance erupted behind her, and Veta looked back to find two heaps of folded metal sitting atop the scorched flat where Blue Team had abandoned its Warthogs. If not for the fountains of orange tracer rounds cooking off in all directions, she would have never recognized the mounds as crashed Wyverns.
“What did that?”
“Fred’s armor,” Linda said. “You can’t leave that stuff just lying around, you know.”
Mark’s voice sounded over TEAMCOM. “Sixty-four seconds.”
“Boarding in twenty.” This was said by the throaty voice of the mysterious Ms. Classified, who had spoken to Veta earlier. “And don’t be late. This Owl isn’t waiting for anyone.”
Veta felt a tinge of fear. What if Ms. Classified was another AI? What if Intrepid Eye had already co-opted her, too? She shook it off. The ancilla was secured, at least for now. And even if it wasn’t, Mark was right. Veta was a dead woman if she stayed here on Gao. Arlo Casille would see to that. She had no choice but to leave the world where her parents were buried, where her two aunts and six cousins lived, the world where the only friends she had known for more than a week all remained. And she would be doing it with no idea of where she was going to live, without the credits in her employment account, without so much as a datapad containing the contact information for all of those families to whom she owed calls of condolence and explanation. She would literally be leaving with nothing but her SAS-10 sidearm and the clothes on her back—and the clothes belonged to the UNSC.