Spark
The armiger is incredibly fast. I keep track of Niko via his bio-tag and arrive in the woods behind the park pavilion a few seconds before his approach. Connection with my fragment remains strong for now. I am confident in creating sufficient technical issues to help Ram and Lessa evade capture. Mac Quarrie and “his guys” showing up, tearing through the park on quads between Ram, Lessa, and ONI caused enough havoc to give the two a strong lead.
It was an unexpected, though helpful, surprise.
Niko is swift and adept at weaving a difficult trail to follow. Once he flies by the pavilion and rounds the corner, he lobs the key into the woods before racing in another direction, making sure he is seen, and pulling his pursuers off track of the key’s location.
I retrieve the key.
When I return to the yard in Torba, the Ace of Spades is already humming. Little Bit has been given access to all ship’s systems to aid in our escape. I march to the worktable and then jump into Ace’s internal river of circuitry, the armiger parts collapsing to the floor. Together, LB and I direct the ship off the planet as quickly as possible.
I am not in favor of leaving friends behind. It feels wrong. It is wrong. Even though they were right to suggest it. None of us expected Rion to be on an entirely different planet—if she is even there at all.
And they might not know Erebus VII, but I do.
I kept that knowledge to myself because it is a highly dangerous place to be, even for those who go prepared. No need to worry them further.
I focus solely on our departure, refusing to think about the crew, or concerns that wish to intrude.
We rocket past the upper atmosphere while spinning up Ace’s reactor to initiate the slipspace jump once the ship clears the orbital platforms.
—Ah! Too loud! And itching! Always itching!
I hear it as well, and know what I must do.
Instead of entering jump coordinates to Erebus VII, I revise and calculate decoy coordinates for Geranos-a. Ace’s drive immediately initiates.
Suddenly, sensor data surges through the fiber-optics and hard-light threads, flying past me to station consoles and audio controls throughout the ship: Threat incoming.
I am in multiple places at once, diverting power from bafflers to shielding, changing course, applying pressure to thrusters.
A spray of explosive projectiles from the orbital platform’s cannons glances off the portside bow. With no humans aboard, I am free to divert power from life-support systems and the gravity generator and fully utilize the ship’s Forerunner technologies.
Even at 80 percent stealth, they should not have seen the Ace of Spades.
But I already know… a spy hides in our midst.
Infuriated, I force the ship through a series of evasive maneuvers, while creating a hundred different signatures and sensor readings and then blast them from the ship’s emitters to lay a field of confusion for the orbital platform’s sensor array.
I am the ship. The power is rich and heady and fits me like a glove—not as consuming as Halo, mind you, but splendid nonetheless.
I divert power once again, sending it all to the slipspace drive.
From the outboard cameras, I see the portal ripping a tear in space directly in front of us.
We jump.
—What is it? I’ve been scratching myself raw. It hurts.
I am not similarly affected. Nor are any systems on the ship. The attack on Little Bit is surely related to those strange pings and static pops that had no origination and seemed to go nowhere.
—I must examine your matrices at once.
—Please.
A few of his matrix layers exhibit corrosion, which he manifests as a red rash. Whenever he tries to “soothe” it, it spreads a little more. The damage is minimal; it is the source that requires the full force of my attention now.
How dare this interloper undo the work I have done! This offense is completely unacceptable!
—What do we do?
—We hunt.
—What do you mean?
My fury turns cold and merciless.
—I am going to ask you to remember that which will cause you great pain.
—Escaping Etran Harborage.
—Precisely. We will flood the ship, going faster than ever before, everywhere all at once, flushing out this menace until it has nowhere to hide. Are you afraid?
—No.
—Good. Let us proceed.
Like the snap of a finger, we explode through the Ace of Spades at near light speed, filling every crevice and corner, every node and router, every signal and switch. In reality, our hunt takes a mere moment. But in our world, time and speed flow differently.
I find our foe. Not on the inside of the ship, but on the outside.
The technology is sophisticated and bears the hallmarks of Forerunner reengineering, especially evident in its stunning level of stealth and mimicking capabilities.
Quite advanced.
My temper returns in a cloud of red, blurring my thoughts and my judgment.
Belatedly, I hear LB calling, but I am only action now. I am already on this path, already in the hold, my armiger unfolding in angry crimson light, my core a turbulent storm.
I see only a target, one that has tricked me and must now pay the price.
My focus funnels into a sharp point.
I depressurize the ship, open the port stern hatch, and crawl my armiger onto the hull. Space outside of slipstream flies by in ribbons of light, while inside, the bubble around the vessel protects me. My armiger’s gravity anchors hold each step firmly to the hull as I crawl down the starboard side, my red light reflecting off the ship’s ablative coating and back at me, casting my alloy and vision into fiery red.
Beneath the aft thruster joint, I kneel, reaching my arm back and then sending it slamming into the telemetry probe attached to the hull. I tear it off with one hand and fling it into the slipspace wall.
Child’s play.