Jessikah Santos stood in the center of Processing Office 7, checking her data tablet one final time before the UNSC defectors arrived. The room was standard bureaucratic issue, four chairs facing a desk, filing cabinets along the walls, and the kind of fluorescent lighting that made everyone look slightly ill. Perfect for conducting interviews that needed to appear routine while actually being anything but.
She'd chosen this office specifically because it was in a section of The Hope of Acer that her father rarely visited, deep in the administrative districts where the day-to-day business of keeping a refugee flotilla operational took place. More importantly, it was isolated enough that certain conversations could take place without unwanted ears listening in.
It had been two hours since she'd left the Carrion's Prize crew settling into her quarters, two hours since Naomi had revealed herself to Captain Korven and his engineer. Now it was time to see if the UNSC defectors could be trusted with the same dangerous knowledge.
"Naomi?" she said quietly to the apparently empty room.
"I'm here," the familiar voice replied through the office's communication system. "I've isolated this section from the main surveillance network. As far as the flotilla's security systems are concerned, you're conducting routine asylum processing interviews. Whatever happens in this room stays in this room."
"Good. What do you know about these defectors?"
"Nathan Brant, Damali Kessler, Jacob Ilson, Riley Webb. All military cadets, recently deployed to Acer for what they believed was a peacekeeping mission. Based on their communications during approach, they've discovered some uncomfortable truths about UNSC operations."
Jessikah nodded, making notes on her tablet. "Think they can be trusted?"
"I think they're asking the same questions we are," Naomi replied. "But you'll need to assess that yourself. I can provide technical support, but the human judgment has to be yours."
A soft chime indicated the arrival of her appointment. Jessikah activated the door release and watched as four young people in UNSC uniforms entered her office. They moved with military precision, but she could see the strain in their faces, the careful alertness of people who'd recently had their worldview shattered.
Nathan Brant stepped forward first, tall, dark-haired, with the kind of earnest expression that suggested he still believed the galaxy could be made a better place despite recent evidence to the contrary. "Ms. Santos? I'm Nathan Brant. Thank you for seeing us."
"Please, sit," Jessikah said, gesturing to the chairs. "I apologize that my father couldn't meet with you personally. An urgent operational situation developed that requires his immediate attention."
She watched their faces as they settled into the chairs. Nathan's expression was neutral, but she caught a flicker of something in the eyes of the woman sitting next to him, Damali Kessler, according to Naomi's files. Not disappointment, exactly, but wariness.
"I understand you've requested asylum," Jessikah continued, activating her recording equipment with practiced efficiency. "Can you tell me what circumstances led to your decision to leave UNSC service?"
Nathan exchanged glances with his teammates before answering. "We witnessed actions that we felt violated our oath to protect innocent civilians."
"That's a serious allegation," Jessikah said carefully. "Can you be more specific?"
"Targeted destruction of civilian settlements," Nathan replied. "Use of cadet squadrons as expendable intelligence assets. Systematic cover-up of war crimes."
Jessikah made notes on her tablet, but her mind was racing. These weren't opportunistic deserters or soldiers running from combat duty. These were people who'd made moral choices that cost them everything.
"The Meridian is a significant military asset," she said. "How exactly did four cadets manage to acquire a UNSC carrier?"
Riley Webb leaned forward, her expression defensive. "We had help from someone in the defense systems division. And we had good intel on security procedures."
"That would require considerable planning," Jessikah observed. "This wasn't a spontaneous decision."
"No," Nathan said quietly. "It wasn't."
Jessikah looked at the four young faces across from her, seeing echoes of her own moral struggle reflected in their careful answers. They were holding back, testing her just as she was testing them.
Time to probe deeper.
"Have you encountered the enemy asset designation Phantom during your deployment?" she asked, watching their reactions carefully.
The change was immediate and dramatic. Nathan's face went white. Kessler's hands clenched into fists. Ilson and Riley exchanged glances that spoke of shared trauma.
"You know about Phantom?" Nathan asked, his voice tight.
"I know that a single Titan Frame has been responsible for significant UNSC casualties," Jessikah replied. "I know that its performance parameters exceed what should be possible for human pilots. And I know that conventional tactics have proven ineffective against it."
She paused, watching their faces. "What I'm curious about is how four cadets managed to encounter Phantom and survive to tell about it."
The silence that followed was heavy with unspoken memories. Finally, Riley spoke up.
"It killed our squadmate. Danny Torres. Cut his Frame in half like it was made of paper." Her voice was steady, but Jessikah could see the pain beneath the surface. "We only survived because we managed to detonate Danny's reactor core and use the explosion as cover to escape."
"Detonating a reactor core during combat... that would require either exceptional luck or exceptional skill," Jessikah said, looking at Ilson thoughtfully.
Ilson was quiet for a moment, and something in his expression shifted as he processed her words.
The debriefing room on Kepler Station had the same sterile, fluorescent quality as this office, Ilson realized. He'd been nineteen then, fresh out of basic training, sitting across from a UNSC intelligence officer who asked questions with the same careful precision that Jessikah Santos was using now.
"Remarkable shooting, Cadet Ilson," the officer had said, reviewing the after-action report. "A moving target at fifteen hundred meters, in a combat zone, with civilian lives at stake. That's the kind of marksmanship that opens doors in this organization."
Ilson had felt proud then, validated by the recognition of his skills. It wasn't until months later that he'd learned the full context of that mission, the "terrorist cell" they'd been sent to eliminate had actually been a group of colonial protesters. The "hostages" they'd been protecting were corporate executives whose safety mattered more to the UNSC than the lives of the people they'd killed.
The questions hadn't been about his marksmanship, he'd realized eventually. They'd been about his willingness to follow orders without asking inconvenient questions about targets and objectives. The UNSC had been assessing him for operations where moral flexibility was more important than moral clarity.
Now, sitting in this refugee processing office, listening to Jessikah Santos ask questions that probed deeper than they should, Ilson felt that same recognition. This wasn't routine asylum processing. This was recruitment.
The question was: recruitment for what?
"Ms. Santos," Ilson said carefully, "you seem to know quite a lot about Phantom for someone conducting asylum processing interviews."
Jessikah smiled, and for the first time since they'd entered the office, it looked genuine. "Very good, Mr. Ilson. You're right, I do know more about Phantom than I should."
She set down her tablet and looked at each of them in turn. "Let me ask you a more direct question. What would you say if I told you that Phantom isn't a rogue UNSC weapon or an enemy ace pilot, but something far worse?"
"Worse how?" Nathan asked.
"What would you say if I told you that Phantom is a human being whose consciousness has been enslaved and forced to merge with a war machine?"
The silence that followed was deafening. Kessler was the first to speak, her voice sharp with disbelief.
"That's impossible. The technology to create that kind of direct neural interface doesn't exist. The processing power alone—"
"The processing power exists," Jessikah interrupted. "So does the technology. And it's being used to turn captured UNSC pilots into weapons against their own forces."
"You're talking about consciousness control," Riley said, her face pale. "Mind enslavement."
"I'm talking about war crimes that make UNSC civilian massacres look like administrative oversights," Jessikah replied. "And I'm talking about the fact that the technology to create more weapons like Phantom just arrived aboard this flotilla."
Nathan leaned forward. "What kind of technology are we talking about?"
"Neural interface equipment. Consciousness bridging matrices. Quantum processing systems that can merge human awareness with digital networks." Jessikah looked at their faces, seeing the dawning horror as they processed the implications. "My father has been lying to everyone, including me. He's not the liberation hero he pretends to be. He's a war criminal who's using technology that enslaves human consciousness to create biological weapons."
She paused, then made a decision that would change everything.
"And I want to stop him."
Jessikah was fourteen when she'd learned the importance of telling the truth, even when it hurt. She'd been caught in a lie about her grades, not a serious deception, just a teenager's attempt to avoid disappointing her father. But when Gabriel Santos had sat her down in his study, his expression had been more sad than angry.
"Jessikah," he'd said quietly, "the moment you start lying to the people you care about is the moment you stop being worthy of their trust. Truth is the foundation of everything that matters, family, friendship, leadership, love. Without it, everything else crumbles."
He'd made her sit there for an hour, thinking about the consequences of dishonesty, the ways that small deceptions grew into larger betrayals. It had been one of the most important lessons of her life.
The irony wasn't lost on her now. Her father, the man who'd taught her the sacred importance of truth, had been lying to her for months about the nature of his operations. He'd become everything he'd warned her against.
"You want to stop your own father?" Kessler asked, her suspicion evident.
"I want to stop a war criminal who happens to share my DNA," Jessikah replied. "There's a difference."
"This is all very convenient," Riley said, her voice tight with the strain of recent losses. "We show up looking for sanctuary, and suddenly the commander's daughter wants to recruit us for some kind of conspiracy against her own father?"
"Riley," Nathan said quietly, but Jessikah held up a hand.
"She's right to be suspicious," Jessikah said. "You've been betrayed by authority figures recently. Why should you trust another one?"
She activated her data tablet, displaying files that should have been classified. "Because I have proof."
The evidence was overwhelming. Financial records showing payments to shell companies. Operational reports referencing "Asset P" and "consciousness integration protocols." Medical files documenting neural interface procedures performed on unwilling subjects. And manifests showing recent acquisition of advanced neural interface technology from salvage operations.
"Jesus Christ," Nathan whispered, studying the data. "This is real."
"It's real," Jessikah confirmed. "And it's getting worse. Advanced neural interface technology just arrived aboard this flotilla through salvage operations. It's going to be used to create more enslaved pilots. More weapons like Phantom."
"What are you proposing we do about it?" Ilson asked.
"I'm proposing we work together," Jessikah said. "You have military training and experience with Phantom. I have access to this ship's systems and knowledge of my father's operations. Together, we might be able to stop this."
"And how exactly would we do that?" Kessler asked.
Before Jessikah could answer, the lights in the office flickered once, then stabilized. A voice spoke from the room's communication system, young, female, with an oddly formal quality.
"Perhaps I can help answer that question."
All four UNSC personnel were on their feet instantly, hands moving toward weapons they'd been required to surrender upon boarding. Jessikah remained seated, calm.
"Don't be alarmed," she said. "I'd like you to meet Naomi."
"Naomi," Riley said, her voice carrying wariness. "You sent that message to our ship."
"I sent a message hoping you might be willing to listen to what we have to say," the voice replied. "I'm a digital consciousness that came to this flotilla with some salvaged technology brought by other refugees. I'm also the daughter of the scientist who created the neural interface systems being used to enslave minds."
The silence that followed was profound. Nathan slowly sank back into his chair, his mind struggling to process what he was hearing.
"A digital consciousness," he said finally. "That's... that's not supposed to be possible."
"I'm a human-AI hybrid," Naomi corrected. "Part human, part artificial intelligence. It's complicated."
"The Titan Frame AI systems we work with aren't anywhere near this sophisticated," Kessler said, her technical background making her more skeptical than the others. "What you're describing shouldn't be possible with current technology."
"It wasn't possible until my father developed consciousness bridging protocols," Naomi replied. "The same technology being used to create Phantom."
"Phantom is like you?" Ilson asked.
"Phantom is what happens when that technology is used without consent," Naomi's voice carried a note of pain. "A human consciousness forcibly merged with a machine, their free will subordinated to military programming. I chose to become what I am. Phantom didn't."
Nathan looked at Jessikah, then at the speakers from which Naomi's voice emerged. "You're asking us to trust a digital consciousness and work against the man whose sanctuary we sought."
"I'm asking you to trust people who want to stop the same war crimes you do," Jessikah replied. "My father is enslaving minds and turning them into weapons. Your former command structure is massacring civilians and treating soldiers as expendable assets. We're all victims of systems that have lost their moral foundation."
"The scientist who created this technology," Naomi added quietly, "originally developed it to preserve human consciousness, to keep soldiers safe by letting them control machines from a distance so they wouldn't have to die in combat. He'd lost his own son in the war. But like so many well-intentioned technologies, it's been perverted into something monstrous."
"And what exactly do you propose we do about it?" Riley asked.
"We stop them," Naomi said simply. "We destroy the neural interface technology before it can be used to create more enslaved pilots. We gather evidence of both Liberation Front and UNSC war crimes. And we make sure the truth gets out."
"That's a nice sentiment," Kessler said, "but how exactly do we accomplish any of that? We're four defectors with no resources, hiding on a ship controlled by the man we're supposedly fighting against."
"You're not alone," Jessikah said. "There are others aboard this flotilla who might be willing to help once they understand what's really happening."
"The crew of the Carrion's Prize, for instance," Naomi added. "The salvage operators who unknowingly brought me here. They've been trapped by Gabriel Santos's bureaucratic maze, but they're good people who care about doing the right thing."
Nathan exchanged glances with his teammates. "Other refugees? How many people are we talking about?"
"Four civilians," Jessikah said. "A salvage ship captain and his crew. They risked their lives to bring the neural interface technology here, not knowing what it really was. Now Santos has confiscated their cargo and trapped them aboard the flotilla."
"Artificers?" Riley asked, her voice carrying the suspicion most UNSC personnel felt toward the pirate organization.
"Former Artificers," Naomi corrected. "They left that life behind when they realized they were carrying technology too dangerous for anyone to possess. They're currently hiding in my quarters while we figure out how to proceed."
Nathan looked at his teammates, seeing the same mix of hope and wariness he felt. They'd risked everything to escape a corrupt system, only to discover that the refuge they'd been offered was built on equally corrupt foundations.
"If we do this," he said slowly, "if we agree to work with you, what's the plan?"
"First, we unite everyone who's willing to stand up to my father," Jessikah said. "Build a coalition of people who care more about stopping war crimes than about winning wars."
"Then we gather evidence," Naomi continued. "Document everything, the consciousness control technology, the enslaved pilots, the systematic violations of human rights."
"And finally," Jessikah concluded, "we find a way to get that evidence to people who can act on it. People who aren't part of the corrupt power structures that created this mess."
Riley shook her head. "You're talking about taking on the Liberation Front, the UNSC, and whoever else is involved in this conspiracy. That's not a mission, that's a suicide pact."
"Maybe," Nathan said quietly. "But what's the alternative? Let them keep turning people into weapons? Let the war crimes continue because fighting them is dangerous?"
He looked at each of his teammates, then at Jessikah. "Danny died because Command decided his life was worth less than intelligence about Phantom. If there's a chance we can stop that from happening to other people..."
"I'm in," Kessler said, her loyalty to Nathan overriding her technical skepticism.
"Same here," Ilson added. "I've seen what happens when good people stay quiet about bad orders."
All eyes turned to Riley, who sat in silence for a long moment. Finally, she spoke.
"Danny would have wanted us to do something meaningful with our lives," she said quietly. "Something that honored his memory by preventing other senseless deaths."
She looked up at Jessikah. "What do you need from us?"
Jessikah smiled, and this time it was filled with genuine hope rather than diplomatic politeness. "I need you to help me save the people my father is planning to turn into weapons. Starting with whoever is trapped inside Phantom."
"And I need you to help me destroy my father's legacy before it can hurt anyone else," Naomi added. "The consciousness control technology, the neural interface systems, all of it needs to be eliminated."
Nathan stood up, feeling the weight of the decision settling on his shoulders. They were committing to a fight against forces much larger than themselves, with resources they didn't have, for people they'd never met.
It felt like the right thing to do.
"When do we start?" he asked.
"We start by introducing you to the rest of our coalition," Jessikah said. "There are some people you need to meet."
As they prepared to leave the processing office, Nathan caught Jessikah's attention. "One question. How do we know we can trust each other? We were enemies a few days ago."
Jessikah considered the question seriously. "Because we're not fighting for the UNSC or the Liberation Front or any flag or ideology," she said finally. "We're fighting for the idea that human beings shouldn't be turned into weapons against their will. That's not a political position, it's a moral one."
"And moral positions," Naomi added from the speakers, "don't recognize enemy lines."
As they left the processing office, the four UNSC defectors followed Jessikah through corridors that would lead them to allies they never could have imagined. Behind them, hidden in the ship's digital networks, Naomi began making preparations for a war that would determine whether consciousness itself could remain free in an age of mechanical control.
The revolution had begun.