The Meridian's corridors were a stark contrast to the cramped passages Nathan remembered from standard UNSC frigates. Here, the hallways stretched wide enough for 4 people to walk abreast, with recessed lighting panels that cast an even, warm glow across polished metal walls. Magnetic handholds were spaced at regular intervals, and color-coded stripes along the floors led to different sections of the ship. Everything spoke of military engineering at its finest designed for both efficiency and comfort during long deployments.
Nathan had spent a decent chunk of time learning to navigate the ship's layout as they planned their operation against Phantom. The Meridian was massive compared to any vessel he'd served on before, with multiple decks dedicated to everything from living quarters to workshops to recreational areas. It was, as Vel had commented the first day, "like living in a small city instead of a sardine can."
He found Naomi's avatar waiting for him in what the ship's computer designated as Conference Room Alpha, a space that could easily have held thirty people around its central holographic display. Currently, it showed a three-dimensional map of the planet Acer, with various mining installations marked in different colors.
"We've narrowed it down to three potential sites," Naomi said as Nathan took a seat at the polished table. Her digital form gestured to the display, highlighting three locations in amber. "All within a reasonable distance of where you first encountered Phantom, all with established communication arrays that could believably send distress signals."
"What makes these three special?" Nathan asked, studying the tactical data scrolling beside each location.
"Isolation, for the most part. Far enough from major shipping lanes that UNSC and civilian traffic won't accidentally wander into our operation, but not so remote that a distress call would seem suspicious." Naomi manipulated the display, zooming in on the closest target. "This one in specific, Mining Station B-33, is particularly catching my eye. It's been offline for maintenance for the past two weeks, which means no actual miners at risk."
"But it's still broadcasting automated status updates?"
"Yeah, exactly. We could easily modify those broadcasts to include a distress signal. Make it look like equipment failure, a medical emergency or UNSC attackers." Naomi's expression grew thoughtful. "The question is whether Phantom will take the bait."
Nathan leaned back in his chair, impressed once again by the thoroughness of Naomi's planning. "Damn, You've been busy."
"I've had help," Naomi admitted. "Kessler's been working on sensor configurations to track Phantom's departure vector, and Ilson's been analyzing the best modifications for the Frame we'll use."
Speaking of which, Nathan thought it was time to check on those modifications. He made his way through the ship toward the Titan Frame bays, passing through sections that showcased the Meridian's impressive infrastructure. The mess hall was three times the size of anything on a normal frigate, with actual tables and chairs instead of fold-down surfaces. The recreation area included physical exercise equipment, a small library, and even what looked like gaming stations.
The Frame bays were located on Deck Three, accessible through airlocks that could seal the area in case of emergency decompression. Nathan found Ilson descending a maintenance ladder from the open chest panel of his Titan Frame, diagnostic equipment and components scattered on mobile platforms around the massive machine's feet. The young pilot's face was streaked with grease and exhaustion as he reached the deck level.
"How's it going?" Nathan asked, craning his neck to look up at the towering Frame.
"Better than expected, actually," Ilson replied, wiping his hands on a rag. "Stripping out the weapon systems freed up a lot of weight and power distribution. We're looking at a major increase in mobility and speed."
Nathan examined the readouts on a nearby diagnostic screen, noting the empty hardpoint configurations where weapons had been mounted. "You sure about this? That's a lot of firepower to give up."
"It's like Naomi said man, Fighting Phantom isn't the point," Ilson said. "We need to survive long enough to track it, not win a battle." He gestured up at the Frame's modified systems. "She's fast enough now that she might actually have a chance."
"Any concerns about Naomi piloting it?" Nathan asked. "When she first brought up the idea of remote piloting, I've got to admit I wasn't too crazy about it. But it makes sense, she doesn't have the same limits that I do, and plus, I'd love to see what the upper limits of piloting looks like from someone who doesn't want to kill me."
"And to be Honest? I'm more worried about the Frame surviving than her," Ilson's expression grew serious. "She's not human, Nathan. She can process information faster than any biological pilot, react to threats before they fully develop. And since she's piloting remotely, there's no risk to her actual consciousness if something goes wrong. If anyone can pull this off, it's her."
"Ilson." The voice came from across the bay, and both men turned to see Slade approaching. The engineer looked like he hadn't slept in days, but his expression was more engaged than Nathan had seen since the Carrion's Prize incident.
"Slade," Ilson nodded warily. "What do you think of the modifications?"
Slade moved to a diagnostic console, studying the power distribution readouts with a critical eye. "Good work. Clean removal, proper weight distribution." He paused, scrolling through the Frame's system specifications. "But you're missing something."
"What?"
"Emergency boosters," Slade said, pointing to mounting specifications on the display. "If things go wrong out there, Naomi's going to need options. Fast ones."
Ilson frowned. "The power requirements for boosters that size would be enormous. We'd have to reroute—"
"From the weapon systems power grid," Slade interrupted. "The one you just freed up by removing the guns. Mount the boosters here and here," he indicated specific points on the schematic, "tie them into the emergency power systems, and she'll have enough thrust to break atmosphere if she needs to."
"That's..." Ilson paused, running calculations in his head. "That's actually really damn smart. She could even dock with the Meridian mid-flight if we programmed the approach correctly."
"No human pilot could pull off a mid-air docking," Nathan pointed out.
"Well, good thing she's not human," Slade replied with something that might have been a smile. It was the first time Nathan had seen the man show any real interest in their mission.
"You think it'll work?" Nathan asked.
Slade shrugged. "It's better than sending her out there without options. And if we're going to do this, we might as well do it right." He looked at the diagnostic readings again, his expression growing distant. "The Prize never had fancy equipment like this. We made do with what we had, jury-rigged everything until it worked. But this..." He gestured at the advanced diagnostics and pristine components. "This is how you plan for success instead of just hoping for survival."
It was the most Slade had said to anyone since the incident, and Nathan took it as a positive sign. "Want to help with the installation?"
"I wouldn't have taken no for an answer," Slade replied. "Going to need proper mounting brackets and a custom power distribution system. Give me six hours."
As Slade walked away to gather tools, Ilson shook his head in amazement. "I've been working on this for three fucking days, and he figures out the missing piece in less than ten minutes."
"That's what real experience looks like," Nathan said. "Want to see how Naomi's doing with the interface testing?"
They made their way to the adjacent testing bay, where a second Frame bay had been converted into a simulation chamber. Naomi's modified interface cable connected directly to Nathan's Titan Frame, which stood motionless in a reinforced testing cradle.
"Naomi?" Nathan called out. "How's the connection working?"
"Stand by," came Naomi's voice, but it sounded different, more mechanical, filtered through the Frame's external speakers. "I'm running diagnostic protocols."
Suddenly, status lights activated across the Frame's chest and head assembly, a constellation of indicators that had illuminated simultaneously. When Naomi spoke again, her voice carried an odd dual quality, both from the ship's speakers and the Frame simultaneously.
"This is... extraordinary," she said, and Nathan could hear genuine wonder in her voice. "I can feel everything. Every servo, every sensor, every connection point. It's like having a body again."
"Just make sure you don't actually start the reactor," Ilson called out. "The noise alone could kill us in a confined space like this."
"The power levels are incredible even on standby," Naomi replied. "I need to be careful, one wrong movement and I could accidentally tear through the holding dock."
"Emergency protocols engaged," announced a different voice through the Frame's speakers, crisp, professional, clearly artificial. "Pilot vital signs not detected. Please confirm you wish to proceed without medical monitoring."
"Buddy, Iam an AI," Naomi replied, and Nathan could hear the amusement in her voice.
There was a pause, then: "Acknowledged. Pilot classification updated. AI pilot interface active. Please note that piloting without biological systems monitoring is not recommended by manufacturer guidelines."
"Yep, I'll keep that in mind," Naomi said dryly.
Ilson stepped forward, his expression mixing pride and protectiveness. "How does she feel? Everything responding correctly?"
The Frame's status lights pulsed in a pattern that somehow seemed thoughtful. "She's perfect, Ilson. The balance is incredible, the response time instantaneous. I can access systems that human pilots never could, push performance parameters beyond biological limitations."
"Just remember," Ilson said, looking up at the towering machine, "you better bring her back in one piece."
"I promise," Naomi replied, and the sincerity in her voice was unmistakable.
Nathan spent the next few hours moving through the ship, checking on various aspects of their preparation. In the communications bay, he found Kessler surrounded by displays showing sensor analysis and tracking algorithms.
"Hey Kess, how's it going over here?" he asked.
Kessler looked up from her work, her face lighting up with enthusiasm. "The Meridian's sensor suite is incredible. We're talking about arrays that can track individual ships across multiple star systems simultaneously. Once Naomi engages with Phantom, I'll be able to monitor everything, power signatures, movement patterns, even electromagnetic emissions."
"And when Phantom tries to disappear?"
"That's where it gets interesting," Kessler said, manipulating one of the displays to show a complex tracking algorithm. "Phantom may be able to avoid visual detection and conventional sensors, but it can't eliminate all traces of its passage. Gravitational wake, subspace distortions, even residual heat signatures, there are always breadcrumbs to follow if you know how to look."
"You sound confident."
"I am. The Meridian's systems are military-grade, designed for intelligence gathering and surveillance. If anyone can track Phantom back to its base, it's us."
"If it's that easy, why hasn't the UNSC done it before?" Nathan asked.
Kessler paused, looking at him with a thoughtful expression. "That's... that's actually a really good question."
Nathan left Kessler to her work and continued his rounds. In the mess hall, he found Riley and Vel sharing a meal and what appeared to be war stories.
"—so there I was, flying a cargo hauler through an asteroid field because the company was too cheap to pay for a clear shipping lane," Riley was saying as Nathan approached with his own tray.
"Which company?" Vel asked.
"Monolith Transport Solutions. Real cut-rate operation out of the outer colonies."
Vel's expression darkened. "My parents did legal work for them. Contract negotiations, labor disputes." She shook her head. "Trust me, you were right to quit. Any company my parents worked with had to be involved in something shady."
"What kind of shady?"
"The kind where workers get hurt and families lose their livelihoods so shareholders can see better quarterly profits," Vel replied bitterly. "It's all perfectly legal, of course. That's what my parents specialized in, making corporate cruelty look legit."
Riley nodded grimly. "Yeah, I got out when they started pressuring pilots to skip safety inspections to meet delivery schedules. Figured it was only a matter of time before someone got killed."
Nathan listened to the conversation, noting how the shared experience of corporate exploitation was creating bonds between his crew and the Carrion's Prize survivors. It was a start.
He found Jessikah in her assigned quarters, staring at a blank communications terminal. She looked up as he entered, her expression troubled.
"Everything all right?" Nathan asked.
"My father's been trying to contact me," she said quietly. "Multiple times a day. The messages are getting... intense."
"Like what, that he's gonna take away your toys?"
"I wish it was that simple." Jessikah activated the terminal, and Gabriel Santos's face appeared on the screen. He looked haggard, his usual polished appearance replaced by something more desperate.
"Mija," Gabriel's recorded voice said, "I know you think you're doing the right thing, but you don't understand the bigger picture. These people you're with, they're dangerous. They've filled your head with lies about our work, about what we're trying to accomplish."
The recording continued, Gabriel's tone shifting between pleading and threatening. "If you come home now, I promise nothing bad will happen to your friends. We can find a peaceful solution to this misunderstanding. But if you don't... Jessikah, I can't protect you all forever. The UNSC has been demanding information about the stolen Meridian. They want their ship back, and they're not particular about how they get it. I've been trying to negotiate for your safety, but my influence only goes so far."
The message ended, and Jessikah closed the terminal. "That was three days ago. Yesterday's message was worse."
"How much worse?"
"Well, he stopped calling me mija," she said simply. "Started referring to my 'terrorist associates' and talking about the 'consequences of harboring enemies of the ALF.'"
Nathan sat down across from her. "You think he's serious?"
"Oh I think he's damn serious. I think he's desperate. And desperate people do terrible things, even to family." Jessikah looked out her small viewport at the stars streaming past. "Especially when they've convinced themselves it's for the greater good."
"Well then we'll be ready for whatever he's planning," Nathan assured her.
"I hope so. Because I don't think he's going to stop until he gets what he wants."
A week later, they were approaching the edge of the Acer system, the Meridian still running silent under Naomi's sophisticated stealth protocols. Nathan had just finished his final equipment check when Vel called out from the communications station.
"Hey Nathan, you need to see this," she said, her voice tight with concern.
Nathan made his way to her station, where a news broadcast was playing on one of the displays. The Liberation Front's official logo filled the screen, followed by Gabriel Santos sitting behind an impressive desk, looking every inch the concerned political leader.
"—deeply troubling developments in our ongoing investigation into terrorist activities within our space," Santos was saying, his voice carrying the perfect tone of measured authority. "We have confirmed that several UNSC military personnel have defected and are now operating as enemy combatants against lawful Liberation Front operations."
The display shifted to show identification photos, Nathan recognized his own face, along with Kessler, Ilson, and Riley. The images looked like they'd been pulled from military records.
"Cadet Nathan Brant, formerly of the UNSC Titan Frame program, is believed to be leading this terrorist cell," Santos continued, his voice cracking slightly with what appeared to be genuine emotion. "He and his associates are responsible for the theft of classified technology and the kidnapping of Liberation Front civilians, including..." He paused, dabbing at his eyes with a handkerchief. "Including my own daughter, Jessikah Santos."
Nathan felt his blood run cold. "Kidnapping?"
"Along with Brant, we have identified Damali Kessler, Jake Ilson, and Riley Webb as active participants in these crimes against the Liberation Front," Santos said, as their photos appeared on screen again. His voice grew stronger, more indignant. "These individuals have violated their oaths of service and betrayed the trust placed in them by their own command structure. The UNSC's inability to control their own personnel shows a dangerous weakness that threatens all of human space."
The broadcast continued with Santos calling for increased security measures and offering rewards for information leading to their capture. "Please," he said, his voice breaking again, "I just want my daughter to come home, and the stolen technology returned safely. But if the UNSC cannot or will not act to stop these rogue elements..." He let the threat hang in the air.
"Furthermore," Santos said, his expression growing more grave, "we have evidence that this terrorist cell has been aided by rogue AI technology of unknown origin. This represents not only a threat to Liberation Front security, but to the stability of human-AI relations throughout known space."
The broadcast ended with Santos making a direct appeal: "I call upon the UNSC to demonstrate that they can control their own forces. If they cannot stop one stolen ship, how can they be trusted to maintain order in human space? The Liberation Front stands ready to assist in bringing these criminals to justice."
"Terrorist cell?" Riley said, appearing at Nathan's shoulder. "That son of a bitch is really going all out."
"He called me a rogue AI," Naomi's voice came through the room's speakers, carrying a note of indignation. "I'm not rogue."
"He's covering his tracks," Jessikah said quietly. She'd joined them at the communications station, her face pale with anger and shame. "By painting us as terrorists, he makes it impossible for anyone to take our accusations seriously. Who's going to believe a group of 'dangerous fugitives' over a respected political leader?"
"And the kidnapping angle means he can justify anything he does to get you back," Nathan realized. "Which definitely would include killing us."
"Exactly. He's played this perfectly. We're now officially enemies of the ALF, and he's the grieving father trying to rescue his daughter from dangerous criminals."
Vel turned off the broadcast, her expression disgusted. "Welcome to corporate politics. First, they steal everything you care about. Then they make you the asshole for fighting back."
Nathan looked around at his crew, he was beginning to think of them as an actual crew. They were all fugitives now, branded as terrorists by forces much larger than themselves. But looking at their faces, he didn't see fear or regret. He saw determination.
"Well," he said finally, "If we weren't officially committed before, we sure are now. No going back."
"Was there ever really a choice?" Kessler asked.
Nathan thought about Phantom, about the pilots still being fed to that monster for intelligence gathering. About Gabriel Santos and his stolen neural interface technology, about corporate lawyers stealing mining claims, about officers ordering their subordinates to abandon civilians for profit margins.
"No," he said. "I don't think there was."
The Meridian continued its silent approach toward Acer, toward Mining Station B-33, carrying its crew of branded terrorists toward what might be their only chance to strike back against the machinery that had destroyed so many lives.
In a few hours, they would find out if their plan to track Phantom would work. But regardless of the outcome, Nathan knew there was no going back to the way things were.