Khaela.
In the last three years, Admiral Margaret Parangosky's calls to send the Boundless Will anywhere had become something natural. The ship is constantly moving between colonies as a reminder of UNSC power. The crew encountered rebels far more often than The Covenant or Citadel forces.
And the fact that the Boundless Will was supposed to go to Lord Terrence Hood after modernization changes nothing. The Admiral knows of my existence, as well as what my current ship represents. And he understands and approves of the fact that the three fastest ships of Humanity are not hanging in orbit over the largest worlds but are rushing around on missions.
"These ships are not only the future of Humanity but also the symbol of a new era. Now, in difficult times, these ships will serve as a symbol, a reminder of who we are. They are our shield. They are the sword of Humanity. And when people see them in the skies of their worlds, they should be filled with pride and confidence in tomorrow."
They serve and they fill. The ancient human ship was used for a long time as a testing ground and scientific complex, but with access to The Ark, it was moved there via portal and then restored according to archival documents from the libraries of The Ark and Halo.
The 9,470-meter length of the Boundless Will, with its numerous armaments (the original ones were installed at The Ark), and beam weaponry—both secondary and primary—is a very serious argument when it hangs over your city, blotting out the sky. And the fact that the crew was frankly unprepared at the start of the journey doesn't hinder it. Over the years, people gained experience, even if it was largely the experience of fighting riots, rebels, and working as field technicians and loaders. The crew grumbled quietly but did their job.
After all, the command is not mentally ready to hand over ships to the full, sole control of an AI. And yes, there was always a crew on the Boundless Will. But the Forerunners had powerful AIs, so handing over full control of the ship was simply dangerous. Both the organic and inorganic crews duplicated each other.
Here, I can break any Citadel VI, just like the Geth, simply in the process. Human Dumb AIs lasted eight seconds. VIs lasted five at best. As a consequence, there are almost no synthetic hostiles dangerous to me. And The Covenant never had any. Creating fully automated ships would even be beneficial in terms of resource economy. If you remove the crew blocks, the internal volume can be reduced by about forty percent without any loss at all. That's what the Geth do on their ships, for example. But I don't decide that. So, a call from Margaret Parangosky.
At the Admiral's demand, the hologram projector ball immediately activated.
"I am listening, Admiral."
Instead of an answer, Margaret Parangosky flicked a report across her tablet and briefly said:
"Depart. You will be there in six hours. Report upon arrival. Dismissed."
My hologram nodded:
"Yes, Admiral," and disconnected. Another working day.
Two and a half thousand light years per day. Both Infinities can do the same. Thanks to The Ark, the ships are gradually undergoing modernization, but it is not a fast process; the ships are needed "in the field." And for the Infinity-class ships, as well as the Boundless Will, the crews were selected with active participation from ONI. And they have already managed to prove their usefulness to intelligence.
So, the target. New Venice. Again. This is already the fourth visit to the planet in five years; three times riots had to be suppressed. A population of eleven million, yet the planetary government has always held separatist views. At the beginning of the war with The Covenant, the UNSC government was destroyed (according to the investigation) by rebels, and thereafter contact with the metropole was not maintained. The local authorities created a full-fledged independent state apparatus.
The colony became autonomous and independent, maintaining relations with a couple of other such outcasts. After the end of the active phase of the war with The Covenant, UNSC troops arrived (including us with Kilo-Five), following which three-quarters of the local government were executed by ONI as traitors.
It didn't help much. As soon as the locals find sponsors, they immediately try to create problems. And since the planet's population is not particularly large, tracking separatist sentiments is difficult. You just get armed saboteurs at a certain point, and the harshest retaliatory reaction doesn't help much. Especially the last two times, when the rioters were outsiders. The locals were only required not to give away where they were coming from. And yes, we eventually destroyed the transit base. Given the current situation and the new call—it wasn't enough.
The loyalty of the planet's population is critically low; the locals sincerely believe that Earth and the UNSC only cause them harm. A high level of separatism. Effectively, the planet is under occupation by naval forces. And the locals know this perfectly well. Just as they know from their own experience how ONI suppresses riots. And yes, attempts to negotiate were ignored: "Earth only robs and oppresses us."
And twenty-four hours ago, communication with the planetary contingent and the stationary units was lost. Simultaneously. We need to investigate.
The avatar hologram appeared simultaneously in the Captain's cabin and on the bridge, where the first officer currently resides. The Captain is eating, and seeing the hologram on the table, he looked at it questioningly. I won't react.
"The Admiral's orders have been transferred to your tablet, officer."
Captain Chugonkin looked away from his meal and at the avatar.
"Which of the Admirals?"
The Captain (appointed specifically by Admiral Lord Terrence Hood) likely knows for certain that I have a connection with ONI. It's even interesting what they told him. So I replied:
"Admiral Margaret Parangosky, Captain Chugonkin. Ordered to change course and arrive at planet Venice. Again."
The man sighed, finally set aside his food, and took the tablet, on which the necessary document opened by itself (yes). He scanned it and asked:
"Your opinion?"
My hologram spread its hands:
"It would be easier to bomb these ones and breed new ones," and at the Captain's surprised look, added, "you asked for my opinion. These people have absolutely no need for the UNSC or the UEG in any form. We should prepare for resistance. The 'don't touch them' option is not being considered, so I indicated an alternative."
The man snorted into his wide mustache.
"An interesting position. Is the first officer already changing course?"
The avatar nodded.
"The order has been duplicated. Deceleration is currently being performed."
The ship shuddered almost imperceptibly as it returned to real space, and the Captain read more and more records gathered by intelligence and analysts. It appears there is another riot on the planet, but a successful one this time. The only question is, whom to thank for this? There was a stationary unit in orbit, and more than one. But they did not make contact. They had a Quantum Beacon; they would have had time to call for help. But they didn't. You don't need to be a genius to realize: the situation is complicated.
"Khaela," the Captain ordered, "high alert throughout the ship. Exiting Slipspace in hostile territory. You know what to do."
"Yes, Captain."
The crew reacted nervously to the high alert announcement. The crew is trying, but still, one ship against large enemy forces. People simply aren't used to the fact that this is normal. Usually, equal combat with The Covenant required manifold larger forces or heavy weapons. These people underwent memory copying via the beacon during training and know this. Over time, the problem and the crew's excessive caution were overcome, but some tension remains stable. I noted the sergeant's sigh.
"With this many greenhorns, there will be a lot of corpses."
The hologram condensed next to him. The Marines on the ships had just been completely rotated. They had the most practice, so the command doesn't hesitate to conduct rotations. Moreover, the crew practically doesn't enter cryosleep as was done before. The ship is fast enough, and hiding the crew in the freezer is simply unnecessary. Drills can be performed or other tasks given to the crew. For example, they can study in their free time. And there are those who take advantage of such an opportunity. Higher education remotely, on the house. I'm all for it; the best should serve on this ship.
The man twitched almost imperceptibly when he saw a sudden me. An ordinary person wouldn't have noticed that he was uncomfortable seeing someone appear so suddenly and so close. But I just gave a smile of triangular teeth (a cannibal's smile) and reported:
"You don't need to worry, Sergeant Kowalski. In case of a threat, the enemy will be suppressed by ship's artillery."
The man looked suspicious.
"Such decisions are not made by a ship AI."
The hologram nodded.
"In normal conditions, you are right. But the crew is not ready; you admit it yourself. As a consequence, the role of the AI is elevated on this ship. My tasks include both fulfilling the mission and protecting the crew. Increasing the priority of artillery support is rational for personnel protection."
And, leaving the sergeant to process that, I switched to other processes. Unlike the team, the ship will always, at any moment, be fully combat-ready. And a significant portion of the core's resources goes toward managing all its systems. No, the Admiral did not allow the core to be present on the ship; it is on The Ark, with a bridge connection to the ship. So, to avoid overloading the system, simulations have to be performed in the core, with only the results sent back. And Dumb AIs work on board; if anything happens, new ones can be copied. There were no clear orders on this topic, but choosing between a colony and the ship, I will choose the ship without question. People are replaceable. The ship is not.
The Boundless Will was dropped out at New Venice at some distance from the planet. The Captain stared thoughtfully at the hologram of the planet and the markers appearing around it as the scan progressed. Three debris fields and five markers without identifiers. And there is the enemy.
Target allocation is underway.
"Khaela, what are we seeing?" the man clarified, twirling his long mustache with his fingers.
My hologram turned to the scanners, ran several simulations, and replied:
"The debris fields are destroyed stationary units. Clarifying the type of markers. Covenant ships. A CAS-class Assault Carrier and four cruisers. It doesn't add up."
The first officer, a shapely blonde in her thirties named Alena Cherepolomova, clarified:
"What exactly doesn't add up? Is there something we don't know?"
I nodded.
"Signal lost with the ONI office on the surface. And the backup one too. There was no signal of an attack, which means they were eliminated simultaneously or close to it."
The Captain frowned.
"So, the rebels helped. Idiots."
"Highly likely," I agreed.
If they attacked from orbit, the ground forces would have had time to raise the alarm. Especially since there were freelance agents on the planet. But they are silent too. If the rebels had attacked, the ships would have responded from space. Even under PKO fire, the statistical probability of destroying all existing ships so that they didn't have time to send a distress signal is... 0.056%. For this, you need to know exactly the point where the PKO system should fire; the shot must occur simultaneously at all ships to trigger a reactor detonation. Or even better, not blow up the reactor but knock out the communications bay with a precise hit on all points simultaneously. Too many variables for this plan to be feasible even in theory. It seems the rebels guided The Covenant, and they struck themselves on the surface.
The Captain agreed with my calculations.
"Which means The Covenant and the rebels acted together. Prepare for battle. Launch aviation."
"Corvettes undocking."
Two dozen Gladius-class corvettes stationed in the hangars flew out slowly, dropped by the gravity catapult. 243 meters long, two rocket launchers, and a laser anti-aircraft system. A support ship in its pure form. A narrow, forward-extended hull in the shape of a rounded parallelepiped. The Boundless Will's hangars accommodate them almost without modernization. Combat technology in my time was quite large.
The Covenant forces noticed us. Not that it will help them much. It seems they haven't realized yet who they're dealing with. The Boundless Will can simply shoot the Covenant forces without even approaching, but we need answers, and the crew needs training.
"We are being fired upon by torpedoes," I noted.
The Covenant ships lit up, and blue flashes, beams of kindness, and projectiles flew our way. The Captain watched as the hits shattered against the cruiser's bow shield. The shields practically didn't notice the hits. The Captain smirked into his mustache.
"So that's how it feels when they can't penetrate you. How does it feel to switch roles, eh? And yes, Khaela," my hologram tilted its eared head questioningly, "can we burn their equipment but not melt the ship itself?"
I replied easily:
"Of course. Changing the focusing module settings is not a problem. Shall I evaporate the cruisers with the secondary battery?"
The Captain thought and objected:
"No, better to disable all the ships. More chances for capture. At the same time, we'll test the Dolls."
Dolls are the new toy of the elite landing forces. Essentially remote-controlled robots. Quite expensive, as a quantum pair is needed for communication, and the Doll itself is fully equipped. Armor, personal shield, armored shield. Not the first such project; after all, Covenant plasma is good against synthetics, too good. Humans are simply cheaper.
With new technologies, they decided to try again. With shields, the chances are already much better. The first tests are encouraging; the survival rate of valuable specialists can be increased. Moreover, robots can do much more than a human, and Geth-based platforms are quite cheap.
The corvettes slowed down, maintaining distance from the carrier being fired upon by The Covenant, so as not to expose themselves to fire.
The carrier itself turned its turrets, like those once installed on the UNSC Apollo—five-hundred-meter beam weapons. Only in our case, this is the secondary, rapid-fire battery. And the Boundless Will has ten of them.
Yes, this is excessive power. But both Infinities can strike no less powerfully. Their heavy rail and similar beam towers are no worse. The Covenant took notice. A leisurely aiming of the weapons, a beam connects two points, and the Covenant ship, "bathed" in a stream of energy, ceased to show activity. And then its stern exploded in a blue flash. Reactor detonation, it happens. The Captain looked at me suspiciously.
"Let's lower the focus a bit."
Well, what can I do. This requires not just calculations but also knowing the exact state of the ship on the other side. If part of the projectors are knocked out in battle, the shield will be weaker. The Covenant seems to have started suspecting something.
"Energy accumulation underway!" one of the operators reported immediately.
The Captain frowned.
"Fire on the rest."
The second hit was already better. The ship was not destroyed, but the hull heated up noticeably. External equipment burned out. The third—another explosion.
New hits from Covenant beam weapons flashed on the shields. Unpleasant, but nothing serious. An operator, clearly realizing what had hit us, whistled.
"Look at those shields. We'll be taking out fleets single-handedly now."
Well, I wouldn't advise it. After all, dense fire or a beam of the right characteristics will certainly penetrate the defense. But yes, Humans have received their supercarriers, of their own construction.
The fourth shot took out the fourth cruiser. Only the CAS remained, on the bow of which a Slipspace rupture vortex was already forming. Let's add a little power. Three beams simultaneously struck the ship, obeying the program. The front third of the ship managed to submerge into the portal before it collapsed, and the glowing carcass of the ship drifted. A few seconds later, a blue flash of an explosion at the stern reported that the enemy's propulsion was dead. And the reactor too. And we were left with one relatively intact third of the ship. The middle. I remarked to the bridge crew:
"And why is that? Energy buildup for the transition to Slipspace. Energy doesn't disappear without a trace. Good thing it didn't explode."
To this perfectly accurate comment (I really cannot predict the result with precision to the tenth decimal place; we haven't had the chance to conduct tests), the Captain only waved his hand.
"Better than nothing. Bring us closer. And scan the surface; I want to know what to expect."
***
The capital of the Batarian Hegemony, Khar'Shan, is going through hard times. In less than a decade, the prosperous empire collapsed. Slaves and servants, those outcasts, decided to challenge traditions, chaos. And with the help of nonentities and cowards from the Citadel, they were even able not to fight among themselves, hold power, and build a parody of the mighty Hegemony.
Fools call their society slave-owning, tyrannical. And what of it? They simply don't understand—everyone must be in their place.
The poor, the good-for-nothings will be farmers and clean up after those who are better than them. After the creators and businessmen who will lead the state to greatness. Scientists must invent, soldiers guard order, and rulers—rule. The fusion of religion and social institutions for millennia ensured iron order, social...
The achievement of their goals was absolute.
They united under a strong hand, ventured into space despite far worse starting conditions, driven by sheer persistence and willpower. They shed blood and sweat for the sake of greatness. And now these ungrateful… Hypocrites!
Slaves? Back-breaking labor? As if the "pious" Asari don't have the same. Or other races. Omega, barely rebuilt, and the deep levels of the Citadel are populated by a labor force so disenfranchised and cheap that all the cries about "slavery" look simply ridiculous. A caste society provides them—the inhabitants of the social gutter—with work and food. It turns out that the Batarian Hegemony cares for the poorest strata of the population far better than all these upstarts.
The Administrator, leader of the Batarian Hegemony, took a glass from a tray held by a human slave, took a sip, and set it back. The woman didn't even flinch; she had been well-trained.
Human slaves are few, and they are valued. Especially since these are former military, quite stubborn, and breaking them requires a fairly harsh approach. But there is nothing the worthy cannot handle, provided they are properly motivated.
The Administrator walked to the panoramic window, surveying the city beneath him. His city. Beautiful multi-story buildings, dappled not only with white stone but with the greenery of plants meticulously grown by Geduns. A blue sky, white spires, the greenery of complex gardens, and the fine suits of worthy members of society. And somewhere down there, beneath them, are those who ensure the functioning of this mechanism. Of their entire civilization.
All of this is the result of order. The result of the labor of numerous castes. Builders, landscapers keeping the city in order, servants. The Administrator asked boredly:
"Tell me, is order a bad thing?"
The human slave, staring into space with a hollow gaze, replied:
"It is good, master."
"Exactly," the Batarian agreed lazily, "they gave all this up. Was it worth it?"
"No, master."
The truth. To think of it—allowing the lower castes into power! It's no wonder that all these years they've had continuous infighting and crises, both economic and social. No order. Yes, over these years they managed to stabilize the situation somewhat, that's true. They even built a functioning state, with the power of the workers and those among them who hustled to take the warmest spots. Economic growth even began, such that Batarian refugees started migrating from Omega to the rebels' worlds. As if that would help them.
Even now, it is but scraps compared to his stunning capital. The wealth and power of the worthy against equality and tastelessness. And this is with the help of the Citadel forces. Ridiculous. If they had invested in the Batarian Hegemony like that, instead of wasting energy on riots and cleaning up after them… But, what isn't there, isn't there.
Suddenly, the beep of the alert system sounded in the office. Without turning, the Administrator asked:
"What is it?"
They answered within a minute.
"There is a battle in orbit."
The Administrator turned to one of his deputies from the hereditary military caste. The man was clearly surprised. Not good.
"With whom? Who attacked my capital?"
The Administrator understood perfectly well that it couldn't be the forces of those "revolutionary workers," as they call themselves. They wouldn't have the strength to punch through planetary defenses head-on. And the elite troops of Khar'Shan live too well to betray for the sake of rebels. Of course, there is no trust, and surveillance is in place. The observers found nothing. Neither did the priests monitoring them. Which means it's someone unusual.
"We don't know. A ship of unknown design," and seeing the Administrator turn, eyeing him with a pair of right eyes, he explained, "it doesn't look like Human or Covenant ships. Not any known race. It's not the Citadel."
The Administrator held out his hand, and a tablet was immediately placed in it. The ship was indeed unfamiliar. On the recording, it looked like a marine inhabitant. An elongated black vessel with many metallic limbs (why?) rammed a dreadnought. And against the backdrop of the dreadnought, it was clear the ship was larger, much larger than a dreadnought. Roughly double. The dreadnought crumpled from the impact, and its armor was torn from the inside by a series of explosions. The black ship was indifferent; it flew on, attacking with a crimson beam.
"The ship has breached the defenses and is approaching the city. You should proceed to the shelter," the guard reported.
The Administrator nodded, though not immediately. And then a low hum rang out, making his insides tighten. It penetrated through the floors and insulation, and only the Administrator's self-control kept him from flinching. The slave cowered in the corner, dropping the tray. The soldiers raised their weapons, searching for an enemy. The Administrator took a step and looked out the window.
A ship. A colossal, magnificent machine, taller than the highest buildings, descended from the heavens. It wasn't attacking; it was more like it was falling toward the horizon, toward a residential sector of middle-wealth residents. He should have left, but the sight of the machine—leaving a trail of Yellow Mist behind it, flying over the city, and landing on the planet (something it shouldn't be able to do even in theory at such a size)—was mesmerizing. It was taller, much taller than the highest buildings. Like a Krogan towering over children. Like that brute who has lived in his arena for years. An animal eating slaves and the unworthy. An excellent demonstration of the Batarian Hegemony's superiority over these animals. But the Krogan is there, and the ship…
The ship touched the surface with its limbs, and then they buckled, and it simply toppled over, falling and crushing entire blocks with its colossal mass. Only a yellow trail remained in the air, proving that it could fly. The ship showed no further signs of activity.
"Seriously?" one of the guards asked in surprise, with clear disappointment.
The Administrator agreed with him, though he had to maintain his composure. He thought the machine would walk, not fall so pathetically.
"Cordon off the area. Capture it. Find out whose ship it is and who now owes the Batarian Hegemony for the restoration of my city," looking at the cowering slave, he made a short gesture, and the woman went into convulsions, "The floor is soiled. Clean it up."
The Administrator understood he should be glad that this ship, which had so easily pierced their defenses, was heavily damaged. And yet, the transformation of grace into wretchedness, the chaos brought, was irritating.
The slave was dragged away, and new servants began cleaning the spots on the floor when another guard ran in.
"Administrator! We must evacuate immediately! The ship has deployed troops! Advance units are being attacked by an unknown enemy!"
The irritation was almost physical, but the leader of the Batarian Hegemony was no fool and calmly headed into the depths of the palace. To where, according to ancestral tradition, a full-scale underground complex was located. Protected from literally everything, hidden at a depth of a kilometer.
Descending in the high-speed elevator, the Administrator demanded:
"Report on the invasion."
The military officer, performing a gesture of respect, said:
"We assumed the ship was damaged while breaching our defenses; interception squads were deployed. The debris was not cleared pending the completion of the sweep. A cloud of yellow spores is spreading from the ship in all directions, clogging armor filters. When the soldiers approached, they were attacked by strange creatures. Apparently, they survived the crash."
The tablet displayed bloated, hideous creatures. The Administrator looked closely.
"They are dressed like Batarians."
The warrior, careful not to offend, looked into the tablet, peering at the images. And indeed, the clothes on them were torn and dirty. But Batarian. The tablet beeped, and the Administrator, without asking permission, opened the message. He read it and handed it to the owner. The latter read it. Blinked.
"The enemy has breached the primary perimeter. Wounds are festering and becoming overgrown with an unknown fungus. Medi-gel does not help; the enemy is unfazed by bullets. They are requesting heavy equipment. It is recommended to evacuate the nearby blocks, ideally—the entire city."
The Administrator gave a short nod, and the subordinate understood perfectly. Finishing the reading and typing a reply, the general requested:
"You should probably leave the city, Administrator. Soon it will become a battlefield. Time is short."
The leader of the Batarian Hegemony nodded. The situation was definitely complicated.
***
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