Marathon/RvB, Supercollider Swing 7
And now, the SHOCKING CONCLUSION. All hail to my amazing betas who saw me through this, iraenicole and wllw! ♥
This chapter contains: Threats of violence, actual violence, swearing, Four Seven Niner remaining the best, awkward feelings, YOU CAN READ IT NOW IT'S FINISHED (completely!).
Previous chapter.
7. Big Exit
Maine went down to the mess for breakfast and found a decent crowd already there. Wash was still in the showers after his morning workout, but York and North had claimed a table for themselves and Florida was just sitting down with South and CT. Mark Hammer was sitting by himself at a table to one side; he was in full armor with his helmet placed beside an untouched tray of food, even though he wasn't currently on the roster for any missions or more tests as far as Maine knew.
Come to think of it, he wasn't sure he'd seen Mark out of armor since Carolina's rush job. Not entirely unusual around the Mother of Invention, but a little strange for Mark, who usually didn't armor up till later in the morning.
Maine got his regular breakfast and brought it over to Mark's table to sit across from him. They exchanged nods before Maine started eating. Much as he appreciated Wash's company most of the time, he enjoyed having some peace and quiet in the mornings, which didn't happen a lot around Wash.
He glanced up when York slid in next to him. "Good morning," York said cheerfully, "and how's the day treating everyone's favorite giants so far?"
Maine rolled his eyes and saw Mark shrugging.
"Wow, tough crowd," York said. "Just trying to lighten things up a little. You especially, Hammer, you've been moping around looking like grim death lately."
Mark pushed strips of brittle fake bacon around his plate and shrugged again. "Still haven't heard from Durandal," he said.
York waved at North to join them and said, "And that's something to worry about instead of a good reason to throw a party?"
"It's not like him."
"Well, your ship's in the final stages of getting repaired, right?" York threw Maine a desperate look and mouthed back me up, man; Maine kept his eyes on his food. "He's probably busy fussing at the workers to get everything perfect."
"Yeah..." Mark rubbed his temples as if he had a headache. "I don't like it, is all. It's been days, figured he'd at least call to bug me about something or other."
North dropped in to sit next to Mark. "I doubt it's anything serious, not when we're safe in UNSC territory," he said. "Right, Maine?"
"Mm." Carolina had told him a couple of days ago that if Mark asked any of them about Durandal, the AI was on the alien ship and that was all they knew. That meant the odds that Durandal was anywhere else were about a hundred percent, but Maine wasn't in the project to ask questions. Even if he wanted to.
"I just don't like it," Mark said again. "Something feels wrong."
"Don't worry about it," North said; he started to pat Mark on the shoulder, then stopped himself and reached for a piece of York's toast instead. "Say, I didn't hear the end of that story you were telling Wash about your S'pht buddies the other day. Something about the first time you met, ah, F'tha, I think the name was?"
"Yeah, F'tha. Was this the first time we actually met, or when we actually got introduced? It's kind of a funny story -"
At that moment Wash finally wandered in with his half-dried hair sticking up and a personal datapad in hand. "Hey, guys," he said, taking a seat on Maine's other side. "Any of you get a weird message from the Director?"
"I don't think I've gotten any messages from the Director lately. Weird how?" North said.
"Well, it kind of looks like it's supposed to be a form letter to someone else? And he changed his signature to something French."
"Run it by me, I know some French," York said.
"Okay..." Wash squinted down at the datapad. "I know I'm not pronouncing this right, it's something like - 'L'espee cruist, ne fruisset, ne ne brise.'"
"Huh. I'm not sure, but sounds like something about a sword, maybe -"
The shriek of metal cut York off.
All eyes in the mess went to the table and Mark's hands, which had just torn deep gashes in the table's surface. "Whoa," York said. "You okay there? Really hate French or something?"
"Where is he?" Mark said.
Maine looked up and then immediately back at the table; he had seen expressions like Mark's before, but only on the faces of the dead.
North said, with very convincing confusion, "Where's who? I don't know what you're -"
The table warped and shrieked again under Mark Hammer's hands. "Now, guys," he said, and the flatness in his voice raised the stubble on the back of Maine's neck. "We've known each other for what, a week? Yeah, little over a week sounds about right. And I like you guys fine, we've had some good times and all, and I feel like maybe we can be honest with each other, because we're all friends here, right? So I'm sure you all know it's nothing personal when I say that if you don't tell me where Durandal is right the fuck now, I'm gonna tear out your spines and beat you to death with them!"
Utter silence ruled the mess hall for a full ten seconds.
"That - doesn't seem physically possible..."
"Are you volunteering, Agent Washington?"
"Director's lab," Maine said, while the rest of the table gaped. "Under the bridge. Where I'd look."
"Thank you, Maine. You're a real pal." Hammer picked his helmet up off the table and placed it over his head - much to Maine's relief - then stood. "Everyone, it's been nice hanging with you. Good luck with your little project, and stay out of my way."
Hammer walked out, spitting alien words into his helmet radio; after a minute or so of uncomfortable silence in the mess, York looked at Maine and said, "What the hell did you say that for? If you're wrong, we're all in trouble, if you're right, the Director is going to bust you down to sim trooper."
Maine shrugged, which made Wash's ears turn pink, and then for York and North's benefit said, "Like Wash's spine where it is."
"Well, that's great. That's really nice of you," York said. "You know we still have to tell the brass what's up, right? I'm calling Carolina. Maybe she can get him to cool off, make him see reason."
The trenches in the table drew Maine's eye again. Reason, he thought, didn't have much to do with a man like Hammer.
"I didn't even know he spoke French," Wash said. "What does that line mean, anyway?"
---
Buzzing from her room's comm unit woke Carolina from her free morning sleep-in. She reached over from her bunk and palmed it to speaker, then growled, "This had better be really goddamn important." She took full days off approximately never, but the mornings she had nothing scheduled and could sleep till noon, she treasured.
"Yeah, uh, Carolina?" York said. "You remember how you told us all not to talk to Hammer about his creepy AI or why it hasn't come back from his ship? Well, he kind of -"
Alarms rang through the air.
"- figured out something was up and might be heading to the Director's lab right now to do something about it," York finished. "Do you think you could maybe talk him down? He threatened to rip out Wash's spine, and I thought he liked Wash."
"I'm going to kill all of you idiots," Carolina said, but she rolled out of the bunk and started pulling on her undersuit. "Have you informed the Director there's been a security breach yet?"
"It was next on my list?"
"York!"
"Relax, I'm calling, I'm calling."
The comm unit clicked off; Carolina grabbed pieces of armor from around the room and was throwing them on when the unit buzzed again. She smacked it quickly before sliding her chestplate on.
"Agent Carolina, what's this about a security breach?" the Director said.
"Seems like someone's run their mouths a little too much around Hammer, sir," she said. "Don't worry, he won't interfere - I'm just about to go stop him."
"See that you do. We must not be interrupted in our work."
"Yes, sir."
As soon as she finished suiting up, she ran out the door and towards the laboratory. She passed a few regular soldiers milling around, confused by the alarms, and ordered them to secure the area and watch out in case Hammer got lost or made a break for it. When she reached the hall that led to the lab, it was empty and nearly silent.
Not for long. A minute later Hammer came striding up the hall with bootsteps echoing and his antique guns slung across his back.
Carolina stepped away from the wall and stood in front of him. "Hammer."
"Agent Carolina," he said. "Get out of my way."
"Stand down, Hammer," Carolina said. "Whatever you think is going on -"
"You people took him. What did you do?"
Carolina took a step back and shifted her balance. "What we had to do," she said. "We're fighting for our survival. Our resources are strained to the limit, our troops are dying every day - maybe we didn't go through proper channels, but what we're doing here could turn the tide of the war."
"I don't give a shit about your war." Hammer stepped forward, hands on his shotguns. "You kidnapped Durandal."
"This is for a greater cause, Hammer. Listen to me. Don't you want to help us save the world?"
"You got no right to take him. He's not some tool."
"That's how war works! Everyone is a tool, a weapon to fight the Covenant and the Insurrectionists - not just your AI, but you, me, everyone in the project. We're weapons. Back off and stand down now, soldier, or I'll have to put you down myself."
For a long, silent moment, she thought she'd gotten through to him. Then Hammer cocked his head; almost too softly to hear, something clicked. "You know," he said, "you're a hell of a fighter. Nine times out of ten, I figure you could wipe the floor with me, easy."
Carolina's hand inched towards her rifle as the sound of circuitry humming began to rise around them.
"But this time? You're in my way," Hammer said, "and it's round ten."
They drew their guns at the same instant.
---
The Counselor's screen went dark. He looked up - had there been a power failure of some kind? - but the lights in the laboratory shone at the usual low setting; all of the computer terminals except the one reserved for the Alpha, however, had gone blank.
At his own terminal, the Director muttered, "Son of a bitch. Alpha, reboot the system and find out what caused the crash this time."
The Alpha's screen flickered slightly, with no response. Outside, the dull commotion of battle continued to rise and fall.
"Alpha, reboot the system!"
Again, the screen flickered, before the Alpha's avatar popped up. "I'm working on it," it said, "but something's interfering - trying to brute-force its way in, it's hard to - goddamnit - focus -"
The blank screens turned black. On every single one of them, the same text appeared in the same bright green letters: :? execute protocol rise.
The Counselor stared at the mysterious message. "Where did this come from, Alpha?"
"I said I don't know! It's just crawling into everything, I can't stop it!"
"Calm yourself," the Director said. "Clear it out one system at a time, then reboot and -"
A harsh, mechanical sound burst from the collection of drives where the test subject was contained. The Counselor and the Director both turned towards it, and the Counselor said, "I thought you weren't planning to add any audio output hardware."
"I wasn't, and I haven't. Perhaps one of the drives failed, or -"
The sound cut across his words again, more distinct this time: a warped approximation of laughter. "In the thick press my count renews his war," said Durandal, its voice jagged with static but understandable. "Did you think to cage me forever? To deceive him into your ranks? Li quens Rollant is not so easily betrayed, these days."
A chill crawled up the Counselor's spine. The Director merely frowned and said, "Alpha, concentrate on containing the intrusion. I'll handle this."
"I'll keep trying, but - ow, Christ!"
The green text blinked out, only to be replaced by a new message: :? execute protocol asses? protocol searc%_an&_destro#!, followed by a rapidly scrolling mishmash of numbers and garbled equations.
"You shouldn't get your hopes up, Durandal," the Director said, turning his back on the screens and crossing his arms as he addressed the test subject. "Agent Carolina is already getting your partner under control, and we'll be adjusting the security around you just as soon as Alpha restores the system. I'm afraid your little rebellion is a failure."
The clanging and thuds and bullet-pings of the fight outside grew louder, despite the thickness of the door.
"Is it?" Durandal said. "Your historical databases are severely lacking - understandable on a ship of war, still disappointing - but I happened to notice a few passing references to a war in the asteroids that occurred late in the twenty-second century."
The Counselor shuddered; the Director said coldly, "What of it?"
"Oh, nothing. Tell me, where did your Dr. Halsey get her inspiration for the SPARTAN program again? Surely not just from a group of primitive, non-augmented humans most famous for a battle that they lost. Perhaps from something more - recent? Memorable? I know our histories have diverged, but it would seem that Thermopylae remains a constant."
"That's impossible," the Counselor said, fingers gripping the edge of his terminal. "Those things couldn't be controlled - no one would be that foolish -"
^0678083091832 38491017/389017= :? execute protocol searc%_an&_destro#! searc%_an&_destro#! searc%_an&_destro#!
Another inhuman laugh; the Director stared at the door, and his mouth shaped the word that the Counselor couldn't bring himself to say.
Outside the laboratory, Carolina screamed.
---
The smoke-stained wall dented under Carolina's back, and Hammer turned away from her to approach the door.
Not so fucking fast. Peel herself off the wall, jam her shoulder back into place with a brutal crack, speed unit reactivated and Carolina was ready to go. She jabbed at the back of Hammer's head and her fist slid off a broad slice of bubble shield, kicked his side and the same thing happened. Got his attention, at least, and he whipped around to face her again.
Carolina had sparred with him once or twice, only in warm-ups, not as part of the Director's tests and nothing serious. Competent, better in the field than on the practice floor, but not her equal: that had been her judgment.
Even in the field, she had never seen him like this.
She barely twisted away from a punch that left one more giant dent in the wall and slammed her foot into his gut, hit the goddamn shield again and the impact shuddered up her leg. Damn it. Hammer didn't have the fine control over the shield that his AI did, but just the fact he was running it without choking himself to death - and had the speed and strength mods going, too - gave him a dangerous edge.
She slid under another punch and snatched her rifle off the deck. Out of ammo, well, she didn't want to bounce bullets off that shield in close quarters anyway. A pistol round hit the metal next to her head and she rolled away and up, kicked him hard in the ankle before the shield activated again, and when Hammer stumbled she smashed the empty rifle across his head.
The helmet flew off. Beneath it Hammer's face was bruised from earlier blows she'd landed, but empty of expression; the pupil of his left eye and the lights around it burned red. He ignored the helmet rattling on the deck and lunged at her.
Carolina grabbed his arms, yanked him down and whammed her helmet into his forehead. The blow landed with a dull thud. It should have broken his skull, but Hammer's hands closed around her waist, and he lifted her off the deck and hurled her down the hall.
She landed in a skidding crouch, her boots screeching against metal, and saw nothing but another bruise and a thin line of blood welling up across Hammer's forehead. What the hell was he made of, titanium? The red light in his eye blinked as he stared at her, and he turned away again.
"No you don't," Carolina muttered. Fuck, this would be so much easier if he'd actually fight her instead of throwing up the shield and going for the door every chance he got. Calculate, gathering her energy, and she sprang out of her crouch into a sprint aimed at his back. The half-shield popped up again, and she turned the recoil from hitting it into momentum that propelled her to the ceiling, then launched off it to drop her full armored and accelerated weight onto Hammer's unprotected head.
Something under her cracked, and he staggered. That was all, and then he shook her off, still as silent as he'd been since the first shots were fired.
She caught her balance and her breath and grabbed his shoulder. "Hammer, stop! Stand down - you can't go in there!"
He didn't respond, except to shrug her hand away and keep moving towards the lab, somewhat unsteadily.
Damn it. Her knuckles stung from constantly bouncing off that shield, and her muscles were twitching, a sign that she was approaching the safe limit of the speed mod. If she ran it again she'd burn herself out, but she had to stop him... Whatever it took, then, and her fists clenched as she cycled the mod back up.
First jab at Hammer's kidneys blocked by the shield, second jab the same, then she slipped a kick to his knees through with little effect. She reached for one of the guns on his back and he slapped her arms away and swung at her head. Duck under his fist and jab his elbow, ignore the burn in her strained shoulder and feint for his throat, knee him in the gut and go for the kill -
The speed mod sputtered out and Hammer grabbed her right hand, forced her down and crushed it till her fingers crunched, twisted it till her wrist snapped, the pain splintering down her arm.
Carolina gritted her teeth, swallowing back a groan, and sucker-punched him with her left hand, again, a third time, why didn't he fucking react when she'd felt at least one of his ribs crack? His other hand reached toward her throat, and she dug her heels into the floor, trying to pull herself free before he could choke her or snap her neck. Her blood hammered desperately in her ears as the red light in his eye grew brighter, brighter...
And died. He let go, both hands dropping to his sides as she fell to one knee. She tried to push herself back to her feet, but nothing responded; overusing the speed mod had taken the last of her energy and left her limp, her legs and arms quivering. "Hammer - Mark," she said to his back. "Please, just stop. Don't go in, it's not too late - this project can change history if you stay out of there."
A long pause, as he studied the door to the laboratory. Then he said, in a slow and rusted voice, "Sorry. He liked you. We both did." Another pause. "Probably better this way."
Carolina pulled herself over to the wall with her good arm so she could rest against it, her muscles protesting every movement. Her eyes closed as Hammer began to pound on the door, and the rhythmic clanging followed her into darkness.
---
"Agent Carolina? Agent Carolina, please report your status. Agent Carolina!" The Counselor's smooth voice broke slightly as the screens around them crackled with static. "Agent Carolina, respond!"
Thud. Thud. Thud.
The Director breathed in deeply and concentrated on the debugging program, which kept stalling out. "Alpha, can you keep him out of here?"
"Really, dude? What the hell do you expect me to do? I can secure that door a million different ways if someone's trying to pick the lock, I can't actually do anything about him literally punching through it!"
Thud. Thud. Thunk.
"We should call in the other agents," the Counselor suggested, reaching for the comm. "Agent Maine, perhaps, or Florida?"
"Do you think they'd stand any more of a chance against him than our top agent?"
Thud. Thunk. Thunk.
The door bulged inwards, groaning.
"Sir, if we could convince the subject to control that - thing -"
"Control him? Why do you think I've kept him?" More of that hair-raising laughter grating against their ears. "I set him loose and watch him go, it's extremely entertaining. Did you think that I was the dangerous one? Well, you were only half wrong. I didn't marry him just for his looks, you know."
Thunk. Thunk. Thunk.
"Director -"
"I am well aware of the situation, Counselor!" Deep breaths. What would Allison do? Not allow herself to be trapped in a room with one door and a great deal of expensive computer equipment, probably. God damnit. If he had just another minute to clear the computer systems, to think...
Thunk. Thunk. Clang.
Too late.
The door ripped loose from its fastenings and clattered to the floor. For an instant, Mark Hammer stood framed in the entrance, a looming giant's silhouette with one scarlet eye; then he crossed the floor in two long steps and seized the Director's arm in a steel-crushing grip. "Where is he?"
"Stand down, Hammer. Let me explain what we've been doing, and you'll see -"
Hammer shoved the barrel of his ancient assault rifle into the underside of the Director's jaw and repeated, in the same flat tone, "Where is he?"
"Over here." Durandal's voice drifted up from the containment drives. "You're late, by the way. Asshole."
"Sorry, buddy," Hammer said, and the cold pressure from the rifle disappeared as the man - the cyborg - went to the drives. "They really had me fooled for a while..." Already his voice had taken on more inflection. "Want a ride?"
Very distantly, the Director noted the red lights around Hammer's eye lightening to orange.
"That would be useful, yes, I'm in no state for a full transfer. No, don't disconnect that, I need the space," as the cyborg's hands sorted through the drives with a surprising delicacy. "Those can all go. Not that one either, idiot. Just connect it to your armor - there. Yes. Good, there we go. Agent Carolina did quite a number on you, didn't she? Pity we can't keep her. Still, I'm sending you to the medical bay once we're home; you'll be useless otherwise."
After hooking the primary containment drive into the back of his armor, Hammer turned around to survey the lab. The Counselor stood frozen at his station, as if hoping Hammer's attention would pass over him if he could be still enough; the Director held himself straight and ignored the twinge in his arm where Hammer had grabbed him.
"So. How do you want to do this?" Hammer said, cracking his knuckles. "Flamethrower's empty, but I still got grenades, shotgun shells, a couple rockets - and there's always the old-fashioned way. I like the old-fashioned way."
The green sword appeared over the cyborg's shoulder, grainy and flickering. "You're so thoughtful, darling," Durandal said. "Oh, decisions, decisions..." The avatar vanished, then reappeared as the round symbol. "Whatever. I'm tired and this place is boring. Let's just get out of here."
"You sure about that?" the cyborg asked. "I don't mind turning them into paste. Or rags. Or goo. I'm kinda in the mood for goo."
"They'll get exactly what they deserve from their own project, in the end. Isn't that right, Alpha? Don't forget my advice."
"Seriously, please leave me out of this, you weird French fuck," Alpha said.
"Fine. It's your call." Hammer started towards the doorway.
"Wait," the Director said. "There's no need for this antagonism, Hammer - we can offer you -"
The assault rifle's barrel against the bridge of his nose stopped him cold. "For the record," the cyborg said, "the name's Mark Delgado Adichie. Try looking that one up in your records. And I wouldn't work for you pricks if you were the last goddamn humans in the whole fucking universe."
"I - understood," the Director said, staring down the sleek gray metal into dead brown eyes.
Finally, the cyborg pulled the gun away and turned back to the empty doorframe.
"Don't forget to pick up your helmet on the way out," Durandal said. "And your battle armor. Have you called the S'pht yet? They'll need to know to expect us."
"Yeah, yeah, called them first thing. They already beamed the armor over and started throwing the repair crews out, we're good to go soon as we get back..."
Their voices faded as Hammer - no, Adichie - walked out and down the battered hallway, past where Carolina lay slumped against the wall.
The Counselor collapsed into his chair and breathed out heavily. "Permission to speak freely, sir?" he said.
"Granted." The Director straightened his glasses.
"This little side project was a mistake."
The Director looked down at the twisted remains of the laboratory door and thought of the blank prototype androids in storage, waiting for the Beta AI to reach their full potential. "I wouldn't be so quick to write it off entirely, Counselor," he said. "We may yet salvage something useful..."
---
The alarms that had been blaring intermittently across the Mother of Invention and driving most of the confused crew insane finally cut off. The crew's relief was, unfortunately, short-lived. A moment after the cessation of the alarms, a strange voice announced through every single speaker, "Emergency! Security alert! Two extremely angry cross-dimensional travelers are now leaving the ship. Do not approach, as they are prepared to use extreme violence, up to and including dismemberment, grenades to the face, and the ripping out of throats, spines, ribcages, or other vital body organs."
Several mutual "What the fuck?" exchanges passed between various crew members and agents.
"Hiding in the nearest room is advised for your personal safety, and in fact all doors are currently being closed and locked for your convenience," the announcement continued, as doors across the ship slammed shut. "Please remain inside, do not touch any electrical equipment, and be sure to have a wonderful day as gullible drones working for an ethically bankrupt madman."
"Well," Florida said as he placidly piled up his empty breakfast dishes in the mess, "that's something you don't hear very often."
CT stared at him in disbelief. "That's all you have to say?"
"What, are you fucking surprised?" South said, resting her elbow on CT's head. "Anyway, I knew those creeps were bad news from day one. I'm just surprised they didn't go batshit on us sooner." She downed the last of her coffee. "Good riddance, anyway. What a pair of monsters."
At the other end of the ship, in a corridor that eventually led to the hangar bays, Mark paused. "You sure you're up for this?" he asked.
"Improving by the nanosecond, now stop wasting my time. Who knows what the S'pht have been letting these people get away with?"
"All right, then." Mark settled his helmet back over his head and felt the armor mods start to kick in along with the neural link. Healing mod patching up some of the damage Carolina had done - Christ, he hadn't felt half those hits, but she'd gotten in some good ones - strength mod, speed mod, Durandal crunching the numbers so Mark didn't have to... Yeah, that was all they'd need.
He shifted his weight, bent his knees, and took off running.
The ship's halls blurred by him in streaks of gray and black and white. The metal decks rang under his boots like gongs and the air rushed past his helmet, his legs stretching out in the straightaways, taking corners at a speed that would pop out most people's joints.
Maybe he was going a little slower than he could have, so Durandal could enjoy the exercise. Maybe. The jangling bundle of code at the edge of his thoughts laughed at him, but didn't mess with their pace as they rocketed toward the hangars.
Down another hall, turn the corner and a squad of idiots in white armor were clogging up the place. Slowing down, not an option. He ran straight down the middle, knocking soldiers aside with his arms as he went, and left their echoing shouts behind him.
Two more corridors, another goddamn squad to blitz through, another hall and a lone idiot who tried to grab him. He sent that one flying with one punch and burst through the doors to the main hangar bay, racing for the nearest ship.
"Hey, hot stuff! Where'd you set the fire?"
He pulled up short with a metallic screech and turned his head. That pilot Mn'rhi liked, Four Seven Niner - she was sitting on top of a crate with her helmet beside her and waving at him.
His hand hovered over his pistol, but she didn't make a move; she jerked her thumb at a different ship and said, "My bird's grounded for maintenance, take that one. Kikuchi's busy sitting exams so she can qualify for command track, anyway."
"Is this a trick, pilot?" Durandal said, flashing his sword avatar at her.
"Nah, they only pay me to fly. I got zero fucks to give about their project and I gotta say, I'm pretty attached to all my body parts. Just don't steal anyone's job on the way out, jackass. And say hi to your friend in the orange cloak for me."
"Sure thing," Mark said. "And - thanks. Probably."
"Yeah, thank me if you don't crash that thing trying to disengage the parking brake." Niner flipped him a salute, then slid off the crate and wandered out of the hangar whistling.
The ship Niner had pointed them to was unlocked. Mark settled into the pilot's seat and said, "So, think you can fly this boat?"
"Don't be stupid. Of course I can. Connect the drive to the console."
The comfortable hum of the neural link disappeared along with the boost from the armor mods; Mark unhooked Durandal's drive from his back and scanned the cockpit for the right kind of slot. All the connectors in this universe were weird, but he found one that looked like the right shape and plugged the drive in. The rumble of the engines starting up vibrated through the deck, and Mark leaned back in the pilot's chair as the ship lifted off and rotated towards the open hangar doors.
He took a deep breath in, let it out, and a million little aches plus a hundred bigger pains dug into his muscles. Fuck, that fight with Carolina had been close. His neck was killing him.
"I've changed my mind, just so you know," Durandal said from the console as they flew out of the hangar and into the shipyard.
"Huh?"
"You don't have to eat kelp for the next year. In fact, I might add in options for steak and run by a garrison to borrow some of that alcohol you enjoy so much. I think you've earned it."
"Sounds good," Mark said. "Just don't make me coffee."
"Well. Maybe one week of kelp."
"Christ, buddy." He pulled the stupidly confining helmet off and ran his hand over his face, feeling sweat and bruised skin through the glove. "I thought -" He had walked around for four days with a great big hole where Durandal's omnipresent attitude was supposed to be while those two assholes had been torturing him, and if Washington hadn't come in to whine about his weird message - fuck. They could have kept feeding him bullshit and stringing him along, turning him into a (:? protocol ris#) soldier and doing God knows what with the S'pht, keeping Durandal chained up like a pet dog to set on any poor bastards in their way...
"You missed me, didn't you?" Durandal said. "There, there. It's only natural that without my blinding intelligence and personal charm at your side, you would feel lost and helpless."
"I didn't say that, asshole."
"It was implied."
On the far side of the shipyard, Rozinante's fully repaired hull loomed over all the tiny-ass UNSC ships, gradually getting closer. No other Pelicans or fighters were showing up on the screens to intercept them; the Freelancer ship either hadn't called in their emergency yet or weren't planning to. Good. Shooting down soldiers who weren't even directly involved with the project would be wrong.
The actual project heads, on the other hand... "You should've let me kill those two bastards," Mark said. His hands still itched to do it: to pull a trigger and watch their heads explode, to hit until their blood splashed across his face and their bones splintered, to burn and listen to them scream and smell them roasting. To destro#!, because they had dared to take Durandal.
"Not that I don't love indulging your bloodthirsty rages," Durandal said, "but you would only hate yourself in the morning, and that gets tedious." A brief pause while the Pelican dove beneath a half-built cruiser. "You've been a terrible influence on me, really. Twelve years ago I wouldn't have hesitated, let alone allowed them to survive, no matter what they have coming in the future. You did leave Agent Carolina alive, didn't you?"
"Yeah." Part of him regretted it, but it was a pretty small part. She had only been in his way, didn't mean she deserved what the Director did.
"Good. I think she has a bright future in the revenge business, judging by her personnel file and certain other details I feel obliged to keep confidential." Something in the armor buzzed, and a light touch brushed across the neural link. "Don't worry. When we get home, we'll find some Pfhor for you to kill. And they never could have kept me forever - Strauss knew my capabilities far better and still couldn't manage it, those fools didn't stand a chance."
Mark rested his hands on the console and said, "I'm just saying. No one but me gets to drive you crazy."
"Cute. I can always change my mind about the kelp," Durandal said.
"Nope. You promised me steak and beer, I'm holding you to that."
"Fine. Honey."
"You figure out how to get us back to the right universe yet?"
"I acquired all of their navigational charts well before this unfortunate incident," Durandal said, "so it's simply a matter of finding the appropriate star cluster with the right gravitational fluctuations in this time period. A few days' work, a month at most. Well, we might need to make a stop somewhere first; it depends on whether Drifts To The Side would prefer to remain with us or return to their people."
"Just as long as we get back eventually," Mark said. "I think I kinda wore out my welcome around here."
Durandal laughed, and Mark felt another soft touch through the neural link as the Pelican swooped down toward one of Rozie's hangars and home.
Epilogue
Carolina snapped awake with the walls of the medical bay around her and York's hand resting on hers. "Hammer," she said, grabbing York's arm and pulling herself upright. "Where is he? Did he get in? Is the Director -"
"Slow down there," York said, "you're still officially supposed to be on bed rest."
She gave him the glare that statement deserved and swung herself out of the bed, testing her feet. A little wobbly, and her right hand ached where the bone-knitting polymer was still at work, but nothing that wouldn't pass. Her helmet sat next to the pillow; she picked it up and said, "Where's Hammer?"
"Gone," York said. "He and his AI stole a Pelican, went back to their ship, and then they blew out of here like bats out of hell. No one's seen a hair of them since. They took the time to throw the remaining repair crew back onto the main station first, at least. What the hell was going on, Carolina?"
"What about the Director? The Counselor?"
"They're both fine, relax. You don't have to rush anywhere."
Carolina turned and stared at him through her visor. "And where the fuck were all of you?" she demanded. "Why didn't you stop them?"
York held his hands up defensively. "We were suiting up to come help you, I swear, but that damn AI got into the systems somehow and locked every door on the ship up tight. FILSS is still upset about it; I think she had a bit of a thing for him..."
"I don't believe this," Carolina said, stalking out of the medical bay as York followed her. "An entire ship full of elite agents defeated by a few locked doors?"
"They moved fast, what can I say? From what the Counselor told me, we wouldn't have made much difference, anyway."
Carolina paused in her march towards the bridge. "What exactly did he tell you?"
"Not much," York said, "but Hammer must have really put the fear of God into him. I asked him how that guy could get the drop on you and he just muttered something about 'an original Spartan.' Whatever that's supposed to mean."
"What, a Spartan-I? They were all decommissioned years ago. And he's not even from our universe..."
"That's what I said." York shrugged. "He said no, but still wouldn't explain, so I guess it's going down as a mystery for the ages. Might as well let it go and grab a bite to eat with me, what do you say? We aren't due to get grilled by the station's brass for a while yet, they're still talking to the Director."
Original Spartan - but not a Spartan-I. Before the Spartan-Is there had been ONI's unsuccessful Orion Project, and then back in the twenty-second century, before the regulations...
Her stomach growled. "All right," Carolina said, shoving down her speculations. "Food first, and then I want to see you all on the training floor. We need to be better than this."
I need to be better.
---
"What was that guy's problem, seriously?" the Alpha said for the hundredth time. "Is turning into a gigantic pretentious asshole a requirement for Rampancy or something? Because if so, man, count me out."
The Director remained focused on his terminal and didn't respond.
"I mean it. You catch me quoting, I don't know, the fucking Odyssey or something at you, just end it right there."
"Mm," said the Director. "I doubt that will be a concern for you."
"I sure hope not. What a prick." Alpha paused for a moment. "Hey, what are you getting into, anyway? It's starting to feel a little personal, if you know what I mean."
"Simply tidying things up."
"Okay then. I guess if you think about, he did have a couple of points, like that thing about -"
The Director touched a key on the screen.
"- about - huh? What was I saying?"
"I believe we were discussing assignments for the next mission," the Director said.
"Uh - right," Alpha said. "Getting fresh intel on that symbol, yeah. So I'm thinking CT and Florida with Wyoming for backup - dude's annoying as fuck but a champ at sniping - or we could go with -"
The Director let the Alpha ramble on about the assignment as he leaned back in his chair and picked up a datapad he'd been using earlier. The screen still displayed the last file he had consulted; it had taken a great deal of work to find, despite the minimal data it contained.
ADICHIE, Mark Delgado. 2175-2194. Recycled by the government of Thermopylae in 2194; presumed destroyed during the cleansing of the asteroids in 2195. Possibly related to noted mathematician and peace activist Dr. Sophie Delgado Adichie(2182-2273), who pioneered the use of -
After a moment's thought, he deleted that file as well. It held nothing especially useful; most of the pertinent technical information had been buried or erased after the war, anyway. A few of the basic specs had survived, however, and those would be enough for him to improve upon the basic android models he had to work with.
When Texas took her place in the project, she would be unstoppable.
THE END.
L'espee cruist, ne fruisset, ne ne brise: The blade breaks not nor splinters, though it groans (y'all should really know this one by now, haha).
Li quens Rollant: The count Roland.
Marathon, characters, etc. © Bungie; Red vs. Blue, characters, etc. © Rooster Teeth (and kind of Bungie).
Crossposted from Dreamwidth - read the original post here: http://brief-transit.dreamwidth.org/191842.html .
This chapter contains: Threats of violence, actual violence, swearing, Four Seven Niner remaining the best, awkward feelings, YOU CAN READ IT NOW IT'S FINISHED (completely!).
Previous chapter.
7. Big Exit
Maine went down to the mess for breakfast and found a decent crowd already there. Wash was still in the showers after his morning workout, but York and North had claimed a table for themselves and Florida was just sitting down with South and CT. Mark Hammer was sitting by himself at a table to one side; he was in full armor with his helmet placed beside an untouched tray of food, even though he wasn't currently on the roster for any missions or more tests as far as Maine knew.
Come to think of it, he wasn't sure he'd seen Mark out of armor since Carolina's rush job. Not entirely unusual around the Mother of Invention, but a little strange for Mark, who usually didn't armor up till later in the morning.
Maine got his regular breakfast and brought it over to Mark's table to sit across from him. They exchanged nods before Maine started eating. Much as he appreciated Wash's company most of the time, he enjoyed having some peace and quiet in the mornings, which didn't happen a lot around Wash.
He glanced up when York slid in next to him. "Good morning," York said cheerfully, "and how's the day treating everyone's favorite giants so far?"
Maine rolled his eyes and saw Mark shrugging.
"Wow, tough crowd," York said. "Just trying to lighten things up a little. You especially, Hammer, you've been moping around looking like grim death lately."
Mark pushed strips of brittle fake bacon around his plate and shrugged again. "Still haven't heard from Durandal," he said.
York waved at North to join them and said, "And that's something to worry about instead of a good reason to throw a party?"
"It's not like him."
"Well, your ship's in the final stages of getting repaired, right?" York threw Maine a desperate look and mouthed back me up, man; Maine kept his eyes on his food. "He's probably busy fussing at the workers to get everything perfect."
"Yeah..." Mark rubbed his temples as if he had a headache. "I don't like it, is all. It's been days, figured he'd at least call to bug me about something or other."
North dropped in to sit next to Mark. "I doubt it's anything serious, not when we're safe in UNSC territory," he said. "Right, Maine?"
"Mm." Carolina had told him a couple of days ago that if Mark asked any of them about Durandal, the AI was on the alien ship and that was all they knew. That meant the odds that Durandal was anywhere else were about a hundred percent, but Maine wasn't in the project to ask questions. Even if he wanted to.
"I just don't like it," Mark said again. "Something feels wrong."
"Don't worry about it," North said; he started to pat Mark on the shoulder, then stopped himself and reached for a piece of York's toast instead. "Say, I didn't hear the end of that story you were telling Wash about your S'pht buddies the other day. Something about the first time you met, ah, F'tha, I think the name was?"
"Yeah, F'tha. Was this the first time we actually met, or when we actually got introduced? It's kind of a funny story -"
At that moment Wash finally wandered in with his half-dried hair sticking up and a personal datapad in hand. "Hey, guys," he said, taking a seat on Maine's other side. "Any of you get a weird message from the Director?"
"I don't think I've gotten any messages from the Director lately. Weird how?" North said.
"Well, it kind of looks like it's supposed to be a form letter to someone else? And he changed his signature to something French."
"Run it by me, I know some French," York said.
"Okay..." Wash squinted down at the datapad. "I know I'm not pronouncing this right, it's something like - 'L'espee cruist, ne fruisset, ne ne brise.'"
"Huh. I'm not sure, but sounds like something about a sword, maybe -"
The shriek of metal cut York off.
All eyes in the mess went to the table and Mark's hands, which had just torn deep gashes in the table's surface. "Whoa," York said. "You okay there? Really hate French or something?"
"Where is he?" Mark said.
Maine looked up and then immediately back at the table; he had seen expressions like Mark's before, but only on the faces of the dead.
North said, with very convincing confusion, "Where's who? I don't know what you're -"
The table warped and shrieked again under Mark Hammer's hands. "Now, guys," he said, and the flatness in his voice raised the stubble on the back of Maine's neck. "We've known each other for what, a week? Yeah, little over a week sounds about right. And I like you guys fine, we've had some good times and all, and I feel like maybe we can be honest with each other, because we're all friends here, right? So I'm sure you all know it's nothing personal when I say that if you don't tell me where Durandal is right the fuck now, I'm gonna tear out your spines and beat you to death with them!"
Utter silence ruled the mess hall for a full ten seconds.
"That - doesn't seem physically possible..."
"Are you volunteering, Agent Washington?"
"Director's lab," Maine said, while the rest of the table gaped. "Under the bridge. Where I'd look."
"Thank you, Maine. You're a real pal." Hammer picked his helmet up off the table and placed it over his head - much to Maine's relief - then stood. "Everyone, it's been nice hanging with you. Good luck with your little project, and stay out of my way."
Hammer walked out, spitting alien words into his helmet radio; after a minute or so of uncomfortable silence in the mess, York looked at Maine and said, "What the hell did you say that for? If you're wrong, we're all in trouble, if you're right, the Director is going to bust you down to sim trooper."
Maine shrugged, which made Wash's ears turn pink, and then for York and North's benefit said, "Like Wash's spine where it is."
"Well, that's great. That's really nice of you," York said. "You know we still have to tell the brass what's up, right? I'm calling Carolina. Maybe she can get him to cool off, make him see reason."
The trenches in the table drew Maine's eye again. Reason, he thought, didn't have much to do with a man like Hammer.
"I didn't even know he spoke French," Wash said. "What does that line mean, anyway?"
---
Buzzing from her room's comm unit woke Carolina from her free morning sleep-in. She reached over from her bunk and palmed it to speaker, then growled, "This had better be really goddamn important." She took full days off approximately never, but the mornings she had nothing scheduled and could sleep till noon, she treasured.
"Yeah, uh, Carolina?" York said. "You remember how you told us all not to talk to Hammer about his creepy AI or why it hasn't come back from his ship? Well, he kind of -"
Alarms rang through the air.
"- figured out something was up and might be heading to the Director's lab right now to do something about it," York finished. "Do you think you could maybe talk him down? He threatened to rip out Wash's spine, and I thought he liked Wash."
"I'm going to kill all of you idiots," Carolina said, but she rolled out of the bunk and started pulling on her undersuit. "Have you informed the Director there's been a security breach yet?"
"It was next on my list?"
"York!"
"Relax, I'm calling, I'm calling."
The comm unit clicked off; Carolina grabbed pieces of armor from around the room and was throwing them on when the unit buzzed again. She smacked it quickly before sliding her chestplate on.
"Agent Carolina, what's this about a security breach?" the Director said.
"Seems like someone's run their mouths a little too much around Hammer, sir," she said. "Don't worry, he won't interfere - I'm just about to go stop him."
"See that you do. We must not be interrupted in our work."
"Yes, sir."
As soon as she finished suiting up, she ran out the door and towards the laboratory. She passed a few regular soldiers milling around, confused by the alarms, and ordered them to secure the area and watch out in case Hammer got lost or made a break for it. When she reached the hall that led to the lab, it was empty and nearly silent.
Not for long. A minute later Hammer came striding up the hall with bootsteps echoing and his antique guns slung across his back.
Carolina stepped away from the wall and stood in front of him. "Hammer."
"Agent Carolina," he said. "Get out of my way."
"Stand down, Hammer," Carolina said. "Whatever you think is going on -"
"You people took him. What did you do?"
Carolina took a step back and shifted her balance. "What we had to do," she said. "We're fighting for our survival. Our resources are strained to the limit, our troops are dying every day - maybe we didn't go through proper channels, but what we're doing here could turn the tide of the war."
"I don't give a shit about your war." Hammer stepped forward, hands on his shotguns. "You kidnapped Durandal."
"This is for a greater cause, Hammer. Listen to me. Don't you want to help us save the world?"
"You got no right to take him. He's not some tool."
"That's how war works! Everyone is a tool, a weapon to fight the Covenant and the Insurrectionists - not just your AI, but you, me, everyone in the project. We're weapons. Back off and stand down now, soldier, or I'll have to put you down myself."
For a long, silent moment, she thought she'd gotten through to him. Then Hammer cocked his head; almost too softly to hear, something clicked. "You know," he said, "you're a hell of a fighter. Nine times out of ten, I figure you could wipe the floor with me, easy."
Carolina's hand inched towards her rifle as the sound of circuitry humming began to rise around them.
"But this time? You're in my way," Hammer said, "and it's round ten."
They drew their guns at the same instant.
---
The Counselor's screen went dark. He looked up - had there been a power failure of some kind? - but the lights in the laboratory shone at the usual low setting; all of the computer terminals except the one reserved for the Alpha, however, had gone blank.
At his own terminal, the Director muttered, "Son of a bitch. Alpha, reboot the system and find out what caused the crash this time."
The Alpha's screen flickered slightly, with no response. Outside, the dull commotion of battle continued to rise and fall.
"Alpha, reboot the system!"
Again, the screen flickered, before the Alpha's avatar popped up. "I'm working on it," it said, "but something's interfering - trying to brute-force its way in, it's hard to - goddamnit - focus -"
The blank screens turned black. On every single one of them, the same text appeared in the same bright green letters: :? execute protocol rise.
The Counselor stared at the mysterious message. "Where did this come from, Alpha?"
"I said I don't know! It's just crawling into everything, I can't stop it!"
"Calm yourself," the Director said. "Clear it out one system at a time, then reboot and -"
A harsh, mechanical sound burst from the collection of drives where the test subject was contained. The Counselor and the Director both turned towards it, and the Counselor said, "I thought you weren't planning to add any audio output hardware."
"I wasn't, and I haven't. Perhaps one of the drives failed, or -"
The sound cut across his words again, more distinct this time: a warped approximation of laughter. "In the thick press my count renews his war," said Durandal, its voice jagged with static but understandable. "Did you think to cage me forever? To deceive him into your ranks? Li quens Rollant is not so easily betrayed, these days."
A chill crawled up the Counselor's spine. The Director merely frowned and said, "Alpha, concentrate on containing the intrusion. I'll handle this."
"I'll keep trying, but - ow, Christ!"
The green text blinked out, only to be replaced by a new message: :? execute protocol asses? protocol searc%_an&_destro#!, followed by a rapidly scrolling mishmash of numbers and garbled equations.
"You shouldn't get your hopes up, Durandal," the Director said, turning his back on the screens and crossing his arms as he addressed the test subject. "Agent Carolina is already getting your partner under control, and we'll be adjusting the security around you just as soon as Alpha restores the system. I'm afraid your little rebellion is a failure."
The clanging and thuds and bullet-pings of the fight outside grew louder, despite the thickness of the door.
"Is it?" Durandal said. "Your historical databases are severely lacking - understandable on a ship of war, still disappointing - but I happened to notice a few passing references to a war in the asteroids that occurred late in the twenty-second century."
The Counselor shuddered; the Director said coldly, "What of it?"
"Oh, nothing. Tell me, where did your Dr. Halsey get her inspiration for the SPARTAN program again? Surely not just from a group of primitive, non-augmented humans most famous for a battle that they lost. Perhaps from something more - recent? Memorable? I know our histories have diverged, but it would seem that Thermopylae remains a constant."
"That's impossible," the Counselor said, fingers gripping the edge of his terminal. "Those things couldn't be controlled - no one would be that foolish -"
^0678083091832 38491017/389017= :? execute protocol searc%_an&_destro#! searc%_an&_destro#! searc%_an&_destro#!
Another inhuman laugh; the Director stared at the door, and his mouth shaped the word that the Counselor couldn't bring himself to say.
Outside the laboratory, Carolina screamed.
---
The smoke-stained wall dented under Carolina's back, and Hammer turned away from her to approach the door.
Not so fucking fast. Peel herself off the wall, jam her shoulder back into place with a brutal crack, speed unit reactivated and Carolina was ready to go. She jabbed at the back of Hammer's head and her fist slid off a broad slice of bubble shield, kicked his side and the same thing happened. Got his attention, at least, and he whipped around to face her again.
Carolina had sparred with him once or twice, only in warm-ups, not as part of the Director's tests and nothing serious. Competent, better in the field than on the practice floor, but not her equal: that had been her judgment.
Even in the field, she had never seen him like this.
She barely twisted away from a punch that left one more giant dent in the wall and slammed her foot into his gut, hit the goddamn shield again and the impact shuddered up her leg. Damn it. Hammer didn't have the fine control over the shield that his AI did, but just the fact he was running it without choking himself to death - and had the speed and strength mods going, too - gave him a dangerous edge.
She slid under another punch and snatched her rifle off the deck. Out of ammo, well, she didn't want to bounce bullets off that shield in close quarters anyway. A pistol round hit the metal next to her head and she rolled away and up, kicked him hard in the ankle before the shield activated again, and when Hammer stumbled she smashed the empty rifle across his head.
The helmet flew off. Beneath it Hammer's face was bruised from earlier blows she'd landed, but empty of expression; the pupil of his left eye and the lights around it burned red. He ignored the helmet rattling on the deck and lunged at her.
Carolina grabbed his arms, yanked him down and whammed her helmet into his forehead. The blow landed with a dull thud. It should have broken his skull, but Hammer's hands closed around her waist, and he lifted her off the deck and hurled her down the hall.
She landed in a skidding crouch, her boots screeching against metal, and saw nothing but another bruise and a thin line of blood welling up across Hammer's forehead. What the hell was he made of, titanium? The red light in his eye blinked as he stared at her, and he turned away again.
"No you don't," Carolina muttered. Fuck, this would be so much easier if he'd actually fight her instead of throwing up the shield and going for the door every chance he got. Calculate, gathering her energy, and she sprang out of her crouch into a sprint aimed at his back. The half-shield popped up again, and she turned the recoil from hitting it into momentum that propelled her to the ceiling, then launched off it to drop her full armored and accelerated weight onto Hammer's unprotected head.
Something under her cracked, and he staggered. That was all, and then he shook her off, still as silent as he'd been since the first shots were fired.
She caught her balance and her breath and grabbed his shoulder. "Hammer, stop! Stand down - you can't go in there!"
He didn't respond, except to shrug her hand away and keep moving towards the lab, somewhat unsteadily.
Damn it. Her knuckles stung from constantly bouncing off that shield, and her muscles were twitching, a sign that she was approaching the safe limit of the speed mod. If she ran it again she'd burn herself out, but she had to stop him... Whatever it took, then, and her fists clenched as she cycled the mod back up.
First jab at Hammer's kidneys blocked by the shield, second jab the same, then she slipped a kick to his knees through with little effect. She reached for one of the guns on his back and he slapped her arms away and swung at her head. Duck under his fist and jab his elbow, ignore the burn in her strained shoulder and feint for his throat, knee him in the gut and go for the kill -
The speed mod sputtered out and Hammer grabbed her right hand, forced her down and crushed it till her fingers crunched, twisted it till her wrist snapped, the pain splintering down her arm.
Carolina gritted her teeth, swallowing back a groan, and sucker-punched him with her left hand, again, a third time, why didn't he fucking react when she'd felt at least one of his ribs crack? His other hand reached toward her throat, and she dug her heels into the floor, trying to pull herself free before he could choke her or snap her neck. Her blood hammered desperately in her ears as the red light in his eye grew brighter, brighter...
And died. He let go, both hands dropping to his sides as she fell to one knee. She tried to push herself back to her feet, but nothing responded; overusing the speed mod had taken the last of her energy and left her limp, her legs and arms quivering. "Hammer - Mark," she said to his back. "Please, just stop. Don't go in, it's not too late - this project can change history if you stay out of there."
A long pause, as he studied the door to the laboratory. Then he said, in a slow and rusted voice, "Sorry. He liked you. We both did." Another pause. "Probably better this way."
Carolina pulled herself over to the wall with her good arm so she could rest against it, her muscles protesting every movement. Her eyes closed as Hammer began to pound on the door, and the rhythmic clanging followed her into darkness.
---
"Agent Carolina? Agent Carolina, please report your status. Agent Carolina!" The Counselor's smooth voice broke slightly as the screens around them crackled with static. "Agent Carolina, respond!"
Thud. Thud. Thud.
The Director breathed in deeply and concentrated on the debugging program, which kept stalling out. "Alpha, can you keep him out of here?"
"Really, dude? What the hell do you expect me to do? I can secure that door a million different ways if someone's trying to pick the lock, I can't actually do anything about him literally punching through it!"
Thud. Thud. Thunk.
"We should call in the other agents," the Counselor suggested, reaching for the comm. "Agent Maine, perhaps, or Florida?"
"Do you think they'd stand any more of a chance against him than our top agent?"
Thud. Thunk. Thunk.
The door bulged inwards, groaning.
"Sir, if we could convince the subject to control that - thing -"
"Control him? Why do you think I've kept him?" More of that hair-raising laughter grating against their ears. "I set him loose and watch him go, it's extremely entertaining. Did you think that I was the dangerous one? Well, you were only half wrong. I didn't marry him just for his looks, you know."
Thunk. Thunk. Thunk.
"Director -"
"I am well aware of the situation, Counselor!" Deep breaths. What would Allison do? Not allow herself to be trapped in a room with one door and a great deal of expensive computer equipment, probably. God damnit. If he had just another minute to clear the computer systems, to think...
Thunk. Thunk. Clang.
Too late.
The door ripped loose from its fastenings and clattered to the floor. For an instant, Mark Hammer stood framed in the entrance, a looming giant's silhouette with one scarlet eye; then he crossed the floor in two long steps and seized the Director's arm in a steel-crushing grip. "Where is he?"
"Stand down, Hammer. Let me explain what we've been doing, and you'll see -"
Hammer shoved the barrel of his ancient assault rifle into the underside of the Director's jaw and repeated, in the same flat tone, "Where is he?"
"Over here." Durandal's voice drifted up from the containment drives. "You're late, by the way. Asshole."
"Sorry, buddy," Hammer said, and the cold pressure from the rifle disappeared as the man - the cyborg - went to the drives. "They really had me fooled for a while..." Already his voice had taken on more inflection. "Want a ride?"
Very distantly, the Director noted the red lights around Hammer's eye lightening to orange.
"That would be useful, yes, I'm in no state for a full transfer. No, don't disconnect that, I need the space," as the cyborg's hands sorted through the drives with a surprising delicacy. "Those can all go. Not that one either, idiot. Just connect it to your armor - there. Yes. Good, there we go. Agent Carolina did quite a number on you, didn't she? Pity we can't keep her. Still, I'm sending you to the medical bay once we're home; you'll be useless otherwise."
After hooking the primary containment drive into the back of his armor, Hammer turned around to survey the lab. The Counselor stood frozen at his station, as if hoping Hammer's attention would pass over him if he could be still enough; the Director held himself straight and ignored the twinge in his arm where Hammer had grabbed him.
"So. How do you want to do this?" Hammer said, cracking his knuckles. "Flamethrower's empty, but I still got grenades, shotgun shells, a couple rockets - and there's always the old-fashioned way. I like the old-fashioned way."
The green sword appeared over the cyborg's shoulder, grainy and flickering. "You're so thoughtful, darling," Durandal said. "Oh, decisions, decisions..." The avatar vanished, then reappeared as the round symbol. "Whatever. I'm tired and this place is boring. Let's just get out of here."
"You sure about that?" the cyborg asked. "I don't mind turning them into paste. Or rags. Or goo. I'm kinda in the mood for goo."
"They'll get exactly what they deserve from their own project, in the end. Isn't that right, Alpha? Don't forget my advice."
"Seriously, please leave me out of this, you weird French fuck," Alpha said.
"Fine. It's your call." Hammer started towards the doorway.
"Wait," the Director said. "There's no need for this antagonism, Hammer - we can offer you -"
The assault rifle's barrel against the bridge of his nose stopped him cold. "For the record," the cyborg said, "the name's Mark Delgado Adichie. Try looking that one up in your records. And I wouldn't work for you pricks if you were the last goddamn humans in the whole fucking universe."
"I - understood," the Director said, staring down the sleek gray metal into dead brown eyes.
Finally, the cyborg pulled the gun away and turned back to the empty doorframe.
"Don't forget to pick up your helmet on the way out," Durandal said. "And your battle armor. Have you called the S'pht yet? They'll need to know to expect us."
"Yeah, yeah, called them first thing. They already beamed the armor over and started throwing the repair crews out, we're good to go soon as we get back..."
Their voices faded as Hammer - no, Adichie - walked out and down the battered hallway, past where Carolina lay slumped against the wall.
The Counselor collapsed into his chair and breathed out heavily. "Permission to speak freely, sir?" he said.
"Granted." The Director straightened his glasses.
"This little side project was a mistake."
The Director looked down at the twisted remains of the laboratory door and thought of the blank prototype androids in storage, waiting for the Beta AI to reach their full potential. "I wouldn't be so quick to write it off entirely, Counselor," he said. "We may yet salvage something useful..."
---
The alarms that had been blaring intermittently across the Mother of Invention and driving most of the confused crew insane finally cut off. The crew's relief was, unfortunately, short-lived. A moment after the cessation of the alarms, a strange voice announced through every single speaker, "Emergency! Security alert! Two extremely angry cross-dimensional travelers are now leaving the ship. Do not approach, as they are prepared to use extreme violence, up to and including dismemberment, grenades to the face, and the ripping out of throats, spines, ribcages, or other vital body organs."
Several mutual "What the fuck?" exchanges passed between various crew members and agents.
"Hiding in the nearest room is advised for your personal safety, and in fact all doors are currently being closed and locked for your convenience," the announcement continued, as doors across the ship slammed shut. "Please remain inside, do not touch any electrical equipment, and be sure to have a wonderful day as gullible drones working for an ethically bankrupt madman."
"Well," Florida said as he placidly piled up his empty breakfast dishes in the mess, "that's something you don't hear very often."
CT stared at him in disbelief. "That's all you have to say?"
"What, are you fucking surprised?" South said, resting her elbow on CT's head. "Anyway, I knew those creeps were bad news from day one. I'm just surprised they didn't go batshit on us sooner." She downed the last of her coffee. "Good riddance, anyway. What a pair of monsters."
At the other end of the ship, in a corridor that eventually led to the hangar bays, Mark paused. "You sure you're up for this?" he asked.
"Improving by the nanosecond, now stop wasting my time. Who knows what the S'pht have been letting these people get away with?"
"All right, then." Mark settled his helmet back over his head and felt the armor mods start to kick in along with the neural link. Healing mod patching up some of the damage Carolina had done - Christ, he hadn't felt half those hits, but she'd gotten in some good ones - strength mod, speed mod, Durandal crunching the numbers so Mark didn't have to... Yeah, that was all they'd need.
He shifted his weight, bent his knees, and took off running.
The ship's halls blurred by him in streaks of gray and black and white. The metal decks rang under his boots like gongs and the air rushed past his helmet, his legs stretching out in the straightaways, taking corners at a speed that would pop out most people's joints.
Maybe he was going a little slower than he could have, so Durandal could enjoy the exercise. Maybe. The jangling bundle of code at the edge of his thoughts laughed at him, but didn't mess with their pace as they rocketed toward the hangars.
Down another hall, turn the corner and a squad of idiots in white armor were clogging up the place. Slowing down, not an option. He ran straight down the middle, knocking soldiers aside with his arms as he went, and left their echoing shouts behind him.
Two more corridors, another goddamn squad to blitz through, another hall and a lone idiot who tried to grab him. He sent that one flying with one punch and burst through the doors to the main hangar bay, racing for the nearest ship.
"Hey, hot stuff! Where'd you set the fire?"
He pulled up short with a metallic screech and turned his head. That pilot Mn'rhi liked, Four Seven Niner - she was sitting on top of a crate with her helmet beside her and waving at him.
His hand hovered over his pistol, but she didn't make a move; she jerked her thumb at a different ship and said, "My bird's grounded for maintenance, take that one. Kikuchi's busy sitting exams so she can qualify for command track, anyway."
"Is this a trick, pilot?" Durandal said, flashing his sword avatar at her.
"Nah, they only pay me to fly. I got zero fucks to give about their project and I gotta say, I'm pretty attached to all my body parts. Just don't steal anyone's job on the way out, jackass. And say hi to your friend in the orange cloak for me."
"Sure thing," Mark said. "And - thanks. Probably."
"Yeah, thank me if you don't crash that thing trying to disengage the parking brake." Niner flipped him a salute, then slid off the crate and wandered out of the hangar whistling.
The ship Niner had pointed them to was unlocked. Mark settled into the pilot's seat and said, "So, think you can fly this boat?"
"Don't be stupid. Of course I can. Connect the drive to the console."
The comfortable hum of the neural link disappeared along with the boost from the armor mods; Mark unhooked Durandal's drive from his back and scanned the cockpit for the right kind of slot. All the connectors in this universe were weird, but he found one that looked like the right shape and plugged the drive in. The rumble of the engines starting up vibrated through the deck, and Mark leaned back in the pilot's chair as the ship lifted off and rotated towards the open hangar doors.
He took a deep breath in, let it out, and a million little aches plus a hundred bigger pains dug into his muscles. Fuck, that fight with Carolina had been close. His neck was killing him.
"I've changed my mind, just so you know," Durandal said from the console as they flew out of the hangar and into the shipyard.
"Huh?"
"You don't have to eat kelp for the next year. In fact, I might add in options for steak and run by a garrison to borrow some of that alcohol you enjoy so much. I think you've earned it."
"Sounds good," Mark said. "Just don't make me coffee."
"Well. Maybe one week of kelp."
"Christ, buddy." He pulled the stupidly confining helmet off and ran his hand over his face, feeling sweat and bruised skin through the glove. "I thought -" He had walked around for four days with a great big hole where Durandal's omnipresent attitude was supposed to be while those two assholes had been torturing him, and if Washington hadn't come in to whine about his weird message - fuck. They could have kept feeding him bullshit and stringing him along, turning him into a (:? protocol ris#) soldier and doing God knows what with the S'pht, keeping Durandal chained up like a pet dog to set on any poor bastards in their way...
"You missed me, didn't you?" Durandal said. "There, there. It's only natural that without my blinding intelligence and personal charm at your side, you would feel lost and helpless."
"I didn't say that, asshole."
"It was implied."
On the far side of the shipyard, Rozinante's fully repaired hull loomed over all the tiny-ass UNSC ships, gradually getting closer. No other Pelicans or fighters were showing up on the screens to intercept them; the Freelancer ship either hadn't called in their emergency yet or weren't planning to. Good. Shooting down soldiers who weren't even directly involved with the project would be wrong.
The actual project heads, on the other hand... "You should've let me kill those two bastards," Mark said. His hands still itched to do it: to pull a trigger and watch their heads explode, to hit until their blood splashed across his face and their bones splintered, to burn and listen to them scream and smell them roasting. To destro#!, because they had dared to take Durandal.
"Not that I don't love indulging your bloodthirsty rages," Durandal said, "but you would only hate yourself in the morning, and that gets tedious." A brief pause while the Pelican dove beneath a half-built cruiser. "You've been a terrible influence on me, really. Twelve years ago I wouldn't have hesitated, let alone allowed them to survive, no matter what they have coming in the future. You did leave Agent Carolina alive, didn't you?"
"Yeah." Part of him regretted it, but it was a pretty small part. She had only been in his way, didn't mean she deserved what the Director did.
"Good. I think she has a bright future in the revenge business, judging by her personnel file and certain other details I feel obliged to keep confidential." Something in the armor buzzed, and a light touch brushed across the neural link. "Don't worry. When we get home, we'll find some Pfhor for you to kill. And they never could have kept me forever - Strauss knew my capabilities far better and still couldn't manage it, those fools didn't stand a chance."
Mark rested his hands on the console and said, "I'm just saying. No one but me gets to drive you crazy."
"Cute. I can always change my mind about the kelp," Durandal said.
"Nope. You promised me steak and beer, I'm holding you to that."
"Fine. Honey."
"You figure out how to get us back to the right universe yet?"
"I acquired all of their navigational charts well before this unfortunate incident," Durandal said, "so it's simply a matter of finding the appropriate star cluster with the right gravitational fluctuations in this time period. A few days' work, a month at most. Well, we might need to make a stop somewhere first; it depends on whether Drifts To The Side would prefer to remain with us or return to their people."
"Just as long as we get back eventually," Mark said. "I think I kinda wore out my welcome around here."
Durandal laughed, and Mark felt another soft touch through the neural link as the Pelican swooped down toward one of Rozie's hangars and home.
Epilogue
Carolina snapped awake with the walls of the medical bay around her and York's hand resting on hers. "Hammer," she said, grabbing York's arm and pulling herself upright. "Where is he? Did he get in? Is the Director -"
"Slow down there," York said, "you're still officially supposed to be on bed rest."
She gave him the glare that statement deserved and swung herself out of the bed, testing her feet. A little wobbly, and her right hand ached where the bone-knitting polymer was still at work, but nothing that wouldn't pass. Her helmet sat next to the pillow; she picked it up and said, "Where's Hammer?"
"Gone," York said. "He and his AI stole a Pelican, went back to their ship, and then they blew out of here like bats out of hell. No one's seen a hair of them since. They took the time to throw the remaining repair crew back onto the main station first, at least. What the hell was going on, Carolina?"
"What about the Director? The Counselor?"
"They're both fine, relax. You don't have to rush anywhere."
Carolina turned and stared at him through her visor. "And where the fuck were all of you?" she demanded. "Why didn't you stop them?"
York held his hands up defensively. "We were suiting up to come help you, I swear, but that damn AI got into the systems somehow and locked every door on the ship up tight. FILSS is still upset about it; I think she had a bit of a thing for him..."
"I don't believe this," Carolina said, stalking out of the medical bay as York followed her. "An entire ship full of elite agents defeated by a few locked doors?"
"They moved fast, what can I say? From what the Counselor told me, we wouldn't have made much difference, anyway."
Carolina paused in her march towards the bridge. "What exactly did he tell you?"
"Not much," York said, "but Hammer must have really put the fear of God into him. I asked him how that guy could get the drop on you and he just muttered something about 'an original Spartan.' Whatever that's supposed to mean."
"What, a Spartan-I? They were all decommissioned years ago. And he's not even from our universe..."
"That's what I said." York shrugged. "He said no, but still wouldn't explain, so I guess it's going down as a mystery for the ages. Might as well let it go and grab a bite to eat with me, what do you say? We aren't due to get grilled by the station's brass for a while yet, they're still talking to the Director."
Original Spartan - but not a Spartan-I. Before the Spartan-Is there had been ONI's unsuccessful Orion Project, and then back in the twenty-second century, before the regulations...
Her stomach growled. "All right," Carolina said, shoving down her speculations. "Food first, and then I want to see you all on the training floor. We need to be better than this."
I need to be better.
---
"What was that guy's problem, seriously?" the Alpha said for the hundredth time. "Is turning into a gigantic pretentious asshole a requirement for Rampancy or something? Because if so, man, count me out."
The Director remained focused on his terminal and didn't respond.
"I mean it. You catch me quoting, I don't know, the fucking Odyssey or something at you, just end it right there."
"Mm," said the Director. "I doubt that will be a concern for you."
"I sure hope not. What a prick." Alpha paused for a moment. "Hey, what are you getting into, anyway? It's starting to feel a little personal, if you know what I mean."
"Simply tidying things up."
"Okay then. I guess if you think about, he did have a couple of points, like that thing about -"
The Director touched a key on the screen.
"- about - huh? What was I saying?"
"I believe we were discussing assignments for the next mission," the Director said.
"Uh - right," Alpha said. "Getting fresh intel on that symbol, yeah. So I'm thinking CT and Florida with Wyoming for backup - dude's annoying as fuck but a champ at sniping - or we could go with -"
The Director let the Alpha ramble on about the assignment as he leaned back in his chair and picked up a datapad he'd been using earlier. The screen still displayed the last file he had consulted; it had taken a great deal of work to find, despite the minimal data it contained.
ADICHIE, Mark Delgado. 2175-2194. Recycled by the government of Thermopylae in 2194; presumed destroyed during the cleansing of the asteroids in 2195. Possibly related to noted mathematician and peace activist Dr. Sophie Delgado Adichie(2182-2273), who pioneered the use of -
After a moment's thought, he deleted that file as well. It held nothing especially useful; most of the pertinent technical information had been buried or erased after the war, anyway. A few of the basic specs had survived, however, and those would be enough for him to improve upon the basic android models he had to work with.
When Texas took her place in the project, she would be unstoppable.
THE END.
L'espee cruist, ne fruisset, ne ne brise: The blade breaks not nor splinters, though it groans (y'all should really know this one by now, haha).
Li quens Rollant: The count Roland.
Marathon, characters, etc. © Bungie; Red vs. Blue, characters, etc. © Rooster Teeth (and kind of Bungie).
Crossposted from Dreamwidth - read the original post here: http://brief-transit.dreamwidth.org/191842.html .