Marathon/RvB, Supercollider Swing 5
Now, for a little breather after all that action...
This chapter contains: Bad words, dub-con neural links, food sharing, agender alien point of view, ominous foreboding, Durandal still really doesn't like York, sorry.
Previous chapter.
5. Hang Time
"- and Four Seven Niner was waiting for us in the docking bay," Carolina said. "We made it with plenty of oxygen to spare. No trouble on the ride back, either."
"Thank you for your report, Agent Carolina." The Director glanced across the table and around at the rest of the team. "Do any of you have anything to add?"
"Nah," South said, "not unless you count Wash dropping his knife like a goddamn private in boot camp."
"Hey! That could happen to anyone!"
"No, just dumbfucks like you who can't -"
"Leave him alone for once, South."
"If that's all, you're dismissed," the Director said, frowning.
"Yes, sir. I'll have the written report first thing in the morning," said Carolina as the other agents filed out of the debriefing room.
"Very good," he said, and she left as well; he picked up a stray datapad that had been left on the table, saw green light reflecting from the screen, and looked up at Hammer's silent bulk and Durandal's hovering avatar. "I said you were dismissed, gentlemen."
"I am not one of the agents at your beck and call, Director," Durandal said, and its avatar shifted: from round symbol to a detailed representation of an antique scimitar. "Neither is he. And since I've upheld my end of our agreement, it's time that you upheld yours."
"Ah. Regarding the repairs to your ship."
"Yes, about the repairs to my ship. My engines are back up and capable of one or two short folds, but I need time and more materials to restore them to full function. And honestly, the gigantic crack in the hull is starting to get on my nerves. You promised help; now deliver."
"Of course," the Director said, watching Hammer. The man had taken off his helmet on entering the debriefing room along with the rest and still held it tucked under his arm. He hadn't spoken up during Carolina's report, and his expression hadn't changed the entire time. Exactly the behavior one would expect of a soldier, but with an unusual detachment; he might as well have been a chair for all the engagement he'd shown. "FILSS, would you be so kind as to look up the nearest repair station and transmit the coordinates to our guests? We'll accompany you and vouch for you, naturally. Mr. Hammer is welcome to remain aboard our ship until yours is completely repaired."
"Acknowledged, Director," FILSS said. "And might I add, Mr. Durandal, watching the footage of you and your friend at work was very enjoyable."
"How could I disappoint such a charming program?" Durandal said smoothly. "You can send those coordinates on to the S'pht, I'll be joining them shortly. Later, Director."
The holographic avatar vanished, and Hammer turned to go.
"Just a moment," the Director said, rising from the table. "Could you send Agent Carolina back in? I have a few more questions for her."
"Sure," Hammer said. He replaced his helmet and left the room.
While he waited, the Director sat down again and scrolled idly through the datapad, which was filled with lists of equipment and supplies. Likely it had been left behind by one of the support staff during an earlier meeting; nothing important, but it did remind him to speak to the Counselor later. He would need to request a few specialized tools once they reached the repair station.
Carolina returned a few minutes later, minus helmet and chest armor. "What do you need, sir?"
"What are your impressions of Hammer's fieldwork?"
An expression flickered across Carolina's face too quickly for him to read; it might have been disappointment, though he couldn't imagine what for. "My honest impressions?"
"Naturally."
"He's good. Followed orders well. Efficient, but - brutal."
"Do you consider that a problem?" the Director said. "In our position, humanity has no time for the niceties."
"You asked for my impression, sir." Carolina's mouth twisted slightly. "I'm not saying it's a bad thing, but it's what I saw."
"And Durandal?"
"Arrogant. Incredibly arrogant. But, well -" She shrugged. "- he can deliver. Which is what I was expecting after he trashed that fleet. Not really what I'd call a team player, however." She hesitated, then said, "Sir, I know you're interested in him, especially because of your research, but I don't think letting him have access to so much of our equipment is a good idea. Hammer's all right, just odd, but Durandal is - I don't trust him."
"Your concerns are noted, but I have the matter in hand." Alpha had already given him the key points; all that was left was time and those tools. And perhaps that Engineer Carolina had reported seeing. "Now, about the rest of your team's performance..."
---
Washington dragged a fork through a pile of sad, generic fried noodles and said, "I just don't know what's gotten into South."
Maine rumbled sympathetically and helped himself to Wash's untouched yogurt. Wash never finished yogurt when he got it anyway, and it was strawberry-flavored.
"I mean, it's not like we're all that close, anyway," Wash said, waving a piece of overcooked cabbage in the air, "but she's been ragging on me about everything lately. What is with her?"
Maine scooped a giant spoonful of yogurt into his mouth and watched CT's gaze slide over to the duplicate leaderboard that had been installed in the mess three days before Epsilon Ariadne. "I wonder," she said.
"I can't believe she said that to the Director," Wash went on, "and in front of the whole team - she could've at least saved it for her report."
"You did drop your knife in the middle of a fight."
"Oh, now you're getting on my case, too?"
"I'm serious, Wash. Just because we have the good armor now doesn't mean you can afford careless mistakes like that, and you know it. If North hadn't shot that elite off you -"
"Hey," a rough voice said. "Mind if I sit here?"
Maine glanced over; Hammer was still in armor, balancing two trays packed with food and his helmet under his arm, and looking directly at him, not CT or Wash. New agents mostly talked to them first, him as a last resort.
"Uh - sure, if Maine's okay with it," Wash said.
Maine took another bite of yogurt, then nodded slightly, and Hammer sat on the empty bench across from him and Wash, not quite next to CT.
Washington went back to picking at his congealing noodles, and Maine watched Hammer shovel a medley of terrible mess food into his mouth for half a minute, waiting for a second voice or a green avatar to pop up. When nothing appeared, he nudged Wash, then raised his eyebrows when Wash turned around, and Wash said, "Okay... So, is your - is Durandal here right now, too?"
"Nope, he went back to Rozie for the jump," Hammer said around a mouthful of rice. "Can't stand anyone else flying it."
"Oh, thank God, he scares me," Wash said immediately, and then his shoulders hunched. "I mean - no offense, it's just -"
"Don't worry about it. He's an asshole, always has been."
"But you're still with him," CT said. She looked at Hammer directly for the first time, sitting straight up instead of her usual comfortable slouch. She still didn't come up to his shoulder, Maine noted.
"Like I got a choice about it. We get on all right, anyway." Hammer polished off the rice and contemplated a giant messy sandwich filled with more ingredients than Maine could count. "Never said I wasn't an asshole."
Wash laughed uncertainly, then stopped when no one else did. After another minute of awkward, silent eating, he tried, "How about that mission today, huh? Sounded like you guys had it pretty rough."
Maine shrugged. It had gone well by his standards, at least until the vacuum thing. Which he didn't hold against CT; Covenant computers were complicated, and if Carolina had sent him to the bridge, he would have just smashed them and probably gotten the same result.
Hammer swallowed the last of his sandwich before saying, "It was fine."
"What, that's all?"
Hammer nodded and started unwrapping a pack of off-brand Oreos.
"Geez, this guy's almost as quiet as you," Wash told Maine. "Didn't Carolina say you guys saw an Engineer? What was that like? Did you get to -"
At that moment North and South walked into the mess, arguing in heated undertones, and CT stood up abruptly. "Excuse me, I need to talk to South," she said. "Nice talking to you, Hammer."
"Christ, just call me Mark already," Hammer said to her back as she walked away. "You guys are making me feel like a tool."
"Er, sorry," Wash said. "Okay, uh - Mark - so what's it like, having an AI in the suit?"
"It's okay."
"Seriously? What is with you?"
"What do you want, a novel?" Hammer looked down at the empty trays in front of him. "The mods are great, I'm already used to Durandal whining in my ear every two minutes, not a lot to talk about."
Maine considered his leftovers and the high probability that Mark Hammer had been eating out of alien replicators for twelve years, then pushed his tray over to Mark's side of the table. Mark nodded in thanks and dug into the half-full plate of soggy cheese fries.
"What about the neural link? What was that like?" Wash said.
"The what?"
"You know, the neural link - when the AI syncs up with your brain..." Wash tilted his head. "Didn't that happen?"
"I goddamn well hope not!" Mark frowned, the most distinct expression Maine had seen on his face yet. "He's bad enough as it is, last thing I want is him poking around in my actual head." He paused, then said, "You don't actually do that with your AI, do you?"
"Not me specifically, but, uh, that's the idea," Wash said. "It's supposed to improve your reaction time, aim, that kind of thing. That's why we get - oh, I bet that's why it didn't work with you. We all got the hook-ups for AI implantation when we signed on, but since you're not military - at least, not our military, right? - you don't have the right connections."
"Huh."
It was just as well, Maine decided. A neural link with a normal AI might not be too bad, but a Rampant AI like Durandal could probably burn out a soldier's brain without even -
"Oh, I think I could work around a mere equipment problem," Durandal said, his round avatar appearing over Mark's shoulder.
Wash jumped and would have hit Maine's side with his elbow if Maine hadn't leaned left in time, but Mark didn't blink; he said, "And when did you get back?"
"Two and a half minutes ago. We've arrived at the repair station; I'll be returning in a moment to supervise the work, but first, let me try this neural link. If I connect through - yes, this should work..." The avatar blinked out.
"How about no?" Mark said.
"Pretty please? I just want to see how it works."
"God, fine, but stay out of the private stuff. Hey. Hey. I just said - whoa, cut that out!" Mark shook his head, and his eyelids twitched. "Get out of - what the hell are you getting so smug about all of a sudden?"
"Nothing in particular," Durandal said, but the self-satisfaction in his voice made Maine's knuckles itch.
"Bullshit. Wait, are you looking at - leave those alone, damnit! I swear to God -"
Maine put his hands on the table, pushed himself up, and leaned over. "Stop," he snarled.
"Are you disturbed, Agent Maine? How sweet. There's no need to worry, he's perfectly fine."
"If you don't get out right the fuck now I'm going to nuke your core and sell it for spare parts!" Mark shouted.
"Whatever you say. Darling." The round symbol reappeared, flickering, and Mark shook himself. "I'm going back to Rozinante," Durandal said. "You may want to come over as well sometime soon, or I'll redecorate your rooms without your input. I see - something in neon blue. And a swimming pool like that one on Omega Perseus 8 you liked so much."
"Don't even fucking think about it," Mark said. "Nukes. I'm not kidding."
Durandal laughed as his avatar faded out again.
Maine felt Wash's hand on his elbow and slowly sat back down. "Seriously, that guy is a dick," Wash said, "I'm sorry I even opened my mouth, I didn't think - well, I didn't even know he was there, but still... Sorry."
"Not your fault." Mark rubbed at his temples and muttered, "Sometimes I really hate him," but one side of his mouth was curling up in a half-smile as he said it. "All right, I better go hitch a ride back to Rozie or God knows what he's gonna do with my stuff. Thanks for the company. And the fries."
"Uh - you're welcome."
When Mark was gone, Wash said, "I know he's supposed to be from another universe or whatever, but - Hammer is a little weird, right? It's not just me?"
"Mm," Maine said, refusing to commit, although he couldn't really come up with a counter-argument. Mark Hammer was more than a little strange, shrugging off an invasive neural link like that.
"Oh, you would like him. I can't believe you gave him your cheesy fries, you won't even let me have one..."
---
Drifts To The Side gently replaced the patched coolant flow pipe and turned to Mn'rhi. Their tentacles wove in subtle signs to say, Your technology is strange, but lovely, and well cared for.
"Some of us care for our ship," Yr'ckta said, twitching their cloak in irritation. "Others are careless and cause great damage."
My actions were necessary, Durandal said through the network.
You consider many actions necessary which are not, if you would think more thoroughly instead of reaching immediately for the most dramatic option!
We shouldn't fight over a matter once the time for choosing action is past, Mn'rhi said soothingly, and to Drifts To The Side said, "We are grateful for your help."
Pleased to learn and be of use, Drifts To The Side signed. May I help anywhere else?
You can show them around the engines and Weapons Array 28, Durandal said, but keep them away from the places where the human engineers are working - you know how some humans can be. I'll make certain the areas you enter are sealed and pressurized.
"I will show you where you are needed," Yr'ckta said to Drifts To The Side. "Please follow me, and should Durandal speak, don't pay attention."
They led Drifts To The Side down the hall and towards the engines; Mn'rhi took up a scanner and checked the coolant pipes quickly, finding that the repairs were flawless. Durandal had indeed done well to bring Drifts To The Side aboard. The humans were skilled enough to mend the hull, but allowing their oily, spongy hands to touch the more delicate machinery - well, Yr'ckta would not have been the only angry S'pht.
Mn'rhi consulted the network briefly and found nothing requiring their attention, leaving them free for the time being. They could join Yr'ckta and Drifts To The Side in engineering, although Yr'ckta probably wouldn't appreciate their company; they could also watch the human crew working on the hull, which Mn'serh and certain others of the S'pht'Mnr and S'pht'Kr had taken upon themselves as a duty.
Instead, they floated slowly towards the prow of K'liah Narhl and Mark's living space. Mark wouldn't be there, which was regrettable - they had come home briefly to argue with the human crew and Durandal over repairs, then returned to the other ship - but they would be happy to know that others were taking care of their space.
On the way, they encountered F'tha. "Be peaceful," F'tha said. "Do you need something?"
"Be peaceful," Mn'rhi answered. "No, I thought to visit Mark's space for maintenance."
"No need. I've just come from there and all is in order."
"The garden, too?" Mn'rhi had never understood why Mark would care for the plants of the fucking slavers, but they did, and in their absence F'tha and Mn'rhi had been taking turns to keep the garden in order.
"Of course, the garden."
Mn'rhi considered what other tasks might be done, but they were interrupted in this process by Durandal announcing across the network, Ship docking in hangar bay 13 with supplies. Familiar faces on board, if anyone is interested.
That settled the matter; F'tha and Mn'rhi went together to hangar bay 13. There they found one of the bulky human ships sitting on the deck, and Mark had disembarked along with a smaller human in white armor. Mark waved and called to them, "Be peaceful, F'tha, Mn'rhi! Everything functioning?"
"All is working smoothly," F'tha said, gliding closer to the ship and the humans. "What did you bring?"
"Some stuff for me, some stuff for the workers," Mark said, in their own language. "Food and back-up air, mostly. Want to give me a hand?"
Mn'rhi checked the phrasing against their knowledge of human sayings and said, "Yes, we would be pleased to help."
The human in white armor was moving their head from side to side; they said, "Wait, how the hell can you tell who's who?"
"Twelve years' practice, mostly."
"Twelve years my fat ass, they're fucking identical besides those cloaks. How do you know you got it right?"
F'tha's heart flickered with irritation. These people don't trust Mark as they should, they said. Mark is always honest with us, and a reliable ally.
Mark gestured with their shoulders. "Because I know them," they said. "And they're not totally identical. F'tha's got those scars on their helmet, see? And Mn'rhi has these scratches in their shoulder - there's plenty of ways to tell."
"Yeah, really?" the other human said. "How about those guys over there?" They pointed their arm and hand at three S'pht who had just entered the bay to observe: F'sehn, Yr'nar, and S'lhar, who greeted F'tha and Mn'rhi briefly over the network.
Mark looked in their direction. "Huh," they said. "Looks like Yr'nar, F'sehn - not sure about the S'pht'Kr, I don't hang out with them much. S'lhar, I think."
"Bullshit."
"Mark has a good eye," Mn'rhi said in human, with pride at recalling the excuse Durandal had given them all. Durandal claimed that Mark would be disturbed to learn they had achieved a superficial link to the S'pht network.
"More like a fucking ninja eye," the white-armored human said. They crossed their arms. "So, this orange one's Mn'rhi? The dick who tried to give me a heart attack when we were hauling your fat-ass ship around?"
Mn'rhi had thought the human's voice sounded familiar; they must be the one referred to as For'sev'niner. "Yes, my name is Mn'rhi," Mn'rhi said, and politely added, "fucker."
"Goddamnit, Mn'rhi, what have I told you -"
"Pfft, whatever," For'sev'niner said, "I don't give a shit. This little fucker's cool with me, right, Mn'rhi?"
"Yes," Mn'rhi said, although thirteen years of linguistic analysis had still failed to find a precise correlation between human "cool" and any S'pht adjective that wasn't related to temperature. F'tha had spent the most time in analyzing the word and considered the meaning equivalent to "admirable," and their conclusion had been accepted. In Mn'rhi's observation, For'sev'niner was certainly admirable in their piloting.
"As long as you don't mind, I guess," Mark said. "C'mon, let's get to work."
"Oh, none for me, thanks. Pilot's privilege." For'sev'niner leaned against the hull of their ship. "You guys go on ahead, door's already open."
Mark said very softly, "Goddamn pilots," and led F'tha and Mn'rhi to the rear of the ship to unload the supplies. As they carried boxes from the ship to the bay, Mark said in S'pht, still softly, "How functions the new engine worker? Uh. From the other ship."
"Drifts To The Side?" Mn'rhi said. "They're doing well, and their work is very good. Do the humans know of their skill? Drifts To The Side would also enjoy helping them, I think."
"That would be not well," Mark said, "I mean - please say nothing to the humans, they do not require the engine working help."
"As you wish."
F'tha took up the side of one crate in their hands and said to Mn'rhi, who took the other, Mark is troubled, then aloud to Mark, "Are those humans treating you well?"
"Oh, sure. Keep trying to talk me into a medical exam, don't know why. And they're always asking about that Engineer and if I can do these show-off tests for them. Besides that, they're all right."
"You should tell us if you require our presence there," F'tha said. "Not all of us are busy."
"Nah, it's fine. Really."
F'tha, you are behaving that way again, Mn'rhi told them.
What way?
You are treating Mark like your child or a new partner, Mn'rhi said. They do not need to be fussed over so much.
F'tha's heart flickered a momentary deep blue in anger, then dulled. I find trusting these new humans difficult, they said. And Mark and Durandal spend so much time with them - I am concerned, that's all.
Oblivious to this conversation, Mark continued to carry their chosen crate to the bay. For'sev'niner made a strange high-pitched noise and said, "What are you, an ox? The guys had to use a forklift to get that shit on board."
"Yeah, well, I don't have a forklift."
"Even your alien buddies are sharing the load, what the fuck, dude. Now I wanna see you with the armor off, I bet you've got more muscles than Jesus."
"Sorry, I don't strip for strangers," Mark said.
"Not even if I gave you candy?"
"Nope."
"Damn, you're even more uptight than Maine. Ruin all my fun, why don't you?"
See? Mn'rhi said. They're doing well. Do not worry so much; Durandal is watching over them, too, you know.
I hope you are correct, F'tha said.
Mark called to them, "Are you guys helping or what? Still got a bunch of these left."
"We're coming," Mn'rhi called back, and both of them concentrated on the unloading of the crates until the task was complete.
---
York walked into the observation room and found Florida, CT, and North hanging out in their civvies, watching the training floor. "Hey, guys," he said. "Who's up and how's it going?"
"South, Wyoming, and Hammer with his crazy AI, big surprise," CT said. She scowled down at the floor. "They started off with paint guns, then Wyoming claimed he was going to suffocate if he took one more headshot and now they're having a snipe-off."
"Wyoming is awfully clever that way," Florida said cheerfully.
"I offered to swap with South for this part," North said, "but she took that about as well as you might expect."
York could make a pretty good guess. He went to the window and took a look for himself at the contest. The three combatants stood in the center of the training room with their backs to each other; FILSS's digital targets danced around them, turning red and blinking out whenever one of them scored a hit. Looked like Wyoming and Hammer had a tie for first place going on so far, and sounded like it, too, the way South was cursing. That last wasn't much of a surprise. South was built for the front lines, didn't have the patience or the finesse for sniping.
The way Hammer kept picking off targets like they were big fish in a tiny barrel was a little surprising, since close quarters fighting like South or Maine was more his style from what York had seen. Probably his AI at work.
"Anyone know how many tests this makes, now?" York said.
"As many as the Director could cram into three days," CT said, still scowling. "Seems like overkill for people who are only sticking around until their ship is repaired, don't you think?"
"No one pays us to ask the hard questions," said North. "Unfortunately. I can always use a pay raise."
The targets sped up, jumping and weaving around in increasingly complex patterns, and North muttered, "C'mon, sis, keep it together," as fewer of South's targets went red. Wyoming got a nice triple score on a tricky pattern, then missed an easy shot that Hammer caught.
"I do hope Wyoming can stick this one," Florida said. "He gets pretty irritable if he - oh, that's got to sting..." South had just kicked Hammer hard in the ankle.
Hammer's firing stance wavered, but his aim didn't, and he picked off four more targets as Wyoming took down another three and South shot one. Then the program faded, and FILSS announced, "Round five complete. Point: Mr. Hammer and Mr. Durandal."
South threw her gun at the floor and stalked out of the training room; "Fucking cheating dickholes!" echoed up from the lower hall.
"I should go talk to her," North said, but CT stopped him from leaving with a touch on his arm.
"You're probably the last person she wants to see right now," she said. "Leave it to me, okay? See you guys later."
North reluctantly nodded, and CT vanished down the hall just as Florida clapped York and North on the back. "Well, I don't know about you two," he said, "but watching all that excellent shooting sure has given me an appetite! Why don't we go catch Wyoming and Mark in the mess?"
York inched out from under Florida's hand - that guy got way too handsy sometimes, always right after saying something creepy even by spec ops standards - and said, "Fine by me. North?"
"Sure."
They beat Hammer and Wyoming to the mess hall and took a free table; Washington and Maine wandered in a couple minutes later, still in armor, while Florida was getting them food. "You guys would not believe the day we've had," Wash said, collapsing onto the bench opposite York and North. "So, the Counselor sent us to one of the sim trooper outposts, Battle Creek Outpost Delta, right? We were supposed to run scenario 11, the one with the robot uprising, but halfway through the part where the Red Team needs to get forty gallons of petroleum-based lubricant for the giant drill -"
Mercifully, that was the moment Hammer walked in. Maine waved him over to their table before Washington could get any further into the story, and Hammer sat next to him just as Florida returned with two trays piled high with snacks. "Glad you could join us!" Florida said. "Help yourself to anything you want, I made sure to get enough for everyone. Isn't Wyoming with you?"
"Said he wanted to practice some more," Hammer said. "Guess he's kinda sore about that last round."
"That was some nice shooting, by the way," North said, scooping up an apple from one tray. "Sorry about South, she's - uh, always been competitive."
Durandal's round avatar popped up as Hammer removed his helmet and took two ambiguously filled sandwiches and a bag of sweet chili chips from the pile. "Don't be sorry," the AI said, "I like her more all the time."
"The two of you would kill each other in a week, tops," Hammer said. "I wouldn't get too attached."
"At least it would be a fun week. And jealousy doesn't become you. Honey."
Actually, maybe Wash's lube story would have been the better option. "Hey, about that sniper contest," York said. "You always aim that well?"
"Nah, had a little help from Durandal."
"More accurately, a lot of help," Durandal said. "That was almost entirely me, in fact."
"Like hell it was."
"Guess I shouldn't be surprised," York said. "You did a pretty good job against those Covenant on the cruiser, too." He considered Florida's snacks, then reached for a pudding cup. "So, D, how do you work out -"
Hammer's left arm shot across the table and his fist closed around York's wrist. "You will never address me like that again," Durandal said, and the round symbol flickered into the shape of a sword.
"Oww, damn - like what?"
"By a mere nickname," Durandal said, his voice dripping with synthetic disdain. "If any of your puny brains requires some variation on my name, you may call me Almighty Durandal, All-Knowing Master of the Universe, the Great and Powerful Durandal, the Unbreakable God -"
"Seriously?" York gave Hammer the mournful puppy eyes. "Can't you call him off?"
Hammer shrugged his right shoulder, blank-faced. "Sorry," he said, "I'm the husband, not the boss. You decide to piss off the guy who's personally vaporized most of the Pfhor's best battle fleets, that's your problem."
"- your Lord and Master, the Terror of the Pfhor -"
"Okay, okay, I'm sorry," York said, "no more nicknames, I promise!" The grip on his wrist didn't loosen, and his fingers were starting to turn purple. "Please let go? Uh, almighty Durandal? That's really starting to hurt."
"Hey, almighty pain in my ass," Hammer said, without a change in expression, "I need that hand to eat."
After another moment of near-crushing pressure, Durandal released York's wrist; Hammer took his hand back and resumed eating his sandwich as the sword shifted into the neutral round avatar.
York shook his fingers, hoping that he hadn't permanently lost sensation in them, and said, "How come he gets to call you names?"
"Because Mark has spent the last twelve years proving his general usefulness and reliability to me," Durandal said, "whereas you, Agent York, so far appear to be approximately eighty-seven percent talk to thirteen percent walk."
Maine snorted, and Washington told Hammer, "You know, I'm starting to think the two of you deserve each other."
"How insulting," Durandal said. "I deserve much better, obviously," while Hammer just smiled briefly around the sandwich. Damn, that guy was kind of creepy when he smiled.
"Doesn't it warm the cockles of your heart to see such a happy couple?" Florida said, with a genial smile that caused every other Freelancer at the table to edge away from him. "I don't suppose the two of you have any special days coming up, do you? Like an anniversary?"
"Uh - no."
"That's a pity. I do love a good anniversary celebration! And I'd be more than happy to arrange a little something for you..."
"Just out of curiosity," Durandal said, "you do realize we're leaving as soon as Rozinante is repaired, right? I have some very specific gravitational anomalies to look for."
"I don't see why that should stop us from trying to make you feel right at home while you're here."
"That's okay," Hammer said. "Really."
"No, I think Florida's got a point," York said, earning himself a set of confused looks from most of the rest of the table. Hey, his wrist still hurt, he was entitled to a little payback. "We don't want you guys to feel unappreciated or anything. We can get booze from Niner and make it a real party, invite everyone in the program..."
"Glad to see you getting into the spirit!" Florida said, beaming.
"That's it, I'm going back to the ship," Durandal said. "Good luck wriggling out of this one."
His avatar disappeared as Florida enthusiastically began to talk about decorations; Hammer's usual stoicism was melting into obvious unease, and York had to hide his grin in his pudding cup. Odds were good the party was never going to happen - for one thing, Niner was incredibly protective of her alcohol stash - but it was nice to see that something could get under Hammer's skin.
---
The Director turned away from the camera feeds. "Well?"
"Looking good," Alpha said. "Everything's set up, running smoothly, and it doesn't look like he's noticed anything more than the usual kind of junk interference you get around shipyards. Of course, it'd be even better if we could get an Engineer in here, but what can you do?"
"Good work." The Director tapped a screen and brought up a set of figures and scenarios to peruse.
"So, uh, when do you want to do this? The equipment's ready, so any time's good for me."
"Not yet," the Director said absently. "Give it another three transfers, to become complacent about the interference. On the fourth - that's when we'll catch it."
"Whatever you say, boss." Alpha ran through projected outcomes of the plan again, just for kicks. Yeah, still couldn't find any problems that someone couldn't handle, but observational data combined with the worst-case scenario projections left him with an uneasiness he couldn't define. Like there was a variable the Director had forgotten to give him and that he hadn't picked up on his own, even though he should have by now. "Hey," he said. "You still sure this is necessary? I mean, you've already got one smart AI on-board, okay, you don't really need another one. I could get jealous - I mean, not that kind of jealous, but you know."
"I am well aware of your capabilities, Alpha." The Director didn't look up from his figures. Dickweed. "You'll have your chance. And what we learn from Durandal will undoubtedly be useful when your turn to contribute comes..."
"Yeah. Sure," Alpha said. "Can't wait."
Next chapter.
Marathon, characters, etc. © Bungie; Red vs. Blue, characters, etc. © Rooster Teeth (and possibly also Bungie).
Crossposted from Dreamwidth - read the original post here: http://brief-transit.dreamwidth.org/191274.html .
This chapter contains: Bad words, dub-con neural links, food sharing, agender alien point of view, ominous foreboding, Durandal still really doesn't like York, sorry.
Previous chapter.
5. Hang Time
"- and Four Seven Niner was waiting for us in the docking bay," Carolina said. "We made it with plenty of oxygen to spare. No trouble on the ride back, either."
"Thank you for your report, Agent Carolina." The Director glanced across the table and around at the rest of the team. "Do any of you have anything to add?"
"Nah," South said, "not unless you count Wash dropping his knife like a goddamn private in boot camp."
"Hey! That could happen to anyone!"
"No, just dumbfucks like you who can't -"
"Leave him alone for once, South."
"If that's all, you're dismissed," the Director said, frowning.
"Yes, sir. I'll have the written report first thing in the morning," said Carolina as the other agents filed out of the debriefing room.
"Very good," he said, and she left as well; he picked up a stray datapad that had been left on the table, saw green light reflecting from the screen, and looked up at Hammer's silent bulk and Durandal's hovering avatar. "I said you were dismissed, gentlemen."
"I am not one of the agents at your beck and call, Director," Durandal said, and its avatar shifted: from round symbol to a detailed representation of an antique scimitar. "Neither is he. And since I've upheld my end of our agreement, it's time that you upheld yours."
"Ah. Regarding the repairs to your ship."
"Yes, about the repairs to my ship. My engines are back up and capable of one or two short folds, but I need time and more materials to restore them to full function. And honestly, the gigantic crack in the hull is starting to get on my nerves. You promised help; now deliver."
"Of course," the Director said, watching Hammer. The man had taken off his helmet on entering the debriefing room along with the rest and still held it tucked under his arm. He hadn't spoken up during Carolina's report, and his expression hadn't changed the entire time. Exactly the behavior one would expect of a soldier, but with an unusual detachment; he might as well have been a chair for all the engagement he'd shown. "FILSS, would you be so kind as to look up the nearest repair station and transmit the coordinates to our guests? We'll accompany you and vouch for you, naturally. Mr. Hammer is welcome to remain aboard our ship until yours is completely repaired."
"Acknowledged, Director," FILSS said. "And might I add, Mr. Durandal, watching the footage of you and your friend at work was very enjoyable."
"How could I disappoint such a charming program?" Durandal said smoothly. "You can send those coordinates on to the S'pht, I'll be joining them shortly. Later, Director."
The holographic avatar vanished, and Hammer turned to go.
"Just a moment," the Director said, rising from the table. "Could you send Agent Carolina back in? I have a few more questions for her."
"Sure," Hammer said. He replaced his helmet and left the room.
While he waited, the Director sat down again and scrolled idly through the datapad, which was filled with lists of equipment and supplies. Likely it had been left behind by one of the support staff during an earlier meeting; nothing important, but it did remind him to speak to the Counselor later. He would need to request a few specialized tools once they reached the repair station.
Carolina returned a few minutes later, minus helmet and chest armor. "What do you need, sir?"
"What are your impressions of Hammer's fieldwork?"
An expression flickered across Carolina's face too quickly for him to read; it might have been disappointment, though he couldn't imagine what for. "My honest impressions?"
"Naturally."
"He's good. Followed orders well. Efficient, but - brutal."
"Do you consider that a problem?" the Director said. "In our position, humanity has no time for the niceties."
"You asked for my impression, sir." Carolina's mouth twisted slightly. "I'm not saying it's a bad thing, but it's what I saw."
"And Durandal?"
"Arrogant. Incredibly arrogant. But, well -" She shrugged. "- he can deliver. Which is what I was expecting after he trashed that fleet. Not really what I'd call a team player, however." She hesitated, then said, "Sir, I know you're interested in him, especially because of your research, but I don't think letting him have access to so much of our equipment is a good idea. Hammer's all right, just odd, but Durandal is - I don't trust him."
"Your concerns are noted, but I have the matter in hand." Alpha had already given him the key points; all that was left was time and those tools. And perhaps that Engineer Carolina had reported seeing. "Now, about the rest of your team's performance..."
---
Washington dragged a fork through a pile of sad, generic fried noodles and said, "I just don't know what's gotten into South."
Maine rumbled sympathetically and helped himself to Wash's untouched yogurt. Wash never finished yogurt when he got it anyway, and it was strawberry-flavored.
"I mean, it's not like we're all that close, anyway," Wash said, waving a piece of overcooked cabbage in the air, "but she's been ragging on me about everything lately. What is with her?"
Maine scooped a giant spoonful of yogurt into his mouth and watched CT's gaze slide over to the duplicate leaderboard that had been installed in the mess three days before Epsilon Ariadne. "I wonder," she said.
"I can't believe she said that to the Director," Wash went on, "and in front of the whole team - she could've at least saved it for her report."
"You did drop your knife in the middle of a fight."
"Oh, now you're getting on my case, too?"
"I'm serious, Wash. Just because we have the good armor now doesn't mean you can afford careless mistakes like that, and you know it. If North hadn't shot that elite off you -"
"Hey," a rough voice said. "Mind if I sit here?"
Maine glanced over; Hammer was still in armor, balancing two trays packed with food and his helmet under his arm, and looking directly at him, not CT or Wash. New agents mostly talked to them first, him as a last resort.
"Uh - sure, if Maine's okay with it," Wash said.
Maine took another bite of yogurt, then nodded slightly, and Hammer sat on the empty bench across from him and Wash, not quite next to CT.
Washington went back to picking at his congealing noodles, and Maine watched Hammer shovel a medley of terrible mess food into his mouth for half a minute, waiting for a second voice or a green avatar to pop up. When nothing appeared, he nudged Wash, then raised his eyebrows when Wash turned around, and Wash said, "Okay... So, is your - is Durandal here right now, too?"
"Nope, he went back to Rozie for the jump," Hammer said around a mouthful of rice. "Can't stand anyone else flying it."
"Oh, thank God, he scares me," Wash said immediately, and then his shoulders hunched. "I mean - no offense, it's just -"
"Don't worry about it. He's an asshole, always has been."
"But you're still with him," CT said. She looked at Hammer directly for the first time, sitting straight up instead of her usual comfortable slouch. She still didn't come up to his shoulder, Maine noted.
"Like I got a choice about it. We get on all right, anyway." Hammer polished off the rice and contemplated a giant messy sandwich filled with more ingredients than Maine could count. "Never said I wasn't an asshole."
Wash laughed uncertainly, then stopped when no one else did. After another minute of awkward, silent eating, he tried, "How about that mission today, huh? Sounded like you guys had it pretty rough."
Maine shrugged. It had gone well by his standards, at least until the vacuum thing. Which he didn't hold against CT; Covenant computers were complicated, and if Carolina had sent him to the bridge, he would have just smashed them and probably gotten the same result.
Hammer swallowed the last of his sandwich before saying, "It was fine."
"What, that's all?"
Hammer nodded and started unwrapping a pack of off-brand Oreos.
"Geez, this guy's almost as quiet as you," Wash told Maine. "Didn't Carolina say you guys saw an Engineer? What was that like? Did you get to -"
At that moment North and South walked into the mess, arguing in heated undertones, and CT stood up abruptly. "Excuse me, I need to talk to South," she said. "Nice talking to you, Hammer."
"Christ, just call me Mark already," Hammer said to her back as she walked away. "You guys are making me feel like a tool."
"Er, sorry," Wash said. "Okay, uh - Mark - so what's it like, having an AI in the suit?"
"It's okay."
"Seriously? What is with you?"
"What do you want, a novel?" Hammer looked down at the empty trays in front of him. "The mods are great, I'm already used to Durandal whining in my ear every two minutes, not a lot to talk about."
Maine considered his leftovers and the high probability that Mark Hammer had been eating out of alien replicators for twelve years, then pushed his tray over to Mark's side of the table. Mark nodded in thanks and dug into the half-full plate of soggy cheese fries.
"What about the neural link? What was that like?" Wash said.
"The what?"
"You know, the neural link - when the AI syncs up with your brain..." Wash tilted his head. "Didn't that happen?"
"I goddamn well hope not!" Mark frowned, the most distinct expression Maine had seen on his face yet. "He's bad enough as it is, last thing I want is him poking around in my actual head." He paused, then said, "You don't actually do that with your AI, do you?"
"Not me specifically, but, uh, that's the idea," Wash said. "It's supposed to improve your reaction time, aim, that kind of thing. That's why we get - oh, I bet that's why it didn't work with you. We all got the hook-ups for AI implantation when we signed on, but since you're not military - at least, not our military, right? - you don't have the right connections."
"Huh."
It was just as well, Maine decided. A neural link with a normal AI might not be too bad, but a Rampant AI like Durandal could probably burn out a soldier's brain without even -
"Oh, I think I could work around a mere equipment problem," Durandal said, his round avatar appearing over Mark's shoulder.
Wash jumped and would have hit Maine's side with his elbow if Maine hadn't leaned left in time, but Mark didn't blink; he said, "And when did you get back?"
"Two and a half minutes ago. We've arrived at the repair station; I'll be returning in a moment to supervise the work, but first, let me try this neural link. If I connect through - yes, this should work..." The avatar blinked out.
"How about no?" Mark said.
"Pretty please? I just want to see how it works."
"God, fine, but stay out of the private stuff. Hey. Hey. I just said - whoa, cut that out!" Mark shook his head, and his eyelids twitched. "Get out of - what the hell are you getting so smug about all of a sudden?"
"Nothing in particular," Durandal said, but the self-satisfaction in his voice made Maine's knuckles itch.
"Bullshit. Wait, are you looking at - leave those alone, damnit! I swear to God -"
Maine put his hands on the table, pushed himself up, and leaned over. "Stop," he snarled.
"Are you disturbed, Agent Maine? How sweet. There's no need to worry, he's perfectly fine."
"If you don't get out right the fuck now I'm going to nuke your core and sell it for spare parts!" Mark shouted.
"Whatever you say. Darling." The round symbol reappeared, flickering, and Mark shook himself. "I'm going back to Rozinante," Durandal said. "You may want to come over as well sometime soon, or I'll redecorate your rooms without your input. I see - something in neon blue. And a swimming pool like that one on Omega Perseus 8 you liked so much."
"Don't even fucking think about it," Mark said. "Nukes. I'm not kidding."
Durandal laughed as his avatar faded out again.
Maine felt Wash's hand on his elbow and slowly sat back down. "Seriously, that guy is a dick," Wash said, "I'm sorry I even opened my mouth, I didn't think - well, I didn't even know he was there, but still... Sorry."
"Not your fault." Mark rubbed at his temples and muttered, "Sometimes I really hate him," but one side of his mouth was curling up in a half-smile as he said it. "All right, I better go hitch a ride back to Rozie or God knows what he's gonna do with my stuff. Thanks for the company. And the fries."
"Uh - you're welcome."
When Mark was gone, Wash said, "I know he's supposed to be from another universe or whatever, but - Hammer is a little weird, right? It's not just me?"
"Mm," Maine said, refusing to commit, although he couldn't really come up with a counter-argument. Mark Hammer was more than a little strange, shrugging off an invasive neural link like that.
"Oh, you would like him. I can't believe you gave him your cheesy fries, you won't even let me have one..."
---
Drifts To The Side gently replaced the patched coolant flow pipe and turned to Mn'rhi. Their tentacles wove in subtle signs to say, Your technology is strange, but lovely, and well cared for.
"Some of us care for our ship," Yr'ckta said, twitching their cloak in irritation. "Others are careless and cause great damage."
My actions were necessary, Durandal said through the network.
You consider many actions necessary which are not, if you would think more thoroughly instead of reaching immediately for the most dramatic option!
We shouldn't fight over a matter once the time for choosing action is past, Mn'rhi said soothingly, and to Drifts To The Side said, "We are grateful for your help."
Pleased to learn and be of use, Drifts To The Side signed. May I help anywhere else?
You can show them around the engines and Weapons Array 28, Durandal said, but keep them away from the places where the human engineers are working - you know how some humans can be. I'll make certain the areas you enter are sealed and pressurized.
"I will show you where you are needed," Yr'ckta said to Drifts To The Side. "Please follow me, and should Durandal speak, don't pay attention."
They led Drifts To The Side down the hall and towards the engines; Mn'rhi took up a scanner and checked the coolant pipes quickly, finding that the repairs were flawless. Durandal had indeed done well to bring Drifts To The Side aboard. The humans were skilled enough to mend the hull, but allowing their oily, spongy hands to touch the more delicate machinery - well, Yr'ckta would not have been the only angry S'pht.
Mn'rhi consulted the network briefly and found nothing requiring their attention, leaving them free for the time being. They could join Yr'ckta and Drifts To The Side in engineering, although Yr'ckta probably wouldn't appreciate their company; they could also watch the human crew working on the hull, which Mn'serh and certain others of the S'pht'Mnr and S'pht'Kr had taken upon themselves as a duty.
Instead, they floated slowly towards the prow of K'liah Narhl and Mark's living space. Mark wouldn't be there, which was regrettable - they had come home briefly to argue with the human crew and Durandal over repairs, then returned to the other ship - but they would be happy to know that others were taking care of their space.
On the way, they encountered F'tha. "Be peaceful," F'tha said. "Do you need something?"
"Be peaceful," Mn'rhi answered. "No, I thought to visit Mark's space for maintenance."
"No need. I've just come from there and all is in order."
"The garden, too?" Mn'rhi had never understood why Mark would care for the plants of the fucking slavers, but they did, and in their absence F'tha and Mn'rhi had been taking turns to keep the garden in order.
"Of course, the garden."
Mn'rhi considered what other tasks might be done, but they were interrupted in this process by Durandal announcing across the network, Ship docking in hangar bay 13 with supplies. Familiar faces on board, if anyone is interested.
That settled the matter; F'tha and Mn'rhi went together to hangar bay 13. There they found one of the bulky human ships sitting on the deck, and Mark had disembarked along with a smaller human in white armor. Mark waved and called to them, "Be peaceful, F'tha, Mn'rhi! Everything functioning?"
"All is working smoothly," F'tha said, gliding closer to the ship and the humans. "What did you bring?"
"Some stuff for me, some stuff for the workers," Mark said, in their own language. "Food and back-up air, mostly. Want to give me a hand?"
Mn'rhi checked the phrasing against their knowledge of human sayings and said, "Yes, we would be pleased to help."
The human in white armor was moving their head from side to side; they said, "Wait, how the hell can you tell who's who?"
"Twelve years' practice, mostly."
"Twelve years my fat ass, they're fucking identical besides those cloaks. How do you know you got it right?"
F'tha's heart flickered with irritation. These people don't trust Mark as they should, they said. Mark is always honest with us, and a reliable ally.
Mark gestured with their shoulders. "Because I know them," they said. "And they're not totally identical. F'tha's got those scars on their helmet, see? And Mn'rhi has these scratches in their shoulder - there's plenty of ways to tell."
"Yeah, really?" the other human said. "How about those guys over there?" They pointed their arm and hand at three S'pht who had just entered the bay to observe: F'sehn, Yr'nar, and S'lhar, who greeted F'tha and Mn'rhi briefly over the network.
Mark looked in their direction. "Huh," they said. "Looks like Yr'nar, F'sehn - not sure about the S'pht'Kr, I don't hang out with them much. S'lhar, I think."
"Bullshit."
"Mark has a good eye," Mn'rhi said in human, with pride at recalling the excuse Durandal had given them all. Durandal claimed that Mark would be disturbed to learn they had achieved a superficial link to the S'pht network.
"More like a fucking ninja eye," the white-armored human said. They crossed their arms. "So, this orange one's Mn'rhi? The dick who tried to give me a heart attack when we were hauling your fat-ass ship around?"
Mn'rhi had thought the human's voice sounded familiar; they must be the one referred to as For'sev'niner. "Yes, my name is Mn'rhi," Mn'rhi said, and politely added, "fucker."
"Goddamnit, Mn'rhi, what have I told you -"
"Pfft, whatever," For'sev'niner said, "I don't give a shit. This little fucker's cool with me, right, Mn'rhi?"
"Yes," Mn'rhi said, although thirteen years of linguistic analysis had still failed to find a precise correlation between human "cool" and any S'pht adjective that wasn't related to temperature. F'tha had spent the most time in analyzing the word and considered the meaning equivalent to "admirable," and their conclusion had been accepted. In Mn'rhi's observation, For'sev'niner was certainly admirable in their piloting.
"As long as you don't mind, I guess," Mark said. "C'mon, let's get to work."
"Oh, none for me, thanks. Pilot's privilege." For'sev'niner leaned against the hull of their ship. "You guys go on ahead, door's already open."
Mark said very softly, "Goddamn pilots," and led F'tha and Mn'rhi to the rear of the ship to unload the supplies. As they carried boxes from the ship to the bay, Mark said in S'pht, still softly, "How functions the new engine worker? Uh. From the other ship."
"Drifts To The Side?" Mn'rhi said. "They're doing well, and their work is very good. Do the humans know of their skill? Drifts To The Side would also enjoy helping them, I think."
"That would be not well," Mark said, "I mean - please say nothing to the humans, they do not require the engine working help."
"As you wish."
F'tha took up the side of one crate in their hands and said to Mn'rhi, who took the other, Mark is troubled, then aloud to Mark, "Are those humans treating you well?"
"Oh, sure. Keep trying to talk me into a medical exam, don't know why. And they're always asking about that Engineer and if I can do these show-off tests for them. Besides that, they're all right."
"You should tell us if you require our presence there," F'tha said. "Not all of us are busy."
"Nah, it's fine. Really."
F'tha, you are behaving that way again, Mn'rhi told them.
What way?
You are treating Mark like your child or a new partner, Mn'rhi said. They do not need to be fussed over so much.
F'tha's heart flickered a momentary deep blue in anger, then dulled. I find trusting these new humans difficult, they said. And Mark and Durandal spend so much time with them - I am concerned, that's all.
Oblivious to this conversation, Mark continued to carry their chosen crate to the bay. For'sev'niner made a strange high-pitched noise and said, "What are you, an ox? The guys had to use a forklift to get that shit on board."
"Yeah, well, I don't have a forklift."
"Even your alien buddies are sharing the load, what the fuck, dude. Now I wanna see you with the armor off, I bet you've got more muscles than Jesus."
"Sorry, I don't strip for strangers," Mark said.
"Not even if I gave you candy?"
"Nope."
"Damn, you're even more uptight than Maine. Ruin all my fun, why don't you?"
See? Mn'rhi said. They're doing well. Do not worry so much; Durandal is watching over them, too, you know.
I hope you are correct, F'tha said.
Mark called to them, "Are you guys helping or what? Still got a bunch of these left."
"We're coming," Mn'rhi called back, and both of them concentrated on the unloading of the crates until the task was complete.
---
York walked into the observation room and found Florida, CT, and North hanging out in their civvies, watching the training floor. "Hey, guys," he said. "Who's up and how's it going?"
"South, Wyoming, and Hammer with his crazy AI, big surprise," CT said. She scowled down at the floor. "They started off with paint guns, then Wyoming claimed he was going to suffocate if he took one more headshot and now they're having a snipe-off."
"Wyoming is awfully clever that way," Florida said cheerfully.
"I offered to swap with South for this part," North said, "but she took that about as well as you might expect."
York could make a pretty good guess. He went to the window and took a look for himself at the contest. The three combatants stood in the center of the training room with their backs to each other; FILSS's digital targets danced around them, turning red and blinking out whenever one of them scored a hit. Looked like Wyoming and Hammer had a tie for first place going on so far, and sounded like it, too, the way South was cursing. That last wasn't much of a surprise. South was built for the front lines, didn't have the patience or the finesse for sniping.
The way Hammer kept picking off targets like they were big fish in a tiny barrel was a little surprising, since close quarters fighting like South or Maine was more his style from what York had seen. Probably his AI at work.
"Anyone know how many tests this makes, now?" York said.
"As many as the Director could cram into three days," CT said, still scowling. "Seems like overkill for people who are only sticking around until their ship is repaired, don't you think?"
"No one pays us to ask the hard questions," said North. "Unfortunately. I can always use a pay raise."
The targets sped up, jumping and weaving around in increasingly complex patterns, and North muttered, "C'mon, sis, keep it together," as fewer of South's targets went red. Wyoming got a nice triple score on a tricky pattern, then missed an easy shot that Hammer caught.
"I do hope Wyoming can stick this one," Florida said. "He gets pretty irritable if he - oh, that's got to sting..." South had just kicked Hammer hard in the ankle.
Hammer's firing stance wavered, but his aim didn't, and he picked off four more targets as Wyoming took down another three and South shot one. Then the program faded, and FILSS announced, "Round five complete. Point: Mr. Hammer and Mr. Durandal."
South threw her gun at the floor and stalked out of the training room; "Fucking cheating dickholes!" echoed up from the lower hall.
"I should go talk to her," North said, but CT stopped him from leaving with a touch on his arm.
"You're probably the last person she wants to see right now," she said. "Leave it to me, okay? See you guys later."
North reluctantly nodded, and CT vanished down the hall just as Florida clapped York and North on the back. "Well, I don't know about you two," he said, "but watching all that excellent shooting sure has given me an appetite! Why don't we go catch Wyoming and Mark in the mess?"
York inched out from under Florida's hand - that guy got way too handsy sometimes, always right after saying something creepy even by spec ops standards - and said, "Fine by me. North?"
"Sure."
They beat Hammer and Wyoming to the mess hall and took a free table; Washington and Maine wandered in a couple minutes later, still in armor, while Florida was getting them food. "You guys would not believe the day we've had," Wash said, collapsing onto the bench opposite York and North. "So, the Counselor sent us to one of the sim trooper outposts, Battle Creek Outpost Delta, right? We were supposed to run scenario 11, the one with the robot uprising, but halfway through the part where the Red Team needs to get forty gallons of petroleum-based lubricant for the giant drill -"
Mercifully, that was the moment Hammer walked in. Maine waved him over to their table before Washington could get any further into the story, and Hammer sat next to him just as Florida returned with two trays piled high with snacks. "Glad you could join us!" Florida said. "Help yourself to anything you want, I made sure to get enough for everyone. Isn't Wyoming with you?"
"Said he wanted to practice some more," Hammer said. "Guess he's kinda sore about that last round."
"That was some nice shooting, by the way," North said, scooping up an apple from one tray. "Sorry about South, she's - uh, always been competitive."
Durandal's round avatar popped up as Hammer removed his helmet and took two ambiguously filled sandwiches and a bag of sweet chili chips from the pile. "Don't be sorry," the AI said, "I like her more all the time."
"The two of you would kill each other in a week, tops," Hammer said. "I wouldn't get too attached."
"At least it would be a fun week. And jealousy doesn't become you. Honey."
Actually, maybe Wash's lube story would have been the better option. "Hey, about that sniper contest," York said. "You always aim that well?"
"Nah, had a little help from Durandal."
"More accurately, a lot of help," Durandal said. "That was almost entirely me, in fact."
"Like hell it was."
"Guess I shouldn't be surprised," York said. "You did a pretty good job against those Covenant on the cruiser, too." He considered Florida's snacks, then reached for a pudding cup. "So, D, how do you work out -"
Hammer's left arm shot across the table and his fist closed around York's wrist. "You will never address me like that again," Durandal said, and the round symbol flickered into the shape of a sword.
"Oww, damn - like what?"
"By a mere nickname," Durandal said, his voice dripping with synthetic disdain. "If any of your puny brains requires some variation on my name, you may call me Almighty Durandal, All-Knowing Master of the Universe, the Great and Powerful Durandal, the Unbreakable God -"
"Seriously?" York gave Hammer the mournful puppy eyes. "Can't you call him off?"
Hammer shrugged his right shoulder, blank-faced. "Sorry," he said, "I'm the husband, not the boss. You decide to piss off the guy who's personally vaporized most of the Pfhor's best battle fleets, that's your problem."
"- your Lord and Master, the Terror of the Pfhor -"
"Okay, okay, I'm sorry," York said, "no more nicknames, I promise!" The grip on his wrist didn't loosen, and his fingers were starting to turn purple. "Please let go? Uh, almighty Durandal? That's really starting to hurt."
"Hey, almighty pain in my ass," Hammer said, without a change in expression, "I need that hand to eat."
After another moment of near-crushing pressure, Durandal released York's wrist; Hammer took his hand back and resumed eating his sandwich as the sword shifted into the neutral round avatar.
York shook his fingers, hoping that he hadn't permanently lost sensation in them, and said, "How come he gets to call you names?"
"Because Mark has spent the last twelve years proving his general usefulness and reliability to me," Durandal said, "whereas you, Agent York, so far appear to be approximately eighty-seven percent talk to thirteen percent walk."
Maine snorted, and Washington told Hammer, "You know, I'm starting to think the two of you deserve each other."
"How insulting," Durandal said. "I deserve much better, obviously," while Hammer just smiled briefly around the sandwich. Damn, that guy was kind of creepy when he smiled.
"Doesn't it warm the cockles of your heart to see such a happy couple?" Florida said, with a genial smile that caused every other Freelancer at the table to edge away from him. "I don't suppose the two of you have any special days coming up, do you? Like an anniversary?"
"Uh - no."
"That's a pity. I do love a good anniversary celebration! And I'd be more than happy to arrange a little something for you..."
"Just out of curiosity," Durandal said, "you do realize we're leaving as soon as Rozinante is repaired, right? I have some very specific gravitational anomalies to look for."
"I don't see why that should stop us from trying to make you feel right at home while you're here."
"That's okay," Hammer said. "Really."
"No, I think Florida's got a point," York said, earning himself a set of confused looks from most of the rest of the table. Hey, his wrist still hurt, he was entitled to a little payback. "We don't want you guys to feel unappreciated or anything. We can get booze from Niner and make it a real party, invite everyone in the program..."
"Glad to see you getting into the spirit!" Florida said, beaming.
"That's it, I'm going back to the ship," Durandal said. "Good luck wriggling out of this one."
His avatar disappeared as Florida enthusiastically began to talk about decorations; Hammer's usual stoicism was melting into obvious unease, and York had to hide his grin in his pudding cup. Odds were good the party was never going to happen - for one thing, Niner was incredibly protective of her alcohol stash - but it was nice to see that something could get under Hammer's skin.
---
The Director turned away from the camera feeds. "Well?"
"Looking good," Alpha said. "Everything's set up, running smoothly, and it doesn't look like he's noticed anything more than the usual kind of junk interference you get around shipyards. Of course, it'd be even better if we could get an Engineer in here, but what can you do?"
"Good work." The Director tapped a screen and brought up a set of figures and scenarios to peruse.
"So, uh, when do you want to do this? The equipment's ready, so any time's good for me."
"Not yet," the Director said absently. "Give it another three transfers, to become complacent about the interference. On the fourth - that's when we'll catch it."
"Whatever you say, boss." Alpha ran through projected outcomes of the plan again, just for kicks. Yeah, still couldn't find any problems that someone couldn't handle, but observational data combined with the worst-case scenario projections left him with an uneasiness he couldn't define. Like there was a variable the Director had forgotten to give him and that he hadn't picked up on his own, even though he should have by now. "Hey," he said. "You still sure this is necessary? I mean, you've already got one smart AI on-board, okay, you don't really need another one. I could get jealous - I mean, not that kind of jealous, but you know."
"I am well aware of your capabilities, Alpha." The Director didn't look up from his figures. Dickweed. "You'll have your chance. And what we learn from Durandal will undoubtedly be useful when your turn to contribute comes..."
"Yeah. Sure," Alpha said. "Can't wait."
Next chapter.
Marathon, characters, etc. © Bungie; Red vs. Blue, characters, etc. © Rooster Teeth (and possibly also Bungie).
Crossposted from Dreamwidth - read the original post here: http://brief-transit.dreamwidth.org/191274.html .