Halo_ Evolutions - Essential Tales of the Halo Universe - Eric Nylund [120]
Met their eyes, relieved to see no argument there. You didn’t leave your own in the dark. Not even if there were big bad “viruses” out there. Especially not then.
“Um.”
Except for Percy, apparently. Was she going to have a problem with Percy?
“Private?”
“Can I hit him too, Sarge?”
>Foucault 1515 hours
Foucault stood on the bridge beneath the light of the images brought back from the ship’s remote cameras. They’d displayed the same thing for hours: the Mona Lisa dark and tiny against the backdrop of broken Halo, the endlessly shifting cloud of debris, brief flares in Threshold’s atmosphere as pieces of Halo plummeted into the gas giant, and one Covenant capitol ship, on the very edge of the sensors, nearly masked by the planet. The Covenant ship hadn’t picked up on them, and some part of him—the reckless part—wanted to sneak up and lay down a few well-placed mines.
A timer, nestled in to one corner of the main screen, counted the seconds since last contact with Sergeant Lopez and her team.
It had been running a long time.
Rebecca stood on a holopad in her war avatar. Foucault had insisted on it. It seemed disrespectful of her to show up on the bridge looking like a dumpy Italian woman. It offended his sense of decorum. Besides, he often underestimated Rebecca when she took on that avatar. He didn’t want to do that, not now.
He knew: there were Covenant on board the Mona Lisa.
He knew: there were ONI personnel on board the Mona Lisa.
He knew . . . well, not much else.
He knew his options were limited.
The timer flicked over, another minute gone.
A new context, a new paradigm. A new something.
“Helm,” he said, determined to break the spell of inertia. “Bring us up on the Mona Lisa. Quietly. I want Sergeant Fugazi and two squads prepped and ready for dust off as soon as we’re alongside.”
“Yes, sir! New heading—”
“Commander,” Rebecca cut in over the top. “What are you doing? Our orders specifically state that if recon, or a loss of recon, indicates the Mona Lisa has been compromised beyond retrieval, the Red Horse is authorized to fire a Shiva missile and destroy the ship, regardless of passengers and regardless of revealing our position.”
Foucault turned, caught the eye of the helmsman, who was hesitating, and nodded. “Yes, Rebecca. I am aware of our orders.”
Sometimes he’d much rather be a private than a commander. Sometimes he’d much rather be lowered down into the middle of a firefight than have to make overarching high-level and distant decisions. Field combat came more naturally to him than this posturing and fencing.
Rebecca crossed her arms, tilting her head toward the timer. “That indicates a ‘loss of recon,’ Commander. It is time to reassess the situation.”
Intimidation tactics were wasted on an AI, but he leaned down, close to the Ghost Who Must Be Obeyed, and whispered. “I have been given my orders, but I have not been granted any information with which to assess the situation. We are to destroy the Mona Lisa if it is ‘compromised,’ but by what I do not know.”
“Covenant,” Rebecca replied succinctly.
“Sergeant Lopez and her team are more than capable of handling the Covenant presence on board that ship. No, I say again: I have not been given any information that would warrant firing on one of our own ships with my own soldiers aboard. Prep a Pelican, bring up the Red Horse. I suspect you could tell me what I need to know, and I suspect you will not. Thus, I see no alternative but to conduct further recon.” Perfectly aware he was beginning to sound like his prissy schoolteacher of a father. “You were right. We do send our soldiers to their deaths, but we do not willingly abandon our own, Rebecca. We do not turn and leave them.”
“You’re getting spittle on my projector,” Rebecca said.
Foucault straightened, turning away. He really missed Chauncey.
“Once I have all the facts, then I shall reassess the situation. And part of that reassessment will be to determine if you are