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Benti: “Is it, like, old, or a recon pod? Am I here to tranq or treat? I don’t get it.”

“Is it even ours?” MacCraw asked, ignoring Benti while asking the same question.

“Sure as hell ain’t Covenant,” Lopez said. “It’s human.” Just not necessarily military. Serial numbers, but no UNSC markings.

No idea what it was doing out here in uncharted space, floating in the ruins of Halo, a gargantuan alien artifact Lopez hadn’t even tried to explain to herself. Hell, Lopez had no real idea what she was doing here, for that matter. They’d popped out of slipspace like a greased egg just three days ago, with no more specific task than “recon and recovery and watch out for Covenant patrols.” Lopez wasn’t in the mood for more mysteries.

“But—that doesn’t mean it’s friendly,” she added, not wanting them too relaxed. Except for Clarence, who was at his best when he was so relaxed he didn’t even seem to be alive; sometimes Lopez wondered if he was a ghost. But it was hard for the rest of them not to be complacent, standing in the bay of their own ship. Lopez knew from experience sometimes you took the worst hits where you lived for that very reason.

They’d seen pods before on this tour—too many. They were plucking them from the void with such tenacity it made her think they were looking for something in particular. But almost all of what they’d recovered had been sleeper pods from amid the exploded chunks of continental plate, the almost delicate slices of superstructure: cryotubes ejected from the Pillar of Autumn when she was brought down by Covenant fire. All DOA, cracked and ruptured by the wealth of debris out there. Go to sleep expecting to wake, and wind up in a floating coffin instead. There were worse ways to die. There were much better ways, too.

MacCraw might have been slow, but he wasn’t that slow. As he helped Benti unsnap a stretcher, he said, “So much for a highly classified top-secret hush-hush location. That’s a civilian pod.”

Lopez didn’t answer because she had no answer. Their mission remained fuzzy, and the rumor mill was surprisingly quiet. All she knew was that even though the Red Horse operated under wartime rules, she’d felt like she was signing away her soul when they’d given her additional security documents. Not to reveal . . . Under penalty of . . .

The oddest thing? Their old smart AI, Chauncey, had been replaced with an AI named Rebecca. Chauncey had been only three years old when they’d yanked him out like an old motor block. No question of his having cracked up. Besides, Chauncey would’ve dropped her a hint or two. He had taken a real shine to Lopez. Rebecca hadn’t.

“Maybe we should tell the commander it’s civilian,” MacCraw said.

Poor MacCraw. Still so wet behind the ears. She didn’t look at him. Didn’t need to.

Benti couldn’t resist, gave Lopez a cheeky grin as she said: “There are cameras in here, MacCraw.”

He frowned, reddened.

Burgundy and Singh’s assistants had moved away from the pod.

“Sir!” Singh waved Lopez over. “Life support is still online. We’ve got a live one in here.” An instant quickening of her pulse. This could be something, finally. She was sick of being a funeral director. “Just give the word and we’ll have it open.”

Lopez motioned to Clarence. “Step on up, Invisible Man. Singh, get your team clear. Sleeping Beauty here is a stranger.” Unholstered her pistol, checked the chamber. “Benti, c’mon, get your weapon out and your head out of your ass. Treat as hostile until proven otherwise.” Benti had a talent for making friends that served the squad well on leave, especially regarding bartenders, but it wasn’t a useful trait here.

The sound of boots behind her as additional Marines filed into the hangar, ranging around the pod at Clarence’s command. Assault rifles raised and ready. She didn’t have to check—they knew what they were doing. Lopez had trained most of them herself.

Ever-silent, Clarence drew up beside her, finger on the trigger. A good man to have at her back when faced with the unknown.

Lopez nodded at Singh, who tapped his control pad. The seal