Halo_ Evolutions - Essential Tales of the Halo Universe - Eric Nylund [94]
“What about you, Rebecca?” Foucault asked, with the air of someone who already knew the answer. Lopez thought she noted a hint of sarcasm there, too.
A smile from Rebecca that was meant to reassure Lopez, but didn’t. Not one bit.
“The pod was launched six hours ago from the Mona Lisa, a prison transport. I backtracked and calculated the Mona Lisa’s approximate location at the time of launch. The coordinates have been uploaded to the nav system.”
“And it didn’t show up on our sensors, I’m guessing, because of the debris?”
Rebecca frowned, as if something annoying had just occurred to her. “That’s correct.” She brought up a schematic on the screen of a freighter with several levels, a docking hangar near the front. Storage bays hung off of it, seeming to weigh it down. To Lopez, it looked ugly. Like, if it were a ship meant for water, it would list heavily. “This is a simulation of the same ship type. They’re converted freighters, for transporting prisoners and ore to and from the penal colonies, along with the resources from the mines. The bridge is situated in the top level. The prison cells are down below, close to the hangar. In between you have the usual: kitchen, mess, infirmary, berths, the majority given over to cargo. Most prison ships have minimal defenses and minimal firearms on board—a precaution against an uprising—and rely on an escort for protection. There’s no sign of an escort, though.”
A thin smile from Foucault as he stared at Rebecca. “What would a prison transport be doing at the most significant alien discovery of the past twenty years?” he asked, cutting through all the irrelevant details in a way Lopez admired.
Rebecca shrugged. “That, I can’t tell you.”
Foucault said, “Because you don’t know, of course.” It wasn’t framed as either statement or question.
“Perhaps they encountered Covenant and made a random slipspace jump to escape.”
“Quite the coincidence, if they did. They show up here, we show up here.” It wasn’t directed at Lopez, but in a way it was. Probably the only hint she’d ever get.
Not waiting for a response, he turned to Lopez: “What do you think?”
“I’m not paid to think, sir.” Her default answer when she didn’t want to get involved.
A smirking laugh. Maybe some residual regret in that look from Foucault. As if, in situations like these, he wished he wasn’t paid to think, either.
When they’d first come out of slipspace and seen their destination, seen the alien structure, magnificent even in ruins, Lopez had forgotten herself. “What are we looking for, sir?” she’d asked. Foucault hadn’t looked away from the window, but she’d sensed him wince. On that poker face, a “wince” was just a lowered eyebrow. “Whatever there is to find, Sergeant,” he’d said finally. Slight pressure on sergeant.
“Did either of you intuit anything useful out of what the man said before he died?” Foucault asked. “Anything that gives us more context?”
“He just kept saying he was safe, sir,” Lopez said. Maybe death was a form of safety, but not one that appealed much to her.
“Nothing that would be inconsistent with the delusions of a man suffering from dehydration and mortal wounds,” Rebecca said.
Foucault did this steepling thing with his hands that was his only affectation. “I’m inclined to finish the postmortem, stow the body, and carry on with our mission.”
What mission? In Lopez’s opinion, risking their asses for “whatever there is to find” seemed stupid. She knew from talking to some of the noncoms on the bridge that it was near impossible to pilot the Prowler through the debris field. Between Rebecca and the discreet automatic defense firing, they’d avoided any serious collisions. But that risked giving away their position to the Covenant even as the debris helped hide them. Still, if the whispers that came back to her were right, the bulk of the Covenant fleet had left the system in