| abstract
| - “Jul ‘Mdama’s forces have stood down completely,” Tuka reported. The young warrior stood respectfully at attention even though he towered over Stray. It was strange to have anyone address him so observantly. Simon—no, no, it was Stray now, now and forever—couldn’t recall anyone standing at attention for him, ever. Ro’nin lurked a few paces behind Tuka looking decidedly less formal—though that was to be expected. “Whatever you told him worked. All Kru’desh ships are being ordered to fall into formation with the main fleet.” “I doubt this is a trap,” Ro’nin put in. “My associates aboard ‘Mdama’s flagship tell me he has already begun concocting explanations as to why a human now leads the raiding detachment.” Stray waited a moment before answering. He turned his face out at the viewport, watching the stars mingle with the glowing engines from the Covenant warships. An entire armada stretched out before him, power far greater than anything he had ever known. And now he wielded a part of that power. A part, for now. And before long, more than just a part. The thought sent shivers coursing down his still-aching body. His fingers twitched and tapped against the helmet at his side. “Well, that’s that then,” he said aloud, face twisting into a painful smile. “Our little coup worked. Congratulations, we’re not all going to get fried. Not today, anyway.” “I expect our fortunes will improve under the new management,” Ro’nin remarked. “Your predecessor was a decent commander, in his own way, but he lacked a certain business sense. I’m sure you’ll bring a little more of that into our operation here.” “Don’t worry.” Stray waved a hand—his new prosthetic. It still felt bizarre to be moving with the metallic appendage. He felt a strange tingling sensation sweep down the limb. “I’ll keep you guys well fed.” “That’s all I’ve ever asked.” Ro’nin dipped his head in a mocking bow. “I do hope we’ll be able to put all the past unpleasantness behind us.” The agony of scalpels etching into his bare flesh. The stench of his own burning skin filling his nostrils. That look of pleasant serenity on Ro’nin’s face as he stared down at the operating table. Stray’s smile widened. “Of course. I’ll turn the page if you can.” “You are too kind.” Tuka stepped forward, rummaging for something at his side. “I almost forgot. I have something for you, Simon.” The voice issuing forth from Tuka’s mandibles was suddenly not his own but Diana’s. The name stung in his ears, dripping with mockery and humiliation. Stray fought the urge to recoil. “Don’t call me that. Never again.” Tuka inclined his head. “Of course. My apologies, Commander.” He produced a ragged scrap of purple cloth and offered it to Stray. “I took this from the… previous commander.” The previous commander. The rush of power as he wrapped his hands around the Sangheili’s neck. The thrill as he grew still and cold beneath him. Oh right. I killed him, too. He looked down at the cloth and remembered seeing ones like it hanging from the shoulders of other Covenant leaders. As his prosthetic fingers brushed against the cloth he realized that this was it. The moment Diana had brought him to. The moment he chose for himself. I put this on and I’m part of the Covenant. The very enemy he’d been raised to kill. The enemy that had killed so many. But they weren’t my enemy. They never were. He lowered his hand and turned away from Tuka without taking the cloth. “Well? What are you waiting for?” he asked, his voice steady and commanding. Not Simon’s voice at all. Someone else entirely. “Well,” Diana murmured in his earpiece as Tuka draped the cloth over his shoulder. “Here you are at last. Beautiful, isn’t it? Now do you see why I did what I did? You could never have come this far as Simon. You have the power. Now all you have to do is keep it. Keep it, and take more and more.” Stray nodded as Tuka stepped away. “Go on, both of you. Get the warriors ready to move out. We have work to do.” Tuka saluted and left without a word. Ro’nin hesitated by the door. “Feed me well,” he said and then he, too, was gone. Stray was alone. Alone. Yes, I’m alone now. His fingers tightened against his helmet. Alone, and with all the power he’d ever wanted. This is what I want. This is what I want. He squeezed his eyes closed, shutting out the stars. For a moment he saw it all again, everything Diana’s probes had revealed. Venter dead at his feet. Colonies ablaze before him. Gavin’s neck snapping in his hands. Cassandra lying on the bed beneath him, helpless, vulnerable… Another shudder coursed through his body. I have met the monster. And he is me. The faces, the friends, the family of the past all burned away and rose up like ashes behind him. It was gone. All gone. All that remained was the future he would carve for himself. He opened his eyes and felt something hot and damp on his cheeks. He reached up and brushed his face with the prosthetic hand, finding tears quivering upon its metallic fingers. He stared at the tears for a moment, uncomprehending. Then the hand became a cold, iron fist. Yes. The time for regrets was over. Simon was dead and Stray was more alive than ever. These are the last tears I will ever shed. He turned from the viewport and strode from the room, donning his helmet and sealing himself away once again. His warriors were waiting for him. There was work to be done.
|
![[RDF Data]](/fct/images/sw-rdf-blue.png)