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| - Felix followed Rosch up the ramp of the ONI shuttle. He still had no idea how Rosch had managed to requisition such an advanced ship for their jump to Sanghelios; he still didn't know how the man was still heading up the task force at all. But it seemed that Simon-G294 merited a much smaller task force than David Kahn. Gone were the ODST squads and aerial assets, replaced by simply Rosch, Team Jian, and one subdued hostage. It wasn't much as far as task forces went, but then again most task forces didn't sport a team of Spartans. And given Rosch's track record, Felix was quite grateful that the commander wouldn't be unleashing a UNSC arsenal on an allied homeworld. Jake and Ralph trailed behind him, escorting a handcuffed Cassandra into the shuttle. Their form and posture was so lax that had they been MPs they would have been drummed out of the force in a heartbeat. Neither of them so much as touched their prisoner's arms or shoulders, and Felix's helmet sensors could pick up faint words of encouragement being whispered by both of them. No matter what G294 had done and no matter how many years had passed, the young woman was clearly still considered a member of Jian, at least as far as Jake and Ralph were concerned. Felix nodded appreciatively to Rosch as they entered the shuttle's interior. It was cramped as far as crew accommodations went, but it was big enough to sport an advanced Slipspace drive and room for a single Pelican dropship, which was docked right in the center of the ship like a child in its mother's womb. "This is the fastest ONI has to offer," Rosch explained, leading Felix into the cockpit. "The latest in the Stingray line. If Slipspace is generous, we'll arrive at Sanghelios in less than three days." Not trusting any of the cockpit's chairs to support his weight, Felix glanced back at where Jian--armed and handcuffed alike--were settling in behind him. He hesitated, then sealed the cockpit door. ONI would never have him as one of their cloak and dagger toadies, but some discussions were best conducted in private. "G006," he began, and Rosch nodded. "I wondered when you'd ask about her," the commander said approvingly. "I doubt either of us are optimistic enough to think she'll help bring down G294 willingly." "Do you have a plan yet?" Felix asked. "I can't guarantee that I can get the Sangheili to cooperate with us here." "We will find him, with or without their help," Rosch assured him. "When we do, we may get lucky and kill him without G006's assistance. His combat records from ONI's files aren't exactly stellar." "Those are records from twenty years ago," Felix reminded him. "Even with the cryosleep, he's spent five years getting by on his own out here. And even then, those are records from a controlled training environment. I don't think they come close to predicting how he'll fight when his back's to the wall." Daniel called out to him from beyond the grave; that was one death at least that G294 had to answer for. The problem was, Felix still had no idea what he would do when the time came to confront the traitor Spartan. "We have you," Rosch said, unconcerned. "And since this mission began, the rest of Jian has expressed their desires to tie up the loose end as well. Killing him won't be the problem. Drawing him out will be." Felix nodded and turned to leave. "Then I'd better brush up on my Sangheili." But he couldn't shake the whisper of doubt that wouldn't let him write G294 off as executed just yet. His gut told him that there was a better way to settle things, one that didn't involve a bullet in another unfortunate soul's head. He just had no idea what that better way was.
*
* "So there you have it." Helen Powell, chief operative of the galaxy's most powerful criminal empire, crossed her arms over the front of her snappy business suit. From his position seated across from her, David Kahn remembered the last time he'd seen her. She'd been negotiating with a pasty-faced drug kingpin then, and she'd worn a tantalizingly low-cut dress for that meeting. Everything about her is another move in the game, he thought, eying the young woman thoughtfully. So where does rescuing me fit in with that game? "High speed travel to Sanghelios," he mused aloud. "And Venter's the target. Pretty tall order." "For someone else, maybe." She tossed a lock of dark hair idly over her shoulder. "But not for David Kahn." "Yes," he agreed. "Not for David Kahn." But even as he spoke those words, he could feel a painful tension sliding down his body. His muscles still ached from days of nonstop fighting; his wounds were only just beginning to heal. And there was a stiffness beneath it all, roots that crept through his veins and slowed everything down: muscles, reflexes, even his hand-eyeh coordination. I'm getting old. It was a fear he'd had for a while now, years before New Madrigal, but it had never been more apparent than it was now. For all the drugs and implants he'd bought for himself with his vast fortune of blood money, time was finally catching up to him. The days where he could turn the impossible into reality were drawing to a close, and there was nothing he could do about it. "I'll take the job," he told Helen. "At half rate. A thank you for what you did for me back on New Madrigal." The smile she gave him was warm and sincere, but he could see the well-honed facial muscles that let her pull it off. She had been bred for this, groomed to threaten and cajole and bargain with the lowest scum the galaxy had to offer. She was her father's legacy, no doubt about that. He cast a sideways glance at Nimue, who sat upright a few chairs down the conference table. Her dull grey jumpsuit hid the bandages that covered her wounds, and if David hadn't treated her personally he wouldn't have known she'd been shot in the first place. "No thanks necessary," Helen told him as she swept out of the room. "The Syndicate looks after its friends." The door slid shut behind her. Kahn nodded to Nimue. "You heard the job. Are you up for it?" A stupid question, he realized the moment he said it. He had never asked Nimue whether she was up for something; if he gave her a task, she did it no matter how she was feeling at the time. She fixed him with that steady gaze of hers, as if she were looking at him through a rifle scope. "Yes." There had never been any sirs or other honorifics between them. That had not been their way. The years Kahn had spent raising her had taken their relationship beyond teacher and student, commander and subordinate. Even now, with all that needed to be said hanging in the air, Kahn could practically look through her eyes at himself. The question was, could she do the same with him? "Good," he found himself saying. "This won't be easy. I hope you haven't let what I taught you go to waste." "No," she said. "I'm better than I was before." It was said with such simple truth that Kahn believed her instantly. But there was also something in her voice, an edge that bordered on accusation. You left me, her unspoken words said. You left me alone, and I had to learn on my own. I left you because you needed that. He could only hope his eyes told her, words that could never be said. You needed to be free of me. And now that we're back together, we'll see how you've improved. David Kahn had taken so much out of the galaxy. Nimue was the one thing he had ever given back. She was his legacy, something that would live on long after he was finally gone. That was what she had always been. That was what she wanted. Wasn't it?
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