| abstract
| - Dust rose up from the unpaved street as the sun beat down on what had once been a thriving frontier town. But what had once served as the town's main hall and communications post now hosted a small contingent of insurrectionist fighters. Machine guns and sandbag positions had been erected on the roof and windows, manned by rebels who slumped inside whatever shade they could find while lazily scanning the skies for UNSC recon drones. They didn't have much to worry about. The rebellion had already come and gone from this particular part of Mamore, though it had stayed long enough to kill just about everyone who had called this town home. A few of their corpses had still been in the streets when the insurrectionists' small convoy had rolled in; shot down by a Marine patrol, the rebels had decided as they shoveled dirt over the ditch they had found to serve as a communal grave for the desiccated bodies of men, women, and children. A few of the rebels not on guard or patrol duty lounged on the steps of the co-opted hall laughing and sharing cigarets as they watched a small group of children, boys and girls of all ages, getting a lesson in knife-fighting from their commander. Redmond Venter smiled, twirling a combat knife expertly through his fingers as he beckoned for his opponent to attack. A thin, scraggly boy of fourteen crouched low, angling his own knife as he looked for an opening. He was the oldest of the children, with a dirty face and sunken eyes that glared out at the hot, dusty world around him with intense hostility. His ragged clothes hung limply from his body. Drops of sweat cut tracks in the grime on his cheeks, and his unkempt dark hair was matted down with salty perspiration. "C'mon Stray!" Venter called, jabbing impatiently at the air with his knife. "Show the little ones how it's done!" The boy called Stray took a step forward, knife down at his side as if he were still deciding whether or not to use it. He rocked back on his heels, cocked his head, then lunged at Venter with sudden ferocity. The insurrectionist laughed, easily sidestepping the sweeping cut at his midriff. But in an instant the boy changed the direction of the blade, stabbing upward at the face. This time, as he dodged to the side Venter swung in with his own knife. He caught the oncoming blade with the edge of his own, twisting it in towards himself before yanking roughly upwards. The knife flew from the boy's hands just as Venter's legs came in to kick his feet out from under him. The boy landed in the dirt with a painful thump. Venter shook his head, letting out another bark of laughter. "You're getting faster, Stray," he acknowledged, waving his knife affectionately at the boy as he pushed himself to his feet. "But you still don't hold the knife tight enough. You gotta feel the stab, really grit your teeth and punch it into me if you ever want to get good with it." He smiled at the boy, who grunted and wiped his moist forehead wearily. "But you knew to go for the neck. That's good. Most UNSC goons aren't armored there. You know how to kill leathernecks, that's for damn sure." Some of the other children laughed as Stray brushed himself off, but the boy hardly even glanced in their direction. He just looked Venter square in the eye and nodded. "Thanks, boss." Venter gave him a toothy grin. "You'll turn out all right Stray, no doubt about it." He shifted his knife hold and tossed Stray's own knife back to him. "Now, let's go through that again." "So," Simon said as casually as he could manage. "Why's your boss want to see us again?" "Hell if I know," the rebel soldier said over his shoulder as he guided them through a narrow passageway. The insurrectionists seemed to have repurposed an abandoned mining facility for their operations, making the place their own through a strange blend of human and Covenant technology. "He just wants me to bring you and the girl down to our holding center." "Huh." He could barely keep his fingers--flesh and metal alike--from trembling. His whole body was wrapped around the idea of finally killing the man who had haunted his dreams since Mamore. No matter how hard he tried, the only thing he could really focus on was how it would feel to put a gun to Venter's head and pull the trigger. Or maybe he'd stick a knife in him, just like the bastard had taught him to do. The possibility of it was eating away at the back of his mind like a parasite, keeping him from thinking about anything else. Behind him, Zoey moaned softly. She'd been acting strangely ever since they'd arrived. Simon chalked it up to stress. After all, she'd just been dragged through a war zone and come damn close to being killed herself. But she'd just have to be patient. He was close now, so close to being rid of Venter's shadow forever. "So, you guys have a holding center?" he asked the soldier. "I thought we were supposed to just kill everything that moves." The man grunted. "Yeah, I wish. Venter wants hostages in case we get found out. He'll use 'em for bargaining chips or something like that. And the Reaper needs subjects for his creepy-ass experiments." "Experiments?" With a shudder, the soldier beckoned them towards a large portal at the end of the tunnel. "He's a great guy right up until we get around to killing more of these squid head freaks. Then he up and turns into a goddamn mad scientists. Lots of serums and scalpels. I'm no fan of these murdering aliens, but it's still disgusting as hell to watch." So, we're meeting Venter around a bunch of Sangheili prisoners. Simon smiled inside his helmet. That would make getting out once Venter was dead all the more easy. He'd just need to let them out of their cells and start a full-blown riot. The soldier swiped an access card through a small slot that had been crudely welded to the wall. The door slid open and Simon followed his guide through the opening. Zoey groaned softly, but her footsteps continued to echo behind him. The first thing Simon noticed about the room was the smell that trickled in through his helmet's air filters. It was one he'd gotten used to by the age of twelve: rotting, untended corpses. They had entered into a large cavern where a single large enclosure had been erected. Behind antiquated metal bars sat dozens upon dozens of captive Sangheili. There had to be at least a hundred of them, if not more. Simon, whose time at the Visag keep had granted him a knack for telling the tall aliens' genders apart, counted males and females as well as children amongst the imprisoned. A few stalked angrily within the enclosure, but most were curled up in fear and dejection. "Damn, I hate this place," his guide muttered. "Freaks me out, seeing 'em all right there." "Mordred," Zoey whispered. "Please, wait. There's something I need to tell you..." "Then why the hell didn't you tell me earlier?" he hissed back. "Just stick with me and you'll be fine." "But..." "So!" The voice that cut across the cavern was one that raked over Simon's ears. He instinctively gritted his teeth as he looked over to see the man who had once been a father to him striding towards them. "Well, well," said Redmond Venter. He looked as if he had barely aged a day since he'd left Simon to die in the bowels of his asteroid hideout all those years ago. His gaunt face was just a little more haggard than it had been then, but his eyes still gleamed with the barely contained ferocious energy Simon had come to know so well. "Nice to meet you," Venter continued. He was flanked by a pair of soldiers, neither of whom looked particularly nervous. The rest of the rebels in the holding area were more focused on watching the milling crowd behind the bars. "Y'know, when our mutual Reaper friend told me he'd brought us an extra gun, I didn't think he was talking about his evil twin. Though, between you and me, I don't think you could be a bigger pain in the ass then he already is." Alright Stray, the hated voice echoed in his ear. You need to prove that you've got the balls to fight with me. Take the pistol and kill the traitor. That simple. Simon took the hand Venter thrust his way, resisting the urge to break the man's arm right then and there. He wished he'd patched things over with Diana back in the hangar. Pulling this off now would be a lot simpler with her trashing the HLF's systems. "The pleasure's mine," he said carefully. "I was just lucky he showed up when he did." Venter nodded. "Yeah, you lucked out there, that's for sure," he agreed. "Can't say I heard much about you till now. You do jobs for the Syndicate, right?" "Freelance work. But most of it's for the Syndicate, yeah." Simon was quite good at telling lies. He'd lied his way out of more life-and-death situations than he could remember, tricking people who made it their business to know when someone was lying. It was something that came almost as naturally to him as breathing, and yet just telling the truth here in a normal tone was one of the hardest yarns he'd ever spun. "Gotta ask, is this keep your face covered thing some sort of fad? First the Reaper, now you, it really makes me wonder. I hope you at least show some people your face. Sometimes I wonder if that Reaper asshole even takes his helmet off to shower." There it was, that casual tone, that way of talking to you as if he'd known you all your life, the thing that drew people to Venter even as he pulled them down into hell after him. It was all Simon could do not to shoot the man dead right there for using it on him again. "Oh, I take it off," he replied evenly. "Every now and then. With people I trust." Venter actually laughed, as if Simon had made a good point. "Smart policy. You never know when these Syndicate spooks are looking in on you." He shook his head. "But we need to get supplies from somebody, and they're the best offer around. The only offer around, really. But enough about me, let's get down to business." "You want me to start going out on sorties?" Simon asked, slipping safely behind the mask of Mordred the mercenary. "I was hoping for another day to get my bearings." "Oh, don't worry about that. We don't have any more hits planned for today, though I might make the Reaper do something high-risk since he fucked up so royally earlier." So Fira's troops had found the bomb, if Simon was reading between the lines right. That was one thing he could stop worrying about. The city was safe, and the Sangheili would now be much more predisposed to trust him. Good. "Then why did you call me down here?" he asked. "Well, it's about the reason you're on this planet." Venter pointed a bony finger at Zoey. "Her, specifically." The girl shrank away from them both, and as Simon glanced back at her he saw that two of the HLF soldiers were casually meandering to block her from dashing away. He tensed, sensing danger. This could go bad in seconds if he wasn't careful. "I have a contract with her," he said stiffly. "It's none of your business, so keep out of it. Please." Venter smiled and shook his head. "Don't get so defensive Mordred, I'm doing you a favor here. Maybe this will surprise you, but we had business with this girl as well." He eyed Zoey like a cat watching a mouse. "You remember, don't you sweetheart? Back on Famul, that little con you pulled on us? Looks like you've gone and done it again, haven't you?" Zoey cringed, looking more and more like a trapped animal by the second. "No," she whispered, desperately shaking her head. "No, it's not true." Simon frowned, desperately trying to figure out what was going on. "Alright," he said. "Slow down. What the hell is going on here?" "Don't take that tone with the boss," a familiar voice cut across the room. A very familiar voice. Too familiar. "He's saving your ass from a whole lot of embarrassment. This little bitch pulled one over on us not too long ago." Simon turned in time to see someone stepping out of the shadows. The hair was shorter and the face slightly younger, but he still could have been looking in the mirror. His heart froze as a young man wearing dark body armor strode towards him. A young man who looked exactly like him.
*
* The moment someone in SPI armor had been escorted into the holding cave, Tuka had been edging his way towards the front of the enclosure. At first he thought it was that armored rebel again, the one who had come in the day before and picked three prisoners--two males and one female--to be hauled out and taken away. None of them had returned. But when he saw this new helmeted human's prosthetic arm and the pouches and energy swords strapped to his armor he knew exactly who it was. He didn't need the lead human calling him "Mordred" to work things out for himself. He watched in horrified amazement as Simon politely answered the man's questions. The girl beside him, however, looked as if she would have traded anything to be somewhere else. There was no way Simon would have agreed to join these humans. No matter how low he might have sunk, he would never join in something so brazenly cruel as what was being done here. There had to be an explanation. There had to be. And when the young human who shared Simon's face stepped forward, Tuka got his answer. "Who is that?" he heard Simon demand. There was a tremor in his voice that could be heard even from where Tuka crouched beside the electrified bars. "Just another one of my soldiers," the leader said calmly. "But let's get back to our mutual problem." He indicated the girl, who shrank away from him. She was met only by two more soldiers, one of whom grabbed her sharply by the arm. "So we're looking for a new job," the leader continued. "On Famul, right after Shinsu 'Refum's little coup." Tuka started, surprised to hear his brother's name fall so easily from this murdering human's lips. The mention of Famul surprised him as well, a word from the past that he both cherished and hated with equal measure. "We're looking for work, and along comes this girl. Says she's got folks with lots of money, promises we'll be rolling in cash if we take her to Earth. Sounds interesting and she seems to know who she's talking about, so we take her aboard and make for the Outer Colonies." The leader cocked his head in Simon's direction. Tuka couldn't see his face clearly, but he could have sworn the man was grinning from ear to ear with that toothy human mouth that would never stop seeming alien no matter how often Tuka was around humans. "Does this all sound familiar yet?" the leader asked Simon. "We stopped by New Delhi to refuel, and while we're there I finally think to do a background check. Guess what?" The girl was whimpering now, a soft keening that stung Tuka to even listen to. The leader flung his arms out dramatically. "Turns out she lied about the whole thing. No family, no money. Too bad she ran out on us before we could grab her, but now..." He shook his head. "I'm just glad to help you out here, Mordred. And if you won't tell anyone about our little mistake, we won't tell anyone about yours. Deal?" Simon didn't say anything for several moments. The girl cringed within the grip of the soldier, who had now twisted both of her arms roughly behind her back. Every eye in the cavern was trained on the small group. Most of the prisoners must have been wondering what exactly was going on; Tuka was fighting the urge to call out to Simon for help. Still silent, Simon unclipped the pistol from his hip. His metal fingers curled into a fist while his organic ones steadied their aim on the sidearm. The barrel leveled to aim square at the girl's head. "So." Tuka jerked in surprise as his friend's voice cut through the cavern. "You lied to me." "Mordred..." Tuka had to strain to hear the girl's faint pleas. "I can explain, just wait, I swear..." "Save your breath." Simon's voice was as hard as battle plating. Tuka had to do something. He had to call out, yell, do something to snap Simon out of whatever was compelling him to threaten a helpless girl. He couldn't stand by while this happened. He couldn't... Simon's head jerked just slightly in another direction, and in the next moment his look-alike was on the move, throwing himself between Simon and the rebel leader. "Boss, look out!" The pistol jerked around and fired twice into the leader's chest. The not-Simon jerked and fell as the first round tore into his shoulder. The second went wide as the leader leapt clear, pulling out his own pistol with a surprised snarl. The next few seconds went by so fast Tuka could barely keep up with what was happening. Several weapons fired at once as Simon dove for the leader. One of the guards collapsed as he stepped into one of his comrades' line of fire. The one holding the girl let go of her in order to draw his own weapon; she threw herself down and inadvertently tripped him up in the process. Simon knocked the leader to the ground, emptying his pistol clip into the two nearest soldiers as he kicked the leader's gun away. Not-Simon staggered to his feet and cannoned into the real Simon, knocking him away from his prone target. Another soldier was already waiting to fire, but was waved away by the leader. "Don't kill him," he spat. "I want him alive!" Another soldier dove for Simon. A flash of light sprang to life between them, and then the soldier was on the ground, disemboweled by Simon's energy sword. Two came at him from either side, swinging their rifles like clubs. They drove Simon back towards the bars of the enclosure, obviously hoping to fry him against the charged bars. Tuka could only look on as Simon ducked under their swinging weapons and cut them both down with a frenzied slash. "Simon!" Tuka yelled. "It's me! Tuka! In here!" Simon's helmeted head jerked around in alarm, the faceless visor fixing its empty gaze on the crouching Tuka. He didn't have time to respond, because in the next moment the leader was on top of him. The man had drawn a wicked looking knife and ducked past the swinging energy sword to cut into an exposed bit of Simon's flank. Recovering instantly, Simon lunged for his opponent with a brutal stab. Not even stepping aside, the leader brought both his hands up and intercepted Simon's sword hand with a flurry of motion that completely escaped Tuka's gaze. In the next instant Simon was on the floor. The sword deactivated as it clattered to the ground several feet away. Simon rolled away, reaching for his other sword as the leader darted over to him. The sword handle was kicked from his grip before he could even activate it. The leader went for ever unarmored joint he could find, kicking for the throat, the arms, the legs, anything he could strike to keep Simon from getting up. On the far side of the room, reinforcements had burst in through the door. The other SPI armored soldier was in the lead, followed by six more soldiers. They spread out around their leader as he continued to struggle with the writhing Simon. Without a word, the SPI armored killer drew a small pistol and fired. A small dart appeared in Simon's neck; he fought to stand for several more seconds, then collapsed. Tuka watched helplessly as the soldiers moved in to secure his collapsed friend. Their leader rose, panting, and motioned at the foremost soldier. "The helmet. Get it off." The soldier obediently pried Simon's helmet off of his head, revealing his face. It was deathly pale, but his eyes still fluttered weakly as if he were still fighting whatever sedatives had just been shot into him. "What?" the not-Simon gaped as he stumbled over, his hand clutching his bleeding shoulder. He stared down at his own face with the same confusion Simon must have felt upon seeing him. "What the fuck is this?" But the leader just laughed. "Well, well," he said smugly. "What do we have here?" Tuka looked down, afraid to watch what was about to happen to his friend. His training took hold, and he fixed his gaze on the object Simon had managed to slide over to him during the scuffle. Snaking his hand out through the bars, he snatched up the combat knife and pulled it inside. No one noticed; they were all focused on Simon. It was a small gift, but one he would find a use for. He would have to, because now his own life and the lives of his fellow captives weren't the only ones on the line. "Stray, Stray, Stray," the leader murmured, shaking his head. "Never thought I'd be seeing you again." He motioned to his soldiers. "Strip him. Take everything. Everything. And throw him and the girl in the brig." He turned to the SPI-armored soldier. "Nice shot, by the way. Too bad you're the one who brought him here, or I'd forgive you for your fuck up earlier." "
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