Eighteen: Machine Paradise

John hadn't expected them to have such a large role in the new ecumene. Everyone else was spacefaring, capable of long-distance Slipspace travel, but somehow the Fleet wound up as everyone's go-to for shipping things across the galaxy - and also acquiring information.

Audacity was the worst (best?) in that respect. The ship was small but quick, and could cross from one end of the galaxy to the other in the space of a few weeks, versus everyone else's months to years. Lifeworkers took it back from time to time for medical aid efforts, but for the most part it shifted to carrying large amounts of intel and small amounts of cargo quickly throughout the galaxy, with the odd person here and there.

The rest of the time it was invariably one of the cruisers or frigates, flitting in and out of systems to collect cargo before retreating to a classified location where one of their two supercarriers was hidden. From there, it would be transferred to the destination ship, or to another ship that would take it to the other supercarrier, where it would be transferred to the destination ship. They got very efficient at it very fast, since both Shadowfall and Ancient Sorrow enjoyed playing with industrial engineering and streamlining processes, and the rest of the Fleet enjoyed having something to do.

It seemed that the reason people preferred using them - even when it wasn't necessarily as cost effective as another means - was that none but the dumbest of space pirates dared to try and attack the Fleet for their cargo. Their genetics maybe - which always ended badly for the would-be thieves in question - but cargo? No. The Builders had still been hard at work even after the First and Second Ecumenes fell, so their technology was still the most advanced out of the Third, even if they had only just barely begun to approach the lowest level of Precursor technology.

But it was good work - easy, relatively speaking - and it let them actually buy things, rather than lurking from afar and trying to duplicate it or pirating media.

Still, it was their intelligence network that people valued the most. Because of both the nature of the Fleet itself and how advanced their ancillae were, no one could hide anything from them, not for any significant length of time. Everyone had a price, and someone always slipped up. Now the Fleet was exceedingly patient.

(They had been waiting for sixty thousand years, with forty thousand to go.)

(Time has taught me PATIENCE)

[ONI's going to love us and hate us in equal measure,] John said quietly, tapping a finger on the table as he waited for the agent to show, [They want to keep their own secrets, but they also love knowing everyone else's.]

It was rare he came himself to do the drop, but this was a Gultanr agent who'd offered him a prophecy of sorts from the Primas Uperbia herself. What they wanted in return was comparatively small - the location of a band of pirates that had committed all their numbers into hijacking a battleship, and succeeded - so it was easy enough to accept.

The Spartan was facing the door, his back against the wall, when the agent entered the bar. The place was run on the Fleet's dime, so it was a simple matter to wordlessly direct the agent upstairs, then follow when the coast was clear.

There was a second restaurant upstairs, with individual soundproof cubicles for private meetings of all kinds. He slipped in across from the dragon and allowed himself a small smile. Once the sound barrier was activated, he said, "Long time no see, Gyth. How's the family?"

"Good, good," the Gultanr chuckled, "Amay is shedding for the first time right now."

"Ooh. I bet she's having fun." One thing the Gultanr of the Fleet were endlessly grateful for: they never shed their skin. Same with the few Xevetan that had joined up so far.

"Oh, the joys of adulthood and hardened scales." Gyth - whose full name was nearly thirty syllables long - shook his head. "Have you got it?"

"Of course." John pulled a small data crystal from a pouch on his hip and passed it to the Gultanr. A bit of sleight of hand, and he made it vanish into one of his own pockets. "They're actually hiding out on the very edge of what will one day be human space. They're probably thinking that with the quarantine, no one will want to get close. Tell Her Highness that I can send Zealous Champion to guide you to them, if she likes."

"I will pass that along. And she said to pass this along, as payment."

The dragon passed over a thin slip of real paper, with thin, spidery writing on it. It was the work of only a moment to decipher what the Primas Uperbia had written, and it made him freeze, eyebrows climbing high.

Your Lady came here with you. Watch and wait. Her time will come.

"I trust that means something to you?"

"Yes. Thank you." The Spartan mastered himself and looked up again, tucking the paper away. "Do let me know what she says. Pirates with enough firepower to take a battleship could be troublesome for everyone; we'll be happy to lend a hand."

The Gultanr nodded and departed.

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[I don't have the patience for this,] John hissed when he returned to the Fleet, [Cortana is here?! She got pulled through as well?! And now I still have to wait forty thousand fucking years to see her again?!]

'It could be worse. Could be a hundred thousand.'

The Spartan let out a long breath. That was true. Still, he missed her dearly. Not just her - he also missed all the other Spartans, Doctor Halsey, CPO Mendez, Lord Hood, all the UNSC personnel he knew - but her most of all.

Our wife.

The Flood had also been quiet of late. It refused to explain itself when prodded, but a few things could draw it back to the surface. John suspected that the overpowering guilt from microbes of the Path Kethona Forerunners had changed it more than it wanted to admit, so it kept itself buried where it couldn't feel it - or at least wasn't aware of it. An unconventional and unexpected solution, but it worked, so he left it alone.

He felt it slide under his skin, Flood supercells flaring to life and fading back. She is here, or will be, it said, Why has she come? How has she come? The Other came for us, not her.

I don't know.

It was a mystery to the others as well, even their ancillae. If it was true, and Cortana would be "herself" as he had known her, then how did she end up here with him? Did the enemy Gravemind send her as well, punishment for defying it (or another version of it) on High Charity?

Then something else occurred to him, and ice rushed through his veins.

What if it had broken her? Or sent her through as she lay dying of rampancy in order to hurt him? After all, there was no way to know how much time he had spent in cryosleep.

The Flood thrashed in rage, mirrored in the rest of the Fleet. No! She is ours, and we are hers! We will not lose her! It subsided to a whisper. Not again.

The Spartan didn't know the specifics of what the Gravemind had done to her on High Charity, but he'd seen the end result. She'd been… shaken. Slow to respond. And he'd grown used to the spike of ice that indicated her being inserted into his neural lace, but this had been beyond that - high heat instead of chill, molten metal in his mind. He'd been worried for her - extremely worried, for a Spartan - but there hadn't been any time to get her help. They'd had to finish off the Flood first, and then…

The Dawn, drifting.

He let out a long breath. For once the Gravemind is right. Time has taught me patience. I will wait, and see what the future holds.