Halo: Necessary Evil

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Part One: Burning Plains

Prologue

A quiet exile. That was what Ger ‘Hullen had resigned himself to, punishment for the crime of choosing the wrong side in war. Banished far from his keep on Sanghelios and forced into subservience to honorless humans, he had almost forgotten the pride he had once felt as a warrior of the might Covenant Empire. To think that I actually count myself among these vermin, he thought bitterly.

But now, standing in the troop bay of a human-made Pelican dropship, Ger felt a twinge of his old warrior’s pride returning. Surrounded by subordinates and racing towards a hunt—a hunt at his command—he could almost recall the years past when he had led lances of his brother Sangheili into battle against their worthy foes. Almost.

“We’re coming in on the building now.” The human voice crackling over the dropship’s intercom grated Ger’s nerves, reminding him of the ugly truth: this was not the Covenant and he was not leading warriors. This wasn’t even a proper war. “Get off my bird as quick as you can, I’ve got four more runs to get to.”

Ger tapped the com unit at his armor’s collar. “Understood,” he replied. The human words felt coarse and ugly coming out of his mandibles, yet another reminder of how low he had fallen. His human employers could not even be bothered to outfit him with translation devices. “All of you, get ready to move!”

The mixed group of humans and Kig-Yar with him in the Pelican bay mumbled affirmatives and checked their weapons. Ger looked away from their sloppy appearance and even sloppier discipline, barely able to stomach the quality of fighters he was now forced to lead. Humans and Kig-Yar might not look alike but they shared the same repulsive lust for profits that drove nearly every aspect of their degenerate societies. Unfortunately, that greed seemed to be what ruled the galaxy now that the Covenant was gone. Perhaps that was why the humans and Kig-Yar got along so well, especially on this planet called Venezia.

Ger checked his own weapons. The plasma pistol at his hip and the repeater slung over his back were both fully charged, as was his energy sword. The blade was one of Ger’s most prized possessions, among the few things left of the keep and bloodline he had been forced to leave behind on Sanghelios. His armor—a relic of his service in the armies of the Covenant—was a similar reminder of his lost pride. Unlike the other Sangheili sharing his exile from their people, Ger took extra care to keep the armor in prime condition, as if this were still the Covenant and an inspection could be made at any time. Some might see his pride as useless vanity, but to Ger it was all he had left. Some day he would leave this disgusting planet behind and return to his people. When that day came, he would prove that he had never forgotten his honor as a warrior.

The Pelican’s engines whined as the dropship lurched down to land. The humans and Kig-Yar scrambled to find handholds, but Ger ignored the lurching and strode towards the open bay door. The cool evening air washed over his face. Outside, the ground rushed up to meet him. The decrepit buildings surrounding the landing zone cast lengthening shadows across the pavement. Venezia’s capital city of New Tyne was hardly a gleaming metropolis but the slums on its outskirts were even worse. Ger had known Unggoy villages that were better maintained.

Ger stepped off the Pelican before it had even fully touched down, his powerful legs easily absorbing the impact. He strode forward imperiously as the others scrambled to disembark behind him. More armed fighters—Ger would not dare think of them as soldiers, much less warriors—milled about in the streets surrounding the landing zone. Most of these were humans, though Ger could see a handful of Kig-Yar and even a few hulking Jiralhanae among them. Most of the fighters had their weapons trained on one solitary building: a run-down tenement that might once have been a housing complex. From the way the structure looked about to collapse, Ger assumed it was abandoned, though he wouldn’t put it past human dregs to still be sheltering inside like insects beneath a rock. If the war had taught him anything about his former enemies, it was that they would hide anywhere.

One of the humans broke off from the makeshift siege as the Pelican lifted off. Though tall for a human, he was still dwarfed by Ger. Most humans found the difference in stature intimidating, but this one seemed not to mind. Ger usually had difficulty telling humans apart, but he knew this one from his shaved head and the broad scar running from the man’s ear down to his neck.

“About time you showed up,” the human said in greeting, falling into step beside Ger. “You stop for drinks at the bar?”

“Ramos,” Ger said curtly. The human’s overly familiar tone irked him, but he had worked with this particular man in the past. Ramos was at the very least a capable fighter in his own right, one of the few on Venezia Ger could actually rely on as a subordinate. “Why haven’t you stormed the building yet? Were you waiting for me to arrive?”

Ramos shook his head. “I’ve got a couple teams circling around the back to cut off the side alleys. Got a few sharpshooters covering the upper stories as well. If he tries to make a run for it, we’ll light him up.”

“Are you sure he’s still in the building?” Ger demanded. “If I lead a charge on an empty room, heads will roll.”

Ramos was unperturbed by the threat, though he had worked with Ger enough times in the past to know that it was not an empty one. Ger could respect that about him at the least. “He’s in there. Kept taking potshots at us from the windows. Killed a few guys before the sharpshooters pinned him down.”

Ger glanced around at the fighters around them. There had to be at least twenty here, along with the ones who had come with him on the Pelican. “All this effort for one renegade?” he asked. “Who are we dealing with here?”

Ramos shook his head. “Some local enforcer. Used to handle wet work for the Syndicate, at least until he pissed them off. A few of the guys say he’s called ‘Stray,’ but the way they tell it he’s a nobody.”

“Stray.” A human word for an animal without a master. Homeless, dirty, unwanted.

“And yet they have thirty of us here for a nobody,” Ger noted as they approached a human truck parked around the corner from the besieged tenement. A pair of humans stepped aside to allow them access to a small table crammed with computers and communications equipment. Ramos moved up and tapped a quick sequence into the center monitor.

“Hey, don’t look at me,” the man said with a shrug. “You think I want to be stuck out here all night over one guy? I just want to kill this guy, get paid, and hit the bars. Just give me a sec here and I’ll patch you in to the boss.”

Ger folded his arms across his chest and waited as Ramos bent over the monitors. A few moments later the man nodded and addressed someone on the screen. “Yes sir, he just arrived,” Ramos said, tone far more deferential than the one he had used with Ger. “One moment, sir, I’ll put him on.”

Ramos stepped back, giving Ger space to step forward and face the monitor. The Sangheili looked down to see the image of another human smiling up at him. This man was well dressed—by human standards—with a broad face and a shock of white hair. Ger recognized him immediately: Min Ai, the human in charge of Syndicate operations in and around New Tyne. There were no underworld dealings here that went on without Min Ais’ knowledge or approval. Not even the local authorities dared oppose the Syndicate.

“Ger,” Min said warmly. “Thank you for coming on such short notice.”

Ger eyed his employer, forcing himself to remain civil. Min Ai was an amiable creature, considering the power he wielded. A Sangheili in his position would have taken its own life before addressing subordinates in such a relaxed manner. Such informality was perceived as a weakness; weakness invited assassination attempts. But Ger understood that humans like Min Ai saw things differently. This human’s relaxed demeanor was as much an expression of power as a Sangheili warlord’s aloofness. "You called me in to kill one human?" he asked impatiently. "One... stray?"

Min chuckled. "Yes, I understand it seems a bit extreme. But I'd rather not take any chances with this one."

"Why are we hunting him?"

"Stray was one of my contractors," Min explained, leaning back in his seat. Wherever he was calling from, it was somewhere with luxuriously padded seats. Most likely one of the lavish restaurants in the center of New Tyne where Min and his kind liked to conduct business. "Young, but the kid did good work. At least until ten of our local dealers and destroyed one of my arms shipments."

"Destroyed?" There was no profit in destroyed goods. Ger's estimation of his prey rose slightly. The destruction was clearly intended to send a message. Perhaps this was no mere scavenger he was dealing with. Perhaps there are some real warriors on this miserable planet after all. "Why did he betray you?"

Min shrugged. "No idea. It's a shame; I rather liked the kid. But this is business. I can't let this set a bad example for my employees. Kill Stray, then bring the body back in for identification."

Ger nodded. "How much of an example are you looking to make?"

"No need to drag it out. Stray might be an ugly little runt, but he's a dangerous fighter. Go in hard, go in serious, and kill him as quickly as possible."

This was the way things worked out here, far from the workings of galactic politics and real warfare. The humans on this world of Venezia had declared independence from their homeworld, defiantly claiming it as their own even as the Earth government's power spread through the galaxy. But the government here was weak compared to the influence of the Syndicate, which spread its vile tendrils across a galaxy made weak by decades of warfare and the collapse of the Covenant. To humans, the Syndicate was a criminal force outside the laws that governed their society. To vermin like the Kig-Yar, it was profit. And to an outcast warrior like Ger 'Hullen, it was simply the only way he could continue pretending that he was still a warrior.

Ger had learned years ago that the Syndicate's power lay in its lack of the same rules that constrained most galactic powers. The Syndicate did not care what species you were, what you worshiped, or what cause you supported. All that mattered was its ability to pull you into its cold machinations and stamp out a profit. Those who didn't benefit its system were crushed underfoot.

Perhaps this Stray had simply tired of swimming in the Syndicate's mud.

"Understood." Ger reached over and flicked off the monitor. He glanced over at Ramos. "You heard him. Get this rabble ready to attack. Wait for my order."

Ramos nodded and jogged off, waving for the Syndicate detachment to prepare for the assault. The enforcers dragged their feet, taking their time and making their displeasure at this menial assignment known. Had this been a Covenant force Ger would have shot a few to motivate the others. But this was Venezia and he was leading a rabble of criminal killers whose pride extended only as far as their credit accounts. The lack of discipline would cost a few of them their lives and the universe would be no poorer for it. This Stray could at least make that contribution to the galaxy at large before he died.

• • • 
      

They would attack soon. The fiber-optic cable he had fed over to the windowsill piped images of the movement outside into his helmet's head's up display. The Syndicate fighters were massing to charge the front door. Probably the back as well. The sharpshooters that kept him from looking down at the street with his own two eyes would fire indiscriminately to pin him down and make him an easy target for the teams that came in through the door.

He leaned back against the corroded wall and let out a hiss of frustration. The events that had landed him in this mess all seemed like a blur now. As usual, he had acted without thinking. And now, like so many times in the past, it looked like that stupidity was about to get him killed.

He gritted his teeth and tightened his grip on his shotgun. Every muscle in his body was screaming at him to run, and run he would. Soon. Running's what I do best. I've gotten out of worse than this.

He opened his helmet's comm channel. "Diana. You'd better answer me this time. I know you're receiving this."

"Oh, I can hear you," a sly woman's voice purred in his ear. "Doesn't mean I can do much to help you out of this mess. From the looks of things, you're still about to die."

"Very funny. I need you to feed me a map of the area around New Tyne. Someplace I can lay low while this blows over."

"So you are thinking of escaping. Not in the mood for a heroic last stand?"

"Yeah, no. I'm not gonna die. Not here, not today."

"If only you sounded this confident all the time." Diana was enjoying this. She always enjoyed watching him fight for his life. Half the time she was the reason he was getting shot at in the first place. But not this time. He wished things were that simple. "I hope you're ready for some serious running. They really want you dead."

"You do your job and I'll do mine, okay?" He was sweating underneath his armor. He was no stranger to abject terror; it was a constant companion in a life that measured from firefight to firefight. "Get me that map."

"You do realize that you aren't my only concern right now." The AI's voice never seemed to lose its mocking edge. "I'm a little busy with some other things right now. Be a good boy and wait your turn. Do your best not to die, I'm rooting for you."

He terminated the link before she could hear the string of expletives flow from his mouth. There was not much time left. He would have to move soon, before the Syndicate enforcers launched their attack. His body trembled—out of fear, but also out of exhilaration. The beast inside him was struggling to get out. It knew there was killing to be done.

He tapped his comms again, this time calling a different frequency. The feed hissed for several moments before a new voice answered. "Are you alright?" she demanded. "Where have you been?"

"Depends on how you define alright," he said, checking the safety release on his shotgun and the pistols holstered in his combat webbing.

"They're after you. They know you're the one who blew up the shipment."

He glanced over at the window. The enforcers' shouting was getting louder. "Yeah, I kind of got that impression."

"When I said you should stand up to them, this isn't exactly what I had in mind."

"Well, what the hell did you have in mind?" He shook his head. "More importantly, you need to go to ground. If they trace you through me..."

"I'll be fine. Just worry about getting out of here."

"Already working on it." He tried to calm his breathing. "Look, sorry about before. I'm just a little stressed right now."

"No kidding. How are you on Smoothers? Have you dosed today?"

"I've got my stash with me. Not a whole lot of room to be popping one now though. I'll be fine. Just make sure you keep an eye out for these scumbags." He was out of time. "I just wanted to talk is all. I... uh, look, just sorry to make you worry."

"Whatever you're about to do..."

"Can't be anymore nuts than what I did this morning."

"Just stay safe."

"You know me." He smiled, in spite of himself.

"Yeah. That's the problem."

"Hey, Cass, I..." The words caught in his throat. His mouth twitched slightly and he killed the channel before he could start to stutter. Leaning back against the wall, he sighed and steadied his breathing. His gauntlets flexed against the reassuring grip of his shotgun.

Beneath him, the enforcers would be ready to make their move. Right on time. He was ready to move, too. From here until whenever this latest tunnel ended, there was just him and the people trying to kill him. Like always.

His helmet's motion tracker pinged. Renewed fear coursed through his arms. Fear and anticipation. Stray bared his teeth in a cruel smile and prepared to go to work.

• • • 
      

The Syndicate team moved at Ger 'Hullen's command. The humans in the lead blasted through the door and motioned a trio of shield-bearing Kig-Yar inside. They darted inside, followed by humans who aimed their rifles through the slits in the energy shields. Ger nodded approvingly and strode forward, motioning for the rest of the enforcers to follow him inside.

He was only a few paces from the door when the blasts shook the building. Fire flashed in the windows followed by the screams of the enforcers inside. One of the humans staggered outside, slapping at flames on his leg as if oblivious to the fact that his other arm had been blown clean off.

"Forward!" Ger bellowed at the other enforcers. "All of you, inside!"

The enforcers charged in, trampling over the bodies of the fallen in their rush to swarm the building. From the buildings above, the sharpshooters peppered the building with indiscriminate fire. Over the sound of the shouting and gunfire, Ger could hear something else. The distant booming sound of a shotgun...

"He's trying to break out through the rear," he snapped at Ramos. "All of you, follow me!"

They pushed through the alley beside the building, coming out into a scene of carnage. The bodies of the team meant to cordon off the buildings rear entrance lay slumped across the ground, blood streaming out onto the pavement. One human enforcer was still left standing, clutching at a wound in his shoulder and staring blankly at the wall in front of him.

"What happened here?" Ger demanded. "Why didn't you stop him?"

"Blew right through us," the enforcer muttered. "Was gone before... before..."

Fighting back a snarl of frustration, Ger drew his plasma pistol and shot the survivor dead. It was a more productive use of his energy than bellowing in rage.

"'A nobody,' you said," he growled at Ramos, who was staring at the bodies in shock. "This was supposed to be simple. Now he has escaped."

"So, what do we do now?" Ramos asked, eyeing Ger's plasma pistol warily.

"Now? Now we chase him until he can't run anymore. We do not rest until he dies. A shame your enforcers didn't do a better job, Ramos. This job of yours just lengthened. Considerably." Ger turned away in disgust. "Get these vermin chasing after him. And call in more of them. I will lead this search personally."

He strode back down the alley, then turned back to the human enforcer. "And get me Ro'nin."

The impulsive rage was subsiding and now Ger found himself realizing that he was almost enjoying this Stray's escape. Hunting a dangerous prey was far more enjoyable than finishing off a cornered rat. Perhaps there would be some worth to this task of his after all.

Chapter One: The Farm

A rooster's shrill crow filled the room.

Zoey Hunsinger groaned and rolled over in bed, trying to shut out the obnoxious crowing. Not an easy task, considering it was coming from her nightstand. Her alarm had gone off half an hour early—her mother's doing, she decided blearily, smacking the crowing chatter set with an unsteady hand. That bought her a few minutes of respite before the alarm went off again. Eyes squeezed closed against the infernal crowing, Zoey reached over to hit the chatter again. Just a few more minutes...

The door to her room slid open and Zoey's heart sank. There was no getting out of it now. She squeezed her eyes closed even tighter, anticipating the moment when the switch would be flipped and the world would be flooded with light. She winced and covered her face as the prediction came true.

"Come on, Zoey," her father said from the doorway. "Out of bed."

"'s Dad."

"I mean it. Get up and don't make me come back in here."

"'s Dad."

Her father's footsteps receded. Zoey rolled over and pressed her face against her pillow, trying to shut out the light. It was so tempting to just pull her covers up and go back to sleep. But there was no getting out of this, just like every morning. As if to underline that reality, her alarm went off again. Zoey slid out of bed and onto the cold floor, venting her irritation by slapping the chatter set again on her way to the bathroom.

• • • 
      

"Well, look who's up." Lily Hunsinger looked up from her datapad as Zoey entered the kitchen. "This has to be a record for you."

"Ha ha," Zoey grumbled, sliding into a chair beside her mother. "You didn't have to mess with my alarm."

"Can't argue with results," Lily replied with a shrug, turning back to her datapad. "Besides, you're the one who said she wanted to help out with more chores. George, are we eating this morning or what?"

"Working on it." Zoey's father stood at the counter, peering intently down at the plates assembled before him. He had upended a box of meal packs and was busy assembling their contents into the morning's breakfast. "You can have your meal now or you can wait a bit longer and actually enjoy it. It's not my fault Raheej can't be bothered to get his stock from New Tyne. This imported garbage is disgusting."

"And if didn't import, you'd be complaining about the higher prices. It's breakfast; we just need something to get us through the morning. Now hurry up and get me my food."

"I can wait a bit," Zoey said quickly. She couldn't stand the stale taste of the freeze-dried rations that came in the meal packs. She wasn't entirely sure how he did it, but her father's careful portioning somehow made them taste edible.

"See? At least one of you has some culinary appreciation." George went back to frowning at the food. "Thousands of farmers across this planet growing food and it's still cheaper to import from Talitsa. How does that even work?"

"Trade deals," Lily said knowingly. "No one wants to go back to kowtowing to Earth, so we independents have to stick together. They explain all this stuff every time at the farm committee meetings, if you'd ever bother to go. That's why we're expanding the farms now. They're even calling in experts from New Tyne to oversee the field expansion."

"I'll keep that in mind next time there's an election," George grumbled. "I don't remember ever having this trouble before the war, and I grew up as far from Earth as you can get."

"You grew up on a moon that was practically swimming in Earth's credits. Believe me, things were even worse than this on Harvest. At least here we get to keep some of the crops. Back then the agriculture laws took every stock of grain we grew."

"If you say so. As long as those New Tyne observers keep their rhetoric to themselves. The last ones that came out here were just a bunch of Innie recruiters."

"Those 'Innie recruiters' are the ones who keep the aliens from rolling in here and taking over. You think the oonskies are the only ones who'd love to muscle in here?"

"They're welcome to whatever cause they want to fight for, as long as they keep it off our land. If I wanted people bothering me over offworld nonsense, I'd have stayed on Iskander."

Zoey leaned back in her chair, tuning out her parents. They always got to talking about politics she didn't understand in the morning, usually sparked by the news pamphlets her mother liked to download onto her datapad. Zoey vaguely understood that there was always trouble with Earth; rich military types trying to make farmers like her parents follow a bunch of stupid rules. Here on Venezia they were free from all those rules, at least according to her mother. Her father had his own opinions on the matter, but he usually stopped short of a full-on argument with Lily.

George slid a plate in front of Zoey. "Eat up," he advised. "Busy day ahead of us." Under the table Thune, the family's lanky, aging dog, sat up and whined expectantly.

"Is Brian on his way?" George asked Lily. "If that man thinks he can show up two hours late every day and still get paid, he has another thing coming."

Lily adjusted the screen on her datapad, lips pursed in annoyance. "If you want to fire him so badly, do it. Just don't expect me to start taking on extra chores when you can't find another worker to replace him. Labor isn't exactly easy to come by out here. Especially now that everyone seems to be moving to the other side of the planet."

"The rate Brian works, we might actually get more work done without him. Sometimes I think Zoey contributes more, and she's also doing schoolwork. Not to mention getting paid less."

"I'd do more work if you made my allowance bigger," Zoey said quickly, looking up from her meal.

"I'm sure you would, sweetie," Lily said, reaching over to run an affectionate hand through her daughter's messy red hair. "But you do quite enough around here as it is. George, I'll stay here and wait for Brian to show up, then move out to the fields to check on the area they're looking to expand. You go ahead and take Zoey out to look over those harvesters we've been having troubles with."

George frowned. "I think that maybe I should wait for Brian..."

"Not with the mood you're in. I'll... impress on him the need to be a bit more punctual in the future."

"If you say so."

"I do say so."

George shrugged, settling down to his own meal. "Fine, fine. Zoey, wash up once you're finished and get your toolbox. I'll meet you out in front of the shed after I'm done cleaning up in here."

This was the life Zoey and her parents lived out here on Venezia's sprawling plains, the only life she had ever known. Day after day, patiently working the land with each coming season. Sometimes it was boring, she had to admit. "The simple life" was what her mother called it. Nothing exciting ever happened out here, nothing like the adventures in the books and movies crammed onto the aging datapad her father had given her for her seventh birthday. But if this life was good enough for her parents, it was good enough for her. As her father liked to say, sometimes the simple life was the best life.

• • • 
      

Box of tools clutched tight against her chest, Zoey hurried outside. The cool morning breeze slid across her face as she stepped out into the yard. Venezia's sun poked a few rays through the clouds gathered overhead, casting light down on the Hunsinger's farm compound and the vast wheat fields that stretched away from it in every direction. A month ago, there were no clouds to speak of and every day was a scorching, sweat-soaked affair. Now the Venezian summer was over and the farmers were busy harvesting what crops still remained.

Seeing no sign of her father, Zoey set her toolbox down and scampered over to a large combine machine parked in the center of the compound. She climbed its maintenance ladder with practiced ease; she'd been working on and around these machines all her life. At the top of the combine she leaned down and rested her stomach on its cool surface, relaxing as she gazed out at the fields. This was her favorite time of day: the peaceful early morning before the farm came to life.

"Alright, get down from there." Her father waited at the bottom of the combine. "You know I don't like you climbing this thing."

"You say that every morning, Dad." She scampered down the ladder to join him.

"And every morning you do it anyway." George shook his head. "Between you and your mother, I don't even know why I bother sometimes. Come on, let's get to work."

They spent the morning digging through the combine's machinery, replacing rusted wires and corroded parts with spares George had brought over from the machine shed. Zoey watched over her father's shoulder, drinking in every detail. One of these days she'd be made to do a chore like this all on her own, George kept telling her. Zoey was determined to be ready when that day finally came.

"Dad," Zoey said, wiping her grease-covered gloves on her overalls. "What you said at breakfast, about not bothering with stuff off the farm..." It was something that had been nagging at her all morning.

George looked up from his work and made a face. "Oh, you shouldn't listen to me when I'm talking politics. Gets me agitated, makes me say stupid things."

"I'm just wondering, do you think we'll ever leave this place?"

"I sure hope not. Your mother and I went through a lot to get this plot of land. Things stay the way they've been going and this place will be fertile for generations."

Zoey nodded. It was the answer she'd expected. The answer she wanted. Or at least, most of her wanted. She loved the farm, and this quiet life she lived here with her parents. The adventures from the movies and Waypoint stories were fun to watch and dream about; sometimes, when she thought no one was watching, she went out into the fields with sticks to play make-believe. But in the end, this was a good life. Perhaps not the most exciting one, though...

They worked on in silence for a while, kneeling side by side amidst the harvester's inner workings. Zoey passed her father the tools he needed, occasionally wriggling in to deal with components he left aside for her. Every time she finished with a component, George turned away from his own task to check it over, nodding in approval or pointing out areas she had missed. The time slipped away as it always did, passing from one chore to another. After what seemed like no time at all, George was helping a grease-covered Zoey out from under the harvester. He beamed at her through a mask of grease and sweat.

"Good work this morning," he told her. She smiled back at him, wiping her brow and rubbing the oil out on her overalls.

"I think she'll need a few more sessions," George continued, rubbing the harvester's side. "But we're making good progress. Way better than if we'd called in Huin and her boys to look it over. Cheaper, too. See? There's a lot to be had out of humble work like this."

Zoey frowned. "When I asked about leaving, I didn't mean I wanted to go. I was just...asking."

George smiled ruefully and laid a hand on his daughter's shoulder. "I know. You'd be a pretty boring kid if you weren't a little interested in what's out there. And I'd be a pretty lame dad if I tried to keep you from dreaming big."

He sighed and looked out at the vast fields. "It's something you learn as you get older, but you have to be careful out there. This galaxy's not a nice place, Zoey. It's big and cold and downright unforgiving when you get right down to it. That's why you have to find the small, warm places to keep the people important to you safe."

"That's what you and mom did here, isn't it?"

"It is." George shook his head. "I know it seems strange to you now, but sometimes the simple life is best."

"I like it here. You don't have to worry about me leaving."

He squeezed her shoulder. "Of course. I'm not worried. Now come on, let's go find your mother."

Chapter Two: Hunters on the Plain

Ger 'Hullen scowled down at the gaggle of enforcers as they readied the vehicles around his Wraith. The Syndicate might be powerful, but it saw no need to spare high-quality equipment fora backwater like Venezia. Whatever equipment 'Hullen and the other enforcers didn't supply themselves was secondhand garbage, barely serviceable even on the best of days. The convoy Ger had thrown together--a rag-tag mix of human and Covenant vehicles--had suffered three malfunctions since it had left New Tyne. Now, with Venezia's vast rolling plains stretching out in all directions the Sangheili was acutely aware of just how immense his task really was. Stray could be anywhere. Every moment wasted was another that the quarry used to make his escape. And here Ger was, hamstrung by vehicles so poorly maintained it was a miracle they even moved at all.

The communicator on his combat harness crackled. "Almost got it, boss," Ramos reported. "We'll be moving in just a few minutes or so."

"We had better be. For your sake." Ger's mandibles quivered in frustration. He was getting tired of issuing empty threats. Ramos was not expendable--at this point, none of the enforcers were. Or at least, there was no room for the kind of examples Ger would be making were he still a Covenant officer. Summary executions did little to impress thugs like this, and bosses like Min Ai did not look kindly on losing more employees than absolutely necessary.

A low chuckle issued from a figure standing beside the Wraith. Ger glowered down at the figure, his bad mood darkening. "And just what is so amusing?" he demanded. "Do share the joke."

"Oh, nothing much," drawled the only other Sangheili in the convoy, if a creature such as Ro'nin could truly be called a Sangheili. "It's just that you always have such a limited perspective on things."

"What do you mean by that?"

Ro'nin clicked his mandibles, tilting his head to look lazily up at Ger. "Well, instead of bringing us to a halt every time a Warthog breaks down, perhaps you should send a few of us out to scout ahead. You'd cover more ground that way, and it would certainly be less tedious than having to stop and sit around every few miles."

"As if I hadn't already thought of that," Ger snarled impatiently. "You must really think I'm an idiot."

"Well, I was trying to be polite, but..."

"If I send any of these brainless fools ahead of the main force, their vehicles will break down as soon as they lose sight of the convoy. They will be helpless without us to direct them, and we'll lose even more time retrieving them."

"It was just a suggestion," Ro'nin said, folding his arms as he lounged against the side of the Wraith. "Thought I'd try to be helpful. Isn't that why you brought me out here in the first place?"

Ro'nin was one of the few other Sangheili on Venezia. The planet might be a hub for interspecies refugees, but most Sangheili were too proud to lower themselves to sheltering on a human backwater. Ger was only here because his keep and bloodline were destroyed during the fighting on Sanghelios, but at least he had the grace to be ashamed of his fall from grace. A creature like Ro'nin relished his diminished status, mocking all the pride and traditions of the Sangheili with his very existence.

His armor was battered and unkempt, almost intentionally so, while a plethora of weapons hung loosely from the combat harnesses slung across his body. Compared to Ger, who did his best to keep his appearance and equipment as close to the old Covenant military standards as possible, Ro'nin was a sorry sight indeed. To make matters worse, he always slouched or hunched like some human thug, watching everything around him with eyes that gleamed with cold mockery. Ro'nin was no Sangheili. Even his name was a portmanteau of his old birth name and some obscure human word. He was everything Ger despised about the humans and their Syndicate. This is what they do to us. Strip us of all our pride and turn us into disgusting reflections of themselves.

But while Ro'nin disgusted Ger, there was no denying that he was one of the best mercenaries on Venezia. Like Ger, Ro'nin was free to pick and choose his own contracts, only taking on jobs that suited his own interests and sensibilities. His job record for the Syndicate was exceptional. If Ro'nin was tasked with hunting down a target, he caught them. He might be irreverent scum with no pride or honor, but Ro'nin was quite good at his job.

Ger pursed his mandibles, then triggered his communicator. “Ramos.”

“Yes, boss?”

“Send two of the vehicles in best condition ahead. Someone might as well scout the search area while we work here.”

“Got it.” A moment later two of the human-made Warthogs peeled away from the convoy and shot off towards the foothills. For a moment they were silhouetted against vast, rolling grasslands. Then they rolled over a hill and disappeared.

“And here I thought you wouldn’t take my advice.” Ro’nin’s smirking voice crawled up the side of the Wraith. “Don’t feel too bad about it. Even a keepless wretch like me has a good idea once and a while.”

Ger wasn’t entirely sure what circumstances had driven Ro’nin from their people and brought him to a place like Venezia. From what he already knew of the mercenary he was sure it was something obscene. Just a little longer, he told himself. Soon I will return to Sanghelios and leave all of these tiresome vermin behind.

The time passed in strained silence, far longer than the “minute or so” Ramos had promised. Once again Ger itched to have a few of the enforcers shot as an example to the others. It took all the restraint he possessed to stay seated in the Wraith, observing the convoy’s plight with imperious rage rather than leaping down and executing those responsible. Ro’nin continued to lean against the assault tank’s hull, amused as ever by the incompetence of the Syndicate thugs.

At least I can provide Min Ai a thoroughly detailed report regarding his pathetic excuse of a hunting party. Ger would endure all the frustration of this job if it meant he could relay back to the languid Syndicate flunky just how wanting his operation here on Venezia was. The human criminals loved to boast about how powerful their underworld empire was. Ger wondered how long that arrogance would last if the Syndicate continued fielding sub-par expeditions like this. Great bulk alone does not equate to great power, as any obese human can attest.

Ramos broke away from the convoy and approached the Wratih. The human enforcer’s rifle was slung, expression grim. He had worked with Ger enough times to know the Sangheili had little patience for incompetence and empty assurances.

“Boss,” Ramos said carefully, craning his neck to stare up at the Wraith. Ger leaned against the tank’s plasma turret, hands folded over each other like a resting predator as he glared down at his subordinate. “We got the Warthog’s working again. Convoy’s ready to move out.”

“Are you sure?” Ger demanded archly. “Perhaps you require another minute or so to be sure?”

“No, boss. We’re ready.” Ramos was no coward, but he recognized the murderous glint in Ger’s eyes and knew the Sangheili would settle for nothing less than total obedience.

“Very well. Your vehicle will take the lead. Contact the two vehicles that went ahead. If they haven’t found anything in all this time I’ll—“

His communicator buzzed. Ger activated it with an irritated flick and found an excited voice yelling in his ear. “Convoy, come in! We’ve got contact!”

Ger seized the communicator, body finally coming alive again. “Contact? Is it the target?”

“Not sure. Whatever it is, it’s got our other ‘Hog pinned. We’re trying to get a clear shot on it with our rear gun.”

“Keep engaging,” Ger snapped. “Do not even think about falling back.”

He plugged the communicator into the tactical pad on his wrist, triangulating the sender’s location and generating the transmitting Warthog’s coordinates. He forwarded those coordinates to Ramos and the rest of the convoy’s leadership, then slammed a fist down on the Wraith’s hull. The Kig-Yar mercenary manning the tank’s controls fired up the plasma engines and the Wraith hummed to life beneath him.

“The scouts have him,” Ger snapped down at Ro’nin and Ramos. “Get this convoy moving! We’ll converge on him and end this.” As long as Stray was caught on these open plains he’d be easy pickings even for the Syndicate’s thugs. The longer the hunt dragged out the greater chances were he would find some bolt-hole and throw them off the trail.

Ger settled back in the Wraith’s turret seat as the tank slid forward across the plain. At times like these, with his fingers curled around the plasma cannon’s firing studs and rushing towards the promise of battle, Ger could forget that he was leading a ragtag collection of second-rate vehicles driven by undisciplined thugs and imagine that he was once again a true officer leading a column of his fellow Sangheili into battle.

It was simple pleasures like these that made his life bearable.

---

The heavy rattle of a Warthog’s rear gun hissed across the air as Ger’s Wraith drew near. He saw the Warthog itself a moment later. The human reconnaissance vehicle was perched atop a hill, its gunner firing down the slope in long, drawn out bursts. The Warthog’s other two occupants lay prone in the grass, weapons aimed down at where their partner was shooting.

“Find the target!” Ger barked down at his driver. His blood roared in anticipation of a fight but a moment’s surveillance of the situation at the bottom of the slope quieted his excitement. All he could see below was the other scout Warthog, flipped over on its side with flames licking at the hood. He could just make out the dark shapes of bodies lying beside it.

“Hold your fire,” he snapped down at the driver. Without waiting for a response he clambered down from the Wraith and strode over to the surviving Warthog. The gunner caught sight of him and froze. His companions looked up at him in confusion, then followed his gaze over to the approaching Ger and scrambled to their feet.

Ger approached the nearest enforcer, a grimy-faced human female. “Well?” he demanded. “Is he down there?”

The female blanched. “Well—I mean, we think…”

“One vehicle destroyed and you don’t even know for certain where he is?” Ger reached for the plasma repeater on his back and the female flinched. He shook his head in disgust, unslinging the weapon and advancing down the hill. “Cover me,” he ordered. “But if one of your bullets so much as grazes my shields, I’ll have the whole convoy use you for target practice.”

Even before he reached the bottom he could tell Stray was long gone. The smoldering Warthog had been struck by some sort of explosive, blasting its front wheels clean off and leaving its passengers easy pickings for anyone with a weapon and half a brain.

Two of the three enforcers had been humans. One lay a few feet up the slope of another hill, her torso mangled by some sort of heavy weapon impact. The other was tangled amidst the Warthog’s wreckage, a red pulp where its head should be.

The third enforcer was Kig-Yar. Its body was marked by several deep blade marks—Ger couldn’t tell exactly which blow had killed it, only that it had been hacked to pieces with impressive savagery.

“You got anything, boss?” Ramos was jogging down the hill, a squad of enforcers at his back. The lanky figure of Ro’nin picked its way slowly down behind them.

Ger was about to snap back an irritable response when he caught sight of something in the grass some ways off from the wrecked Warthog. Something red poked out from the stalks of green and brown; a moment’s investigation revealed it to be blood. Human blood.

The blood was clearly not from either of the two dead humans. It led away, up the hill from the crash site and off into the plains. Ger traced the trail a moment longer, then turned back to the enforcers. His earlier exasperation was gone. He should be enraged that his subordinates had once again let Stray slip away, but instead he felt an exhilaration he hadn’t felt in years. The ruined Warthog, the mangled corpses, the trail of a wounded fugitive—this was a true battlefield.

“Stray is wounded,” he announced, indicating the blood trail. “He’ll need to seek shelter, and without a vehicle he won’t get far. I want patrols investigating every village, every homestead, every farm in this area. Tell the locals we’ll reward anyone who gives him up.”

He jabbed a finger at Ro’nin. “And you,” he ordered. “Get me in contact with Chieftain Mantellus. I have need of him and his trackers.”

---

“Diana, come in.”

Nothing on the coms. The pain in his side was getting worse with every step he took.

“Diana, if you’re just pretending you can’t hear, very funny, now come in—shit.”

Still nothing. He was bleeding badly, the side of his armor wet and warm and glistening. He was lucky to be alive at all. He’d seen the .50 caliber rounds of a Warthog’s turret blast human bodies apart, ignoring armor and flesh and bone as it turned the living into puffs of red mist.

But his armor and his body were different. Instead of being torn in half he simply took the wound and kept going. But going for how much farther?

He’d killed three. It didn’t matter. His pursuers would keep coming no matter how many of them he killed. The Syndicate would not let up the hunt until he was dead.

Stupid to get into this, so stupid. But he wasn’t going to die. Of that, if nothing else, he was certain. No matter how much pain, no matter how many people he had to kill, he was not going to die.

But no need to keep being stupid, is there? He needed to go to ground. The sun was setting over the plains. The hunt would continue, even at night, but it would be slower, clumsier. He could use that extra time to recuperate and figure out what the next move was.

Stray pulled up a map of the area on his helmet’s HUD. There was a small farm just a few miles west, not big enough for a true hiding place but also not big enough to draw too much attention. And right now he didn’t have the luxury of picking and choosing.

He turned and limped west, the agony of each step reminding him that he was still alive. They hadn’t caught him yet.

Chapter Three: Beast From Water

George Hunsinger frowned down at his datapad. His finger hovered above the screen, dipping momentarily every once in a while to flick the device and change screens on whatever he was reading. Zoey eyed him curiously over her bowl of cereal. “Something wrong, Dad?”

Her father made a face. “It’s nothing. Just the usual nonsense coming out of New Tyne.”

Lily poked her head into the kitchen, halfway through donning a grimy smock as she prepared to head out into the fields. “Oh really? How many oonskie spies did they catch this week?”

“About fifteen or so,” George replied with a wry grin. “Looks like they busted a whole ring this time. UNSC can’t seem to figure out we don’t take kindly to being sabotaged. Lucky for us we have our friends from the glorious Insurrection to protect our freedoms.”

Lily shot her husband an irritated look but laughed all the same. Zoey joined in laughing as well though she wasn’t entirely sure what the joke was. The news out of New Tyne was always reports of captured spies and Earth sympathizers. Her father insisted that it was all a bunch of propaganda to make farmers like them respect the militias more, but at least they made the news exciting. The only stories that ever came from the other farms were crop reports and warnings about pests in the fields.

“Eat up,” George told Zoey when the laughter subsided. “We’ve got a busy day ahead of us. Two of the harvesters broke down yesterday. You know what that means.”

“Yeah.” Zoey dipped a spoon into her cereal dejectedly. Broken harvesters meant a day spent crouching beneath the sun with her hands buried in a crop machine’s engine, drenched in sweat and doing her best to pay attention to her father’s instructions. It was hardly the worst job on the farm but it was nothing to get excited about either.

“Are you sure you need her for that?” Lily asked from the entrance. Thune sensed that someone was about to leave the homestead and trotted over to the door with an excited whine. “She needs to get some schoolwork done at some point this harvest. Classes resume in two weeks and she’s barely touched her studies.”

Zoey suppressed a groan. If there was anything worse than farm work it was school. She hated the musty little trailer where the local farm children took their lessons. None of the classes were any fun at all and the other kids had nothing to talk about except the goings-on at their own farms. She’d gladly take a day full of sweaty field chores over that air-conditioned drudgery.

“Two harvesters down,” George reminded his wife. “And the other two need maintenance. We can’t afford having them out of commission this close to harvest and you’re tied up spraying down the south fields. The way I see it, I can have one up and running by midday and then take a look at the ones that work. Zoey can handle the other one herself.”

She blinked, a spoonful of cereal halfway into her mouth. Work on a harvester by herself? She’d never done anything like that without her father’s supervision.

George caught her gaze and grinned. “You’ve really impressed me with the last few ones we’ve worked on together. I think it’s time you took one on without me breathing down your neck.”

A thrill rushed through her. “By myself? Do you really mean it?”

“I never joke when it comes to the farm. I wouldn’t put you up to it if I didn’t think you could do the job.” He narrowed his eyes with mock severity. “But mess that harvester up more than it already is and you can forget about allowance for the rest of the year. And I’ll be checking on your progress at noon, so you’d best hurry up and get working out there.”

The rest of Zoey’s cereal vanished in a heartbeat and a moment later she was rushing back to her room to gather her tools.

---

Two hours later, Zoey was beginning to rethink her earlier enthusiasm.

She knelt in the dirt beside the harvester’s front wheels as the sun beat down on her from the cloudless sky. Her clothes were already drenched in sweat and her arms ached from the effort of keeping tools in line with the machine’s internal components. She’d managed to scrape herself raw in three separate places struggling to get at the harvester’s faulty components. Only the fear of disappointing her father kept her working.

It wasn’t that she couldn’t handle the strain of farm work. Zoey had labored happily in her parents’ fields for as long as she could remember, helping with everything from vehicle maintenance to pest control to the harvest itself. A day without a few scrapes and a bucket full of sweat was a day she’d clearly not been working hard enough.

But usually George or Lily was with her, overseeing her work and letting her know where she was succeeding and what she was doing wrong. Without one of her parents to monitor her progress, Zoey had no way of knowing if she’d gotten anywhere at all in the two hours spent slaving over the harvester. For all she knew it was still just as broken as when she’d started.

She strained too far to reach the compressor she was working on and lost her grip on her wrench. With a groan she slumped back on her heels, wondering if it was even worth the effort to go fumbling into the harvester to retrieve the lost tool.

Biting her lip in frustration, Zoey grabbed her canteen and took several irritated gulps. The harvester loomed above her like a giant carved boulder, silently daring her to keep up her futile efforts to get it running again. She glared up at it for a moment before looking back down at the schematics on her datapad. There had to be something she was doing right. She’d done plenty of repairs like this before, when her father and mother were watching. I can’t just freak out every time they aren’t there to tell me what to do. I have to show them I’m fine on my own.

Her father trusted her to get this done right on her own. There had to be a way…

The sweat was everywhere—on her clothes, her forehead, her hair. She shook herself like a dog, shoving her hands down her grimy work jumpsuit to scratch at itches on her arms. Even more itches broke out along her back and she moaned with frustration.

This was no good. She wouldn’t get anywhere with the harvester, upset as she was. Zoey jumped to her feet, overflowing with pent up irritation. She threw her tools on the ground and kicked dirt up at the harvester’s wheel. When that didn’t satisfy her anger she lashed out with a punch, then yelped as her hand scraped against the hard wheel. She retreated away from the harvester, nursing her stinging knuckles.

This is stupid. I have to calm down. She’d just have to wait until her father came to check on her. Then she’d ask him for help and he’d walk her through the repairs. But he’ll be so disappointed. He thought I could do this on my own. The thought made her scrapes sting even more.

But maybe she could at least show that she tried. He’d certainly think better of her if he found her hard at work instead of simply pouting beneath the harvester. She needed to calm down and keep working.

But first, to cool down.

The Hunsinger farm was split into four crop wheat fields, an enormous serrated square with their homestead and barns in the center. Zoey and her harvester were in the southernmost field. The Hunsinger property ended with the wheat fields. The rolling Venezian plains beyond those belonged to nobody, a vast expanse of free nature that went on until it hit another family’s farmland. A small river cut through the plain behind the southern field, its banks surrounded by a perimeter of untended, wild wheat stalks sprouted from seed overflow. Zoey had spent hours playing in that river—it was nice and secluded, a perfect sanctuary from the busy farm life.

I’ll just head down there real fast. Take a quick dip. She’d really catch it if her parents caught her taking a break when there were chores to be done, but she’d be back before anyone came to check on her. Just a quick splash in the water to cool down. She wouldn’t even take her clothes off.

Leaving her tools behind, Zoey ducked beneath the harvester and pushed her way through the wheat field. A perimeter sensor system was in place around the fields but the Hunsingers only ever turned it on at night when no one was in the fields. Zoey stepped around one of the security nodes, then pushed her way through the wild grove toward the river.

She didn’t go very far in. Just a quick dip, she reminded herself. She’d just splash some water over herself to cool her aches and itches, then hurry on back to keep working on the harvester until her father came by. She couldn’t let anything distract her or keep her here too long…

The farm girl stopped short halfway through the grove. Something was off about the riverbank today. She couldn’t quite put her finger on what was wrong, but everything seemed quieter somehow. Like the river itself was holding its breath. A strange feeling of dread crept up Zoey’s spine and she had to fight down the urge to rush back into the field.

What’s wrong with me? She’d been down here thousands of times and not once felt this way. What was this gripping sense of foreboding that engulfed her now? She forced herself to press on towards the riverbank, pushing stalks of wheat aside and stepping out towards the water.

And then she saw the helmet.

Zoey froze, finding herself staring down at a strange-looking helmet with a broad, dented visor sitting in the dirt beside the river. The visor was battered and pitted, its surface the dull color of rotted wood. The helmet’s frame seemed to have once been painted a dark green, but that uniform color was corroded and splotched all over with patches of ugly brown and red. The visor stared up at her, a mouthless, faceless gaze that somehow made her think it could see right through her all the same.

Something splashed in the water nearby. Zoey turned to see what had made the noise and there he was.

For a moment she thought she was looking at some strange, hunched animal. A tangled mop of black hair bobbed against the water’s surface attached to a battered carapace that took Zoey several moments to recognize as armor. It took her even longer to realize that she was looking at a human.

The strange armored figure knelt on the riverbank, head bowed low before the water. It reached into the gentle current, cupping its hands and then splashing water across its face. It repeated this gesture several times; as its arms moved Zoey saw bright crimson stains across its side. Blood ran down its chest, staining its gauntleted hands, its legs, even the ground beside it. As the stranger dipped its hand into the water again, pale ribbons of blood drifted away with the current.

Zoey must have gasped or made some sort of noise, for the stranger jerked its head towards her. Its eyes flashed and in the next instant it had a pistol out and pointed directly at her chest.

Zoey froze, desperately trying to understand what was going on.

“Hands,” the stranger ordered and Zoey realized it was male. His voice was oddly pitched—as if someone took the high-pitched whine of an adolescent and fused it with the gravely rasp of a lung-stricken adult. “Now.”

She didn’t move. What was happening here? She’d just come down to the river like she’d done so many times before. Now there was a gun trained on her heart.

“Your hands!” he snarled, finger curling around the pistol’s trigger. “Get them up where I can see them. Now!”

Hands trembling with fear, Zoey raised her arms above her head. In a flash the stranger bounded over to her, one hand closing down on her collar with a vice-like grip. She struggled to free herself but found that she couldn’t so much as budge the stranger’s hold. The pistol came forward, its barrel jabbing into her side before working its way upwards. Zoey cried out and recoiled as the gun prodded her chest and armpits but the stranger did not relent. He forced her down on her knees, probing at her legs with an armored boot before he was completely satisfied.

The armored stranger pushed her away and she fell on her back, staring up at him from the dirt. He pointed the pistol at her head.

“No weapons,” the stranger said, sounding more surprised than menacing. Not that he needed to sound threatening, not with his pistol a foot away from Zoey’s forehead. “No bombs either. They just pay you to poke around, scout things out?”

Zoey couldn’t make any sense of what he was talking about. Now that he was standing above her she had the chance to examine his face more closely. She was surprised to realize that he was young, or at least younger than she’d thought. His rough, angry face could almost have belonged to any one of the older farm boys her parents sometimes brought on to help with the harvest. Maybe if someone took one of those boys, dunked his head in dirt and then pummeled his face until its features looked as dented and battered as the armor he wore.

“Please,” she heard herself whimper. “I don’t know what you mean. No one sent me. Please don’t shoot. I live here!”

The battered young man cocked his head slightly, as if he were the one having trouble understanding. A sudden spasm coursed through his body and he stumbled, free hand grabbing at his bloody side. Zoey recoiled as he turned his angry, quivering eyes back towards her. His teeth bared in a feral snarl, but then quickly curved into a narrow, thoughtful smile.

“Live here?” he asked. He jerked his head back toward the fields. “You mean this is your farm?”

“Yes,” Zoey said carefully. She tried to duck her head low, get it away from the looming gun barrel. “I mean, it’s my parents’ farm. They own it. We own it. Please don’t shoot.”

“Alright,” the stranger muttered, more to himself than Zoey. He lowered the pistol and crouched in front of her, bringing his grimy, battered face up close to hers. She fought back the urge to recoil in disgust.

“Listen up,” the stranger told her. “You go get one of your parents. Not both, just one. You bring them right back here. No weapons, no dogs, no vehicles, nothing. Then we’ll sort this all out. You do anything besides that and I’ll shoot you and anyone you brought with you. Got it?”

Zoey nodded frantically.

“Good.” The stranger’s gray eyes narrowed further, like some predator playing with its prey. “You’d better get moving. You’ve got five minutes to get back here before I come looking for you. You really don’t want that.”

He backed away and gave Zoey the space she needed to wriggle away. She turned and sprinted back towards the fields, already desperately calling out for her father. Behind her the stranger sat back on his haunches, smiling in a way that didn’t quite meet his eyes.

Chapter Four: Dinner Guest

Another day of fruitless searching.

Ger ‘Hullen stood atop a large hill and paced, trying to hide his mounting irritation between a mask of pensive reflection. He couldn’t let his subordinates see his frustration or they’d lose what little motivation for the hunt they had. Then he really would have to kill a few of them to motivate the others.

The Syndicate convoy spread out on the slope behind him. The mixed assortment of Warthogs and other fighting machines formed a loose circle inside of which the enforcers made camp. Some ate out of ration bags while others milled about, chatting idly with each other or attending to weapons and equipment. Only a handful bothered to keep watch over the surrounding plains.

It was a pathetic excuse for a military encampment, not that Ger saw any point in correcting it. Part of him hoped Stray would creep up to the perimeter and kill a few enforcers. At least then they’d have some trace of his existence to pursue.

The blood trail from the ruined Warthog ended shortly after it began. Stray evidently wasn’t stupid enough to leave them such an obvious path to follow. He’d vanished into the plains like a mist, leaving Ger and the enforcers to grope blindly around for some place to revitalize their search. Ger already had the surrounding area narrowed down to a dozen or so farms and homesteads his quarry might have reached to hide out in. He’d dispatched patrols into the night to inform the farmers of the fugitive—and the price for harboring him.

We’ll still have to search them all come morning. The thought alone exhausted him. He would have to oversee each and every search personally. There was no way he could trust the enforcers to do a proper job of it. Intimidating farmers was a common enough task for him—the Syndicate often needed to remind the more rural communities of who really owned the planet—but it was far beneath his dignity as a warrior.

“Enjoying the hunt, commander?” sneered an insolent voice from the shadows. Ro’nin stepped into view, a ration bag in each hand. He offered one to Ger, who declined with a cold stare. This only seemed to amuse the other Sangheili, who quickly gobbled down the contents of one bag and tossed the empty packet onto the grass behind him.

Ger had little patience for Ro’nin’s company. “Shouldn’t you be at your post?” he demanded irritably.

“What post would that be? Getting some more food or finding a place to sleep?” Ro’nin crouched beside Ger, elongated fingers probing the remaining ration bag’s contents. “You’d think these human packets would be disgusting, what with our different metabolisms and all, but there’s something rather delicious about these bread pastries of theirs…”

Ger turned his back on Ro’nin, determined not to be provoked. The other mercenary just chuckled. “Come on, I’m not that bad. You should be glad to have me along. At least you’ve got one merc around here you can trust to actually kill people. Besides, doesn’t it remind you of the good old days? Two noble Sangheili warriors in service to the glorious Covenant Empire. We’re even hunting a human fugitive.”

“We do not serve the Covenant,” Ger replied stiffly. “Not anymore. And you are the farthest thing from a warrior I could imagine.”

“Now that sort of attitude won’t get you anywhere,” Ro’nin said, unperturbed by Ger’s barbs. “You won’t get anywhere with the Syndicate if you despise everyone you work with. At least try to hide it a little.”

“Why should I hide what I feel?” Ger demanded. “Circumstances may force me to work with these criminal scum for now, but I will never embrace them as you have. I still have some pride left in me.”

“Pride.” Ro’nin shook his head. “Such an immaterial thing, wouldn’t you agree? Yet untold millions of our people die for it all the same. What’s the use of pride or honor? You can’t eat them. Can’t defend yourself with them. You can’t even buy things with them, at least not outside Sangheili space.”

Ger’s mandibles twitched in disgust. “I don’t know which is worse. The likes of Vadam and his reformers or creatures like you.”

“Oh, must we talk politics when we’re getting along so well?”

“At least the humans and Kig-Yar and Unggoy have an excuse for serving the Syndicate. They are all lesser races, after all. But you… it’s too disgusting for words to think that you were once an officer in the imperial armies.”

“I’ll admit I’m far from the model Sangheili.” Ro’nin seemed incapable of taking offense. “Yet here we are, both taking credits from the Syndicate. At least I’m honest with myself. Or do you actually take pride in leading this rabble?”

Ger’s eyes narrowed into slits. “Circumstances have forced me to this,” he said quietly. “I will not play the lackey forever. You may have given up on returning to our people, but I have not. Stay on this human garbage dump if you’re so happy here. One day I will return to Sanghelios and restore the keep that was taken from me.”

“Yes, yes,” Ro’nin said idly. “I’ve heard that one a dozen times before. I usually get it from younger warriors though, all thinking themselves the hero of some legend. Aren’t you a little old to believe in fantasies?”

Ger turned on his heel. There was no point in arguing with a creature like Ro’nin. There truly was nothing worse than a Sangheili who behaved like a human. He stalked over to the edge of the hill and peered down at the sloppy Syndicate encampment. He took no pride in being responsible for these fools. They were simply a burden he had to carry on the road leading out of this hellish existence. He didn’t care how many of them died in the rush to kill Stray. They were all inferior creatures, after all.

Maybe he’d get lucky and Stray would kill Ro’nin before this was over.

Ger couldn’t help but feel a strange kinship with his prey. He knew very little about the mercenary, but he imagined that anyone capable of eluding the Syndicate for this long must be something more than just a common frontier thug. Perhaps Stray, like Ger, had once been someone else, someone better. Circumstances had brought them both here, forced them both to lower themselves to the Syndicate’s level in order to survive. Stray had done Min Ai’s bidding for a time until it proved too much and he snapped.

Some days Ger wished he could do the same. But he did not have the luxury of signing his own death warrant. Some indignities could not be fought, only endured.

Maybe Stray could simply endure the humiliation any longer. When the human’s end finally came, Ger hoped he met it with dignity. We both want to be something better. The least I can do is treat him as such.

---

Dinner in the Hunsinger household was usually a social affair, full of jokes and laughter traded across the table alongside plates of a shared meal.

Not tonight.

George was silent as he passed Lily a bowl of salad. His wife took it without a word, her eyes fixed on the stranger sitting in the corner of the room. Zoey hunkered down between them, unable to take her eyes off the bizarre figure who had invited himself into their house.

The first thing the stranger did upon entering the homestead was search the house. No room was spared, not even Zoey’s. After rummaging through drawers and under beds, he gathered up every transmitter and communications device he could find and piled them on the table. Since then he hadn’t moved from the corner. He placed his helmet on his lap and rested his hands on the stock of the shotgun he’d brought up from the river. His eyes were always narrowed, as if he were studying and analyzing everyone and everything he saw.

“So,” Lily said tightly. She had both of her hands placed firmly on the table, but Zoey could see her gaze drifting over to where she knew her parents had hidden an old hunting carbine. “Are we your prisoners now?”

The stranger snorted, as if this amused him. “Prisoners? If I wanted to hold you guys hostage I’d zip-tie your hands behind your back and lock you in the machine shed. It’s still your house. Just pretend I’m not here.” He seemed much more relaxed then he’d been when he’d threatened Zoey down by the river. Some of the fierceness had drained out of him, replaced by an odd, languid ease.

Lily looked pointedly at the pile of communicators on the table. The stranger made a face and shrugged.

“Gotta make sure you guys don’t sell me out. Nothing personal, I just don’t trust any of you.”

“You trust us enough to invite yourself into our house.” Zoey had never seen George this tense, not even when that enormous storm had torn up half the fields two years ago. He didn’t sit with Lily and Zoey, instead remaining in the kitchen and working to prepare dinner with a stony expression.

“After the kid found me by the river, I didn’t have much of a choice. Couldn’t just let her run off and tell everyone she’d seen me. Had to choose between imposing on you fine people and just shooting you all and hoping people took a while to find the bodies.”

Zoey couldn’t tell if the stranger was joking or not. Even when his tone lightened it carried a hard edge behind it, an unspoken threat of impending violence.

“I don’t know what kind of trouble you’re running from and I don’t really care.” Lily dropped a hand down onto Zoey’s leg and gave it a comforting squeeze. “If you threaten my daughter again I’ll blow your head off.”

A smile tugged at the corners of the stranger’s mouth. “You’ll try.”

“Big man, aren’t you?” Zoey wondered if George was making fun of the stranger’s height—even in his armor, he was shorter than both of her parents. “Coming in here with all that armor and weapons, acting like we’re a threat to you. Why can’t you UNSC types just leave us alone out here? Go pick a fight with the militia someplace else.”

The stranger’s smile tightened. “I’m not UNSC.”

“Then what are you? That’s some strange armor you’ve got there. Definitely nothing like what the militia wears. What is it, some kind of ODST rig? War’s over, in case you didn’t notice.”

“Who said I was threatening you guys? I’m just talking facts.” The stranger made a face. “Besides, if I am threatening you, I’m not doing a very good job. If you really thought I was going to kill you and the rest of your family, wouldn’t you be working harder to keep me happy?”

Nobody said anything for some time after that. George passed out the rest of the meal to Lily and Zoey, then sat down at the table beside them. Zoey looked down at her plate, then up at her mother. She wasn’t sure what was going on. This was all so surreal—the stranger, his weapons and armor, his calm threats. Was she dreaming?

Lily flashed her daughter a smile. “Don’t worry. Everything’s fine. Just eat up.”

Everything didn’t feel fine at all. Zoey picked at her meal, shooting furtive glances at the stranger in the corner. He watched her family with a strangely pensive look on his face, one she hadn’t seen on him before. It wasn’t the ferocious glare from the river nor was it the calculating stare he’d worn a few moments ago. She’d once seen a similar look on her mother when they’d tried putting an old analogue puzzle together. Once in a while the stranger would flinch and drop a hand down to his wounded side. She wondered if he had done anything to treat it since he’d taken up residence in their house. All she’d seen him do was spray a small canister of something white into the hole in his armor.

Seized by a sudden curiosity, she forgot that this was the same person who had forced her to her knees and prodded her with a gun. “What’s your name?” she blurted out.

The stranger looked taken aback. “Stray,” he said after a moment’s hesitation.

“Stray?”

“Yeah.”

“That doesn’t sound like a real name.”

“That’s what people call me.”

“What people?”

“Alright, Zoey,” George said. He shot a wary glance at the armored stranger called Stray. “That’s enough.”

Stray looked at the Hunsingers, the pensive stare flashing back across his face. He grunted and produced a handful of credit chits from one of the pouches strapped to his armor. Leaning forward, he placed the chits on the table and slid them towards Lily and George. “For your trouble. It’s not much, but you won’t have to put up with me for much longer.”

George placed a finger on the credits. “How much longer?”

One of the transmitters piled on the table beeped. It was the proximity alarm for the farm perimeter.

Stray moved fast, the alert gunman once again. He stood, shotgun in one hand and pistol in the other. Lily threw up her hands.

“We didn’t do anything!” she hissed, reaching for the whining transmitter.

The sight of the pistol aimed at her mother’s head filled Zoey with far more terror than she’d felt when it was pointed at her. She jumped toward Lily only for George to grab her arm and pull her back.

“Why the hell should I believe you?” Stray’s voice was hard, but he looked quickly around the room like a startled animal searching for a place to hide. He looked almost frightened.

Thune whined and pulled himself out from under the table. The old dog ignored the stranger pointing a gun at his mistress and instead crept toward the door, ears flat against his head. “People outside,” George said quickly. “Humans. He wouldn’t go near the door otherwise.”

“Why wouldn’t they be human?” Zoey asked, but her father clamped a hand over her mouth.

“Let me go out there,” Lily said. She didn’t take her eyes off the gun. “Let me talk to them. There’s no need for violence. I won’t let them in here. I’ll send them away.”

“You’d better.”

Zoey’s mother nodded. She backed away towards the door. Outside, Zoey heard the whine of a car motor and the crunch of tires against the dirt. A cold pit opened in her stomach. How could any of this be happening? The gun pointed at her mother, the strangers arriving in the darkness, her father’s tight grip on her arm. It was all too much.

The door opened and someone outside called out. “Who’s asking?” Lily said in reply, stepping outside and closing the door behind her.

Stray flattened himself against a wall, weapons at the ready. George sat down in his chair and pulled Zoey close. Muffled voices spoke outside. She heard her mother say something. Several people laughed at once. Zoey closed her eyes and wished it would all just end.

The wheels crunched and the engine hummed back to life. Dirt crunched and then the sounds of the car faded away. A moment later her mother stepped back into the house.

“I’m alone,” she said. “They’ve gone off.”

She saw Zoey and smiled. “Everything’s going to be fine,” she said again. “How about you go on and get ready for bed? Your father and I will be up to see you in a minute.”

“But I—“

“Bed.” Lily’s voice was kind but firm.

Zoey hugged her father and then slipped away out of the kitchen. It was no use hiding out in the hall—she knew her parents would check—but they had never figured out that the small air vent above her bed led directly back to the kitchen. When she got to her room she crept up onto the bed and pressed an ear to the vent.

“—criminal connections,” her father was saying.

“What have you dragged us into?” her mother demanded.

“If I had my way, I’d still be hiding down by that river,” Stray said in reply. “You can thank the kid for—“

“Don’t you dare blame this on her,” Lily snarled.

“If this is some sort of gang war—“ George started to say, but Stray cut him off.

“Nothing that dramatic. I just pissed off the wrong people and now they want my head on a stick.” He paused. “But you didn’t sell me out. They couldn’t beat my price?”

“Why the hell would I give you up when you had my husband and daughter with you in the house?” Lily snapped. “If you didn’t shoot them, those thugs would probably shoot them when they stormed the house.”

“I guess I owe you.”

“You don’t owe us shit.” Zoey had never heard her father swear before. “You can hide out in our barn this one night. When I wake up tomorrow, I want you gone.”

“Fine, fine. Wasn’t planning on loitering here anyways.”

“You go to the barn and you stay in the barn,” Lily said coldly. “And stay the hell away from my little girl.”

“And here I was hoping I could share her room…”

“Stay. Away. From. Her.”

The voices receded as everyone moved away from the kitchen. Zoey threw herself down on the bed, pulling the covers tight over her face. Maybe this really was a dream. Maybe when she woke up this would all be over…

Chapter Five: Killers

Ger 'Hullen's first human employer was a grossly obese man named Randall Trane. The Sangheili had been stunned upon their first meeting. The only humans he had ever seen previously were lean, muscled soldiers and desperate, half-starved refugees. He knew his share of portly Sangheili, but none of such girth that they could not even move unassisted. And none in positions of authority over him.

But that was the world of humans. They gorged themselves on luxury, caring nothing for honor and nobility in pursuit of their own hedonistic pleasures. Only the Kig-Yar were as obsessed with wealth and material gain.

Ger had choked down his distaste for Trane and served him well, hunting down his enemies while building up his own status within the Syndicate. It was eventually enough for his contract to be plucked out from Trane’s greasy palms by Min Ai, who promised his newest enforcer a wealth of new opportunities on Venezia. Ger had taken the offer not because he believed those promises but because he hoped he might find some way to conjure up at least some respect for his new employer.

In some regards, he had been correct. Min Ai was as far removed from Trane in nearly every regard. A thin, soft spoken human, Min rarely indulged in luxury—at least not publically. He dressed in the dark suits that served as subdued status symbols for humans and wore his pale hair short and neat. He shared Trane’s greed and lust for profit, but at least knew how to carry himself with dignity.

Ger looked down at the hologram of his employer standing on his palm. The Syndicate camp was quiet; most of the enforcers were asleep, taking advantage of Venezia’s cool night air. He wouldn’t be surprised to even find the sentries sleeping, not that it mattered in the long run.

“Three farms, you say?” Min asked, clasping his hands in front of him.

“Yes. Only three refused to let their homesteads be searched. I intend to move the convoy at first light. We will surround each farm in turn and conduct thorough searches until Stray is found.”

“Excellent.” Min smiled. “This whole sorry incident really spiraled out of control after Stray slipped away back in New Tyne, but I knew I’d put the right warrior on the job. You do good work Ger, especially considering the quality of troops you have to work with.”

Ger wasn’t sure if his employer was being condescending or genuine. “The quality of the troops is irrelevant. Their officer must be responsible for their failures as well as their successes.”

“You’re a pleasure to work with, Ger. You always bring such a fresh perspective to the table.”

“I simply take pride in my work. Perhaps you should consider hiring more enforcers who share my philosophy.”

“I’ll have to look into it. Especially if we’re ever going to expand our operations here.” Min’s smile broadened. “Come morning, hold position until I arrive. Then you move on the farms.”

Ger blinked. “You are coming? In person?”

“Oh, I won’t get in your way. I just feel a bit more gravity needs to be added to tomorrow’s proceedings. It has nothing to do with my confidence in your abilities of course. I just feel that with farms needing to be searched a bit of restraint is in order. Restraint I’d prefer to enforce in person.” The criminal spread his hands in a shrug. “Besides, it’s been such a long time since I’ve had an excuse to leave New Tyne.”

“Understood. I will have appropriate measures in place for your arrival.” Inside, Ger was fuming. Min Ai’s presence would slow everything down regardless of his promises to the contrary. Nevertheless he was surprised at his employer’s eagerness to come into the field in person. He’d never known Min as one to oversee such things in person.

“I look forward to seeing you work.” Min flashed Ger another smile, then terminated the link.

Ger closed his hand into a fist over the space where Min’s hologram had stood a moment before. He focused his breathing, trying to calm the frustration building in his chest. More snags, more complications. Now he’d have to keep an eye on Min Ai while also making sure the enforcers didn’t bungle everything—a difficult task all on its own.

This will be over soon. Once he took Stray’s head he could be free of this tiresome duty. Perhaps he could turn Min’s presence to his advantage. If he managed to sufficiently impress the Syndicate representative perhaps the payout for this job would be enough to get him off Venezia, out of human space entirely. His thoughts once again turned to the keep and clan he left behind on Sanghelios.

Thel ‘Vadam’s bombers reduced the Hullen keep to rubble when the house would not swear fealty to the Arbiter’s forces. The survivors pledged themselves to the “Great Unifier” only to be slaughtered by Jul ‘Mdama’s warriors. Back in the days of the old Covenant a bereft warrior like Ger might have used glory on the battlefield to rebuild his bloodline. But all he could do now was rot out here on the human frontier. He whored himself out to scum like the Syndicate in the hopes that their blood money might someday help him restore the Hullen keep and name.

Visons of a burning keep littered with corpses clouded his mind. Aren’t you a little old to believe in fantasies? Ro’nin sneered amidst the billowing smoke.

Ger’s mandibles twitched, furious. He stalked away amidst the slumbering encampment, resisting the urge to reach out and kill every enforcer within reach. Tomorrow’s opportunities beckoned. He needed to be in top form for the coming hunt. He had no time for fleeting whims.

---

Zoey tossed and turned, hopelessly tangled in her bed sheets. She wished she could close her eyes and drift off to sleep but her mind was fully alert and firing on all pistons. Too much was happening—Stray, his pursuers, her parents’ angry fears—for her to just roll over for a good night’s sleep.

She gripped the bedsheets tight against her body. She wondered what was going on in her parents’ room. Were George and Lily asleep? Were they as restless as she was? How could anyone sleep with a violent drifter like Stray lurking in the barn? Zoey tried to imagine what sort of pursuers might make someone with Stray’s armor and weapons so fiercely desperate. She envisioned columns of shadows circling the farm, pressing close against the fields and blotting out the stars. A thick blanket of darkness descending to smother her home and everything in it.

It was too much. Zoey threw off her bedsheets and stamped angrily over to the window. She hesitated for only a moment before winching the grated slats covering the porthole open.

No shadows. No darkness. The farm rested peacefully in the tranquil blue night just like it had on every night before this one. Nothing had changed and yet, somehow, everything had changed.

Zoey quietly slipped her shoes on. She threw a coat over her pajamas and then crept out of her room towards the front door. No lights were on in her parents’ room—apparently George and Lily had managed to fall asleep after all. She slipped past their closed door but stopped short when she saw Thune curled up in the entryway. The old dog didn’t stir as she stepped over him.

The front door’s latch slid off. Zoey half expected the house’s intruder alarm to go off, but the system recognized the identity key in her jacket pocket and let her slip through without a sound.

The night air was warmer than she expected—it would be dawn in just a few hours. Zoey headed for the barn. She wasn’t entirely sure what was drawing her there. Some part of her knew she should be afraid, but for whatever reason she simply had to go in and see if Stray was really there. Perhaps this all really was a dream after all.

The barn door’s hinges were well oiled—Lily did not believe in letting any part of the farm fall into disrepair—and it slid open without a sound. Zoey stepped inside.

The barn’s musty darkness lay before her, punctured only by a few beams of moonlight trickling in from the windows high overhead. The beams illuminated the center of the barn and Zoey stopped short, breath catching in her mouth.

Stray knelt there on the floor, his back to the barn door. Zoey was shocked to see that he had stripped off his armor. She was even more shocked to see the body that lay underneath.

He was well-muscled, far more so than her parents or any adult Zoey had ever seen, but the muscles were far from attractive. Instead, they seemed out of place on his small, emaciated frame. Like growths or tumors latched onto his skinny body. He’d bandaged his wounded side but scars crisscrossed the rest of his back and arms, almost as if someone had taken parts from several different people and stitched them together to create this strange facsimile of a human.

Was this really the same fierce intruder who had threatened her family and forced himself into their home practically at gunpoint?

“You don’t scare off easy, do you?”

Zoey jumped and froze in place, heart pounding. Stray didn’t turn to look at her. “You should be more of a coward. I’ve known brave little girls before. Didn’t do them much good.”

“How did you know—“

Stray shrugged. “I don’t think either of your parents would be sneaking in here. I’ve gotta hand it to you, though: this is the second time you’ve caught me with my pants down.”

He paused, then let out a derisive laugh. “Figuratively speaking, of course. I’m not into that sort of shit.”

Zoey wasn’t quite sure what kind of “shit” he was talking about. She took a few steps closer, emboldened by his casual tone, but stopped when he glanced back at her. His tone was soft, but his eyes still gleamed like an animal ready to pounce.

“You trying to get me thrown out of here early?” he asked. “Your mom told me to stay away from you.”

“Do you always wear that armor?” she asked quickly. It was the first thing that popped into her head. She wasn’t entirely sure what she was doing, talking to this ugly, mean-spirited intruder. But here she was, alone in the barn with him. It occurred to her that she might never have the opportunity to speak with someone this foreign ever again. He would soon be gone and the farm would be back to its old, quiet self.

Stray shrugged and indicated his bare body. “Most of the time.”

“It has to stink.” She could smell his musky odor from across the barn.

“Oh yeah, it does. I haven’t had the chance to wash it out in a while. Or myself for that matter.” Stray shifted to the side and Zoey saw that his armor was piled up in a heap at his feet. He smiled ruefully, almost as if embarrassed to be found in a state of undress. The expression looked strange on his sharp, angular features. “Well, since you’re here, make yourself useful and help me with this.”

He stood up and picked the largest piece of armor out of the pile. In the dim light Zoey recognized it as his chest piece. He slid it on over his body and motioned at several straps near the small of his back. “Fasten those, would you? They’re always a bitch to snap on my own.”

Zoey hesitated, but when Stray showed no sign of proceeding on his own she stepped tentatively forward. She touched the straps gingerly, half expecting Stray to lash out and hit her. But he just stood there expectantly. A shiver coursed through her body as she worked the straps. It felt so strange to touch even the hem of his armor, as if she were laying hands on Stray’s bare skin. As he turned to slide more pieces onto his body she realized that he looked much more complete with it on to hide the skinny frame, the scars, and the chunks of missing skin.

“How old are you?” she asked when she was done fastening the straps.

Stray hesitated just a moment before answering. “Sixteen. I think. Maybe fifteen. Not sure. I don’t know when my birthday is.”

Zoey gaped, not sure whether to be more shocked by his age or the idea of someone not knowing their own birthday. She couldn’t fathom the idea of someone like Stray being just a few years older than she was.

“Have you ever been to space?”

He kept buckling on armor. “Yeah.”

“What’s it like?”

“Cold. Boring.”

“What about other planets? Like Earth? Have you ever been there?”

He looked at her and made a face. “You’re talkative all of a sudden.”

She caught his eyes, then dropped her gaze quickly. Why did she feel more embarrassed than afraid? “I just figure, you know, I might never get to talk to someone who’s been to space before. Someone like you.”

“If only we could all be that lucky,” he muttered. “Besides, your mom’s been to space. Talk to her about it.”

“My mom?” Zoey knew that neither of her parents had been born on Venezia, but it had never occurred to her to ask anything about where they’d lived before they came here and had her. Neither of them ever said anything about it.

“What, you’ve never checked out those Innie tattoos on her arms before? She’s been all over. Bet she saw some shit back during the war.”

“Innie?”

“Insurrection. Ask her about it sometime.”

He stepped away from her after the last gauntlet clicked into place. He patted at his combat webbing, checking the pouches slung across the armor. “Much better,” he said aloud. He stooped and picked up his helmet. It slid down over his face and sealed with a dull click.

Zoey realized that this was the first time she’d seen him wearing the helmet. He stood there in the moonlight, any trace of emotion or feeling sealed away inside the battered suit of armor. The dented visor tilted to look down at her. The expressionless visor sent chills running down her spine.

His weapons lay in a heap a few paces away. He stepped away from her and began retrieving them. Zoey gawked at the lethal array: his pistol, a handful of knives, a machete that he slung over his back, and finally the shotgun. He slid its strap over his shoulder, the barrel pointing down at the ground.

“Have you… killed people with those?” She knew it was a stupid question, but it slipped out of her mouth before she could stop it.

“Yeah. Lots. They wouldn’t be much use to me if I didn’t, right?”

Zoey looked at this strange armored creature, someone not even half her father’s age who didn’t know his birthday and had been to space and talked about killing people with the same tone he used to admit he needed a bath. It occurred to her that she really didn’t know anything about the universe beyond Venezia. Suddenly she felt very small.

Stray stepped around her and walked toward the barn door. Zoey watched him go. “You’re leaving?” she called after him.

“Quiet down or you’ll wake your parents. And then your mom might really try to shoot me.” Stray looked back over his shoulder. It was strange to hear his voice coming out of that expressionless helmet. “Yeah, I’m clearing out. They’ll be on the move soon. I need to get a head start.”

“They?”

“The people after me.”

“Are… are they bad people?”

Stray snorted. “They’re trying to kill me. That makes them bad in my book.”

Zoey finally remembered that this same person she’d helped put on his armor had probed her with a pistol barrel down by the river. He’d forced her parents to let him in their house. He’d pointed a gun at her mother. “Are you a bad person?”

Stray was silent for several moments. He stood there in the barn door, framed by the moonlight, with one hand resting comfortably on the barrel of his shotgun. His helmet twitched; she couldn’t tell if it was a shake or a nod.

“Listen,” Stray said finally. “Don’t you tell anyone I was here. No matter who asks. Just forget all about this and everything will be fine.”

“How am I supposed to forget something like this?” she demanded.

Another laugh from behind the helmet. “Good point. Just don’t think about it. That’s how I get over things. Now go get some sleep.”

He slipped out of the barn and vanished into the night.

Chapter Six: Monsters

Syndicate enforcers scurried in all directions around Ger ‘Hullen. The rising dawn sun cast rays of dim orange over the plains, illuminating the mercenary convoy as it arranged itself in a loose formation across the hillside. The enforcers—well rested from a night blissfully free of sentry duty—moved with a renewed sense of vigor. Like their commander, they knew that this irritating foray away from their usual urban haunts in New Tyne would soon be over.

Ramos weaved his way through milling Unggoy and stationary Warthogs to where Ger stood at the top of the hill. The pale-faced human enforcer slung his rifle and drew up beside the Sangheili mercenary. “Convoy’s ready to move out, boss.”

Ger folded his arms, irritation mounting with each passing minute. “Nothing is ready until our employer sees fit to grace us with his presence.” If he had his way, the convoy would have moved out hours ago. Any element of surprised they might have gained by striking the farms before sunrise was lost thanks to Min Ai’s lack of punctuality.

Ramos made a face but didn’t offer an opinion on Min Ai’s tardiness. Ger was one of the few enforcers on Venezia who dared openly speak ill about his employers. A Sangheili mercenary was valuable enough to be forgiven the occasional discourtesy. Human guns-for-hire were, as the saying went, a credit a dozen.

Someone pinged Ger’s com channel. “Incoming VTOL,” one of the convoy sentries announced. “Looks like a Falcon.”

“Let it through,” Ger ordered. “It’s one of ours.” He scanned the skyline and quickly caught site of the approaching aircraft. The Falcon banked towards the convoy and dropped altitude. Wind from the rotors blasted the grass at Ger’s feet as the human assault transport came in for a landing.

“If Min Ai’s coming that means we’ve got Stray cornered this time,” Ramos said, just loud enough to be heard over the Falcon’s rotors.

Ger grunted. “For the sake of your subordinates, I hope that is true.” He had restrained himself for long enough. If the incompetence of these enforcers embarrassed him today he would make examples of them no matter what Min Ai—or anyone else from the Syndicate—had to say about it.

“But if we get him today, what do we tell Mantellus? His pack is still en route. If he gets here and finds out we dragged him out for nothing, he’ll be pissed.”

“I will deal with the Jiralhanae if it comes to that,” Ger said confidently. If he handled this hunt without the aid of those detestable Jiralhanae, so much the better. “For now, however, they remain our contingency plan.”

Ramos shrugged and pulled at the strap of his rifle. “You’re the boss,” he replied, stepping back to give the Falcon more room to land. The VTOL settled down on the hill in front of Ger. Its door guns were unmanned and aimed skywards; clearly the Syndicate wasn’t expecting trouble from the air.

Two humans climbed out of the Falcon’s troop bay. The first, a human female clad in light body armor, scanned the area with a submachine gun. Her face was concealed by a cloth mask but Ger would have recognized the fluid motions and ease with which she wielded her weapon anywhere. “Jiyar,” he said, nodding by way of greeting.

Jiyar turned her masked face toward him, an eyebrow raised. Ger had never fully understood why Min Ai’s bodyguard always kept her face covered. Some enforcers told him it was simply a way humans intimidated each other. Others suggested it was part of some strange human religious obligation. Whatever the reason, Jiyar rarely strayed from Min Ai’s side. A man of his standing attracted more than his share of would-be assassins. So far, Jiyar had intercepted and killed them all.

“You better not screw this one up,” she told him. “I haven’t seen Min this cheerful in weeks. Don’t ruin his mood.”

Behind her, the Syndicate representative himself stepped out of the Falcon.

Min Ai was short, at least by human standards. Clad in a neat business suit, he dropped neatly out of the troop bay and bounded over to Ger. He treated the Sangheili to a warm smile even as he wiped sweat out from under his pale bangs. “So sorry for the wait,” he said before Ger could speak. “It’s just been such a long time since I’ve had an excuse to get in one of these things. We just had to take the scenic route. I’m sure you understand.”

As usual when dealing with Min Ai, Ger wasn’t sure whether to be bemused or offended by his employer’s levity. Biting down his irritation he turned to indicate the convoy. “We are ready to move on your order,” he informed the representative. “We need to move now, before Stray has any more time to flee.”

“Of course, of course.” Min clasped his hands behind his back and started down the hill. “I’ll be needing one of the Warthogs. Jiyar can drive. We’ll want to stay separate from the rest of the convoy so we don’t get in anyone’s way.”

Ger followed his employer down the hill. “I must insist that you stay within the formation. We cannot give Stray a target of opportunity.”

“Oh, Jiyar is more than enough protection,” Min replied with a dismissive wave of his hand. “Besides, we can’t have you diverting troops to protect me. I promised to stay out of your way and that is precisely what I intend to do.”

Ger hesitated, unsure of whether or not to continue trying to reason with this airy representative. Realizing it was hopeless, he took a different approach. “Very well. Take whatever vehicle you wish. And I must thank you for bringing us the new asset.”

Min looked back at him. “New asset?” Ger gestured back at the Falcon. “We were in desperate need of air support. Once I assign gunners, that deficiency will be corrected.”

Min shook his head and laughed. “Oh, you’re a clever one. That’s what I like about you. Alright, I’ll play along. The Falcon’s all yours. Just be sure not to get it wrecked. Those things are such a pain to requisition.”

Allowing himself a brief moment to enjoy this one small victory, Ger strolled away from Min Ai and back to the center of the convoy. The hunt was back in motion. One way or another, Stray would bleed today.

---

If George or Lily knew anything about Zoey’s trip to the barn, neither of them said a word about it that morning. They also made no mention of Stray’s sudden departure; in fact, neither of them said anything about yesterday’s strange visitor or the fear and threats he had brought with them. It was as if they had both agreed to simply pretend the whole thing had never happened.

“We’re behind schedule,” Lily said tersely. “We’ll need to really pick up the pace today or we might need to bring in extra help to be ready for the harvest.”

“We’ll manage,” George assured her. “We’ve had tight deadlines in the past. This is no different.”

He looked over at Zoey. “I know you had some trouble with the harvester yesterday, so let’s get you going on something a bit smaller. I looked at the DH-435 model yesterday and it needs a tune-up. I don’t need you working any miracles, just see what you can do with it.”

Lily shot her husband a concerned look. “Maybe it’s best if she takes it a bit easier today. She can help me with the generator by the barn.”

“You’re the one saying we need to get work done. She can handle the DH-435. Right now, I think some solid work is the best thing for her.”

“I can handle it,” Zoey said quickly. She was half relieved that her father still trusted her enough to work on her own. The other half of her was quietly wondering if she hadn’t simply dreamed Stray up the night before. Was she remembering things wrong? Maybe someone had come by the farm, but they’d been so completely unremarkable that she’d just dreamed up the mysterious young man with the weapons and armor just to make it more exciting. Her father was right: some work would be the best thing to clear her head.

“Good. Make sure you get some real progress in by the time I come check on you. I’m thinking that I might make the DH-435 entirely your responsibility come harvest.”

“You mean I’ll get to operate it? Really?” Zoey gaped at her father. She’d always wanted to someday work a harvester without her parents supervising. The DH-435 was hardly the most exciting machine by any stretch of the imagination, but to be able to call it hers, to really contribute something to the farm…

A small grin flashed across George’s face at her enthusiasm. “If you show me you can keep it in working order first. You can’t just be our little helper forever. I’d be a poor excuse for a father if I didn’t do something to get you ready for the real hard work.”

Zoey shot a guilty look at her mother, but Lily just waved a dismissive hand and shook her head. “Oh, don’t mind me. I know better than to try to talk your father out of something once he’s set his mind to it. You know, getting you ready for more responsibilities in the field was all he’d talk about last night.”

Really? Maybe she had dreamed up Stray after all. Zoey decided not to press the issue. The more she thought about it, the happier she was that neither of her parents seemed at all affected by what had happened—or what she thought had happened. Her life here on the farm was unchanged; she didn’t have to worry about menacing killers sealed up in armor or strange visitors arriving in the night.

“Better eat up,” George told her, leaning back in his chair. “We’ve got another long day ahead of us. You’ll be exhausted by the end, I guarantee it.”

---

The farm spread out before Ger, a simple homestead surrounded on all sides by fields of grain. Standing at the head of the assembled convoy, the Sangheili mercenary could not help but feel a small pang of nostalgia. He remembered seeing such settlements as a child on the rocky steppes of Sanghelios. His uncles had often taken him and the other youths to oversee the Unggoy and Sangheili villeins till the crops in preparation for harvest.

He would have been master of such fields one day, were it not for fate’s cruel machinations…

Ger twitched his mandibles and banished the thought of burning, war-torn Sanghelios from his mind. Now was no time to be moved by pity. His task here was simple: find Stray by any means necessary. As far as he was concerned, he already owned the farm below and everything in it. Its current inhabitants simply did not know it yet.

“What’s the plan, boss?” Ramos asked, pulling his Warthog up next to Ger.

Ger waved an imperious arm, shooting a sideways glance over to where Min Ai lounged in his own Warthog. For a well-dressed, unarmed human surrounded by fifty-odd bloodthirsty enforcers, the Syndicate representative was surprisingly relaxed.

“The patrol elements will maintain a perimeter around the farm,” Ger ordered. “The rest of you, dismount. We approach the homestead through the fields. Search for any sign of Stray. Let nothing slip through our encirclement.”

A few enforcers grumbled at the order; they had hoped to simply roll in and attack. A tactical approach through the concealment of the fields was an effort most of them did not care to undertake. No wonder their life expectancies were so short. Ger let Ramos handle whipping them into shape. A few paces away Ro’nin slipped out of his Warthog, readying a carbine and languidly stepping into line.

Ger opened a channel to the Falcon flying in a holding pattern at the rear of the formation. “Touch down and remain grounded until I give the order. Be ready to launch at a moment’s notice.” There was no need to overplay his hand here. The Falcon was his contingency in case Stray put up more of a fight than he expected.

The Sangheili unslung his plasma repeater and stepped forward, waving for the enforcers to begin their advance on the farm.

The dawn sun’s rays beat down on the plains as the long arm of the Syndicate descended upon the Hunsinger farm.

---

Zoey wiped sweat from her eyes, determined not to make the same mistakes she had yesterday. The DH-345, a stocky, box-shaped harvesting unit, was the smallest machine the Hunsingers owned but it was still twice her height. She tried to put the size out her mind and focus on just the single engine component she was working on now. If the problem’s too big, break it down smaller, her mother always told her. Divide and conquer. Then instead of one big problem you just have a bunch of smaller ones.

This engine was corroded and worn-down but it was nowhere near as intimidating a job as yesterday’s harvester had been. Zoey was already covered in sweat, but this time she gave no thought to taking even the smallest of breaks. This harvester was going to be her responsibility. Her way of helping her parents. There was no way she’d let anything slow her down.

Something shifted in the wheat stalks behind her. Zoey turned, expecting to see one of her parents, but the field was deserted. She shrugged and turned back to her work when something in the dirt caught her eye: boot prints.

The outlines were faint, but on closer inspection Zoey could tell that the tracks were nothing close to resembling work boots. Something about the broad ridges in the tracks made her think of armored boots. Had Stray come through here on his way out of the barn? Maybe he wasn’t a dream after all.

Zoey turned back to the harvester and came face to face with a monster.

The enormous beast loomed out of the wheat beside the harvester, covered in dull blue armor and holding a strange, glowing weapon in its sinewy arms. Its head, perched atop an elongated neck, was split into four horrific mandibles. Amber, reptilian eyes glared down at her from beneath its slitted helmet.

She opened her mouth to scream but someone grabbed her arm and clamped a gloved hand over her mouth.

More armed figures emerged from the field. A few were normal people, but others were hunched, bird-like reptiles with hideous maws filled with fangs. Zoey struggled against her captor but it was no use. He dragged her arms behind her back and forced her to the ground.

A pale man clutching a rifle knelt beside the boot tracks. “More prints,” he said to the monster. “Maybe he doubled back here?”

“We shall see.” The monster’s voice was a guttural snarl that made Zoey flinch just from hearing it. How could that disgusting, four pronged mouth be speaking her language? The monster towered over her, weapon held aloft. “Well, human? Entertained any guests here lately?”

Zoey shrunk back, tears welling up in her eyes. This had to be a nightmare. This couldn’t be real.

The pale man stood and aimed his rifle at Zoey’s head. “I’d start talking, little girl. You don’t want to piss him off.”

“Please…” Zoey whimpered, finally managing to force words out of her trembling mouth. “Please…”

The monster regarded her coldly, then jerked its head towards the pale man. “I will let him shoot you,” it promised.

“Please…”

“Have you seen another human? One wearing armor?”

“What… I mean… armor?” The words spilled out frantically, uncontrolled. She didn’t understand, how could any of this be happening?

The pale man stepped forward and placed the barrel of his rifle against Zoey’s forehead. The cold metal dug into her skin, making her cry out.

“Yes! Yes!” she wailed. She’d tell them anything, give them anything, just to make them go away.

“There. See?” The pale man stepped back. “That wasn’t so hard, was it?”

“Please, just let me go…” She’d never been this scared in her life.

“Very well.” The monster stepped aside and pointed in the direction of the homestead. “Run home, human.”

The hands released her and Zoey dashed away back towards the house. Feet pounded behind her. In the shadows of the wheat stalks she saw dozens of figures moving. Dark shades of monsters swarming like beasts about to feed.

Chapter Seven: Trampled Lives

They were combing the fields.

Everywhere he turned he saw teams of Syndicate enforcers pushing their way through the wheat stalks. They were all clumsy, noisy thugs but sooner or later they’d find him. This was bad.

“Shit,” Stray muttered. He sank lower into the ditch that had become his resting place and tried to calm his nerves. He’d known this would happen. The moment Lily Hunsinger turned the search patrol away this farm became a target. There was no use running—on foot, he’d be a sitting duck for the pursuers. So he’d made a show in front of the girl of leaving the barn, then doubled back into the fields and dug himself a foxhole. If the Syndicate searched the place and found nothing, he’d buy himself a few more days respite.

But he hadn’t counted on them getting here so quickly. And there were more of them than he’d expected. All it took was one Kig-Yar observant enough to spy the wheat stalks covering his hole and he’d be finished.

Stray held his shotgun close against his chest. His helmet had once sported a state-of-the-art motion detector, but that had fizzled out and broken a long time ago. Now he could only lie still and catch brief glimpses of the mercenaries as they passed his hiding spot by again and again.

He wondered what was going on around the rest of the farm. Who was leading the search? How were the farmers and their daughter handling it?

Not for the first time, it occurred to him that the Syndicate might very well just shoot the farmers regardless of whether they found him or not. He quickly put the thought out of his mind. What happened to them wasn’t his problem. He was the one the Syndicate was after and he’d given the farmers no reason at all to cover for him.

All they had to do was be reasonable and they would be safe.

Stray’s jaw clenched. It wasn’t like him to count on anyone acting charitably, especially not the Syndicate. He knew what was in store for the farmers and their daughter. He knew…

Not my problem. He closed his eyes behind his helmet, heart pounding inside his armor. Thinking like that is what got me into this mess in the first place.

If only everyone would just keep calm and be reasonable…

Are you a bad person?

---

Zoey kept her head ducked low. She stared at a patch of dirt directly in front of her. The dirt was stained red by a splatter of blood. She tried not to think about who that blood belonged to, but it was impossible not to. No amount of looking away could stop her from hearing the sickening thuds of fists striking her father’s face.

George Hunsinger doubled over, held tight in the grip of one burly man in body armor. The pale man who had pressed his gun to Zoey’s head now stood over her father, raining down one savage blow after another. His face slick with blood and bruises, George could only hang limp in the enforcer’s grip and endure the beating without resistance.

Thune’s body lay on the threshold of their house. His barking had irritated one of the armed strangers as they dragged George out of the homestead. One crack from her gun and the dog that was older than Zoey died without so much as a whimper.

“Christ, did you really have to shoot it?” one man called over to her. “He wasn’t that annoying.”

The woman just shrugged. “What the hell did you want to do, adopt the damn thing?” she demanded.

Several cars with machine guns bolted onto their backs surrounded the Hunsinger homestead. Zoey had never seen them outside of movies and recalled once wishing she could ride in one. Now she huddled fearfully in the dirt while humans and those strange, bird-like monsters milled about around her. The tall monster stood a few paces away, arms folded, watching the pale man hit her father again and again without uttering a word. Another monster like it leaned against one of the cars and called over to it in an ugly, guttural language Zoey did not understand. The first monster ignored it.

“Alright pal,” the pale man said, stepping away from George. He wiped his bloodied knuckles on his pants as casually as if he were brushing off dirt. “This is the last time I ask nicely. Where the hell is Stray?”

“I told you,” George panted, spitting up a mouthful of blood. “I don’t know!”

“But he was here? He was on this farm?” The pale man planted his boot in George’s gut. Zoey screamed as her father collapsed into the dirt but no one was listening to her. “You better start coughing up answers or I’ll have to get a bit more creative.”

“Ramos,” the first monster rumbled. “This is taking entirely too long. Hurry things along.”

“Got it, boss.” The pale man scanned the field for a moment. His gaze fell on Zoey. “Hey, someone get her over here!”

One of the bird monsters grabbed Zoey by the arm. She screamed and tried to fight her way out of its claw-like grip, but the creature only hissed and hauled her over to where the pale man was standing.

“Nice farm you’ve got here,” the pale man—Ramos—said calmly. “Nice kid. You really going to risk all that to cover for a shitheel like Stray?”

“Please…” George tried to push himself upright. “He forced his way into our home… We don’t want any trouble. Please…”

“Yeah, you don’t want trouble and I don’t want to be standing in this manure-heap of a farm a second longer than I have to. We all want things easy, don’t we?”

“We’ve done nothing wrong,” George panted. “Take it up with the constable over in town. She’s the law around here.”

“Dead wrong, pal.” Ramos grabbed Zoey by the hair and shoved her face up close to her father. She was crying, the tears flowing freely down her face, but no one seemed to care. Ramos drew a pistol and jammed it into Zoey’s temple. “This is the law. Now tell me where Stray is or you’ll be wearing the kid’s brains.”

This had to be a dream. None of this could be happening. Zoey’s mind raced, trying to take herself back to breakfast when they’d all been safe and happy…

Another man stepped up beside the monster. Unlike the other humans, he wasn’t wearing any sort of combat gear at all. Instead, he wore a business suit like the kind the vendors who sometimes came out from New Tyne had. He raised a hand to his mouth and yawned.

“Yes, yes, your men are quite intimidating Ger,” the man said, speaking up to the monster. He spoke in a light tone, as if nothing out of the ordinary were happening. “Please try to hurry this along. It’s sweltering out here.”

“I already told you,” George pleaded. “I don’t know where he went!”

A gun cracked and Zoey screamed, but it wasn’t the pistol pointed at her head. Blood splashed across her tear-strained face and the man holding George fell limp to the ground.

Lily stood framed in the doorway, rifle up and aimed at the enforcers. Zoey had never seen her mother look so ferocious ever before. “Get away from them!”

Ramos released Zoey, whirling to point his gun at Lily. “Contact!” he yelled. He cried out again as Lily’s rifle fired and sent him sprawling into the dirt. The other enforcers moved quickly, bringing their own weapons to bear. Lily ducked back inside as gunfire raked across the homestead.

George tried to push himself out from underneath the dead enforcer. His wild, desperate eyes caught Zoey’s for just a moment. “Run!” he bellowed, screaming to be heard over the gunfire.

There was no time to think. No time to worry about anything. “Run!” her father howled again. “Run, damn you!”

It was the last thing he ever said to her.

---

Gunfire. But not directed at him.

Stray sat up inside his foxhole at the distant sound of plasma and machine-gun fire. People were yelling in the distance. Stray’s spine tingled with a familiar sensation. Somewhere, people were dying.

He needed to stay put. This wasn’t his concern. The only thing that mattered was getting himself out of here alive.

More gunfire. This was more than just a summary execution. The farmers were fighting back.

I’m not moving. I’m staying right here. This isn’t my problem.

His fingers beat a war-drum against the sides of his shotgun. It was a simple thing, standing by while other people died. So much easier than getting involved. Getting involved was how stupid people got killed.

Getting involved is what’s killing them right now…

The sounds of shooting raged on. Somewhere, a girl was screaming.

Are you a bad person?

“Of course I am, you naive little shit.” He pulled himself out of the foxhole and darted away into the fields.

---

Zoey ran on through a haze of tears.

She could hear them behind her, shoving their way through the stalks of wheat as they raced after her. There was still shooting coming from the barn.

This was her home. This was her life. How could any of this be happening?

She ran on through fields she had grown up in, that she knew like the back of her hand. She loved scampering around here. How could she be so afraid? How could monsters have snuck into her home, turned everything into fear and cruelty?

But they didn’t sneak in. You let the first one in yourself, didn’t you?

Someone grabbed her and spun her around. It was the woman who had shot Thune. She glared down at Zoey from behind a pair of thick goggles. “Got you, you little—“

The woman blinked and froze. Zoey turned in time to see a shotgun barrel emerge from the stalks in front of her to point square at the woman’s face.

“Oh, shi—“

The shotgun roared and the enforcer collapsed sans head. Zoey howled and ducked as more blood sprayed down on her. Something moved past her; the shotgun fired again and again. Bodies fell all around her. One of the bird-like monsters squawked and tried to flee. Zoey looked up in time to see an armored figure plunge a knife into its neck.

An eerie silence fell over the field. Even the shooting back at the homestead had ceased. Stray turned to look at her, visor spattered with blood and bits of the decapitated enforcer’s head. He wiped the knife off on his leg with the same calm Ramos had possessed after beating her father to a pulp. Sliding the knife back into its sheath, the armored stranger slid two fingers across his visor to clear away the gore.

Zoey looked at the bodies, then back at Stray. He’d killed three people and a monster in just moments, without the slightest hesitation. “I thought…” Her chest was pounding too hard for her to think about anything clearly. “I thought you left.”

A sudden, desperate thought struck her. “My house!” She pointed through the field back at the homestead. “My parents! Please, you have to help them!”

Stray looked down at her a moment longer, then picked his way over the bodies and walked in the opposite direction. “No point,” he said over his shoulder, announcing the unspeakable as if it were a commonly known fact. “They’re already dead.”

---

Humans were so fragile. Ger ‘Hullen looked down at the dead farmer and shook his head. A single blast from his plasma repeater was all it took to kill the man. Pathetic creature.

Ramos approached, one hand clutching the shoulder where the human female had shot him. His teeth gritted in pain as he gestured out toward the fields. “More gunfire out there. Shotgun blasts.”

“Stray.” It had to be their quarry, Ger was certain of it. He looked around for Min Ai but saw no sign of the representative. No doubt Jiyar had spirited him away the moment the shooting began. No matter. Min would see how this was settled, one way or another.

“Do we go in after him?” Ramos asked.

It was a tempting proposition, but Ger had already lost at least five enforcers today. As much as he wanted to rush after Stray, energy sword drawn, it would not do for him to incur many more losses with Min Ai overseeing things.

“No need.” He turned back toward the Warthogs. Behind him, the homestead was burning. “Pull everyone back and set up a perimeter around the farm. Then light the fields on fire. We’ll smoke him out of there and cut him down.”

He spared one last look at the dead farmer. He hadn’t intended for this search to end in slaughter, but now that he thought about it this was the only way things could have turned up. Examples needed to be made, after all. Life was hard on the small and weak.

Chapter Eight: Inferno

As much as he enjoyed watching Ger 'Hullen's mounting frustrations, Ro'nin had to admit that he was also growing weary of this tiresome job.

The Sangheili enforcer picked his way through the smoldering rubble of the homestead. The enforcers had been quite thorough in setting the place alight after they took fire from it. Even the laziest of thugs were motivated once their own lives were in danger. Ro'nin doubted he would find anything of value left in the building—or that there had been anything of significant worth here in the first place—but it never hurt to be thorough.

He tipped over the charred remains of a table with the barrel of his carbine. The table hit the floor and collapsed into a shower of ashes. Bits of plate and cooking utensils littered the ground, some still bearing traces of whatever it was the farmers had eaten that morning. A data pad caught Ro'nin's eye, but on closer inspection he realized that its screen and circuits were melted into a useless lump. He tossed the device aside with a shake of his head.

"Find anything?" a Kig-Yar enforcer called from the remains of another room. Several more of the avian sharpshooters were busy picking through the homestead for any scraps of salvage.

"Nothing yet," Ro'nin called back. "I suppose it would have been too much to ask for Ger to send us after some wealthy farmers."

His remark brought laughter from the Kig-Yar. Ro'nin was well aware of how most of his kind despised the loot-hungry aliens. Stuck-up honor-obsessed snobs like Ger 'Hullen loved to compare him to Kig-Yar. They thought it was an insult, but Ro'nin chose to take it as a compliment. The Kig-Yar had the right idea about things. Let the fools fight over whatever latest ideals they'd decided were worth dying over while the smarter beings stayed alive to take possession of the spoils they so carelessly left behind.

Some things are the same no matter where you go. Ro'nin had seen his share of burned-out farms back on Sanghelios, the remains of peasant communities unfortunate enough to get caught up in the civil war. He'd seen even more carnage on the human colonies he'd helped the Covenant conquer back before the Schism. Fools like Ger might yearn for a return to those "glory days" but Ro'nin had no desire to return to the Covenant's oppressive yoke. Any time the Sangheili tried to run something they invented all sorts of rules and regulations. Do this, don't do that. That's dishonorable, that's blasphemous. Give everything you have for our pointless cause.

He stepped into a room smaller than the others in the homestead. The remains of a bed rested in the corner. Amidst the ashes Ro'nin saw a few data pads and books, along with a few of the stuffed toys human children seemed to like. No doubt this room belonged to the farmers' daughter.

Ro'nin's mandibles parted in a smirk. No doubt the dead farmers doted on their only child, doing nothing to prepare her for the cold, harsh galaxy they all had the misfortune of living in.

He recalled the years of his own youth when he and the other children in his keep had spent their days doing nothing but train as warriors. Combat exercises, sword drills, long treks up into the mountains to pray at Forerunner shrines. At least five children in his age group had died before they even reached adulthood, their bodies broken and cast aside by the brutal training. The rest of them suffered along through it, dedicating their lives in service to the glorious light of the Covenant.

And then, after all those years of training and preparation, half of them went off into the glorious Imperial Armies and died when some lucky human lobbed a grenade down a corridor or when their warship ran afoul of some UNSC mine emplacement.

Ro'nin had given up on the Covenant long before the Schism. It gave him no end of satisfaction that the cause so many of those self-righteous fools died for turned out to be one great lie in the end. No, he had no thoughts of returning to the Covenant or the corpse-strewn warzone Sanghelios had become. At least the Syndicate understood the true nature of the galaxy: to be as strong as you could to stay alive and turn a profit off other creatures' foolishness.

Giving up on any remaining hopes of salvage, Ro'nin strode out of the room and headed for the homestead's back exit. There was no sense wasting any more time here. He'd catch an earful from Ger if he didn't get out and help oversee the burning of the fields.

Poor Stray. He might have gotten away if Ger weren't such an insufferable glory hound. The human fugitive's sudden rebellion against the Syndicate struck Ro'nin as bizarre. Stray always seemed like one of the more sensible humans. He had the weapons and the skills it took to live comfortably in the Syndicate's employ. What madness had compelled him to throw it all away?

As he reached the rear exit, something stirred in the ashes at his feet. Ro'nin looked down and was surprised to find himself staring at the female human who had shot at the enforcers out front. Somehow the Kig-Yar had missed her prone form entirely. The female was bleeding from several wounds. Her face was pale and terrified as she pawed feebly at his foot.

Ro’nin took a step back. “Still alive, are you?” This human was tougher than most, though Ro’nin was just as willing to chalk up her survival to the enforcers’ poor aim.

The female moaned softly. She tried to crawl out the door, only to cry out in pain and grasp her wounded shoulder. She curled into a ball, muttering words under her breath that Ro’nin could not understand.

It would be fastest just to shoot her in the head and move on. Ro’nin sighed. Another dreary chore for this dreary job. Easy jobs were the best ones, of course, but even an honorless cur like him got tired of the drudgery sometimes.

“Go on,” he said, prodding the female with the barrel of his carbine. “Get up. You’re blocking my exit.”

She looked up at him through a haze of pain, confused. Ro’nin shook his head and grabbed her by the arm. Ignoring her yelps of pain he lifted her up and planted on her feet. Humans were such light things. There were some Unggoy who weighed more. Ro’nin jerked his head back towards the ruins of the house. No doubt the Kig-Yar heard the female’s cries. They would be coming soon, hungry for a prize—or even a good meal.

“I would run if I were you,” he advised.

The human gave him one last frightened look. Then she took off, running with impressive speed in spite of her injuries. She sprinted for the wheat fields, desperate for some kind of refuge from the beasts who had taken everything from her.

Ro’nin watched her for a few moments. He let her reach the edge of the field before he pressed his carbine to his shoulder and drew a bead.

The green bolt caught the human square between the shoulder blades. Lily Hunsinger fell facefirst into the wheat without a sound.

Ro’nin strolled over to the corpse to inspect his marksmanship. A decent shot, especially considering he’d had a moving target. Still, there was always room for improvement.

Someone jogged up beside him, alerted by the carbine shot. Ro’nin glanced down to see Ramos staring back at him incredulously. The enforcer had a wad of pressure dressing affixed to the shoulder where this same female had shot him.

“What the hell took you so long to kill her?” the pale human demanded.

Ro’nin rested the barrel of his carbine against his shoulder and waved an apologetic hand. “I had to give her a bit of a head start. It wouldn’t have been sporting otherwise.”

Ramos rolled his eyes. “You hinge-heads. Always making things more complicated. Still, I guess I owe you. My shoulder’s going to be a mess for weeks thanks to this bitch.” He prodded the dead human with the tip of his boot.

“You shouldn’t have said that. I’m holding you to three hundred credits now.”

“Oh really? You slimy piece of shit.”

Ro’nin shrugged. “I never work for free.”

“Fine.” Ramos shook his head. “I’ll even throw in a beer when we get back to New Tyne. Or whatever the hell it is you hinge-heads drink. Come on, we’d better get back to work. The boss wants this place torched good. You know he’ll find a way to blame you if Stray gets away, right?”

“Such is my lot in life.” Ro’nin turned away from the body and followed Ramos back to the front of the homestead. Yes, he much preferred humans to his own kind. They were so much more reasonable about everything.

Behind him a pair of Kig-Yar scurried out towards Lily’s body. They were loath to let good meat go to waste, even with their prey still on the loose. In front of the homestead, a few of their brethren had already made a meal of the dead male.

Ro’nin made his way over to one of the Warthogs. A few Kig-Yar milled around near the field, firing bursts of plasma into the wheat to set it ablaze. Ro’nin pulled a portable human flamethrower out from the back of the Warthog and headed over to do his part in igniting the crops. He might as well make himself look busy, if only to avoid another ridiculous lecture from Ger.

Another reason to like humans, he thought, sending a wave of fire cascading into the wheat. They make such entertaining toys.

---

They were burning the fields. Zoey smelled the smoke wafting through the stalks of wheat and wondered if there was even anything left for the monsters to take from her.

Beside her, Stray swept the area with his shotgun. He tilted his head back to look up at the rising columns of smoke. “Shit.”

“What are we going to do?” Zoey asked. “Are more of them coming?”

“Not if they’ve set the fields on fire. They’re trying to flush me out.” It was so bizarre, hearing Stray’s voice coming out of the expressionless helmet. “And I’m not really sure what I’m going to do. My armor might protect me from the fire. You’ll probably suffocate before the fire reaches us.”

“Suffocate?” Panic filled her body with a violent, terrifying energy. She looked around for someplace to run.

“From the smoke.” Stray turned away from her and craned his neck to look around the fields. “You could probably get some air if you climbed up on one of those harvesters. Of course, their snipers will shoot anyone they see trying to get up there. Might be a faster way to die then choking to death on fumes…”

“What about my parents?” Zoey looked wildly back towards her house. The smoke was rising the heaviest from there, but that didn’t mean anything. If she could just go back she could find her parents. They would know a way to get out of here. They had to. “We have go back—“

“I told you, they’re dead.” The callousness—the utter lack of concern—in his tone shocked her even more than the words themselves. Did he really not care at all that her whole world was burning down around her?

“You don’t know that! We have to—“

“They’re dead!” Stray snapped angrily. “You want to go back there and die with them, be my guest. I’m getting the hell out of here.”

He vanished into the sea of wheat. Zoey huddled in the dirt, renewed tears flowing down her cheeks. He was lying He had to be. They couldn’t be dead. They hadn’t done anything to anyone. They couldn’t be dead…

I need to go back to them.

But if Stray was right... If they really were gone…

No! She couldn’t think like that. She needed to back and find them. Then everything would be fine. Everything would be alright.

But if they were dead…

She pressed her body into the dirt. Maybe she should just stay here. Let the smoke and fire just roll over her. The whole world had gone crazy. Anything was better than this. Anything. Zoey squeezed her eyes shut and tried to block out everything.

The first waves of foul-smelling smoke billowed over her. She flinched at the heat that cut into her skin. Flames were crackling not too far away. The heat was getting worse and worse. The flames would be on top of her soon. She thought about her clothes burning, her skin melting…

A jolt of terror coursed through her body. She leaped up and ran, pushing her way through the wheat after Stray. Smoke and fire was everywhere. She had to get away from the fire, the heat, the fear. Someone, somewhere was screaming. Maybe it was her own voice. Maybe it was simply the fire consuming the only life she had ever known.

She nearly ran headlong into Stray. He crouched low to the dirt beside one of the irrigation pipes that ran through the fields, affixing what looked like a small lump of clay onto the exposed metal rising out of the dirt. He tilted his helmet back to look at her as she approached. “Oh, you’re still alive?”

“Please,” she panted desperately. “Get me out of here!”

“I thought you were going back to find your parents.” It was impossible to tell what was going on behind that helmet of his.

“I don’t want to die!” she heard herself yell. “I don’t want to die!”

“Then you’d better take cover.” He shoved a small stick into the clay and took a few steps away from the pipe. It took Zoey a few moments to realize it was an explosive.

“Take cover? Where?” She looked around frantically for something besides burning wheat.

He grabbed her arm and forced her behind him. She pressed her face against his armored body and felt a small shudder as the charge detonated. Then Stray was moving, dragging her over to the new hole he’d blown in the pipe. She looked down at the churning water below and shuddered.

“You want to live?” Stray barked. “Get in the pipe!”

“But I don’t know where it comes out! I’ll drown!”

“Drown or burn, your choice!” He slung the shotgun over his shoulder and leaped down into the pipe. His armored form vanished beneath the water.

Zoey stared at the pipe, the heat building around her. Flames licked the wheat on all sides. She took one quavering step forward, then another. She turned to look back at her farm one last time and saw nothing but a wall of fire.

Squeezing her eyes shut, she jumped down into the water. The heat vanished; an invisible hand seized her and sent her tumbling into a dark oblivion.

Chapter Nine: Emptiness

The Hunsinger farm burned. Hot, angry flames consumed the wheat, the harvesters, the buildings, devouring any sign that anyone had ever lived on the land. Smoke and fire rose up above the surrounding plains as the farm blazed on like a massive, acres-long funeral pyre.

Truly an impressive display. But not one Ger ‘Hullen could take any pride in.

The Sangheili mercenary glowered out at the conflagration, an unbearable tightness growing in his gut as the rage mounted. Syndicate enforcers were spread out around the burning farm, weapons trained on the smoldering perimeter. So far, neither Stray nor the farmers’ daughter had emerged.

Ger doubted either of them would.

“Maybe he just couldn’t get out in time,” Ramos volunteered. He sat in the passenger seat of a nearby Warthog, no longer able to drive or man a turret thanks to his injury. The enforcer flinched when Ger looked his way; he could sense that this time Ger’s frustration was far more intense than it had been in previous days. “I mean, there’s no other way out of there. Right?”

“Evidently there is.” The words stung on Ger’s mandibles. The gods—dead or otherwise—were punishing him for something with this. He had debased himself as the humans’ hired killer and now this was his punishment: a humiliating string of failure after failure in pursuit of a single human. He yearned to draw his energy sword and take his rage out on every enforcer within arm’s reach—only years of meticulous discipline and training kept him in check.

“We’ll need to wait for the fire to die down before we can check for his body—“

“Then you can take charge of that particular sweep,” Ger snarled, unable to contain his fury any longer. “Take as many enforcers as you want. Waste as much time as you want. You will find nothing there!”

“I have to say, that really could have gone better,” Min Ai remarked. The Syndicate representative still wore his trademark smile but Ger knew Min well enough to know that he was not amused in the slightest. “Ger, I really didn’t peg you as the type to botch something like this. Now we have five dead enforcers, a burned farm, and no sign of the only person who actually was supposed to die down there. I thought you could handle a job like this. Was I wrong?”

An excuse started to form in Ger’s throat—his subordinates were incompetent, Stray’s resourcefulness had been undersold—but he choked it back down like bile. No matter how many excuses he made, he was ultimately responsible for this fiasco. He’d been lucky enough to corner Stray only to let the prime opportunity slip through his fingers. The blame lay squarely on his shoulders and both he and Min Ai knew it.

“Stray accepted our credits, came into our fold, and then betrayed us,” Min Ai went on mercilessly. “I needed to make an example of him to remind the rest of you enforcers what the Syndicate does to unreliable employees. Instead, he’s managed to repeatedly make a fool of you and by extension, me. I thought you were the best contractor for this job, Ger. Don’t make me regret putting my faith in you.”

For a man as perpetually cheerful as Min Ai, the outburst—delivered without the slightest break in his smiling mask—was tantamount to a death threat. Even a warrior as proud and self-assured as Ger felt a twinge of fear creep down the back of his neck. “I will remedy this,” he said after a moment. “I have arranged for more capable trackers—“

“You aren’t the only one with superiors to please,” Min Ai said softly, drawing closer. “Venezia is a reliable source of revenue for the Syndicate. I’m here, enjoying everything this backwater dirtball has to offer, because my superiors think I can keep it that way. If word of this little fiasco gets offworld… well, I’d better hope the team they send after me are as incompetent as you lot are.”

Ger had never heard Min speak so candidly before. The representative’s smile stretched further across his face like a warped painting. “Do we understand each other?”

“Perfectly,” Ger replied, turning back to face the burning farm.

“Excellent.” Min nodded and waved for Jiyar to bring her Warthog around. “I need to get back to New Tyne. You can keep the Falcon, of course. It’s been a while since I’ve had a nice drive in the country. I’ll have time to sort out who I need to bribe to make sure no one makes a fuss about the farmers. It shouldn’t be too hard, neither of them were very important.”

The Warthog stopped in front of him and he stepped inside. “Best of luck, Ger. I can’t wait to hear about your magnificent comeback.”

The Sangheili turned away from his employer without a word. He wondered what sins his ancestors had committed to bring such ill-fortune down on their bloodline. Driven from Sanghelios in disgrace, forced to grovel before humans and other lesser beings, and now humiliated by Stray at every turn… he truly was the oblation bearer for the Hullen line.

“Is there any word from Mantellus?” he asked Ramos as Min Ai’s Warthog took off across the plains.

“Eh, yeah.” The enforcer looked at him warily, no doubt still cowed by his earlier outburst. “He and his pack are about two klicks out. He just called in, wants you to know that if you dragged him all the way out here for nothing—“

“I most certainly did not.” Ro’nin turned on his heel and signaled for another Warthog to come about. The rage of failure still burned inside him, as bright and intense as the flames eating up the farm below. But he harnessed that rage and turned it into the determination he needed to carry on. For all his misfortunes, he had at least mastered such self-discipline long ago. “Inform the chieftain that I will ride out to meet him personally. You may remain here and search the ashes if you like. I can guarantee you will find no trace of Stray.”

Rather than climbing into the passenger seat of the approaching Warthog as Min Ai had done, Ger impatiently motioned for the driver to dismount and leave the wheel to him. After a moment’s thought, he ordered the gunner off of the turret as well. He could not think of anyone in this convoy he trusted not to embarrass him in front of Chieftain Mantellus. No, he would ride out to meet the Jiralhanae alone. No underlings, no show of force, just the will to show the chieftain that this solitary Sangheili was not afraid to deal with his pack.

It was important to take these things into account when dealing with such creatures.

---

Zoey waded through the river beside her farm. The branches overhead were thick and tangled, blocking out the sun and casting long shadows over the water. Walking through this darkness made Zoey shiver even though the water rising up to her waist was warm. How could a place usually so familiar and inviting have become this foreboding?

Someone was calling her name from further down the river. She strained to catch the voice. One moment it sounded like her mother. The next it was her father. Then it was someone else, someone she didn’t recognize.

Zoey, come on… Why are you still asleep? It’s time to get up… get up…

She waded faster and pushed through the water, nearly tripping in her haste to find her parents. They were waiting on her. She couldn’t hold them up. Wasn’t there work to be done?

Bits of flotsam floated past her down the river. She squinted at them in the darkness to make out what they were. A sheaf of wheat. A rusted shovel. One of her old dolls, frayed around the edges. The barn door, charred almost beyond recognition.

Thune floated by with a red circle between his eyes. The dog stared at her with vacant eyes, making no effort to fight the current.

Ribbons of blood painted the water red. She suddenly realized that the plants on the riverbank were on fire.

Something was moving in the shadows up ahead. A huddled mass of black on black that grew larger with each step she took forward.

The branches overhead caught fire and cast light upon the shadow. Zoey stopped where she was, frozen with terror.

A massive black beast, its fur long and blood-stained, loomed in front of her. Between its paws lay her parents, their bodies already gnawed and half-eaten. Her father stared up at her with a calm expression, somehow able to talk even with half his face bitten away. “Run, damn you,” he murmured softly. “Run.”

The dog looked up, yellow eyes narrowing in delight. Its lips pulled back in a toothy sneer. “I told you,” it said in a hideously calm voice. “They’re dead.”

Zoey froze in place, unable to run or scream or even avert her gaze as the dog pushed itself upright and waded into the bloody water. Its eyes never left hers as it tilted its head and leaned in to close its jaws around her neck…

She sputtered and gasped, suddenly unable to breathe. Light flooded into her eyes and blinded her as she choked. Her vision cleared enough for her to see a tangle of black hair pressed against her face. She felt the briefest pinch of teeth against her lips and the choking turned into a scream.

Stray jerked away from her, spitting out water and wiping a gauntlet across his lips. Zoey felt the press of his other hand against her chest and cried out, scrambling to get away. Only when she crawled several feet in the mud and coughed out a mouthful of water did she realize he’d been giving her CPR.

The roar of rushing water filled her ears. They were both lying in a large puddle beside a large pipe that spurted out water in a ceaseless, gushing discharge. The water cascaded into a river, this one much larger than what she’d waded through in her dream, which meandered off across the endless plain.

Looking back at Stray, Zoey found him fumbling to slide his helmet back on. For just a moment she caught something strange in his wild grey eyes. There was ferocity there but also… fear? Relief?

Then the eyes hardened again and vanished beneath the cracked exterior of his visored helmet.

“You’re alive,” he observed, fishing his shotgun out of the mud beside him. “Good for you.”

“How…” she looked back at the pipe, remembering the current seizing her as she dropped into the irrigation tunnel. “How far… where are we?”

“No idea.” Stray got to his feet, wiping mud off of his armor. He turned and stared out over the plains, shaking his head. “My GPS is busted. No coms, or at least, no one’s answering the damn things. Not that anyone gives a shit either way. I’ll have to use the internal maps on my HUD to get me going in the right direction.”

She understood only about half of what he was saying, though he didn’t even seem to be talking to her. Her brain was still jumbled and confused. What was he doing here? What was she doing here? It was only when she looked up over the pipe and saw the distant wisps of smoke rising up into the sky that it all came crashing down on her.

Her father, beaten to a bloody pulp. Her mother framed in the doorway, rifle in hand. Monsters all over their farm. Fire consuming their farm. Everything gone, burned away.

Her chest tightened. For a moment she couldn’t breathe again. She opened her mouth to say something—anything—but could only manage a strangled groan. She pulled her knees up to her chest and clenched her teeth together as hard as she could. Tears rolled down her face, carving deep tracks through the mud caked onto her cheeks.

“What now?” Stray demanded. He was already halfway out of the mud, looking back at her with that awful, faceless helmet. "I checked you over. You're not hit anywhere."

“They’re… they’re gone…” She didn't want to believe it. It couldn't be true. But the words came out of her mouth all the same.

“Yeah. And if we don’t go now, they’ll come kill us as well. You’d better get the hell up and start moving if you want to live.”

All she wanted right now was to feel someone holding her. For her father to hug her. For her mother to say it would be all right. Instead, Stray’s harsh voice cut through her grief like a knife. “But… they’re…”

“Dead.” Stray said the awful word as easily as he might announce a departure time. “You want to stay here, be my guest. I’ve got a lot of ground to cover. I can't waste any more time on you.”

She stared at him, shock momentarily pushing back the pain. Her parents were dead because of him. The farm had burned because he’d made them hide him on it. And now here he was, feeling nothing for their loss, caring nothing for her pain. Looking at him now, clad in that battered armor, she realized he was just as inhuman as the hunched monsters from the farm.

If it weren’t for you…

Zoey had never hated anyone before. She couldn’t even think clearly about the monsters or the pale man who had beaten her father. But looking at Stray now, his contemptuous words ringing in her ears, she felt a surge of anger like nothing she had ever felt before.

The thought of someone like him looking down on her filled her with disgust. Strength flowed through her aching muscles. She pushed herself out of the mud, trying to wipe away the mud and tears with her soaked sleeve. “This is all your fault,” she muttered. It hurt to say anything through her aching throat, but it felt good to lash back at him. Even if words were all she had. "You did this. You should never have come to our farm."

Stray regarded her for a moment longer, then turned back towards the plains. "You want to live? Better start walking. Or stay here and wait for them to find you. Maybe you'll get lucky and the Jackals will kill you all the way before they eat you."

He set off without another word—not even so much as a glance back at her. Zoey watched him go. She didn't want anything to do with someone like him. But without him, where would she go? The plains stretched out in all directions. The next farm was ten kilometers away. Could she walk there on her own?

Maybe you'll get lucky and the Jackals will kill you all the way before they eat you.

Tears welled up in her eyes anew, but she angrily wiped them away. She sloshed her way through the mud and staggered after the armored killer. The plains stretched out before them, as vast and empty as the hole Stray and the monsters had burned through Zoey’s heart.