“Very wel . I’m here when you need me. But it’s not causing operational problems, is it?”

“No. Not at al .”

“That’s al I need to know. Unless there’s anything else, stand by for an update on Hood.”

“Wil do, ma’am. Stanley out.”

Osman sat back in the chair and rubbed her face slowly. Wel , that hadn’t been as painful as she’d expected. She trusted Parangosky, but she found herself stil looking for the angle, looking for the right answer to a chal enge she felt she’d just been set. Should she send a report? She only had a name at the moment, and Spenser had the situation under control for the time being.

I’ve been at this game too long for Parangosky to be testing me. She’s just giving me space. Letting me make my choices, because very soon I’m going to have to make them for ONI.

Oh … God.

BB appeared on her desk. “Not al bad news, then.”

“Great news.”

“The boys wil enjoy having Adj back. Mal needs a pet.”

“Any luck with ‘Telcam?”

“I would have bragged about that right away. Stil trying.”

For the first time on this mission, Osman now had a clear order from above: to wait until Hood had exhausted al avenues with the Arbiter. The sublight drive sent a steady tremor through the deck as Stanley edged closer to Sanghelios. The waiting wouldn’t be wasted.

Hang in there, Evan. We’re coming.

And while you’re at it … keep your mouth shut.

The radio cam was down, and BB might have been too damaged to use that nerve agent if the worst happened. This was Parangosky’s world, the cal on who to save and who to sacrifice for the greater good. Maybe this real y was a test, then, or perhaps a blooding to initiate Osman in the messy decisions involving personnel she knew and liked, not the distant strategic stuff where the dead would be strangers.

Osman took a slow walk around the ship’s deserted passages to give Naomi and the ODSTs some space. When she checked her datapad to see where everyone was, Devereaux’s trace showed up on the hangar deck with Tart-Cart and Naomi was in the armor bay, the automated system that she needed to suit up in her Mjolnir rig. Vaz and Mal were in the wardroom.

“BB,” Osman said, “I’m not asking you to snoop on them, but are the lads al right?”

The AI’s voice came out of the ship’s broadcast system. “They had a little tiff over who to tel first about Naomi’s dad, you or her. I think they’re shaking hands and making up now.”

“Good.” She wasn’t alone in finding some decisions too close to home to be done by the book, then. “I ought to be giving that some attention.”

“First things first. I’m just starting a survey run, by the way. We’l swing around Sanghelios, map the surface down to a two-meter scale, and see what else I can pick up. If this is smal -scale fighting, it might take us a day or two to scan the whole surface, so I’m starting with the Ontom region.”

“Agreed.”

Osman headed back to the bridge and sat with her boots up on a chair, watching the three-dimensional plot of Sanghelios on the chart table growing a line at a time like a garment being knitted. There were more islands than she’d realized, and far less land mass.

“Ontom,” BB said, not appearing anywhere. Osman stil looked up to the nearest deckhead speaker. “I’m doing a detailed job on it, but even extended frequency mapping isn’t penetrating the temple.”

“Does that mean it’s a hardened target?”

“With the Forerunners, who knows?”

It must have been two hours before Mal came up to the bridge, put a cup of coffee on the console in front of her without saying a word, and stood staring at the plot.

“Thanks, Staff,” she said, sipping the coffee.

“Your turn next, ma’am.”

He didn’t take his eyes off the plot, gaze flicking from detail to detail. He was probably modifying the insertion on the fly. Maybe Phil ips would just pop up again with a story to tel about just losing radio contact, as people sometimes did, and it would al be sorted.

But he’s had plenty of time to do that.

“Captain.” BB appeared in front of her. “Life just got a little easier. The Arbiter says yes. We can land a squad. Usual dril —an escort wil pick up the dropship and take us in.”

“Al e-bleedin’-luia,” Mal muttered. “Let’s get this over with.”

TEMPLE OF THE ABIDING TRUTH, ONTOM, SANGHELIOS Phil ips shook the radio cam like a cheap watch. “BB, I’m on my own, so you can drop the sorry-Dave-I-can’t-do-that crap. But keep the volume down, okay?”

He kept his voice at a whisper and waited for BB to snap back with something suitably withering. But there was just a long pause. The BB who responded wasn’t the one he knew.

“Can I help you, Professor Phil ips?”

“Are you trying to be funny, or is something wrong?”

“Owing to tampering and damage, some of my functions have been disabled or deleted.”

“Oh shit. ” Just as BB was standing by to shove a needle into Phil ips in case the mission went badly wrong, he must have had fail-safes of his own to stop his programming fal ing into enemy hands. I should have realized that. I should have asked more questions. But I was too pumped up on adrenaline. Phil ips’s attempt at repair had been interpreted as trying to dismantle the radio cam’s case. “I’m sorry. I was only digging shrapnel out of the radio. I didn’t think. Look, BB, I’m in a tight spot. Do you remember the explosion?”

“I shut down after damage to my host device.”

“Wel , right now I’m screwed. Really screwed.” Stay calm. Just think. “‘Telcam’s started the coup early and he’s effectively holding me hostage.”

“I understand. I remember who ‘Telcam is, but not why you’re in touch with him.”

“Just tel me what you can stil do. Can you send a signal?”

“My encryption’s been deleted for security. My positioning data tel s me we’re on Sanghelios, which is stil classed as potential y hostile by the Office of Naval Intel igence.”

“Try cal ing Port Stanley. Please.”

“ONI-PS Three-Nine accepts only encrypted communication. I can transmit in open protocol on domestic frequencies compatible with this device, though.”

Great. Just terrific. “So you’re just a damn phone now. How about getting into other systems? Can you stil hack?”

“I can assist you with productivity management, nonclassified information, and data processing. What would you like me to do? And can you make sure the lens is facing out, please? Otherwise I can’t see.”

“Okay. Can you also do me a favor and disable that nerve agent thing?”

“Already done. I don’t have information on why that was instal ed.”

“It doesn’t matter. Just keep it battened down, okay?”

Phil ips clipped the radio cam to his jacket pocket again, not entirely confident that BB wasn’t going to malfunction and shoot him ful of instant death. Now he realized how little he knew about how BB worked, and how much the AI was limited by whatever hardware he found himself stored in. Could he repair himself? No, that would have been another risky function. As far as BB was concerned, he was behind enemy lines—Phil ips had even confirmed it for him—and someone had tried to tamper with him, so he’d pul ed the plug and reduced himself to a datapad. The last thing he’d be designed to do would be to restore himself to a windfal of secret information for an enemy. Poor old BB had stripped himself down to name, rank, and serial number.

But I can’t do that. Can I? They can always beat it out of me.

“Okay,” Phil ips whispered. “Have you got any databases that can translate Forerunner glyphs?”

“I have notes from a number of Forerunner sites.”

“Wel , that’s good, BB.” Damn, this was painful. It was like dealing with a dementia patient, someone you’d once loved or admired but who was now barely the same person and didn’t even recognize you. He hadn’t realized how deep a bond he’d forged with BB. He found himself making reassuring noises in his mind that the real BB, the matrix, the core of him, was stil safe in Port Stanley, and this damaged persona was just a temporary glitch that was no more serious than a bad dream. But the decline stil disturbed him. “I want you to record some symbols and try to translate them for me.”

“Certainly, Professor.”

Phil ips decided to look on the positive side. He didn’t have a ful y functioning BB to rescue him, but at least he could complete his original mission—gathering and interpreting Forerunner data. He tracked slowly up and down the passage so the AI could capture the engravings.

“What do you think the cartouches are, BB?” There was no echo. Beyond the big vaulted chamber at the entrance, the temple became a network of stone passages, but it didn’t sound like one. If he hadn’t been standing on flagstones he would have thought the place was carpeted and soundproofed. The air was muffled, heavy, syrupy. “Why did the Forerunners build this place?”

“I might be able to suggest theories when I complete the survey.”

“Okay. Tel me when you’re ready to move on.”

“Keep walking, Professor.”

Now that Phil ips was gathering the data, he had to find a way to get it to ONI, and transmitting it seemed out of the question for the time being.

People would be looking for him by now. The Arbiter wouldn’t just shrug and chalk it up to experience. He had a foreigner missing in his territory, and even if he didn’t care what happened to a useless human nishum, he’d certainly worry about what damage he could do on his own. Sanghelios didn’t welcome tourists.

He’ll find me. Someone’s searching for me, whatever happens.

Or I’ll find a way out myself.

“You can increase your pace, Professor,” BB said. “I can record this easily.”

“Okay, BB. Sorry.” Phil ips hadn’t made a note of how far he’d walked. When he checked his watch, he found he’d been exploring for nearly an hour. “Are you mapping the complex?”

“I can if you want me to.”

Right. The real BB would have this all catalogued by now and come up with a million suggestions about how I could do my job better. That makes sense, I suppose. You don’t want a compromised AI volunteering to do stuff for the enemy.

“Yes, that would be handy,” Phil ips said. “Thanks. I want a scale plan of the temple. Measure everything and mark the positions of al features.”

“You’l need to take me back to the entrance if you want a complete schematic.”

“Good idea. I need to visit the bathroom and get something to eat. Let’s take a break.”

He trudged back up the passage, checking the directions he’d scribbled on his datapad. Bathroom. Hah. He was being generous. Sangheili plumbing was depressingly basic and they certainly didn’t do fluffy towels. It was more the tepid water from a single spigot and a hole in the ground kind of bathroom. These were the smal but morale-crushing things that no adventure movie had ever warned him about: if you were trapped, how did you do your laundry or recharge your datapad or even find bathroom tissue? That was the stuff of which real human drama was made. Food.

Oh, not the dog food again. Not that damn meat. When he got out of here, he was going to gorge on pael a and mango and salmon and snack noodles and licorice and every damn thing he could lay his hands on. He rummaged in his shoulder bag, hoping to find some fluff-covered, sticky piece of candy that might have escaped him previously.

Zip. Nothing. Next time … I’ll carry at least one twenty-four-hour ration pack. Like the ODSTs.

He opened his jacket as he walked, lifting it by the col ar to sniff under his arms, first right, then left. Ewww. I want a shower. The Sangheili probably didn’t care if he was in need of a change of clothes, but he did. Morale. It’s all about morale. Now he wished he’d spent more time talking to Mal, Vaz, and Devereaux about the domestic routine of their deployments rather than getting them to tel him warry stories. He’d never laugh at their obsession with washing their undies ever again. They were incredibly disciplined about keeping their kit clean, and now he knew why. They had to stay clean in the field no matter what crap the war threw at them.

I’ll listen, Mal. I promise. You can teach me. You can turn me into an ODST anytime you want. Really.

“BB, we’re coming up to the main chamber,” he whispered. “Better stay quiet. I don’t want them to start dismantling you.”

“Understood, Professor.”

Phil ips waited for the punch line, but of course none came. This was a basic AI with just enough personality to react to him sensibly. He was already missing the real, annoying, funny, bitchy, nosey BB as badly as a best friend.

“Did you find what you were looking for?” ‘Telcam asked, looking up as Phil ips wandered in. Most of the Sangheili who’d been clustered around the chart had disappeared. “I was about to send someone to find you.”

“I don’t know.” Phil ips gestured with his datapad. If they’d heard him talking, he’d give them a plausible explanation before they asked too many questions. “I’ve been looking at the cartouches and recording my thoughts. I don’t understand any of it, but it’s beautiful.”

‘Telcam cocked his head on one side. “My brothers were always convinced that humans had no souls, but I think some of you are instinctively capable of being touched by the truth of the divine.”

And that, Your Honor, is the case for the defense. “Where did everyone go?”

“To join their ships. I must go, too. Buran’s ship won’t fly itself.” ‘Telcam seemed to be in a rare good mood. Either the coup was shaping up or he was feeling sorry for the tapeworm that had a soul. “There wil be guards remaining here, so you’l be safe.” His voice dropped to a murmur. “If you find meaning in the cartouches, I expect you to share it with me. You have … an unusual insight. You chose to learn the culture of your enemy, but you respect it, which makes you different from the others.”