Mars Time: 20:43, March 2, 2295

  Observation Deck, ISV Polaris, In Transit

  The void had never looked so vast.

  Marcus stood at the observation deck's window, his reflection a ghost against the endless black. Stars wheeled slowly past as the Polaris adjusted its heading—distant suns, each one a furnace burning across distances his mind couldn't properly grasp.

  His Nucleus Watch displayed his PRIMAL stats in pale amber above his wrist. He glanced at them without meaning to.

  Power: 8

  Resilience: 9

  Intellect: 3

  Magnetism: 3

  Agility: 1

  Libido: 1

  Right. Not exactly a man built for small talk, dinner parties, or whatever this upcoming meal was meant to be. The Covenant hadn't trained him for such. They'd trained him to hold a line, take a hit, and get back up. Simple work. Honest work.

  He just wished someone had trained him for this.

  Three years of service, and he'd never once watched the stars from a ship's window. Covenant transports kept their soldiers in cryo—"purity of purpose," they called it. You went to sleep on one world, woke up on another. No time to think. No time to doubt.

  The door behind him hissed open.

  "—and Pappa say, no HAW-koon, that not food, that wire!"

  Almost like a three-year-old human child's voice. Just higher, and strangely, more musical.

  "No way!" A woman's chuckle, mezzo-soprano.

  "All true. And thankfully, he never touched the wire. We all got out safe." A man's voice.

  Marcus turned to find Zhi-Xin Wu stepping through the doorway, the little Diabolisk perched on his left shoulder like some exotic bird. The woman followed close behind. Sigrun Fjeld. Third Princess of House Fjeld, as the Draugs invading Xing Hong had called her. She didn't look much like royalty in her navy turtleneck and beige trench coat.

  Xin spotted him first. "Hello, Marcus."

  "Evening." Marcus nodded, uncertain what else to say.

  An awkward silence stretched between them. The Diabolisk, H?kon, studied Marcus with luminous blue eyes. His scales shifted from beige to something brighter, curious rather than afraid.

  "Silver Man thinking?"

  "You look like you're waiting for something to go wrong," Sigrun said.

  "Aye, old habit." Marcus almost smiled. "Can't seem to shake it."

  "I wanted to ask, when we met earlier." Xin gestured at him. "The Covenant doesn't usually let its people operate independently, does it?"

  "No." He found himself answering honestly, something about the slender man's manner cutting through his usual reserve. "Took me three days to draft that petition, like. Had to explain why this mission served Zori's purpose, why I were the right soldier for it, why the risk were worth the reward." A pause. "Mostly I just said I wanted to help."

  "Did that work?" Sigrun asked.

  "Eventually." Marcus reached for his pack without thinking. A small tin was there. Dented and scratched, the label faded beyond reading.

  "Fancy some tea?" He held it up. "Yorkshire blend. Brought it from my flat on Mars."

  Xin's eyebrows rose. "You brought tea on a military expedition?"

  "Only indulgence I've got, this. Well, and my cigars." Marcus shrugged. "My mum used to make it. Before she passed."

  Something shifted in Sigrun's expression. Softer, less guarded. She shook her head when he offered the tin, but she didn't leave.

  Xin smiled. "Thanks. I could use something warm."

  They found seats near the window, Marcus producing a small compact heater from his pack. Field equipment, standard Covenant issue. He'd used it to warm rations and tea in transit stations across the other side of Sol System. The familiar ritual steadied him: measure the leaves, heat the water, wait for the color to deepen.

  Stolen story; please report.

  "How long does it usually take?" Xin asked, watching the process with curiosity.

  "Four minutes for proper strength. Two if you're in a hurry, but then it's hardly worth drinking." Marcus kept his eyes on the water. "My mum was particular about that. Said weak tea was worse than no tea at all."

  "She sounds like she had strong opinions."

  "Aye. About everything." A ghost of a smile. "Tea, football, politics. Whether me dad were spending too much time at the pub. Whether I was eating enough vegetables." The smile faded. "She had radiation sickness, the last few years. Fenris attack at the plant where me dad worked. He died in it. She just...took longer."

  Xin was quiet for a moment. Then: "I'm sorry."

  "Long time ago now." Marcus poured the tea into two cups—tiny battered metal things he'd carried since Sheffield. "She gave me this the day she passed. Said I were to drink proper tea wherever I went, and not forget where I came from."

  He handed Xin a cup. The ex-Rigger took it carefully, both hands wrapped around the warmth.

  "This is really good," Xin said after his first sip. "Stronger than I expected."

  "That's how it's meant to be."

  Sigrun had settled into a seat nearby, watching them without joining. Her arms were crossed, but her posture had loosened slightly.

  "You don't drink tea?" Marcus asked her.

  "Coffee. When I can afford the real stuff." She shrugged. "Mostly I drink whatever's cheap."

  "There's nowt wrong with that."

  "Silver Man talk funny," H?kon announced. His scales had settled into a calm blue. "Words go up-down different."

  Marcus blinked. "Do I?"

  Xin added between sips. "H?kon notices patterns. He's very observant."

  "HAW-koon hear lots-lots words. Pappa words, Sky Lady words, Music Man words. All different!"

  "Music Man?" Marcus asked.

  "Jabari," Sigrun said. "The Griot."

  "Ah." Marcus took a long sip of his tea. The familiar taste steadied him. "Funny. Weeks of acquaintance, and I still haven't heard him play."

  "From what I read about Directorate, they're trained for it. Combat and performance, both." Xin stroked H?kon's head gently.

  "Covenant does the same, actually. Hymns before battle. Songs of faith to strengthen the spirit."

  "Do you sing?" Sigrun asked, something like amusement in her voice.

  "Thousand Gods, no. Voice like a wounded dog, me. I just listen."

  H?kon chirped. "Silver Man sing for HAW-koon?"

  "Trust me, little one. You don't want that."

  The silence that followed felt easier than before. Xin stared out the window, watching the stars wheel past. H?kon craned his small neck to follow his gaze.

  "Pretty-pretty lights," the little Diabolisk announced. "Like sun, but tiny!"

  "Yeah, stars are tiny suns. Just very far away."

  "HAW-koon go visit tiny sun?"

  "Maybe someday, little one."

  Marcus found himself studying the pair—the slender Rigger and his adopted Radi-Mon. An odd pairing. The Covenant elders would have called a pet Radi-Mon unnatural, wrong even. But Marcus couldn't find any reason to judge.

  "How'd you come by him?" He asked. "H?kon, I mean."

  Xin's expression flickered, something complicated passing through his eyes. "Found his egg three years ago, on Earth. Taiwan. I was doing contract work, and..." He trailed off, frowning slightly. "It's strange. I know I found him, but I still can't quite remember the circumstances. The memory's just... gone."

  "Gone?"

  "Like something's missing. I remember the before and after, but not the moment itself." Xin shook his head. "Nikki—Doctor Chakraborty—says it might be psionic interference. Someone didn't want me to remember."

  "But you kept him anyway."

  "He needed someone." Xin's voice was simple, certain. "It's the right thing to do."

  Marcus had no answer for that. The Inquisitors on Earth would have said to destroy the egg, burn the corruption before it could spread. But looking at H?kon chirping happily as Xin scratched behind his head—

  "Covenant transports troops in cryo," he found himself saying. "For 'purity of purpose.' We arrive fresh, they say. Ready to serve." He watched the stars wheel past. "I accepted it without question. Never wondered what I might've missed, sleeping through the journey."

  "And now?" Sigrun asked.

  "Now I'm awake. Watching all this." He gestured at the void with his cup. "Makes you feel right small, doesn't it?"

  "I landed on Mars in cryo too," Sigrun said. Her voice went flat, memories surfacing. "Eleven years ago. Thinking back, it were a miracle none of the Fenris fuckers reached my ship."

  The name hung in the air between them. Marcus's jaw tightened.

  "You've fought Fenris for a long time. I can tell." It weren't a question.

  "Fought them. Fled them. Watched them tear apart everyone I—" She stopped. Her hand moved to her hip, reaching for a weapon that wasn't there. Old reflex. "When I was eighteen, they hit Europa without warning. My boyfriend held them off so I could escape."

  "And him?"

  "Missing? Dead? Worse?" Her eyes stayed fixed on the stars. "Eleven years, and I still don't know which."

  Marcus was quiet for a moment. Then: "My condolences."

  "So…help me kill the bastards responsible."

  He met her gaze. "That's why I'm here."

  The words came easier than he expected. Maybe it was the tea. Maybe it was just easier to talk to people who'd seen the same darkness.

  "The Fenris Horde," Marcus said slowly, "aren't like anything else we've faced. Covenant's fought Radi-Mon hordes across the Seven Realms. Guǐ-Zhǎo, Tiamat, even those blighters called Rakshasa. But Fenris..." He shook his head. "They've got purpose. Strategy. That Primarch of theirs—Skarn—"

  "You've studied him?" Sigrun said.

  "Had to. When I petitioned for this mission, I read every report Zori's Archive could provide." Marcus's voice hardened. "Whatever evil birthed the Fenris, it needs ending. Not containing. Not negotiating with. Ending. Root and branch."

  Xin nodded slowly. "You'll get no argument from me."

  "Nor me," Sigrun said quietly.

  H?kon chirped agreement, though Marcus doubted the little creature understood.

  The ship hummed around them. Somewhere in the distance, the fusion drives thrummed their steady rhythm.

  "Silver Man have fur-fur on face!"

  Marcus looked to the side to find H?kon staring at his beard with intense fascination. The little Diabolisk had climbed down from Xin's shoulder and perched on a nearby console, his scales bright azure now.

  "Soft-soft," H?kon continued. "HAW-koon wish touch fur-fur. Is okay?"

  Marcus blinked. In three years of Covenant service, no one had ever asked to touch his beard. He wasn't sure what the protocol was.

  "Aye, go on then."

  He leaned forward carefully. H?kon reached out with one small claw and patted his beard once, twice, then made a satisfied chirping sound.

  "Soft-soft! Pappa, Sky Lady, Silver Man soft-soft!"

  Something loosened in Marcus's chest. He almost smiled.

  The tea was finished by the time the ship's intercom chimed again. Twenty-one hundred hours. Time to see if this expedition could share a meal without drawing blood.