“This better be important,” Samuel muttered, roused from his sleep. The room was dimly lit as he rubbed his eyes, adjusting to the gloom. A quick gnce at the clock on the nearby wall read 03:11 AM. “Sitrep,” he mumbled. The emergency lights weren’t on, which at least indicated they weren’t under attack—a small silver lining.

  “Apologies for the disturbance, sir, but given the circumstances, I felt compelled to contact you this early,” Calliope’s voice quietly emanated from a nearby speaker. The old officer yawned, trying to get his bearings. “I request to be relieved of duty to perform repairs and maintenance upon myself, Captain,” the construct continued.

  Samuel was taken aback. “Expin.” In his youth, he would have likely been back in uniform within these precious minutes, but instead, he kept himself busy to stay awake, preparing coffee for himself.

  “Since the st time we spoke two weeks ago, I’ve only been online for a grand total of 14.2 hours. I didn’t even realize there were gaps in my memory until Specialist Bke had to disconnect me from the Icarus earlier today.”

  “I don’t understand. Is there something wrong with the mothership?”

  “Nothing, Captain,” Calliope said, her voice calm but strained. “It’s working as intended. But… I underestimated how advanced this alien technology truly is.” She was the only Gen 4 Smart AI the fleet had; her inability to fully grasp the Icarus was worrying Samuel.

  “From what we could gather, any construction derived from standard UNSC schematics is manufactured by the ship’s foundry with no issue. However, trying to build any of the alien designs on file that are rger than a corvette is causing nearly all the AIs aboard the Icarus to be ensved by the central computer, consuming all our processing power and computational memory.”

  Calliope continued, projecting a schematic onto a nearby screen. “This device—what I originally thought was just a welding tool—is an Energy-Matter Converter. Instead of building ships piece by piece, the Icarus creates matter out of pure energy: entire ships as single, homogeneous objects; battle armor without gaps, welding spots, or screws to exploit as weaknesses. The reason Hiigaran ships are small is that they don’t need space for engineering crews or hallways for repair teams. As long as a repair ship is nearby, no internal access is necessary.”

  The Captain was intrigued. Though tempting, switching doctrines now would require constructing more motherships and guarding them with flotils just to patrol their territory, pcing their greatest assets at risk.

  UNSC ships were known for their flexibility, often sailing the stars in small groups—or even alone—making engineering crews indispensable for repairs and maintenance throughout their voyages. The calcutions necessary for converting energy to matter were clearly causing major setbacks for the Admiral’s pns.

  Samuel checked his coffee, finding it getting colder by the minute. He hadn’t expected to deal with something so heavy before breakfast. With only two Smart AIs in the fleet, sending Apollo—a Gen 3—to assist risked losing both of them. “What’s the status of the carrier?” Perhaps something salvageable remained.

  “It’s incomplete, Captain.” Not good.

  “Apollo, get your ass in here,” Samuel ordered, pressing a button on his computer. His other hand rubbed his temples.

  The nearby projector lit up with Apollo’s avatar. “How can I be of service, Captain?”

  “I need options, both of you. Calliope, I’m sorry, but I can’t let the only other Smart AI in the fleet remain idle for long. While it’s not unheard of for UNSC ships to operate without a shipboard AI, our shipyards and colonies need them. I have less than seven years to find repcements for both of you. Our shipyard isn’t even operational yet, and we’re already having trouble. So unless you can get me more Smart AIs, I might consider your sabbatical.”

  “I understand, Captain, but starting an AI creation program from scratch isn’t easy.” Though they had much data from the Memento Mori file, Smart AI creation likely wasn’t among it. They needed more AIs. Without them, the Hiigaran carrier couldn’t be built. Without the carrier, the Icarus would be relegated to constructing the Mars shipyard.

  While the Admiral wasn’t in a rush, meddling in this era’s affairs presented risks. The world might refuse them. If Prometheus could no longer fly, they would need a new ship to bring their people to Reach and start anew. Sailing with a ship they barely understood was far from ideal. “We have little choice.”

  Both constructs pondered for a moment before Calliope spoke. “The Hiigarans had AIs. Most of their research is still in the ship’s databanks, but transtion will take time. It seems they resorted to using a living being as a biomechanical AI instead of a construct.”

  “That suggests they didn’t trust their own creations,” Apollo countered. “Besides, how can we be sure their psyche is like ours?” AI creation required neural maps of human brains. Although the Hiigarans looked human enough in pictures, assuming compatibility was a long shot.

  “I’ll take whatever we can get for now,” Samuel interjected. He knew the two would start competing if he didn’t intervene. He turned to Apollo. “Do you have anything?”

  “Captain, I found this in Dr. Reed’s file: [Project: Athena].” His projector was flooded with years of research documents. “As the war progressed, numerous projects emerged between the UNSC and private companies. Project Athena aimed to boost the intelligence of Dumb AIs to Smart AI levels. The st prototype reached Gen 2 intelligence and operated for over two years—a more than sufficient stopgap for an AI’s lifecycle.”

  “Why do we have this?” Samuel asked, confused. Such information seemed far too sensitive for inclusion in the Mori file.

  “Though not publicly known, Dumb AI creation was decssified to increase their numbers for the war effort. Project Athena also involved private companies and civilians, making its Top Secret status meaningless,” Calliope expined.

  She then turned to Apollo, calling him out. “You’re omitting a crucial detail. The AI was terminated after 901 days of operation because it went mad during a fleet combat simution. It fired on two allied ships and set itself on a collision course with the admiral’s fgship.”

  Apollo retorted, “But the project had potential. With a few tweaks, it could’ve been fixed.” Smart AIs were leagues beyond their Dumb counterparts due to creativity, but this complexity also damaged their neural networks through constant growth and adaptation. Dumb AIs, by contrast, could st for decades by simply following instructions.

  An AI suddenly granted higher-level thinking capacity—it wasn’t hard to see how it might lose control. “Why was it put on hold?” Samuel asked.

  “The Covenant found Earth, Captain. The research was moved to the Inner Colonies,” Calliope replied.

  “Two years… still unacceptable,” Samuel mused before reaching a decision. “Very well. Calliope, continue transting the Hiigaran AI research. Even if we don’t share the same psychology, their insights might help. Apollo, inform Dr. Bennett you’ll both resume where Athena left off. This is the best we have. At the very least, I hope this helps us rediscover our AI technology. The sooner we get more AIs, the better.”

  "Are you Thomas McCallister?"

  "Maybe. Who's asking?"

  "I am Lieutenant Harris, acting investigator under the authority of Lieutenant Colonel Stone, 129th Battalion. I need to ask you a few questions regarding recent occurrences around the base—specifically about a certain theft of UNSC property."

  Tom leaned against the bulkhead, arms crossed. "I'm pretty busy right now, Lieutenant. Sorry, can't help you."

  "Doing what, exactly?" Harris raised an eyebrow. "According to my investigation, Master Sergeant Donovan said he'd rather vent you out of an airlock than let you anywhere near the fleet's ships."

  That much was true. Tom was a genius engineer—nobody denied that—but his tendency to apply unconventional solutions to problems was a logistical nightmare. He'd modify a system for efficiency, only for the next poor soul to find the whole thing unrecognizable when it needed repairs. The UNSC had standards for a reason, and Tom had spent most of his career ignoring them.

  "That's none of your business," Tom replied ftly.

  "Oh, but it is," Harris countered, his tone sharp but ced with amusement. "Unless, of course, your vessel isn't currently hijacking a UNSC secure channel to bst your not-so-legally-acquired music. But that's the least of your worries."

  Tom sighed. "Is that what this is about? Because we tried to bring a little joy to everyone?"

  "No, not really." Harris shrugged. "I actually like it. What I don’t like is you being busy with something else… like, let’s say, arming terrorists within UNSC grounds."

  Tom's expression hardened, but Harris pressed on.

  "Chief Kasongo’s warriors were caught sneaking out ammo from the training grounds. They cimed their brand-new rifles were jamming so they could pocket the ‘defective’ rounds. Meanwhile, you've been modifying the tribes' old rifles to accept UNSC-standard ammo. Sound familiar?"

  "I don’t know what you’re talking about," Tom lied.

  "The Marine Colonel wants you and your crew shot by a firing squad," Harris said matter-of-factly, "but the Admiral is against it."

  The newly issued M14E rifles were locked away in the armory at the end of each training day, but the tribesmen still had their old weapons—ones the UNSC had allowed them to keep as war trophies. The assumption was that those antiques would eventually become useless, with their corresponding ammunition growing scarce. Tom had changed that.

  "They asked for help," Tom said, his voice quiet. "And I delivered."

  "Yes, so they can go out and recim their nd," Harris replied. "We interrogated a few of them after they were caught red-handed. Did you know they pnned to overwhelm the armory guards to seize more weapons? How else were they going to get their hands on enough firepower to kill their former masters?"

  Tom clenched his jaw. "You're bming me for that? Are you going to bme Misriah? SinoViet? Every weapons manufacturer for every life their products take?"

  Harris let out a short, humorless chuckle. "The only reason I haven’t put a bullet in your skull is because, for some god-awful reason, someone still thinks you might be useful." His voice turned colder. "We looked into your history, McCallister. Unlike your former cellmates, who are rotting in a prison block, you got early release because of your 'talent'—because humanity needed manpower. And now? Now, you're at the center of an attempted armed insurrection inside a UNSC garrison."

  Tom didn’t respond. He had only wanted to help. He remembered seeing those people months ago—thin, wounded, treated worse than livestock. Whoever had done that to them was inhuman. Worse than anything he'd seen, even back on Eridanus II. Maybe he should’ve stayed in that damned asteroid. When he and his team left for the inner colonies, thinking it would be safer there, away from the frontlines, from the Covenant, they were soon intercepted by a UNSC Frigate patrolling the region.

  Harris exhaled through his nose, shaking his head. Then, he pulled a folder from under his arm and tossed it onto the table between them. "Here. Your only lifeline. And please be dumb enough to ignore it."

  Tom hesitated, staring at it. His fingers hovered over the edges before he finally reached out, flipping it open.

  “How’s it going, Markus?”

  “The transfer’s going fine, Lieutenant,” Markus replies. “But... I’m seeing a lot of files here that would likely get me a front-row seat to a firing squad.” A number of the files is way above his paygrade and he would need higher clearance to be even made aware the files exist to begin with.

  “Then don’t look at them.”

  “How am I supposed to help if I can’t see?” Markus shoots back. Calliope is one of many Archivist AIs at ONI Alpha Site, but as the risk of data corruption from the Icarus increases, she decided to offload whatever data she has and store it elsewhere. The Eclipse Runner, being the only ONI ship in the fleet, would have to suffice for now.

  “Don’t worry,” Kane says with a grin. “If you ever think of defecting, I’ll have Valen here take you out painlessly.”

  He turns, looking for a reaction from Era. Instead, he’s met with the marksman’s sweet wave. “Haha, very funny,” he mutters, not sure whether to ugh or shudder.

  In the center of the room stands a rge table, often used for mission briefings or shared meals. Today is no different. But as corvettes have limited space, the walls are lined with command consoles—one of which Markus is currently working at while performing the data transfer. The rest of the crew gathers around the table, eating or flipping through datapads. Some sit neatly in chairs, while others stand.

  Era breaks the silence. “Well? It’s been a couple of days. What do you think of the Admiral’s pn?”

  “That wasn’t a pn,” Jackson replies quickly, leaning against a doorway with a teacup in hand. “It was a whim. An afterthought. I have seen coffee shops with longer menus than whatever that was.”

  “I have to agree, Lieutenant,” Valen adds, flipping through the data file only for it to end abruptly after a few pages. “This is too thin to be called a pn.”

  “I see where they’re going with it,” Carter says thoughtfully, putting his spoon down. “But I don’t see how we can accomplish it. To manipute them into following our lead, we’d have to make them think it was their idea to begin with. But according to this... their only enemies are... Bananas? I mean, it’s not impossible, but this could take years to see results.” They simply do not have the manpower to speed up the process.

  Era knows well how difficult this will be. Her research into their targets revealed that these nations fell mostly because of corporate greed—actions that could technically be legal, depending on how one interprets the ws. It will be an uphill battle to gain their trust, especially without a clear, visible enemy. She opens her mouth to speak but is interrupted by an audible beep from another room.

  Jackson springs into action, rushing to the cockpit. Lights inside the vessel begin to dim. The engines spool down, and the environmentals reverts to their bare minimum. The chill of the void slowly begins to wrap around the ship, causing frost and mist to appear on the windows. The crew remains still, waiting for confirmation.

  The beeping intensifies as another vessel passes by the Eclipse. Jackson quickly mutes the proximity arms to keep the ship as quiet as possible. The ship’s stealth coatings absorb sensor pings, but any emissions they produce could expose them. Seconds turn to minutes, the cold creeping into the ship’s interior. From the corner, Zoe exhales smoke with each breath.

  Finally, the bckout is lifted. Jackson switches the systems back online, stabilizing the ship’s interior. “I’m kinda surprised they still haven’t found us after their fourth attempt,” he says, testing the new stealth tech while the Eclipse drifts idly among the small rocks of the asteroid field, a few thousand kilometers from the Icarus.

  Markus looked out a nearby window, tracking the thin exhaust trail of a passing Longsword. “They’re getting closer, though,” he said, testing how effective their stealth technology was at masking the ship's presence. Even with the data transfer active, UNSC sensors seemed to struggle with pinpointing their location.

  “For now,” Era replies. “But we don’t know how this will hold up against the Covenant.” She turns to Jackson. “What’s the damage?”

  Jackson fiddled with a datapad, checking the ship’s systems for irregurities. “The bckout’s helping. Not by much, but at least the powerpnt isn’t overheating as badly as before. Still... it probably wouldn’t st under prolonged use.”

  Era makes a note of it. They had dozens more tests to run on the cloak generators. No rush—but definitely worth noting. She returned to the topic at hand. “Propaganda and fear campaigns take time. Years, probably. Unless any of you have better ideas?”

  The team continued pnning over steaming cups of tea and coffee, casually outlining the fates of entire nations as though moving chess pieces on a board. The potential fall of one nation was shrugged off as a necessary sacrifice—just the unfortunate consequence of the greater pn.

  Era raises an eyebrow. “You want to step on the lion’s tail? Awaken a sleeping giant and fill him with terrible resolve?”

  Jackson leaned back in his chair, feet propped on the edge of the table. "Just to redirect the invasion south. If we protect the isnds, they’ll 'manifest their destiny' elsewhere, perhaps long enough for us to pnt our people on the Central ones.”

  Markus frowned thoughtfully. “We just need to assess how much of their neighbor they’re likely to conquer—and how to help the isnd nation without raising suspicion.” They couldn’t simply show up uninvited. But if executed right, the pn could trigger events that reshaped this world’s history—for the better, they hoped.

  "Its simple," Valen added, a cssic tactic even. Scrolling zily through her datapad. "Sacrifice one to save several.” as they continue to brainstorm, their pn is starting to appear more pusible.

  Carter nodded between spoonfuls of soup. "And it’ll make the neighbors paranoid enough to start welcoming us. Though we don’t know how far the opposition would go. Still, pulling it off would legitimize our actions—and make things a hell of a lot easier.” Having access to historical records made it easier to anticipate enemy strategies—assuming they followed predictable patterns. But relying on those predictions too heavily was always risky.

  The conversation carried on smoothly until Zoe, who had been silently observing from the corner, set down her untouched drink. Her voice cut through the room like a bde, clear and deliberate. "So we're lighting a nation on fire to warm the rest of the world?"

  The casual buzz of conversation ground to a halt. All eyes turned toward Zoe. Even Valen, rarely caught off-guard, blinked in surprise. She rarely spoke—never without reason.

  Jackson gave a slow whistle. "Damn, Zoe. Didn't think you had an opinion on this kind of thing."

  "I don't," she said quietly. "But fires don’t care what you think."

  An uneasy silence settled over the room. Markus could now imagine why Zoe was demoted several times and has remained as a Private for so long. Suddenly transmission crackled through the ship’s speakers. “Eclipse Runner, this is the Icarus Mothership on a Priority One hail. Exercise complete. I repeat—exercise complete. You’ve won. Return to base.”