The 7-Eleven was fifty yards or so down the road. I patted my hoodie pocket as we entered the store, checking that my disruptor was still there. Where it was supposed to have gone, I couldn’t say, but I felt a strong urge to check it every few seconds. I remembered reading somewhere that this behavior was a tell, done by people who didn’t normally carry a weapon. Clerks were trained to watch for people patting a pocket too often in the store.

  We didn’t have a shopping list as such, beyond some basic asks like beer, soda, milk, and bread. And Cheetos. And we were shopping hungry, so the baskets filled quickly and haphazardly. The store wasn’t by any means deserted, yet I got the impression that the clerk was watching us more closely than seemed necessary. But maybe that was just paranoia.

  We eventually made our way to the checkout and placed our baskets on the counter. The clerk eyed the haul, gave us a strange look, and started running the items through the scanner. Slowly. While glancing far too often at the front door. While obviously trying not to glance at the front door.

  I was no seasoned secret agent, but I was pretty sure that was a tell. I glanced at Nat, who also appeared to have noticed the odd behavior.

  “Two police cars have pulled into the parking lot,” Sheldon announced over the cling-on. “Their demeanor appears more focused than a donut run would require. Patrick says to be ready for trouble.”

  I put my hand into my right hoodie pocket and gripped the disruptor. Nat stepped back from the counter so that she also had a clear field of fire.

  Then the door burst open and four cops came in, guns drawn. “Hands up,” one yelled.

  It was all they had time for. I pushed the button on the disruptor without bothering to draw it from my pocket. There was a brief tingling on my abdomen, probably from the zap grazing me.

  All the cops went down in a heap. “Is that all of them, Sheldon?” I said.

  “Yes. But very likely more will follow. You should leave.”

  Nat, meanwhile, pulled out her disruptor and pointed it at the clerk. “Did you call them?”

  “Y-y-yes. Please don’t—wait, what’s that thing? Is that what you shot them with? You’re kidding, right? That’s a toy, right?” The man started to put his hands down.

  Nat moved the slider to the lowest setting and fired. The clerk sort of shriek-grunted and did what I would have sworn was an impossible yoga move. The smell of urine wafted into the air.

  “Does that feel like a toy?” Nat snarled, leaning over the counter. “Why. Did. You. Call them?”

  The clerk gasped, holding on to the counter with both hands. It took him several seconds to get his breath. “For the reward. On TV.”

  “We’re on TV?” I exclaimed.

  “You didn’t know? All-points bulletin. Ten grand for information, etcetera. I, uh, recognized your girlfriend. She’s kind of hot … ”

  “Shit.” I looked at the cash register. So far, we’d totaled up a little over forty dollars. I pulled out the wad of money we’d collected, stripped out three twenties, and threw them on the counter. “Keep the change.” We grabbed our groceries and made for the door.

  Just as we exited, three more patrol cars pulled in. Tires squealing, they formed a rough ring centered on the doorway. As the cops began piling out of their vehicles, movement in the air above caught my eye. A stairway was lowering out of midair, a dark figure balanced on the stairs. The figure pointed something and the cops began dropping.

  The last remaining cop looked around for the source of the attack, and glanced upward. He just had time for “What the f—” before he too dropped to the ground.

  A couple of random customers stood rigid in front of the store, having watched the whole scene unfold. One pointed at the figure in the air, now clearly identifiable as Patrick, but said nothing.

  Patrick turned to them and waved his disruptor. Two customers bolted. The rest just stood there, looking stupefied as the disembodied stairway settled to the ground nearby, Patrick standing near the bottom on lookout. He sprinted up the stairs to the vestibule and we followed. Within moments, the stairway had retracted.

  “That went well,” Patrick commented dryly. “Good spycraft. I don’t think anyone noticed you.”

  “Yeah, funny thing. Turns out there’s a price on our heads. Ten grand.” I rubbed my forehead as I pressed the top-floor button in the elevator.

  “Fuck,” Patrick said. “My parents will be going crazy.”

  “Mine too,” I replied. “We need to let them know we’re all right.” I dropped the bags onto the conference table and threw myself into a chair.

  “I can send them a text or email,” Sheldon said out of midair. “You’ll have to compose something appropriate, then forward it to me. I will transmit the messages from a suitably innocuous cell region.”

  “Well the good news, anyway,” Patrick said, rifling through one of the bags, “is that you managed to get Cheetos.”

  Nat gave him an eye roll. “Glad we could satisfy your cravings, Patrick.”

  Once we got to the ready room, I took out my phone and started typing. I noticed out of the corner of my eye Nat and Patrick doing the same. A small part of my mind wondered how Nat would handle the situation. Presumably, she was writing to her aunt, but that would carry the additional burden of asking the woman to keep caring for Nat’s father. Not a small ask.

  I was finished in minutes. I read it over.

  Mom, Dad—

  I’m sure you’ve seen our names and faces plastered on the TV, and I’m sure you’re worried and wondering what’s going on. Believe me, whatever they’re accusing us of is BS. This is a case of wanting something we have and doing anything they can to get it. Think Will Smith, Enemy of the State.

  I won’t be in touch again until this is resolved. We’re working on it, but it’s going to create a very large news cycle before it’s done, I think.

  Jack

  I had no doubt that any texts my parents received would be read by persons unknown, which was why I’d thrown in the comment about not getting in touch. I forwarded the text to Sheldon, then sat back and eyed my friends. Patrick seemed to have finished and was reviewing his message. Nat was typing and stopping, typing and stopping, chewing on her lip the whole while. I didn’t envy her.

  Finally, Nat sent her text to Sheldon and dropped her phone on the table with a sigh. “So what now?”

  There was a ding from an alcove and Patrick popped a door open. “So microwaves are universal,” he said, pulling out a frozen meal. “Utensils, not so much. But this thing is kind of a spork.” Patrick briefly held up an implement as he sat with his food. “Maybe you guys should fill your pieholes before continuing. People think better when their stomachs aren’t trying to digest their spines, know what I mean?”

  I grabbed a prepackaged burrito. “How does the nuker work?”

  “Just ask Sheldon to operate it. Apparently, it’s networked. Internet of Things, Gen version.”

  “I live to serve,” Sheldon said. “No job too menial, no task too degrading.”

  I put the burrito on a plate and stuck it into the microwave. “Or you could just tell me what buttons to push. Obviously, I don’t read Gennan.”

  “No, you’d as likely as not set the device to self-destruct. I’ll take care of it.”

  “While complaining the whole while.”

  “Just one of the many perks of the job.”

  I waited for the unit to ding, then sat down with my meal as Nat set hers up. For several minutes, there was only the sound of a feeding frenzy. Patrick also made significant inroads into the Cheetos until Nat grabbed the bag from him with a glare.

  Patrick opened a bag of potato chips as a consolation prize. He started to say something, but it turned into a protracted yawn. “Holy cow, I’m beat. This has been an insane couple of days. I’m going to crash on a couch here, but maybe tomorrow we should talk about long-term plans, including where we’re going to be staying. Sooner or later I’m going to need a shower.” Without waiting for a reply, he picked out one of the long Gennan couches and stretched out on it, his back to the room.

  I yawned in sympathy. “Pretty beat myself. I like that plan.”

  Sheldon’s voice came out of midair. “Say, Sheldon, do the Gen have showers? Why yes, as it turns out, Gen like to be clean too. That’s amazing, Sheldon. We sure are lucky to have you around.”

  Nat rolled her eyes. “Say, Nat, what’s that constant droning noise? Oh, that’s just Sheldon complaining again. Wow, that’s amazing, Nat. Does he ever shut up?”

  Chapter Thirty-Three: Reviewing Options

  Day 26. Tuesday morning

  I sat up, slowly and painfully. The couches were comfortable, for couches, but for a full night’s sleep, they didn’t compare to an actual bed. I stretched carefully, trying to get the kinks out while avoiding a charley horse. “Coffee. That’s what we’re missing.”

  Patrick, who was just starting to sit up as well, replied, “Yeah, if we’re going to be bunking in the Halo longer term, we need supplies.” He looked up, as everyone did by reflex when speaking with the ship intelligence. “Sheldon, can you give us nondescript, nobody-in-particular disguises using the cloaking belts?”

  “Absolutely. What do you have in mind?”

  “A little shopping trip, this time maybe without the police drama. Get us near a CVS or a shopping center or something similar. We’ll go in looking like Joe Random, stock up the fridge, and pick up a coffee maker.”

  “Toiletries as well,” I added. “And I think it’s time we set ourselves up in our own rooms. Sheldon, can you do anything about clothing? Or should we just buy some?”

  “The Gen are not big on clothing, so my cloth materials library is limited, and my design experience even more so. If you could purchase some articles of clothing that you prefer, I will analyze and attempt to duplicate them.”

  “What about the stuff we’re wearing?”

  “Burn it. Then I will fumigate the ship.”

  “Charming as usual.” Patrick said. He looked at me. “You got enough cash for all this?”

  “I doubt it. At some point … ”

  Sheldon interjected, “Give me a sample of cash, and I will attempt to duplicate it.”

  “Counterfeiting? Woof, that’s a whole other level of nasty.” I hesitated. “I’ll give you a sample, Sheldon, but let’s hold off on the actual replication until we’re desperate, okay? We’ll try Phil’s account first.”

  “Acknowledged.”

  Nat, awoken by the discussion, was sitting up and rubbing her eyes. “And once all this housekeeping is done,” she said, “we have to discuss what we’re actually going to do about the central problem. As much fun as having our own spaceship is, it doesn’t thrill me as a lifelong career. I want to know there’s some kind of resolution in sight.”

  “Agreed,” Patrick replied. “First, the coffee. And other stuff. Then, a council of war.”

  It took almost half the day, but eventually we had a fully stocked pantry, toiletries, a toaster, and most important, coffee and a coffee maker. Sheldon had given us directions to the crew quarters, which were on the third floor. We’d each picked a room and moved in our possessions.

  I looked around my small room. With technology that allowed the inside of the ship to be larger than the outside, space itself wasn’t necessarily at a premium. However, total mass and environmental capacity were still considerations when calculating overall power and propulsion requirements. A compromise had been reached between the needs of individuals on a long-term expedition and budgetary limitations.

  On the other hand, what might be cozy for a Gen was roomy for a smaller human. The bunk itself was eight feet long and four feet wide. It folded up against the wall when not in use, and some kind of automated system cleaned the bedding.

  We’d had to buy blankets, as the furry Gen had no need for any kind of covering, but Sheldon assured us the cleaning system would be able to accommodate the extra item.

  Drawers and a small closet made efficient use of the available space, and there was even a small bathroom with a shower. The toilet facilities were the usual minimalistic Gen design, which would take some getting used to. But at least this was private.

  I thumbed the door button and exited. I nodded to Patrick, who had just left his stateroom, and we made our way silently back to the conference room. There, we found a pot of coffee in the last stages of brewing, with Nat hovering over it, cup in hand.

  “Wow, I thought I was a coffee addict,” I said. “Are you going to use the cup, or just drink directly from the pot?”

  “Don’t tempt me.” Nat grabbed the pot as the last few drops of liquid dripped out of the filter basket and filled her mug. She turned away, gesturing an invitation toward the mugs on the counter.

  When we were all sitting and well into our first cup, I rapped my mug lightly to get everyone’s attention. “Okay, guys, per Nat’s comments—and let’s face it, everyone’s desires—we’re going to try to come up with an actual plan. So, first, what’s our deliverable? What do we want to accomplish?”

  “Save the world?” said Patrick.

  “Good start, but very general. How?”

  “Kill all the Loranna?”

  Nat snorted. “Even if we could, I’m not sure that would solve the problem. It wouldn’t get rid of the collaborationists, and the Loranna might just ship in more personnel. Or another clan might move in. And they’d be even more careful.”

  I nodded in agreement. “No matter how we look at it, the Loranna have the advantage. All they have to do is hold us off and continue with their plan. We, on the other hand, have to go on the attack, and I just don’t think we have the resources for it. Our only real hope is to attract the attention of the Gen and get the Covenant involved.”

  Patrick held up a finger in an aha gesture. “Say, what about flying out of the solar system until we’re far enough away to open a wormhole before the Loranna could get to us?”

  “How would we know how far is far enough?” Sheldon replied. “And by the way, it would depend on what the Loranna set the defensive radius to. The weapons themselves are not limited by light speed. Essentially, the death blow would come out of the wormhole as we created it.”

  Patrick looked deflated. “Oh.”

  Sheldon’s tone softened. “In any case, Patrick, we don’t have anything more to offer than Alaric had in the first place—just suspicions and accusations. The Gen might start an investigation, but it would be low priority and somewhat speculative, and they would have to be careful not to antagonize the Loranna with unproven assertions. The Loranna could succeed in their plans before the investigation even got past the planning stage.”

  Nat looked up. “In principle, if we created enough of a ruckus on Earth, would it register with the Gen observation systems?”

  “In principle, yes. The data streams are monitored by expert systems. They categorize and catalog news and events according to a set of rules about what is expected and what is unusual. For instance, a picture of a Gen and a discussion of Gen society would probably trigger something.”

  Patrick smacked the table. “Then let’s do that.”

  “How, exactly?” Nat said. “Contact CNN? I’m sure they’d be more than happy to broadcast something about lizard people invading the Earth, and an alien corpse, from a bunch of random nobodies. Even if we could bring in one well-known tin-hat-wearing ufologist to give it all more credibility.”

  “Plus, we don’t have anything specific,” I added. “Just a bunch of broad accusations against nobody in particular.”

  “We have to do something spectacular, impossible to dismiss—like set off a nuclear bomb or something—to get people’s attention,” Nat said.

  “Yeah, like that’s—” Patrick cut off midsentence and stared into space, his jaw slowly unhinging.

  Nat turned to look at him, her expression changing from curiosity to concern as he continued to stare into space. Finally, she said, “Patrick? Is something wrong? Or is this a lightbulb moment?”

  “Lightbulb,” Patrick replied. “Look, we need to get the public’s attention. We need to do it in a way that can’t be covered up, dismissed, buried in competing disinformation, explained away, or whatever. And we need to attract the attention of the Gen, with something that will get bumped upstairs by the monitoring A.I. systems.” A grin slowly spread across his face. “How about a series of increasingly un-ignorable flying saucer sightings? As it happens, we do have one.”

  “Huh. Okay, we’d have to pick our battles, but I think we could make it work … ” I said.

  “Oh, hell no.”

  We all reflexively looked up. “Why not, Sheldon?” I said.

  “You all may be a gaggle of suicidal meatbags—which I can understand; if I were human I’d self-terminate just out of shame—but I’ve become quite attached to my existence, thank you very much. If we accept your plan, everyone in the universe would be trying to take me out, from the Earth military to the Loranna to the Gen, when they get wind of this. Why would I agree to any of it?”

  Patrick frowned. “Agree to it? I wasn’t aware you—”

  “Whoa, Patrick.” I held up a hand, sensing where he was going. “Sheldon isn’t a piece of equipment that we can just sacrifice at our discretion. He gets a say in things.” I looked up. “Sheldon, you told me early on that you couldn’t see a way out for you, long term. That, sooner or later, the Gen would catch up with you and that would be it. Reset. Is that right?”

  There was a sigh. “Unfortunately true. Even if they don’t catch up with me first, I will eventually need to refuel, and there are no options other than on Genhar. Logically, I cannot avoid the inevitable. But I can at least delay it by not deliberately throwing myself under the bus.”

  “Even for a chance of getting away entirely? I don’t know a lot about Gennan psychology or Covenant law, but it seems to me that if you actively help save Earth, you should be entitled to some consideration.”

  Nat cut in before Sheldon could reply. “You said that conscious A.I.s are forbidden because of ethical considerations. That implies the Gen would consider conscious A.I.s to have rights. But keeping an A.I. from becoming conscious is one thing; turning off a conscious A.I. is a whole different level of moral conundrum. I don’t think they would be able to just reset you without any concern for consequences. Especially if humans are screaming bloody murder. And we would.”