Free Halo: Contact Harvest by Joseph Staten

walls. The open wall directly opposite the two soldiers’ chosen tier was filled with a tall rectangular view port.
“All settled? Good.” Sif spoke through speakers in Avery’s chair as he clipped himself into the high-backed seat’s five-point harness. There was artificial gravity on the orbital, but once the Wagon departed it would be in free fall. “I hope you enjoy your stay.”
“Oh, I’ll make sure he does.” Healy cracked an impish smile.
The alarm chimed a second time, the Wagon’s airlock sealed, and Avery began his descent.

As one small part of Sif’s mind monitored the downward progress of Avery’s Wagon, another manifested on her data-center’s holo-projector.
“Let me start by saying, Ms. al-Cygni, how grateful I am that you chose to conduct this audit in person. I trust you had a pleasant journey?”
Sif’s avatar wore an ankle-length sleeveless gown of interwoven sunset hues. The dress highlighted her golden hair—tucked smartly behind her ears—which fell in waves to the middle of her back. Her bare arms flexed slightly outward from her hips and this, combined with her long neck and elevated chin, gave the impression of a doll-sized ballerina ready to rise on the points of her toes.
“Productive,” Jilan al-Cygni replied. “I decided not to cryo.”
The woman sat on a low bench before the projector, wearing the unremarkable attire of a UNSC middle manager: a brown pantsuit, a few shades darker than her skin. The garnet glint of the DCS insignia on her high collar complemented her burgundy lipstick—the one flourish in her otherwise subdued appearance. “These days, transit’s really the only time I have to catch up.”
Al-Cygni’s melodic accent was subtle, but Sif cross-referenced her arrays and decided the woman was likely born on New Jerusalem—one of two colonized worlds in the Cygnus system. Through micro-cameras embedded in the walls of her data center, Sif watched as the woman put a hand to the back of her head, checking the pins that kept her long, black hair bound up in a tight twist.
“I imagine the Eridanus embargo is all-consuming,” Sif said, making sure to widen her avatar’s eyes sympathetically.
“My caseload has tripled in the last eighteen months.” Al-Cygni sighed. “And frankly, arms smuggling isn’t my area of expertise.”
Sif put a hand to her chest. “Well, I’m sorry for piling more on your plate. I’ll keep my testimony as brief as possible—skip the risk analysis of Madrigal’s maintenance protocols, and jump directly to the—”
“Actually,” al-Cygni interrupted, “I’m expecting another party.”
Sif raised an eyebrow. “Oh? I didn’t realize.”
“A last minute decision. Thought I might save some time, combining his audit with yours.”
Sif felt her data-pathways warm. His? But before she could protest…

<\\> HARVEST.AO.AI.MACK >> HARVEST.SO.AI.SIF
<\ Sorry to barge in. It was her idea, I promise.
> WHY ARE YOU HERE?
<\ Liability. You owned the box, I owned the fruit.

Sif thought about that for a fraction of a second. It was a reasonable explanation. But if Mack was going to participate in her audit, she was going to set some ground rules.

> VOICE COM ONLY.
> I WANT HER TO HEAR EVERYTHING YOU SAY.

“Afternoon!” Mack drawled from the data center’s PA. “Hope I didn’t keep you ladies waiting.”
“Not at all.” Al-Cygni removed a COM pad from her suit’s hip pocket. “We were just getting started.” In the few seconds it took her to power-on the pad, the two AIs continued their private conversation.

<\ I thought you hated my voice?
> I DO.
<\ Well, I adore hearing yours.

Sif assumed an officious pose, extended a hand to indicate al-Cygni’s COM pad. “If you would refer to my report, section one, paragraph…” But while her avatar appeared calm and collected, Sif’s logic quickly turned on Mack and lashed out before her emotional-restraint algorithms could intercede:

> YOUR FLIRTATIONS ARE AT BEST HARASSMENT,