Sorry I've been quiet, but here it is!
*Chapter Eight
17th of October, 2553
Aboard Phantom Dropship
Earth
He’d no idea what happened. Everything had been fine. They’d escaped the doomed Covenant ship. And yet here he was, back in this dream world. Had the artifact’s self-destruction have something to do with it? Perhaps, but he couldn’t say for sure.
Horatio stood on the same grassy plain. But it was definitely different from when he had last stood here. Large swathes of burnt grass could be seen. Craters dotted the landscape. A foul haze hung in the air. The tranquil stream was a murky brown. It was as if a war had taken place. Had the unknown presence done this? He moved forward, trying to gain a sense of the situation.
As he strode through the tall grass, he saw pieces of armour lying here and there. Strange, they bore a startling resemblance to marine gear-
His foot struck something heavy, and he looked down.
It was the body of a human. And not just a human, a marine. His weapon, pack and other equipment were missing, but his fatigues were untouched. The man’s vacant eyes stared skyward, blissfully unaware of the devastation around him. Horatio bent down, and removed his dog tags. They read:
C
Horatio frowned in consternation. Harvest Fleet? It no longer existed, Admiral Cole’s battle group having been long since destroyed. And why wasn’t the ship attachment listed? These days, all dog tags had any past or present attachments to vessels in the Navy. It was regulations. Why didn’t this one?
And what the hell was this, a startling remnant from the real galaxy, doing here in this dream world?
Horatio stood up, after making a quick search. The marine had been picked clean. “Guess you’re not gonna give me any answers, Corporal Travers, “he murmured. He moved onward.
He was starting to see more bodies, now. He didn’t need to look to tell they were all UNSC Marines. The ominous thing was that none of them had any visible wounds. They hadn’t been shot, strangled, stabbed or anything, as far as he could tell. There was something foreboding happening in this place. He walked for a time. It might have been years-the landscape was unchanging.
He could see a low brown line on the horizon. What was it? He squinted to look.
“Stay close, Martinus!”
Horatio immediately hit the dirt, and gazed towards the source of the voice. He was well hidden amongst the stalks of grass, so he raised his head and looked.
A group of black-clad figures, six in all, were coming up from the stream, which lay at the bottom of a slope at this point. Although their armour was scuffed and tarnished, and an older version to boot, they were, unmistakably, ODSTs.
He crouched back down, considering. They were wary, and Helljumpers had a predilection for shooting first and asking questions later. But he was obviously a marine. He decided to show himself, and stood up in full view.
The squad marched right past him, without so much as a blink. Horatio ran after them. “Hey!” The Helljumpers continued onward oblivious. Frustrated, he went to tap one on the shoulder. His hand passed straight through it.
Guess I’m not really here. But that was no comfort. The other denizens of this place were able to see him, and they posed a threat. For now, he’d tag along. The squad looked as though they knew where they were going.
He trudged alongside them, noting the gleaming scars on their armour. Had the swords of fire carried by the white men done that? Their rifles were old MA2B’s. The communication transistors on their helmets were missing entirely. Like the Corporal back there, they were obviously from a different age.
“I’m telling you, man, it’s only a matter of time, “one trooper was saying. “The Captain’s got us on these missions so we can get more of that weird-ass technology for the reactor. Then we can get the hell outta Dodge-”
“Enough jawing, Jibb, “another trooper with the chevrons of a sergeant growled.
After some time, the brown line had resolved itself into a rocky wall, which stretched for miles. It was about one hundred metres tall-an inky black hole was recessed into its rust-coloured depths. The marines headed for it. At that point, the whole world exploded.
A human fighter ship-a Shortsword bomber by the looks of it-screamed over their heads, its fuselage aflame. It disappeared on the horizon and a faint thump made the ground tremble. The Helljumpers gaped.
What appeared to be gargantuan, shimmering crystals of fire accelerated through the clouds-but they were not jewels. They were ships of some kind, bristling with weapons. The base of one uncurled, like a flower, and hundreds of small figures dropped to the ground. More Shortswords appeared, racing for the alien ships. But bolts of blinding light jetted forth, and the bombers became ash floating on the breeze.
The sergeant snapped back to the present. “Move, men! Get through that cave! Go, go, go!” The squad dashed for the cave.
A titanic figure-about seven feet tall-seemed to step from the open air, through a tiny tear. It had a long, aquiline face, and had shining silver eyes-its slender, golden body was wrapped in a robe of the same colour. A massive sword, blade made of twisting fire, was clenched in its hand. Despite its majestic appearance, there was an unwholesome element about it-as if its presence defiled the ground on which he stood.
Horatio instinctively flinched back, as did the squad. The sergeant unsung his rifle and cocked it, his voice shaky. “Get out of here. Go on, leave!”
The figure laughed, a slow, hissing sound. “I don’t have to take orders from you, human scum. I wonder why Librarian ever chose you to be our successors. You are weak. Hardly worth the effort.” The man stepped forward.
The entire squad opened up on the alien, but the bullets seemed to stop in midair, and drop to the ground. It laughed. “Is that your best effort?” It raised a hand.
The sergeant was consumed by fire-he didn’t even have a chance to cry out. One marine shouted in horror and charged forward. The blade flashed, and decapitated him. The alien leapt into the squad’s midst.
Three went down without moment. But the last ODST cried out, and drew a strange-looking weapon from his belt. It was cone-shaped, made of twisted fibres. Sparks of green energy raced along the curls of metal. He raised it and pulled an unseen trigger.
A jet of energy spat out of the cone’s tip and struck the man on the shoulder, carving a deep gash. Hissing in annoyance, the alien swung its sword for the final time.
Horatio stared in awe at the tall figure. He had ripped through them like they were paper. Who were these white men, that carried so much authority and arrogance? Yet…this one seemed different to the pair from before. He had a feeling that if they had met, it would not have been a friendly meeting. He looked back up at the sky to see the mayhem taking place, and when he looked back, the man was gone.
He stood up and sprinted for the cave.
Horatio jogged through darkness for about ten minutes, until a faint flicker of light appeared. He continued forth, until it expanded and he exited the tunnel.
What he saw took his breath away.
A massive UNSC cruiser floated about one hundred metres above his head-just underneath the rock wall, which encircled the area, making a circular canyon. It had taken damage-its port engine was missing, and several large holes marred the hull. Yet it was functional. Oddly, some new parts-definitely not Navy issue-had been attached. They bore resemblance to the hulls of the alien ships he’d seen earlier. Stolen? Probably.
Below the cruiser, buildings had been constructed-it was like a city, but all the buildings were pre-fabricated. None had the permanent look about them. People-all dressed either in Naval or Marine clothing-were running to and fro. Klaxons blared. Vehicles were being mobilized. Horatio watched all of this with interest, until a Warthog with its turret removed roared past him. He made after it, for no real reason.
The vehicle had to stop at a checkpoint, but its driver, a young woman with Asian features wearing a lab coat shouted at the marine guard to step aside. Evidently she was in a hurry. Horatio ran after the vehicle-he had a feeling this was something important.
When he finally caught up, the Warthog had arrived at a loading platform that could be lifted back into the ship. Several containers and crates had been loaded onto it. The driver had gotten out and was talking to someone. He got closer.
It was the rebel leader, still wearing his cap.
Horatio’s jaw dropped-how many more shocks were to come? He edged closer, trying to hear their conversation.
The woman was speaking. “Can’t wait any longer, Captain. We lost five platoons just trying to make the salvage. Sooner or later, we’re going to run out of men. And they’ve arranged a blockade in orbit. I can’t see this working.”
The rebel leader licked his lips. “It has to work. We’ve compiled all the tech we’ve found into the fusion chambers. It’ll be enough to make the transition.”
The woman looked frustrated. “But we can’t make the evacuation yet-we still have to call in all the outlying units. And they can’t be airlifted-those ships have destroyed all our bomber escorts. We don’t have the time!”
The captain looked sad. “I know. That’s why I’m….I’m leaving without you.”
The scientist stared at him. “What?”
He shrugged. “I’ll take a skeleton crew-enough to get the ship into space. The rest of you must stay and hold them off.”
The man grasped the woman’s shoulders, who looked as though she was about to cry. “I’ll be back. I promise, I’ll return with help, and we’ll get everyone home. I swear to you!”
“They won’t listen to me!”
The man shook his head. “Tell them I left you in charge. They’ll listen to me, believe me.”
The woman still seemed distraught. “They’ll never forgive you, Captain. For leaving us here!”
The man sighed. “We have to do our duty. To Earth. To humanity. These technologies could help turn the tide of the war. These soldiers are all good men. They will understand the necessity. And now you have the new weapons-you can meet these bastards on an even ground. I believe in you, Professor.”
The woman nodded shakily. “Al-alright, Captain. I’ll keep things running here. Good luck.” She stepped away, and walked off.
The man looked after her, then boarded the lift. Slowly, it lifted into the ship.
Horatio, seeing past the ship’s bulk to the tiny slice of sky beyond, saw incoming alien ships. They were preparing to open fire.
With a shuddering roar, the cruiser’s engines fired. A massive gust of wind assailed the buildings, making them sway. People were blown off their feet. With an effort, the cruiser lifted into the air. The massive, ungainly vessel rocketed into the sky. Around him, dozens of humans watched, unreadable expressions on their faces.
The alien ships targeted the escaping ship with streaks of fire. But as the projectiles hit the ship, a golden, filmy shield deflected them. The makeshift weapons attached to the ship’s hull fired back, as well as a salvo of Archer missiles. Horatio stared in awe as the vessel began lifting into the sky.
The alien ships were comparatively small. They fired again, and the shield failed to stop all incoming fire. Liquid fire spread over the hull, melting and fusing battle plate. But then the formidable shape of the ship’s Magnetic Accelerator Cannon turned to face them.
There was a quartet of shots, ringing like thunder; then the two alien vessels plummeted earthward, shot through with holes, burning. Unhindered, the human ship began climbing into space. It’s Slipspace capacitors were charging.
Just as it reduced to a tiny dot, Horatio caught sight of lettering on the ship’s hull.
Cfv-88
Spirit of fire
Horatio awoke with a gasp; his chest heaved. Around him were the concerned faces of his squad. Kyle set a hand on his shoulder. “You alright, Private? You flat out collapsed. Lazu, any wounds?”
The Elite finished scanning him with what appeared to be a wavy green mirror, and shook his head. “No internal injuries. He is in perfect health.”
Kyle shook his head worriedly. “Could be some radiation spill from that artifact. We’ll get you checked out when we return to-”
“Sarge. I know who he is.”
Kyle bent closer, his voice uneasy. “Know who?”
Horatio smiled weakly. “The rebel leader. The one who knew you. It’s Cutter. Captain James Cutter, of the Spirit of Fire.”
**************************************************
“It was only a dream, Private, “Lord Hood said bluntly.
Horatio gave him a hard look, while his squad, Hood’s staff and the Elite commanders looked on. They were standing inside the conference room. “I’m telling you, sir, it wasn’t a dream. It was very vivid-I felt like I was actually there. Somewhere, some UNSC personnel are fighting a war.”
Hood sighed, and tapped a holographic data projector. Lights flickered on, and lines of information and schematics scrolled across the screen. Co-ordinates for various ships appeared. “Very well; we will proceed on a limb. Let’s make this quick. Admiral?”
Admiral Dinnigan stepped forward, clearing his throat. “I have reviewed the logs on Spirit of Fire. Very tricky to find. It was a Phoenix-class colony ship, constructed in 2473. Last civilian captain was a man named Alexander Embley-retired in 2520. Refitted as a combat vessel afterwards. Participated in the Third Battle of Harvest and Arcadia. Afterwards, it left the Procyon system in a hurry, heading unknown. Was listed as MIA, then lost with all hands in 2534. Artificial intelligence: Serina. Captain: James Cutter-”
Horatio slammed his fist down. “Exactly! The ship was never seen destroyed. Who knows where it went? This Cutter dude was probably a renegade-”
“Absurd, “Hood snapped. “I knew Cutter. He was a good man, devoted to his men and his duty to the UNSC. He would never have become a rebel.”
Horatio threw his hands up in despair. “But, sir, that was then. We have no idea, like I said.”
Kyle stepped forward, eyes stony. “I saw him too, sir. Unmistakable. I met him too, on Harvest.”
Hood waved a hand. “It’s irrelevant. Even if this man is Cutter, it doesn’t lend credence to Private Zerba’s supposed vision.”
“It sounded pretty real to me, sir, “Kyle said doubtfully.
Hood gave a humorless smile. “Well, do you know of anyone who can back up your story?”
A cough was heard, and a Marine captain stepped from the shadows. “I…um, might have some new information on the subject. I met an old pilot, named Alexander, well approaching eighty. It might be him, for all I know.”
Dinnigan raised a finger. “Why should he know anything?”
The captain, Tonley, shrugged. “He said he recognised one of the reactor’s at the rebel base; said they belonged to a ship he once knew. They were combat-issue; well before its time as a colony ship. I’m just saying…he might know something.”
Hood rubbed his forehead. “Bring him in.”
******************************************
The old man, Alexander, looked frail sitting in the glare of the fluorescent lights. His withered hands were laced on his lap, and his head was bowed. Horatio viewed him without much confidence. He didn’t look well enough to pilot a tug, let alone a dropship.
Hood’s voice echoed around the chamber. “Are you the same Alexander who once piloted the colony ship Spirit of Fire?”
The old man swallowed. “Yes sir.”
Terry chuckled quietly. “The guy belongs in a museum, “he whispered to his teammates. Len kicked him.
“What can you tell me about it after the Battle of Arcadia?”
Alexander shrugged his bony shoulders. “Not a lot. Only a couple of rumours.”
“We’d like to hear them.” Kyle, standing beside Hood, gave the fellow veteran a reassuring nod. Alexander smoothed his jacket with his hands and began his story.
“There was some professor onboard, ONI I think. She was helping investigate Covenant activity on Harvest. Her name was… Anderson. Or something.”
“Anyway, after the Battle of Arcadia this professor was supposedly kidnapped. Some Elite leader nabbed her and hightailed it through Slipspace. So, Captain Cutter followed them.”
“To where?” Hood queried.
Alexander shrugged. “A low-beam transmission from the AI’s subroutines found one of our drones, and was recorded as saying that they’d arrived at a strange planet. Full of scrap metal and old shipwrecks. They’d found Covenant forces there, as well as a new parasitic life-form-”
“The Flood, “ R’tas interrupted tersely.
Alexander bobbed his head. “I suppose so. Anyway, before the signal terminated, there was something about advanced technology, doing some crazy stuff. And that was it.”
“Why wasn’t this information given proper attention?” Hood demanded.
The old pilot shrugged dolefully. “The war was more important. Besides, they probably just chalked it up to rampancy. Who’d believe it?”
Horatio nodded thoughtfully. “Sounds like something went down there. I say we investigate-”
“Enough.”
Hood stood up and began pacing around the room. “As interesting as this is, you have no definitive proof, Private. And in case you’ve forgotten, we still have a war on our hands. I won’t waste valuable resources on innuendo. Put it out of your mind.”
He cleared his throat, and withdrew a sheaf of papers. “Now then. Your squad’s posting has been cleared. You’ll be joining the next wave of reinforcements inbound to the Gethrii system. We’ve only just tightened our grip there-expect a hard fight. “
“The Jiralhanae desire the planet for its volcanic activity-it powers much of their technology, “R’tas added. “They will not give it up without a fight.”
“What is our tactical presence there?” Kyle asked.
Admiral Dinnigan fielded this question. “Frigates Stallion, Persepolis and Fool’s Errand are on standby providing armour and logistical support. You’ll be taking the carrier Silver Lining-it’s just finished resupply. Oh, and the Elites have some vessels there as well-two destroyers and a cruiser, correct Shipmaster?”
“Indeed we have, “the Elite rumbled. “And I have recently received good news. The N’kren system has been liberated. Thus, I will be sending the Xonnel Legion to spearhead the fight. They are some of our best-they will strike fear into the hearts of the Jiralhanae.”
This news was greeted by cheers and clapping. Hood nodded to Kyle. “You’ll be taking a Pelican to the Moscow Space Tether at 1630; at 2030 Silver Lining will transition to Slipspace. Make sure you’re on time.”
Kyle snapped a salute. “Roger that, sir.”
“Dismissed.”
The command staff returned to their planning, while the squad departed, a gnawing sense of unease lodged deep in Horatio’s gut. This wasn’t over, he knew. Sooner or later, he’d dream again.
And people would continue to die, and no-one would listen.
*******************************************
“Moscow in sight. We’ll be touching down in five minutes.”
Horatio felt the dropship descend, and checked that his case was secure. Around him, the rest of the squad did the same. He turned to Len. “So, Mr. Conspiracy Theorist. Any news on our destination?”
Len yawned and stretched. “Heard its pretty hot. Not a very popular place, either-was supposed to be a piece of cake, but after they lost Aegis Fate things turned sour. As you can imagine, HighCom wants this done and dusted before the month’s out.”
“Great.”
The massive city of Moscow appeared on the screens, dominated by the titanic figure of the space tether. It occupied a square mile, disappearing into the pewter sky. Industrial and commercial vessels moved around it. Disconcertingly, a few columns of smoke drifted.
The pilot’s voice came over the COM again. “Uh, Sergeant…we’ve got a problem here. City Aerospace Administration wants us to divert to the city outskirts. It’s not advisable to fly into town right now.”
“What the hell?” Kyle growled. “Fine. Take us there.”
“Inbound.” The dropship’s thrusters fired, and spiraled down, towards the snowy ground.
The Pelican came to rest on a luminescent red X, next to a few derelict buildings. The hatch popped open, and the frosty gale engulfed them. Dismounting, they headed over to the road.
A local law enforcement officer, dressed in blue and green, waited beside a pair of civilian Warthogs. Several more vehicles, police-issue, waited nearby, engines humming. Kyle, intimidating in his fatigues and rifle over his shoulder, marched over to the man. “What’s the deal? We were supposed to land at the airfield.”
“I’m afraid it’s not that simple.” The man had a strong accent. “The people have received word of the entire marine-alien collaborative effort. They’re not pleased about it, and there has been rioting. This convoy-” he waved his hand-”is to ensure your safe passage.”
The sergeant gritted his teeth, but nodded grudgingly. “Alright then. Mount up, everyone.” The squad climbed into the ‘Hogs.
Lazu seemed troubled as he seated himself next to Horatio. “Do the townspeople wish us ill?”
“Probably, “Horatio said bluntly. “But I doubt they’ll do anything reckless.” Privately, he wished something would happen, just to show humanity’s general opinion of the Elites. And who could blame them? He pulled the gearstick, and they roared off down the road.
Horatio heard Kyle curse, and saw they were drawing up to a checkpoint. An electrified steel bar barred their way, and a small boxy station was situated next to it. He slowed the vehicle, and the guard approached them from his booth. “State your business here, “he demanded. He caught sight of Lazu, and his face turned white.
The policeman accompanying them handed over a piece of paper, and the guard studied it, nodded and waved them through. The bar lifted, and the convoy rolled on. The guard gazed after them, fear on his face.
As they moved further into the city, Horatio saw evidence of unrest. Graffiti and flame-blackened walls were common. Garbage littered the streets. Few people were on the streets, and those that were stared at them with hostility. Horatio took his eyes off the road to survey his team. Although he could hardly believe it, the Elites looked nervous. They were the intruders here, and they knew it.
Horatio himself was nervous-not for his safety, but the mood of these people. If this war became as ugly as the Insurrection had been, the UNSC would be fighting two wars. Maybe they could win the first one, but never the second. The old hatreds persisted.
And people like me aren’t helping this, am I? He pushed the thought out of his head.
Before long, the gargantuan bulk of the space tether could be seen through gaps in the buildings. A large steel fence encircled the compound in which it was standing. Numerous structures-a terminal, administration offices and bunkers-were dotted about the stalk. People were hurrying about, mostly technicians, engineers and off-duty pilots.
They pulled up to the gate, which had no less than six guards on it, and an entire barracks built into it. Their leader, a clean-shaven man with carroty curls, headed over to them.
Once again, their police escort went to converse with the new arrival. They spoke in Russian, which none of them understood. The conversation grew heated, and the guard took an angry swing at the policeman. He stepped back, and held up his hands placatingly, speaking some more. Eventually the guard sulkily waved them through.
They were directed to a carpark, and dismounted. Horatio hefted his case from the boot, trying not to notice the many eyes on them. Marines weren’t an uncommon sight in Moscow, but as a rule Elites, when on Earth, were quartered in special UNSC buildings. Seeing them out in the open was bound to shock.
The squad formed up, and their escort, along with five other cops, joined them. “The entrance to the tether is over there, “he said, pointing at the squarish building at the stalk’s base. “We will take you there, but then we must depart.”
“Understood, “Kyle said.
The squad moved across the snowy field. People hastily got out of their way, eyeing the Elites with apprehension, and more than a little anger. “Never knew we were so *** popular, “Len remarked sourly. Ollie grunted in agreement.
“It is a shame, of course, “the officer said to Kyle, at the front of the group. “The UNSC had so much hope pinned on this alliance. I myself lost family to the Covenant, but one can sympathise with the Elites’ position. Now that destruction is not imminent, we find ourselves divided again-”
“What-oh!” the officer said in alarm. Ahead of them, a large crowd of people pressed against a wall of guards, keeping them to opposite sides of the long path that led through the double doors. Some waved signs with anti-Elite messages scrawled on them. A particularly determined man with an amplification chip planted on one cheek roared encouragement. The mob was seething with tangible anger. Kyle swore, and turned to their guide. “Can we go around?”
The guide shook his head ruefully. “No. I’m afraid we’ll have to go straight through.”
Kyle rolled his eyes. “Idiots. Alright, let’s go.” He shouldered his pack, and trudged stolidly towards the doors. The squad followed him.
As they drew closer, a chorus of boos and hisses hailed them. The spokesman pointed at them and cried, “Look! Proof of the UNSC’s treachery, right before your eyes! They expect these misguided grunts to work side by side with these murderers, and us to put up with it! Citizens of Moscow, do not let them do this freely! Let your voices be heard!”
“Ignore them, “Len muttered to Dasa and Gerun, who were scowling at the rioters. Lazu trailed behind, a confused expression on his face. A look that one did not see often on an Elite’s face. It was almost pitiable, like an unwanted dog that has no idea why it is so hated. Horatio caught sight of it and felt a wave of burning anger. What right did he have, looking like that?
The mob now turned its attention to the Elites. Jeers and catcalls poured down on them.
“Go back to your shithole planet!”
“Hey freak, killed any humans lately?”
“Go screw yourselves, split-chins! Don’t ever come back here, or we’ll teach you a lesson!”
The squad bore it stoically. But the crowd bulged inwards, and the guards struggled to push them back. projectiles started arcing towards them. A can caught Xavier on the chin, and he swore loudly. A broken bottle showered them with fragments, cutting Ollie’s forehead.
Gerun’s temper broke; he snarled a challenge and slammed a fist into the nearest dissident, sending him flying. The crowd, disregarding fear, grabbed the alien and dragged him into their midst. They buried him momentarily, but then he drew his sword. A man shrieked as his gut was laid open, sending a spray of blood everywhere. The guards were about to be overwhelmed.
A jarring shot rang the air, and the crowd paused, confused. The police officer had his shotgun out, and surveyed the crowd with distaste. “Disgraceful! May I remind you all that you are still subject to the law here in Moscow? I could charge you all with harassment, assault and plenty more. Now, get off this government property, before I let the Elite go to work.”
The crowd, daunted, backed away and dispersed. The spokesman was still belligerent. “And what of the murder committed by these monsters?!” he cried, pointing at Gerun’s victim. “The UNSC have pushed us around for too long! We won’t stand for this double-dealing!” The man turned and hurried away.
Gerun stood looking after them, sword still in hand. The corpse of the man he’d killed lay at his feet. “Brainless sots, “he growled. “They do nothing to help this alliance.” He sheathed his sword and turned away, still muttering.
The squad clustered together, still dumbfounded by what had happened. Benson looked particularly shocked-this was evidently a bit beyond him. The ferocity of the mob had come as a great shock. Kyle spat into the snow, shaking his head. “Bunch of stupid fools. Why do they have to stir things up?” He turned to the police officer. “Good timing. Let’s go, before anything else happens.” He made for the entrance, the squad behind him.
Horatio lagged at the back, head awash with thoughts. Was this just one example of humanity’s hate towards the Elites? Nobody liked their situation-having to clasp hands with former enemies-but he had not expected such an explosion of misdirected anger. Moscow looked like a city under siege by its own citizens. A breeding ground for dissidents, malefactors and maybe even Insurrectionists.
The Brutes weren’t their only enemies now. Humanity might well consume itself.
Horatio tried to relax, but he couldn’t. With all the vipers in their midst, he couldn’t.
*********************************************
“Welcome aboard the Silver Lining. I’m Captain Hodgkins.”
Kyle snapped a salute. “Sir!”
Horatio stood straighter at attention, and took another look around the cavernous primary hangar. They had arrived at the space tether’s command platform, and then flown into the ship via Pelican. Numerous craft-Longswords, Shortswords, Pelicans and Albatrosses among them-lined one wall, their well-furbished appearance indicating they had just come off the assembly line. Mag-lines ran underneath them, towards huge retractable trap-doors, so the aircraft could depart the ship by a way other than the hangar doors. There was a command office high on one wall, looking down at the room. Many pilots and naval personnel passed through the area. The docking doors were shut, but the tint function was inactive, so the glowing bulk of Earth could be seen. The entire room screamed: ready for action.
The captain, Hodgkins, was a short, stocky man with an unlined face that hided his inner toughness. He was an experienced naval officer, having fought six battles with the Covenant and having his beloved ship come through intact every time. A native of the planet Disbanel, which had been glassed long ago, he had a determined, firm attitude one could appreciate.
He smiled at Kyle. “At ease, sergeant. Good to have you with us-”he glanced at the Elites-”and your new additions. We’ll be underway shortly-just need to take on a last detachment of troops. You’ll be bunking with the 69th ODST company-we’ve taken on a gross of soldiers. Sorry for the inconvenience.”
“Not at all, sir.”
“Yes, well…” Hodgkins seemed hesitant. “I must warn you, most of the marines are…less than enthusiastic about the prospect of Elites being on board. I’ll make sure nothing gets out of hand…but just be careful. Dismissed, Sergeant.” The captain moved off towards the command office.
Kyle nodded, and he directed the squad towards a hatch on the far wall. Through it, they entered a long corridor, filled with people. Most of them had been talking, but fell silent at the sight of the Elites. In the silence, a muttered expletive was heard. Kyle scowled, and pushed his way through.
They eventually found the hatch marked MARINE QUARTERS. Through it, they found an even longer corridor, filled with personnel lockers. Numerous stairwells led to emergency exist and rally points. Doors were spaced apart every fifty metres or so. Kyle consulted a sheet of paper he’d been given. “Room 9-A, “he muttered. “Right here.” He waved his hand in front of the door and went in.
The room, full of steel bunk beds, was largely empty. But there were still about thirty soldiers in the room, talking, playing cards and cleaning weapons. They were dressed in off-duty fatigues, but by the golden comet tattoos, Horatio could tell them as ODSTs. They were a hard-bitten lot, with scarred faces and hard eyes. All eyes turned to them as they entered. Most were looking at the Elites with open menace and anger. The aliens were equally frank as they stared back.
One tough-looking individual wearing a boonie with sergeant’s chevrons on it stood up and appraised them. “Well, well, well. What have we here? Regulars. Common-as-dirt regulars.” He looked Kyle up and down. “You look as though you’ve seen a bit, old-timer. You in charge of this bunch?”
Kyle’s voice was deceptively calm. “Believe me when I say that I’d seen a lot when you were *** your pants in basic training. My squad can look after themselves, and if you don’t believe it just try me.”
The man swore and attempted to punch Kyle. Kyle sidestepped, grabbed his arm and twisted it around his back. Ignoring the man’s yells of pain, he pushed him down to the floor with his knee. “You gonna kiss and make up?” Kyle asked whimsically. After struggling, the man spat out an apology and Kyle let him up. The other soldiers quickly averted their eyes and returned to their previous tasks.
The squad grabbed a series of beds down the end. Len whistled in awe. “I gotta say, Sarge, you ain’t good at making friends.”
“Shut up, Corporal.”
A voice crackled over the intership COM. “All hands, stand to. We are transitioning to Slipspace in T-minus four minutes. Make ready for jump-secure all airlocks and bulkheads.”
The ODSTs scrambled to stow their gear, and Horatio’s squad did the same.
The carrier moved away from the tether, engines glimmering. Eventually it found a remote region of space, and activated the FTL matrix. Black space began to flicker, and pull apart, revealing a rippling void. White beams started to form around the ship, and with a final thrust of the Slipspace capacitors, Silver Lining jumped into the nether.
*************************************************
Horatio smirked as he saw the arrangement of the hand he’d been dealt. He delicately discarded two, and added three betting cubes. “Your move, Skippy.”
Ollie bared his teeth. “Don’t rush me.” He studied his own hand, frowning. Around the bed, the other players-Horatio, Xavier and Len-watched impatiently. Benson was napping, Terry was in the gym. Gerun and Dasa were engaged in a mock battle of hand to hand, sparring in the aisle between the beds. Lazu lay on a prodigiously bent bed, bored. He was wearing only his chest-plate and lower torso plates, so his sinuous brown head was visible for all to see.
After a few minutes, Horatio groaned and banged his arm on the bed head. “Wake up Ollie! You doing something or what?”
“Alright, alright!” He laid down his cards. “Double flux. Pay up.”
“Uh-uh, “Horatio said, smiling. He laid down his own hand. “Wide clasp. Can anyone beat that?” They all groaned, admitting defeat. Horatio gleefully scooped up the cash. “Thanks very much gents.”
Kyle stomped in, fresh from the shower. Beads of water glinted on his scalp. “Who won?” he asked, reclining on a bed. They all pointed to Horatio.
Kyle sniffed ruefully. “Might have known. We’ll be dropping into normal space in three hours-so if you’ve got anything left to do, do it now. I want everyone ready to drop as soon as we get there.”
Horatio stood. “Might go get a bite to eat. Anyone else want to come?”
Lazu roused himself; as he got up, the bed creaked noticeably. “I will come. My belly aches-the prospect of food is enticing.” He put his helmet back on. “I’ll risk human food. Let us depart.”
Horatio was about to respond with a retort, but bit it back, fuming. Couldn’t he see how inconspicuous he would be? Did he have any sense at all? He rummaged through his pack and grabbed his amenities pass. “Come on, “he snapped irritably. The pair headed through the hatch and out into the corridor beyond.
Horatio cursed softly-he had no idea where the ship’s mess hall was. He turned to a passing crewman. “Hey, could you tell me-”
The man caught sight of Lazu, gasped and hurried through an adjacent door. The Elite chuckled quietly. The marine sighed. This is gonna suck.
After some minutes of fruitless wandering, they found a directory terminal, and from there, found the mess hall. Dispensers were lined up against one wall, offering soups, steaks and other foods, but no-one was using them. They had left Earth with a wealth of fresh supplies, and everyone was queuing up at the free choice food selection. Such fresh produce was a luxury and everyone was taking advantage of it. Tables and benches stretched as far as the eye could see, most of them occupied. Horatio and Lazu grabbed trays, and joined the line.
Things were OK, until it was their turn to be served. The cook, a nasty-looking man with a stained apron, jabbed a finger at Lazu. “I don’t serve food to these split-chins, “he said accusingly, as if this resolution was somehow Horatio’s fault. “And if you’re with him, you don’t get food neither. Bugger off.”
Before Horatio could act, Lazu stepped closer to the cook. Eyes turned in their direction, and more than a few hands twitched towards weapons. Lazu’s voice was even. “Come now, sir. I only wish to partake of the food-only that, and I will go. I want no trouble.” He leant closer. “Surely you do not want me to take this issue to Sergeant Kyle?”
The cook’s face blanched; Kyle’s reputation as a hard-ass was already spreading throughout the ship. “You can have food, “he said moodily. He clanged his ladle down. “But you do it.” He stomped away. Horatio rolled his eyes.
Lazu squeezed around the metal bench, and, dipping his slender finger into a pot of curry, sampled it. “Piquant, “he remarked. He began searching for a bowl.
Horatio left him to it, moving along the selection line. He grabbed some rolls, a ham salad and coffee. Since a plasma bolt had caught him in the stomach four years ago, he had a delicate appetite. He moved away, but bumped into a rugged-looking man, dropping his tray.
The soldier whirled around, temper rising. “What’s your problem, pal?” He thrust his scarred face into Horatio’s. “Huh?”
Horatio had met plenty of big mouths over the years; most of them had been strangers to diplomacy. Nonetheless, he cleaved to his duty as a soldier. “I’m sorry, I didn’t see you there.”
The man turned to one of his companions, a weaselly-looking man. “Who is this ***?”
“He’s the douche, you know, the one with the Elite, “he sneered. “Now, I wonder, what kind of traitor hangs out with these monsters?”
“Couldn’t tell ya, Griff, “the rough-looking man said. “Reckon he should be taught a lesson.” He pulled back his fist.
Horatio knew what was coming, and was ready. He swung himself to the right, and the fist missed. He body-slammed the man against a metal beam, but the man was only winded. He grabbed Horatio’s lapels and head butted him. Silver sparkles flashed in his vision, and he felt a boot slam against his ribs. Pain exploded through him. He felt a powerful grip pulling him up.
His assailant’s weedy companion-Griff-had him around the neck, and the man himself was rubbing his hands together. “Right, you ***. Now I’ll put you in your place.”
Lazu chose that moment to act; he climbed onto the counter and leapt. The man shouted with surprise as the Elite’s weight impacted him, sending him sliding along the floor and only stopping when he hit the wall, concussed.
Horatio whipped his elbow around, striking Griff on the jaw and stunning him. He clapped him on the temples, and his eyes glazed over. Breathing heavily, he wiped away blood from a cut on his forehead and got to his feet.
The cafeteria was silent; everyone was looking at them. Food littered the floor, and Lazu was pulling Horatio’s attacker towards him. “What are you doing?” the marine asked.
Lazu indicated the man’s supine form. “It is a scoundrel and a coward who makes conflict of everything, for no reason. Take issue with him.”
Horatio turned away. “Forget it. He’s no trouble now.”
“If you will not, then I will-”
“No!” Horatio rounded on his alien teammate. “I said no! I don’t need your help! I don’t need anything from any of you!” He grabbed another tray, loaded it up with food and stalked off to find a table.
Lazu sighed sadly, and left the cafeteria, hurt and confused.
************************************************
Horatio was still stewing over the fight, and Lazu’s constant, annoying presence. The Elite would not leave him alone, and he had no way of escaping it. What had he done to deserve this insufferable situation? He angrily dug his spoon into his bowl of yoghurt.
“Mind if I sit down?”
Horatio looked up, to see an equable-looking, smiling man, of medium build and bleached blonde hair, standing in front of him. Horatio nodded grudgingly. “Go ahead.”
“Thanks, mate.” He had an Australian accent. “Private Mitch Hannaford. There’s five good ones for ya.” He held out his hand. Horatio grinned despite himself, and took the proffered hand. “Good to meet you as well.”
“So, “Mitch said conversationally, “saw you have a bit of biffo with Lastings over there. Not badly done.”
Horatio’s momentary good mood vanished. “I wasn’t trying to start a fight.”
Mitch’s smile broadened. “Of course you weren’t. Lastings is a bloody thug-no idea why they’d let a brain-dead like him into the Corps. But he’s like all bullies-all mouth.”
Horatio tentatively stroked his forehead. “Didn’t feel like mouth when he was kicking the crap out of me.”
The Australian waved a hand. “He’d just been demoted for fighting. You’d expect him to have a bit of starch in his spine. Say, you part of that experimental unit? The one with the Elites in it?”
“How’d you know?”
His breath hissed out darkly. “’Fraid so.”
‘Ripper.” Mitch actually seemed excited. A shine came into his eyes. “Reckon you’ll have no trouble. Those guys are flat-out deadly. I mean, sure, they were our enemies for a while, but I’m ready to give ‘em a chance. What about you?”
Horatio couldn’t believe what he was hearing. He shook his head fervently. “No. They’ve done too much to ever be forgiven. I came from Madrigal. Gone, now.” He dipped a hunk of bread into his coffee. “Thanks to them.”
Mitch seemed subdued by this. “Sorry to hear that.” But then he leaned forward. “I know it’s none of my business, but I saw you with that Elite. Didn’t seem too friendly. None of my business, like I said, but what say you lay off him? Stop being such a stick-in-the-mud.” He popped a grape into his mouth. “They’re making an effort. But it takes two to tango, as the saying goes.”
Horatio laughed harshly. “That’ll be the day. Forget it, Mitch. We all can’t be as forgiving as you.”
Mitch gave a half-smile, and shrugged his shoulders. “No worries. You’ll come around.” A black plastic box on his belt began flashing and beeping. He made a mournful face. “El-Tee wants a powwow before we deploy. Sorry, gotta go.” He made for the door.
“Wait a moment.” Mitch stopped, and turned. “You in ground operations?”
The Australian grinned and punched the air. “Better believe it. Might even see you down there. You’ll have to get one of those big Elite buggers to help us out. Cop ya later!” He left.
Horatio smiled again; the man’s cheerfulness was contagious. He kept eating, until he felt a tap on the shoulder. It was Terry, still sweaty from his work-out. “There you are! Been looking for you. Debrief starts in ten minutes. We gotta go.” The pair got up and exited the cafeteria.
**************************************************
The debrief room on the ship had a large holo-table at its centre. Chairs had been arranged about it, seating around sixty personnel. Gerun, Dasa and Lazu stood in the shadows, shark-eyes gleaming. The man in charge of the ship’s marine contingent, Major Serrell, a thin, emaciated man with bright, indignant eyes, presided over the briefing. An image of the planet Gethrii appeared over the holo-table’s reflective surface.
“As you can see, Gethrii is a planet full of volcanism. Large, underground tunnels full of liquefied magma form a honeycomb, leading to the spontaneous emergence of vent cores. This explains the planet’s pockmarked appearance.”
Serrell cleared his throat, and continued. “The reason why the control of this place is so imperative, is the importance the Brutes place on it. The natural geothermic conditions provide materiel and fuel for much of their native technology. The geography also suits their fighting style…and nature.” He pressed a button.
The image disappeared, and combat footage materialized in its place. Pelicans flew high over craggy plains, only to be brought down by anti-aircraft batteries concealed in the rocks. Shortswords carpet bombed legions of Brute warriors, but were quickly dispatched by Seraphs and Banshees. ODSTs charged into a rocky defile, taking up positions and firing back at Jackal snipers.
There were Elites in the recording, too. Majors, clad in scarlet armour, led their blue cohorts into combat against ranks of snarling Brutes. A bloodied SpecOps Elite grabbed his Brute attacker by the neck and snapped it like a twig. Brute Chieftains roared their fury and charged into the fray, gravity hammers sparking. Golden zealots met their onslaught with drawn energy blades. Horatio, seated towards the back, curled his lip.
“Although we’ve beaten off three past incursions by the Brutes, they managed to land a substantial military force on the ground. Intel suggests they’re mainly concentrated here, in the Divash mountain range. Occasionally they send expeditionary forces onto the surrounding plains as well.” The hologram zoomed in on a series of sharp basalt peaks, ragged as blackened teeth. Amber-coloured flats stretched out for miles.
“We have reason to believe they have carved out a sizeable fortress in the mountains, using their plasma digging equipment. The Brutes are too many to be fought using guerilla tactics. But we’ve devised a plan that will-hopefully-work.”
“For the past two days, we’ve been broadcasting falsified orders, requesting that the Elite vessels in-system be relocated to the Firanus system. If the Brutes hear this, they will certainly launch a naval attack. Knowing their savage natures, the Brutes groundside will do the same. We have also reduced the number of reconnaissance missions and patrols; this will lead them to believe that there are fewer marines standing by.”
A grin tugged at Serrell’s face. “This is where you come in. Silver Lining will hide behind a nearby planetoid: go dark. As soon as the Brutes launch their respective attacks, the Elite ships will make the jump back. That will keep them busy.”
“Then, we will slip around the battle, and hot-drop you-as well as the ship’s contingent of Helljumpers-behind the Brute forces. Meanwhile, the Elites-”he nodded to the alien trio-”will land a legion of their troops to reinforce the marines already on the ground. We’ll be able to catch them off guard, and eliminate the majority of their military presence. If we can pull this off, they’ll be too few to do us any harm. Any questions?”
A hand rose. “Won’t they see us coming? SOEIVs can be pretty *** loud.”
The Major considered. “Yes, they will. But, as soon as the ship can exit the planet’s gravity well, we’ll send bombers and Longsword escorts, to provide some air support. If we can get the space situation under control, we’ll send more troops by Pelican. Be warned, however; if the naval battle is prolonged, you’ll be on your own.”
A squat, Hispanic marine cleared his throat. “What if the entire op goes FUBAR? Where’s our fallback?”
Serrell highlighted a basin ten klicks from the presupposed killing field. “Here. There are extensive cave systems in this basin, entirely defendable. Also hidden there is a SATCOM transponder that can be used to signal for help.”
He looked around the room. “One last thing. I’ve paired your squads-some of you will be with ODSTs. Designations will be marked on your pods. Sergeants will share command.”
He clasped his hands together. “I believe that’s all. You’ve all seen combat, so you know the drill. Just be careful. The Brutes are getting desperate; no telling what they’ll do to win.” He nodded. “Dismissed.”
The group of marines stood, chattering and issuing orders. Kyle brought everyone in. “You heard the man-it’s gonna be on for young and old. Expect the unexpected. We’ve got an hour-let’s head back to the barracks and gather our gear. I want to go over a few things. Be at Engineering in half an hour.”
They broke up and scattered across the room, heading for different exits. Kyle eyed Gerun, who had yet to leave. “What do you think?”
The Elite growled warily. “It will be bloody, support or no. We must guard each other carefully on this mission. I am glad we all trust each other.”
Kyle thought about what Lazu had told him transpired in the cafeteria. “Me too.”
*************************************************
Horatio marshaled his breathing as the bulbous drop-pod descended towards the exit tube. His hands, clad in reactive leather gloves, settled on the joysticks before him, but he resisted the urge to trigger the chute. Sweat trickled through his hair. This is ***, he thought. I signed up for the regulars. Not these one-ticket rides into hell’s backyard.
On the screens, he could see the Elite ships, prows winking with purple lights, gliding to the edge of the system. They flashed blue-white and disappeared into Slipspace. The remaining UNSC vessels backed away from the planet and drifted.
Would this work, he wondered? Or would the Brutes see through their scheme and stay away?
He took another look at Gethrii. A truly ugly place-it looked like hell. Massive volcanoes could be seen from space, belching noxious gases and flames. A faint yellow sun was stark contrast to the blasted appearance of the planet. *** Brutes. Why do they have to take things so seriously? Why can’t they fight in normal places?
He felt a tremor ripple through the ship, and his pod rocked. His heart-rate spiked. As he calmed down, he saw, on the cameras, the planetoid. There was a rumbling as the carrier edged behind its bulk, and a low groan as all unnecessary systems deactivated. He could see nothing except the lights inside his own pod.
He had no idea how long he just sat strapped in, waiting for something to happen. But eventually, a voice crackled over the COM. “All ships, we have contacts! Repeat, we have Brute contacts. I have visuals on five Brute vessels. They are charging their lateral lines and releasing fighters. Come about and charge MAC guns-target the lead ship.”
The captain’s voice was artfully layered with false panic. Clever-let any Brute eavesdroppers think they had the UNSC ships intimidated. He made one last gear check, making sure it was secure, then waited.
On the screens, he saw the first Brute vessel take three MAC rounds on the bow. Its shields shimmered, but the last round crumpled the plating, and its running lights flickered. Its plasma turrets were failing, so it used pulse lasers instead. Blue beams stitched the Stallion’s battle plate, but did minimal damage. Hundreds of missiles launched in a retaliatory strike, practically destroying the ship’s bulbous head. It listed, and did its best to get out of the line of fire. It was too late, however. A series of explosions cascaded along its length and the ship detonated.
This sacrifice, however, had bought the other enemy vessels time and space. One disgorged a stream of Seraphs, which scattered this way and that, harassing the larger ships. A pair of frigates targeted the Persepolis, and fired a salvo of plasma torpedoes. Using its emergency thrusters, it evaded the worst of it, but took severe damage nonetheless. Armour boiled away, and the engines began flickering. The reactor was in danger of collapse. Persepolis was out of the fight.
Horatio watched with concern. If the UNSC ships were overwhelmed, they’d have to scrub the op, and the system would be in the hands of the Brutes. But he didn’t have to worry.
Space boiled green, and jagged holes in the fabric of space emerged. The jutting heads of the Elite craft made their way through. The cruiser, whose name was Mercurial Resurgence, charged headlong towards the enemy ships, engines at maximum velocity. It came to an abrupt stop as its fore projector lanced forward, a blinding beam of white energy. It gutted a Brute destroyer from stem to stern, completely disabling the craft. Decompressions ripped the ship apart. The Elite destroyers thundered towards the remaining three ships, releasing their own fighters. Volleys of laser fire lit the scene as the singleships swooped and dived. Fool’s Errand targeted a dozen Seraphs with its auto cannons, and blew them to hell.
The Brute ships were wily, however. As soon as the five allied vessels begun coming about, the last three ships, they backed off and fled towards the northern pole of Gethrii. The Elite and UNSC ships were in hot pursuit.
Another radio transmission. “Silver Lining, this is Lieutenant Jamison.” The voice was calm, unruffled, a sheer contrast to the mayhem taking place in space. Brutes have taken the bait. I estimate five battalions worth. They’re assaulting the perimeter fence, but we’re holding. Suggest you drop in.”
The ship’s engines fired, and the carrier thrusted forward-surprisingly fast. Horatio felt his cheeks ripple as G-forces pushed him back into his chair. They were rounding the dark side of the planet.
The voice of the Pod Dispersal AI onboard the ship came over the COM. “Approaching site of insertion. Releasing pods in five…four…three…two…one….”
Horatio closed his eyes, as the pod’s clamps released, and he dropped straight down.
*Chapter Eight
17th of October, 2553
Aboard Phantom Dropship
Earth
He’d no idea what happened. Everything had been fine. They’d escaped the doomed Covenant ship. And yet here he was, back in this dream world. Had the artifact’s self-destruction have something to do with it? Perhaps, but he couldn’t say for sure.
Horatio stood on the same grassy plain. But it was definitely different from when he had last stood here. Large swathes of burnt grass could be seen. Craters dotted the landscape. A foul haze hung in the air. The tranquil stream was a murky brown. It was as if a war had taken place. Had the unknown presence done this? He moved forward, trying to gain a sense of the situation.
As he strode through the tall grass, he saw pieces of armour lying here and there. Strange, they bore a startling resemblance to marine gear-
His foot struck something heavy, and he looked down.
It was the body of a human. And not just a human, a marine. His weapon, pack and other equipment were missing, but his fatigues were untouched. The man’s vacant eyes stared skyward, blissfully unaware of the devastation around him. Horatio bent down, and removed his dog tags. They read:
C
Horatio frowned in consternation. Harvest Fleet? It no longer existed, Admiral Cole’s battle group having been long since destroyed. And why wasn’t the ship attachment listed? These days, all dog tags had any past or present attachments to vessels in the Navy. It was regulations. Why didn’t this one?
And what the hell was this, a startling remnant from the real galaxy, doing here in this dream world?
Horatio stood up, after making a quick search. The marine had been picked clean. “Guess you’re not gonna give me any answers, Corporal Travers, “he murmured. He moved onward.
He was starting to see more bodies, now. He didn’t need to look to tell they were all UNSC Marines. The ominous thing was that none of them had any visible wounds. They hadn’t been shot, strangled, stabbed or anything, as far as he could tell. There was something foreboding happening in this place. He walked for a time. It might have been years-the landscape was unchanging.
He could see a low brown line on the horizon. What was it? He squinted to look.
“Stay close, Martinus!”
Horatio immediately hit the dirt, and gazed towards the source of the voice. He was well hidden amongst the stalks of grass, so he raised his head and looked.
A group of black-clad figures, six in all, were coming up from the stream, which lay at the bottom of a slope at this point. Although their armour was scuffed and tarnished, and an older version to boot, they were, unmistakably, ODSTs.
He crouched back down, considering. They were wary, and Helljumpers had a predilection for shooting first and asking questions later. But he was obviously a marine. He decided to show himself, and stood up in full view.
The squad marched right past him, without so much as a blink. Horatio ran after them. “Hey!” The Helljumpers continued onward oblivious. Frustrated, he went to tap one on the shoulder. His hand passed straight through it.
Guess I’m not really here. But that was no comfort. The other denizens of this place were able to see him, and they posed a threat. For now, he’d tag along. The squad looked as though they knew where they were going.
He trudged alongside them, noting the gleaming scars on their armour. Had the swords of fire carried by the white men done that? Their rifles were old MA2B’s. The communication transistors on their helmets were missing entirely. Like the Corporal back there, they were obviously from a different age.
“I’m telling you, man, it’s only a matter of time, “one trooper was saying. “The Captain’s got us on these missions so we can get more of that weird-ass technology for the reactor. Then we can get the hell outta Dodge-”
“Enough jawing, Jibb, “another trooper with the chevrons of a sergeant growled.
After some time, the brown line had resolved itself into a rocky wall, which stretched for miles. It was about one hundred metres tall-an inky black hole was recessed into its rust-coloured depths. The marines headed for it. At that point, the whole world exploded.
A human fighter ship-a Shortsword bomber by the looks of it-screamed over their heads, its fuselage aflame. It disappeared on the horizon and a faint thump made the ground tremble. The Helljumpers gaped.
What appeared to be gargantuan, shimmering crystals of fire accelerated through the clouds-but they were not jewels. They were ships of some kind, bristling with weapons. The base of one uncurled, like a flower, and hundreds of small figures dropped to the ground. More Shortswords appeared, racing for the alien ships. But bolts of blinding light jetted forth, and the bombers became ash floating on the breeze.
The sergeant snapped back to the present. “Move, men! Get through that cave! Go, go, go!” The squad dashed for the cave.
A titanic figure-about seven feet tall-seemed to step from the open air, through a tiny tear. It had a long, aquiline face, and had shining silver eyes-its slender, golden body was wrapped in a robe of the same colour. A massive sword, blade made of twisting fire, was clenched in its hand. Despite its majestic appearance, there was an unwholesome element about it-as if its presence defiled the ground on which he stood.
Horatio instinctively flinched back, as did the squad. The sergeant unsung his rifle and cocked it, his voice shaky. “Get out of here. Go on, leave!”
The figure laughed, a slow, hissing sound. “I don’t have to take orders from you, human scum. I wonder why Librarian ever chose you to be our successors. You are weak. Hardly worth the effort.” The man stepped forward.
The entire squad opened up on the alien, but the bullets seemed to stop in midair, and drop to the ground. It laughed. “Is that your best effort?” It raised a hand.
The sergeant was consumed by fire-he didn’t even have a chance to cry out. One marine shouted in horror and charged forward. The blade flashed, and decapitated him. The alien leapt into the squad’s midst.
Three went down without moment. But the last ODST cried out, and drew a strange-looking weapon from his belt. It was cone-shaped, made of twisted fibres. Sparks of green energy raced along the curls of metal. He raised it and pulled an unseen trigger.
A jet of energy spat out of the cone’s tip and struck the man on the shoulder, carving a deep gash. Hissing in annoyance, the alien swung its sword for the final time.
Horatio stared in awe at the tall figure. He had ripped through them like they were paper. Who were these white men, that carried so much authority and arrogance? Yet…this one seemed different to the pair from before. He had a feeling that if they had met, it would not have been a friendly meeting. He looked back up at the sky to see the mayhem taking place, and when he looked back, the man was gone.
He stood up and sprinted for the cave.
Horatio jogged through darkness for about ten minutes, until a faint flicker of light appeared. He continued forth, until it expanded and he exited the tunnel.
What he saw took his breath away.
A massive UNSC cruiser floated about one hundred metres above his head-just underneath the rock wall, which encircled the area, making a circular canyon. It had taken damage-its port engine was missing, and several large holes marred the hull. Yet it was functional. Oddly, some new parts-definitely not Navy issue-had been attached. They bore resemblance to the hulls of the alien ships he’d seen earlier. Stolen? Probably.
Below the cruiser, buildings had been constructed-it was like a city, but all the buildings were pre-fabricated. None had the permanent look about them. People-all dressed either in Naval or Marine clothing-were running to and fro. Klaxons blared. Vehicles were being mobilized. Horatio watched all of this with interest, until a Warthog with its turret removed roared past him. He made after it, for no real reason.
The vehicle had to stop at a checkpoint, but its driver, a young woman with Asian features wearing a lab coat shouted at the marine guard to step aside. Evidently she was in a hurry. Horatio ran after the vehicle-he had a feeling this was something important.
When he finally caught up, the Warthog had arrived at a loading platform that could be lifted back into the ship. Several containers and crates had been loaded onto it. The driver had gotten out and was talking to someone. He got closer.
It was the rebel leader, still wearing his cap.
Horatio’s jaw dropped-how many more shocks were to come? He edged closer, trying to hear their conversation.
The woman was speaking. “Can’t wait any longer, Captain. We lost five platoons just trying to make the salvage. Sooner or later, we’re going to run out of men. And they’ve arranged a blockade in orbit. I can’t see this working.”
The rebel leader licked his lips. “It has to work. We’ve compiled all the tech we’ve found into the fusion chambers. It’ll be enough to make the transition.”
The woman looked frustrated. “But we can’t make the evacuation yet-we still have to call in all the outlying units. And they can’t be airlifted-those ships have destroyed all our bomber escorts. We don’t have the time!”
The captain looked sad. “I know. That’s why I’m….I’m leaving without you.”
The scientist stared at him. “What?”
He shrugged. “I’ll take a skeleton crew-enough to get the ship into space. The rest of you must stay and hold them off.”
The man grasped the woman’s shoulders, who looked as though she was about to cry. “I’ll be back. I promise, I’ll return with help, and we’ll get everyone home. I swear to you!”
“They won’t listen to me!”
The man shook his head. “Tell them I left you in charge. They’ll listen to me, believe me.”
The woman still seemed distraught. “They’ll never forgive you, Captain. For leaving us here!”
The man sighed. “We have to do our duty. To Earth. To humanity. These technologies could help turn the tide of the war. These soldiers are all good men. They will understand the necessity. And now you have the new weapons-you can meet these bastards on an even ground. I believe in you, Professor.”
The woman nodded shakily. “Al-alright, Captain. I’ll keep things running here. Good luck.” She stepped away, and walked off.
The man looked after her, then boarded the lift. Slowly, it lifted into the ship.
Horatio, seeing past the ship’s bulk to the tiny slice of sky beyond, saw incoming alien ships. They were preparing to open fire.
With a shuddering roar, the cruiser’s engines fired. A massive gust of wind assailed the buildings, making them sway. People were blown off their feet. With an effort, the cruiser lifted into the air. The massive, ungainly vessel rocketed into the sky. Around him, dozens of humans watched, unreadable expressions on their faces.
The alien ships targeted the escaping ship with streaks of fire. But as the projectiles hit the ship, a golden, filmy shield deflected them. The makeshift weapons attached to the ship’s hull fired back, as well as a salvo of Archer missiles. Horatio stared in awe as the vessel began lifting into the sky.
The alien ships were comparatively small. They fired again, and the shield failed to stop all incoming fire. Liquid fire spread over the hull, melting and fusing battle plate. But then the formidable shape of the ship’s Magnetic Accelerator Cannon turned to face them.
There was a quartet of shots, ringing like thunder; then the two alien vessels plummeted earthward, shot through with holes, burning. Unhindered, the human ship began climbing into space. It’s Slipspace capacitors were charging.
Just as it reduced to a tiny dot, Horatio caught sight of lettering on the ship’s hull.
Cfv-88
Spirit of fire
Horatio awoke with a gasp; his chest heaved. Around him were the concerned faces of his squad. Kyle set a hand on his shoulder. “You alright, Private? You flat out collapsed. Lazu, any wounds?”
The Elite finished scanning him with what appeared to be a wavy green mirror, and shook his head. “No internal injuries. He is in perfect health.”
Kyle shook his head worriedly. “Could be some radiation spill from that artifact. We’ll get you checked out when we return to-”
“Sarge. I know who he is.”
Kyle bent closer, his voice uneasy. “Know who?”
Horatio smiled weakly. “The rebel leader. The one who knew you. It’s Cutter. Captain James Cutter, of the Spirit of Fire.”
**************************************************
“It was only a dream, Private, “Lord Hood said bluntly.
Horatio gave him a hard look, while his squad, Hood’s staff and the Elite commanders looked on. They were standing inside the conference room. “I’m telling you, sir, it wasn’t a dream. It was very vivid-I felt like I was actually there. Somewhere, some UNSC personnel are fighting a war.”
Hood sighed, and tapped a holographic data projector. Lights flickered on, and lines of information and schematics scrolled across the screen. Co-ordinates for various ships appeared. “Very well; we will proceed on a limb. Let’s make this quick. Admiral?”
Admiral Dinnigan stepped forward, clearing his throat. “I have reviewed the logs on Spirit of Fire. Very tricky to find. It was a Phoenix-class colony ship, constructed in 2473. Last civilian captain was a man named Alexander Embley-retired in 2520. Refitted as a combat vessel afterwards. Participated in the Third Battle of Harvest and Arcadia. Afterwards, it left the Procyon system in a hurry, heading unknown. Was listed as MIA, then lost with all hands in 2534. Artificial intelligence: Serina. Captain: James Cutter-”
Horatio slammed his fist down. “Exactly! The ship was never seen destroyed. Who knows where it went? This Cutter dude was probably a renegade-”
“Absurd, “Hood snapped. “I knew Cutter. He was a good man, devoted to his men and his duty to the UNSC. He would never have become a rebel.”
Horatio threw his hands up in despair. “But, sir, that was then. We have no idea, like I said.”
Kyle stepped forward, eyes stony. “I saw him too, sir. Unmistakable. I met him too, on Harvest.”
Hood waved a hand. “It’s irrelevant. Even if this man is Cutter, it doesn’t lend credence to Private Zerba’s supposed vision.”
“It sounded pretty real to me, sir, “Kyle said doubtfully.
Hood gave a humorless smile. “Well, do you know of anyone who can back up your story?”
A cough was heard, and a Marine captain stepped from the shadows. “I…um, might have some new information on the subject. I met an old pilot, named Alexander, well approaching eighty. It might be him, for all I know.”
Dinnigan raised a finger. “Why should he know anything?”
The captain, Tonley, shrugged. “He said he recognised one of the reactor’s at the rebel base; said they belonged to a ship he once knew. They were combat-issue; well before its time as a colony ship. I’m just saying…he might know something.”
Hood rubbed his forehead. “Bring him in.”
******************************************
The old man, Alexander, looked frail sitting in the glare of the fluorescent lights. His withered hands were laced on his lap, and his head was bowed. Horatio viewed him without much confidence. He didn’t look well enough to pilot a tug, let alone a dropship.
Hood’s voice echoed around the chamber. “Are you the same Alexander who once piloted the colony ship Spirit of Fire?”
The old man swallowed. “Yes sir.”
Terry chuckled quietly. “The guy belongs in a museum, “he whispered to his teammates. Len kicked him.
“What can you tell me about it after the Battle of Arcadia?”
Alexander shrugged his bony shoulders. “Not a lot. Only a couple of rumours.”
“We’d like to hear them.” Kyle, standing beside Hood, gave the fellow veteran a reassuring nod. Alexander smoothed his jacket with his hands and began his story.
“There was some professor onboard, ONI I think. She was helping investigate Covenant activity on Harvest. Her name was… Anderson. Or something.”
“Anyway, after the Battle of Arcadia this professor was supposedly kidnapped. Some Elite leader nabbed her and hightailed it through Slipspace. So, Captain Cutter followed them.”
“To where?” Hood queried.
Alexander shrugged. “A low-beam transmission from the AI’s subroutines found one of our drones, and was recorded as saying that they’d arrived at a strange planet. Full of scrap metal and old shipwrecks. They’d found Covenant forces there, as well as a new parasitic life-form-”
“The Flood, “ R’tas interrupted tersely.
Alexander bobbed his head. “I suppose so. Anyway, before the signal terminated, there was something about advanced technology, doing some crazy stuff. And that was it.”
“Why wasn’t this information given proper attention?” Hood demanded.
The old pilot shrugged dolefully. “The war was more important. Besides, they probably just chalked it up to rampancy. Who’d believe it?”
Horatio nodded thoughtfully. “Sounds like something went down there. I say we investigate-”
“Enough.”
Hood stood up and began pacing around the room. “As interesting as this is, you have no definitive proof, Private. And in case you’ve forgotten, we still have a war on our hands. I won’t waste valuable resources on innuendo. Put it out of your mind.”
He cleared his throat, and withdrew a sheaf of papers. “Now then. Your squad’s posting has been cleared. You’ll be joining the next wave of reinforcements inbound to the Gethrii system. We’ve only just tightened our grip there-expect a hard fight. “
“The Jiralhanae desire the planet for its volcanic activity-it powers much of their technology, “R’tas added. “They will not give it up without a fight.”
“What is our tactical presence there?” Kyle asked.
Admiral Dinnigan fielded this question. “Frigates Stallion, Persepolis and Fool’s Errand are on standby providing armour and logistical support. You’ll be taking the carrier Silver Lining-it’s just finished resupply. Oh, and the Elites have some vessels there as well-two destroyers and a cruiser, correct Shipmaster?”
“Indeed we have, “the Elite rumbled. “And I have recently received good news. The N’kren system has been liberated. Thus, I will be sending the Xonnel Legion to spearhead the fight. They are some of our best-they will strike fear into the hearts of the Jiralhanae.”
This news was greeted by cheers and clapping. Hood nodded to Kyle. “You’ll be taking a Pelican to the Moscow Space Tether at 1630; at 2030 Silver Lining will transition to Slipspace. Make sure you’re on time.”
Kyle snapped a salute. “Roger that, sir.”
“Dismissed.”
The command staff returned to their planning, while the squad departed, a gnawing sense of unease lodged deep in Horatio’s gut. This wasn’t over, he knew. Sooner or later, he’d dream again.
And people would continue to die, and no-one would listen.
*******************************************
“Moscow in sight. We’ll be touching down in five minutes.”
Horatio felt the dropship descend, and checked that his case was secure. Around him, the rest of the squad did the same. He turned to Len. “So, Mr. Conspiracy Theorist. Any news on our destination?”
Len yawned and stretched. “Heard its pretty hot. Not a very popular place, either-was supposed to be a piece of cake, but after they lost Aegis Fate things turned sour. As you can imagine, HighCom wants this done and dusted before the month’s out.”
“Great.”
The massive city of Moscow appeared on the screens, dominated by the titanic figure of the space tether. It occupied a square mile, disappearing into the pewter sky. Industrial and commercial vessels moved around it. Disconcertingly, a few columns of smoke drifted.
The pilot’s voice came over the COM again. “Uh, Sergeant…we’ve got a problem here. City Aerospace Administration wants us to divert to the city outskirts. It’s not advisable to fly into town right now.”
“What the hell?” Kyle growled. “Fine. Take us there.”
“Inbound.” The dropship’s thrusters fired, and spiraled down, towards the snowy ground.
The Pelican came to rest on a luminescent red X, next to a few derelict buildings. The hatch popped open, and the frosty gale engulfed them. Dismounting, they headed over to the road.
A local law enforcement officer, dressed in blue and green, waited beside a pair of civilian Warthogs. Several more vehicles, police-issue, waited nearby, engines humming. Kyle, intimidating in his fatigues and rifle over his shoulder, marched over to the man. “What’s the deal? We were supposed to land at the airfield.”
“I’m afraid it’s not that simple.” The man had a strong accent. “The people have received word of the entire marine-alien collaborative effort. They’re not pleased about it, and there has been rioting. This convoy-” he waved his hand-”is to ensure your safe passage.”
The sergeant gritted his teeth, but nodded grudgingly. “Alright then. Mount up, everyone.” The squad climbed into the ‘Hogs.
Lazu seemed troubled as he seated himself next to Horatio. “Do the townspeople wish us ill?”
“Probably, “Horatio said bluntly. “But I doubt they’ll do anything reckless.” Privately, he wished something would happen, just to show humanity’s general opinion of the Elites. And who could blame them? He pulled the gearstick, and they roared off down the road.
Horatio heard Kyle curse, and saw they were drawing up to a checkpoint. An electrified steel bar barred their way, and a small boxy station was situated next to it. He slowed the vehicle, and the guard approached them from his booth. “State your business here, “he demanded. He caught sight of Lazu, and his face turned white.
The policeman accompanying them handed over a piece of paper, and the guard studied it, nodded and waved them through. The bar lifted, and the convoy rolled on. The guard gazed after them, fear on his face.
As they moved further into the city, Horatio saw evidence of unrest. Graffiti and flame-blackened walls were common. Garbage littered the streets. Few people were on the streets, and those that were stared at them with hostility. Horatio took his eyes off the road to survey his team. Although he could hardly believe it, the Elites looked nervous. They were the intruders here, and they knew it.
Horatio himself was nervous-not for his safety, but the mood of these people. If this war became as ugly as the Insurrection had been, the UNSC would be fighting two wars. Maybe they could win the first one, but never the second. The old hatreds persisted.
And people like me aren’t helping this, am I? He pushed the thought out of his head.
Before long, the gargantuan bulk of the space tether could be seen through gaps in the buildings. A large steel fence encircled the compound in which it was standing. Numerous structures-a terminal, administration offices and bunkers-were dotted about the stalk. People were hurrying about, mostly technicians, engineers and off-duty pilots.
They pulled up to the gate, which had no less than six guards on it, and an entire barracks built into it. Their leader, a clean-shaven man with carroty curls, headed over to them.
Once again, their police escort went to converse with the new arrival. They spoke in Russian, which none of them understood. The conversation grew heated, and the guard took an angry swing at the policeman. He stepped back, and held up his hands placatingly, speaking some more. Eventually the guard sulkily waved them through.
They were directed to a carpark, and dismounted. Horatio hefted his case from the boot, trying not to notice the many eyes on them. Marines weren’t an uncommon sight in Moscow, but as a rule Elites, when on Earth, were quartered in special UNSC buildings. Seeing them out in the open was bound to shock.
The squad formed up, and their escort, along with five other cops, joined them. “The entrance to the tether is over there, “he said, pointing at the squarish building at the stalk’s base. “We will take you there, but then we must depart.”
“Understood, “Kyle said.
The squad moved across the snowy field. People hastily got out of their way, eyeing the Elites with apprehension, and more than a little anger. “Never knew we were so *** popular, “Len remarked sourly. Ollie grunted in agreement.
“It is a shame, of course, “the officer said to Kyle, at the front of the group. “The UNSC had so much hope pinned on this alliance. I myself lost family to the Covenant, but one can sympathise with the Elites’ position. Now that destruction is not imminent, we find ourselves divided again-”
“What-oh!” the officer said in alarm. Ahead of them, a large crowd of people pressed against a wall of guards, keeping them to opposite sides of the long path that led through the double doors. Some waved signs with anti-Elite messages scrawled on them. A particularly determined man with an amplification chip planted on one cheek roared encouragement. The mob was seething with tangible anger. Kyle swore, and turned to their guide. “Can we go around?”
The guide shook his head ruefully. “No. I’m afraid we’ll have to go straight through.”
Kyle rolled his eyes. “Idiots. Alright, let’s go.” He shouldered his pack, and trudged stolidly towards the doors. The squad followed him.
As they drew closer, a chorus of boos and hisses hailed them. The spokesman pointed at them and cried, “Look! Proof of the UNSC’s treachery, right before your eyes! They expect these misguided grunts to work side by side with these murderers, and us to put up with it! Citizens of Moscow, do not let them do this freely! Let your voices be heard!”
“Ignore them, “Len muttered to Dasa and Gerun, who were scowling at the rioters. Lazu trailed behind, a confused expression on his face. A look that one did not see often on an Elite’s face. It was almost pitiable, like an unwanted dog that has no idea why it is so hated. Horatio caught sight of it and felt a wave of burning anger. What right did he have, looking like that?
The mob now turned its attention to the Elites. Jeers and catcalls poured down on them.
“Go back to your shithole planet!”
“Hey freak, killed any humans lately?”
“Go screw yourselves, split-chins! Don’t ever come back here, or we’ll teach you a lesson!”
The squad bore it stoically. But the crowd bulged inwards, and the guards struggled to push them back. projectiles started arcing towards them. A can caught Xavier on the chin, and he swore loudly. A broken bottle showered them with fragments, cutting Ollie’s forehead.
Gerun’s temper broke; he snarled a challenge and slammed a fist into the nearest dissident, sending him flying. The crowd, disregarding fear, grabbed the alien and dragged him into their midst. They buried him momentarily, but then he drew his sword. A man shrieked as his gut was laid open, sending a spray of blood everywhere. The guards were about to be overwhelmed.
A jarring shot rang the air, and the crowd paused, confused. The police officer had his shotgun out, and surveyed the crowd with distaste. “Disgraceful! May I remind you all that you are still subject to the law here in Moscow? I could charge you all with harassment, assault and plenty more. Now, get off this government property, before I let the Elite go to work.”
The crowd, daunted, backed away and dispersed. The spokesman was still belligerent. “And what of the murder committed by these monsters?!” he cried, pointing at Gerun’s victim. “The UNSC have pushed us around for too long! We won’t stand for this double-dealing!” The man turned and hurried away.
Gerun stood looking after them, sword still in hand. The corpse of the man he’d killed lay at his feet. “Brainless sots, “he growled. “They do nothing to help this alliance.” He sheathed his sword and turned away, still muttering.
The squad clustered together, still dumbfounded by what had happened. Benson looked particularly shocked-this was evidently a bit beyond him. The ferocity of the mob had come as a great shock. Kyle spat into the snow, shaking his head. “Bunch of stupid fools. Why do they have to stir things up?” He turned to the police officer. “Good timing. Let’s go, before anything else happens.” He made for the entrance, the squad behind him.
Horatio lagged at the back, head awash with thoughts. Was this just one example of humanity’s hate towards the Elites? Nobody liked their situation-having to clasp hands with former enemies-but he had not expected such an explosion of misdirected anger. Moscow looked like a city under siege by its own citizens. A breeding ground for dissidents, malefactors and maybe even Insurrectionists.
The Brutes weren’t their only enemies now. Humanity might well consume itself.
Horatio tried to relax, but he couldn’t. With all the vipers in their midst, he couldn’t.
*********************************************
“Welcome aboard the Silver Lining. I’m Captain Hodgkins.”
Kyle snapped a salute. “Sir!”
Horatio stood straighter at attention, and took another look around the cavernous primary hangar. They had arrived at the space tether’s command platform, and then flown into the ship via Pelican. Numerous craft-Longswords, Shortswords, Pelicans and Albatrosses among them-lined one wall, their well-furbished appearance indicating they had just come off the assembly line. Mag-lines ran underneath them, towards huge retractable trap-doors, so the aircraft could depart the ship by a way other than the hangar doors. There was a command office high on one wall, looking down at the room. Many pilots and naval personnel passed through the area. The docking doors were shut, but the tint function was inactive, so the glowing bulk of Earth could be seen. The entire room screamed: ready for action.
The captain, Hodgkins, was a short, stocky man with an unlined face that hided his inner toughness. He was an experienced naval officer, having fought six battles with the Covenant and having his beloved ship come through intact every time. A native of the planet Disbanel, which had been glassed long ago, he had a determined, firm attitude one could appreciate.
He smiled at Kyle. “At ease, sergeant. Good to have you with us-”he glanced at the Elites-”and your new additions. We’ll be underway shortly-just need to take on a last detachment of troops. You’ll be bunking with the 69th ODST company-we’ve taken on a gross of soldiers. Sorry for the inconvenience.”
“Not at all, sir.”
“Yes, well…” Hodgkins seemed hesitant. “I must warn you, most of the marines are…less than enthusiastic about the prospect of Elites being on board. I’ll make sure nothing gets out of hand…but just be careful. Dismissed, Sergeant.” The captain moved off towards the command office.
Kyle nodded, and he directed the squad towards a hatch on the far wall. Through it, they entered a long corridor, filled with people. Most of them had been talking, but fell silent at the sight of the Elites. In the silence, a muttered expletive was heard. Kyle scowled, and pushed his way through.
They eventually found the hatch marked MARINE QUARTERS. Through it, they found an even longer corridor, filled with personnel lockers. Numerous stairwells led to emergency exist and rally points. Doors were spaced apart every fifty metres or so. Kyle consulted a sheet of paper he’d been given. “Room 9-A, “he muttered. “Right here.” He waved his hand in front of the door and went in.
The room, full of steel bunk beds, was largely empty. But there were still about thirty soldiers in the room, talking, playing cards and cleaning weapons. They were dressed in off-duty fatigues, but by the golden comet tattoos, Horatio could tell them as ODSTs. They were a hard-bitten lot, with scarred faces and hard eyes. All eyes turned to them as they entered. Most were looking at the Elites with open menace and anger. The aliens were equally frank as they stared back.
One tough-looking individual wearing a boonie with sergeant’s chevrons on it stood up and appraised them. “Well, well, well. What have we here? Regulars. Common-as-dirt regulars.” He looked Kyle up and down. “You look as though you’ve seen a bit, old-timer. You in charge of this bunch?”
Kyle’s voice was deceptively calm. “Believe me when I say that I’d seen a lot when you were *** your pants in basic training. My squad can look after themselves, and if you don’t believe it just try me.”
The man swore and attempted to punch Kyle. Kyle sidestepped, grabbed his arm and twisted it around his back. Ignoring the man’s yells of pain, he pushed him down to the floor with his knee. “You gonna kiss and make up?” Kyle asked whimsically. After struggling, the man spat out an apology and Kyle let him up. The other soldiers quickly averted their eyes and returned to their previous tasks.
The squad grabbed a series of beds down the end. Len whistled in awe. “I gotta say, Sarge, you ain’t good at making friends.”
“Shut up, Corporal.”
A voice crackled over the intership COM. “All hands, stand to. We are transitioning to Slipspace in T-minus four minutes. Make ready for jump-secure all airlocks and bulkheads.”
The ODSTs scrambled to stow their gear, and Horatio’s squad did the same.
The carrier moved away from the tether, engines glimmering. Eventually it found a remote region of space, and activated the FTL matrix. Black space began to flicker, and pull apart, revealing a rippling void. White beams started to form around the ship, and with a final thrust of the Slipspace capacitors, Silver Lining jumped into the nether.
*************************************************
Horatio smirked as he saw the arrangement of the hand he’d been dealt. He delicately discarded two, and added three betting cubes. “Your move, Skippy.”
Ollie bared his teeth. “Don’t rush me.” He studied his own hand, frowning. Around the bed, the other players-Horatio, Xavier and Len-watched impatiently. Benson was napping, Terry was in the gym. Gerun and Dasa were engaged in a mock battle of hand to hand, sparring in the aisle between the beds. Lazu lay on a prodigiously bent bed, bored. He was wearing only his chest-plate and lower torso plates, so his sinuous brown head was visible for all to see.
After a few minutes, Horatio groaned and banged his arm on the bed head. “Wake up Ollie! You doing something or what?”
“Alright, alright!” He laid down his cards. “Double flux. Pay up.”
“Uh-uh, “Horatio said, smiling. He laid down his own hand. “Wide clasp. Can anyone beat that?” They all groaned, admitting defeat. Horatio gleefully scooped up the cash. “Thanks very much gents.”
Kyle stomped in, fresh from the shower. Beads of water glinted on his scalp. “Who won?” he asked, reclining on a bed. They all pointed to Horatio.
Kyle sniffed ruefully. “Might have known. We’ll be dropping into normal space in three hours-so if you’ve got anything left to do, do it now. I want everyone ready to drop as soon as we get there.”
Horatio stood. “Might go get a bite to eat. Anyone else want to come?”
Lazu roused himself; as he got up, the bed creaked noticeably. “I will come. My belly aches-the prospect of food is enticing.” He put his helmet back on. “I’ll risk human food. Let us depart.”
Horatio was about to respond with a retort, but bit it back, fuming. Couldn’t he see how inconspicuous he would be? Did he have any sense at all? He rummaged through his pack and grabbed his amenities pass. “Come on, “he snapped irritably. The pair headed through the hatch and out into the corridor beyond.
Horatio cursed softly-he had no idea where the ship’s mess hall was. He turned to a passing crewman. “Hey, could you tell me-”
The man caught sight of Lazu, gasped and hurried through an adjacent door. The Elite chuckled quietly. The marine sighed. This is gonna suck.
After some minutes of fruitless wandering, they found a directory terminal, and from there, found the mess hall. Dispensers were lined up against one wall, offering soups, steaks and other foods, but no-one was using them. They had left Earth with a wealth of fresh supplies, and everyone was queuing up at the free choice food selection. Such fresh produce was a luxury and everyone was taking advantage of it. Tables and benches stretched as far as the eye could see, most of them occupied. Horatio and Lazu grabbed trays, and joined the line.
Things were OK, until it was their turn to be served. The cook, a nasty-looking man with a stained apron, jabbed a finger at Lazu. “I don’t serve food to these split-chins, “he said accusingly, as if this resolution was somehow Horatio’s fault. “And if you’re with him, you don’t get food neither. Bugger off.”
Before Horatio could act, Lazu stepped closer to the cook. Eyes turned in their direction, and more than a few hands twitched towards weapons. Lazu’s voice was even. “Come now, sir. I only wish to partake of the food-only that, and I will go. I want no trouble.” He leant closer. “Surely you do not want me to take this issue to Sergeant Kyle?”
The cook’s face blanched; Kyle’s reputation as a hard-ass was already spreading throughout the ship. “You can have food, “he said moodily. He clanged his ladle down. “But you do it.” He stomped away. Horatio rolled his eyes.
Lazu squeezed around the metal bench, and, dipping his slender finger into a pot of curry, sampled it. “Piquant, “he remarked. He began searching for a bowl.
Horatio left him to it, moving along the selection line. He grabbed some rolls, a ham salad and coffee. Since a plasma bolt had caught him in the stomach four years ago, he had a delicate appetite. He moved away, but bumped into a rugged-looking man, dropping his tray.
The soldier whirled around, temper rising. “What’s your problem, pal?” He thrust his scarred face into Horatio’s. “Huh?”
Horatio had met plenty of big mouths over the years; most of them had been strangers to diplomacy. Nonetheless, he cleaved to his duty as a soldier. “I’m sorry, I didn’t see you there.”
The man turned to one of his companions, a weaselly-looking man. “Who is this ***?”
“He’s the douche, you know, the one with the Elite, “he sneered. “Now, I wonder, what kind of traitor hangs out with these monsters?”
“Couldn’t tell ya, Griff, “the rough-looking man said. “Reckon he should be taught a lesson.” He pulled back his fist.
Horatio knew what was coming, and was ready. He swung himself to the right, and the fist missed. He body-slammed the man against a metal beam, but the man was only winded. He grabbed Horatio’s lapels and head butted him. Silver sparkles flashed in his vision, and he felt a boot slam against his ribs. Pain exploded through him. He felt a powerful grip pulling him up.
His assailant’s weedy companion-Griff-had him around the neck, and the man himself was rubbing his hands together. “Right, you ***. Now I’ll put you in your place.”
Lazu chose that moment to act; he climbed onto the counter and leapt. The man shouted with surprise as the Elite’s weight impacted him, sending him sliding along the floor and only stopping when he hit the wall, concussed.
Horatio whipped his elbow around, striking Griff on the jaw and stunning him. He clapped him on the temples, and his eyes glazed over. Breathing heavily, he wiped away blood from a cut on his forehead and got to his feet.
The cafeteria was silent; everyone was looking at them. Food littered the floor, and Lazu was pulling Horatio’s attacker towards him. “What are you doing?” the marine asked.
Lazu indicated the man’s supine form. “It is a scoundrel and a coward who makes conflict of everything, for no reason. Take issue with him.”
Horatio turned away. “Forget it. He’s no trouble now.”
“If you will not, then I will-”
“No!” Horatio rounded on his alien teammate. “I said no! I don’t need your help! I don’t need anything from any of you!” He grabbed another tray, loaded it up with food and stalked off to find a table.
Lazu sighed sadly, and left the cafeteria, hurt and confused.
************************************************
Horatio was still stewing over the fight, and Lazu’s constant, annoying presence. The Elite would not leave him alone, and he had no way of escaping it. What had he done to deserve this insufferable situation? He angrily dug his spoon into his bowl of yoghurt.
“Mind if I sit down?”
Horatio looked up, to see an equable-looking, smiling man, of medium build and bleached blonde hair, standing in front of him. Horatio nodded grudgingly. “Go ahead.”
“Thanks, mate.” He had an Australian accent. “Private Mitch Hannaford. There’s five good ones for ya.” He held out his hand. Horatio grinned despite himself, and took the proffered hand. “Good to meet you as well.”
“So, “Mitch said conversationally, “saw you have a bit of biffo with Lastings over there. Not badly done.”
Horatio’s momentary good mood vanished. “I wasn’t trying to start a fight.”
Mitch’s smile broadened. “Of course you weren’t. Lastings is a bloody thug-no idea why they’d let a brain-dead like him into the Corps. But he’s like all bullies-all mouth.”
Horatio tentatively stroked his forehead. “Didn’t feel like mouth when he was kicking the crap out of me.”
The Australian waved a hand. “He’d just been demoted for fighting. You’d expect him to have a bit of starch in his spine. Say, you part of that experimental unit? The one with the Elites in it?”
“How’d you know?”
His breath hissed out darkly. “’Fraid so.”
‘Ripper.” Mitch actually seemed excited. A shine came into his eyes. “Reckon you’ll have no trouble. Those guys are flat-out deadly. I mean, sure, they were our enemies for a while, but I’m ready to give ‘em a chance. What about you?”
Horatio couldn’t believe what he was hearing. He shook his head fervently. “No. They’ve done too much to ever be forgiven. I came from Madrigal. Gone, now.” He dipped a hunk of bread into his coffee. “Thanks to them.”
Mitch seemed subdued by this. “Sorry to hear that.” But then he leaned forward. “I know it’s none of my business, but I saw you with that Elite. Didn’t seem too friendly. None of my business, like I said, but what say you lay off him? Stop being such a stick-in-the-mud.” He popped a grape into his mouth. “They’re making an effort. But it takes two to tango, as the saying goes.”
Horatio laughed harshly. “That’ll be the day. Forget it, Mitch. We all can’t be as forgiving as you.”
Mitch gave a half-smile, and shrugged his shoulders. “No worries. You’ll come around.” A black plastic box on his belt began flashing and beeping. He made a mournful face. “El-Tee wants a powwow before we deploy. Sorry, gotta go.” He made for the door.
“Wait a moment.” Mitch stopped, and turned. “You in ground operations?”
The Australian grinned and punched the air. “Better believe it. Might even see you down there. You’ll have to get one of those big Elite buggers to help us out. Cop ya later!” He left.
Horatio smiled again; the man’s cheerfulness was contagious. He kept eating, until he felt a tap on the shoulder. It was Terry, still sweaty from his work-out. “There you are! Been looking for you. Debrief starts in ten minutes. We gotta go.” The pair got up and exited the cafeteria.
**************************************************
The debrief room on the ship had a large holo-table at its centre. Chairs had been arranged about it, seating around sixty personnel. Gerun, Dasa and Lazu stood in the shadows, shark-eyes gleaming. The man in charge of the ship’s marine contingent, Major Serrell, a thin, emaciated man with bright, indignant eyes, presided over the briefing. An image of the planet Gethrii appeared over the holo-table’s reflective surface.
“As you can see, Gethrii is a planet full of volcanism. Large, underground tunnels full of liquefied magma form a honeycomb, leading to the spontaneous emergence of vent cores. This explains the planet’s pockmarked appearance.”
Serrell cleared his throat, and continued. “The reason why the control of this place is so imperative, is the importance the Brutes place on it. The natural geothermic conditions provide materiel and fuel for much of their native technology. The geography also suits their fighting style…and nature.” He pressed a button.
The image disappeared, and combat footage materialized in its place. Pelicans flew high over craggy plains, only to be brought down by anti-aircraft batteries concealed in the rocks. Shortswords carpet bombed legions of Brute warriors, but were quickly dispatched by Seraphs and Banshees. ODSTs charged into a rocky defile, taking up positions and firing back at Jackal snipers.
There were Elites in the recording, too. Majors, clad in scarlet armour, led their blue cohorts into combat against ranks of snarling Brutes. A bloodied SpecOps Elite grabbed his Brute attacker by the neck and snapped it like a twig. Brute Chieftains roared their fury and charged into the fray, gravity hammers sparking. Golden zealots met their onslaught with drawn energy blades. Horatio, seated towards the back, curled his lip.
“Although we’ve beaten off three past incursions by the Brutes, they managed to land a substantial military force on the ground. Intel suggests they’re mainly concentrated here, in the Divash mountain range. Occasionally they send expeditionary forces onto the surrounding plains as well.” The hologram zoomed in on a series of sharp basalt peaks, ragged as blackened teeth. Amber-coloured flats stretched out for miles.
“We have reason to believe they have carved out a sizeable fortress in the mountains, using their plasma digging equipment. The Brutes are too many to be fought using guerilla tactics. But we’ve devised a plan that will-hopefully-work.”
“For the past two days, we’ve been broadcasting falsified orders, requesting that the Elite vessels in-system be relocated to the Firanus system. If the Brutes hear this, they will certainly launch a naval attack. Knowing their savage natures, the Brutes groundside will do the same. We have also reduced the number of reconnaissance missions and patrols; this will lead them to believe that there are fewer marines standing by.”
A grin tugged at Serrell’s face. “This is where you come in. Silver Lining will hide behind a nearby planetoid: go dark. As soon as the Brutes launch their respective attacks, the Elite ships will make the jump back. That will keep them busy.”
“Then, we will slip around the battle, and hot-drop you-as well as the ship’s contingent of Helljumpers-behind the Brute forces. Meanwhile, the Elites-”he nodded to the alien trio-”will land a legion of their troops to reinforce the marines already on the ground. We’ll be able to catch them off guard, and eliminate the majority of their military presence. If we can pull this off, they’ll be too few to do us any harm. Any questions?”
A hand rose. “Won’t they see us coming? SOEIVs can be pretty *** loud.”
The Major considered. “Yes, they will. But, as soon as the ship can exit the planet’s gravity well, we’ll send bombers and Longsword escorts, to provide some air support. If we can get the space situation under control, we’ll send more troops by Pelican. Be warned, however; if the naval battle is prolonged, you’ll be on your own.”
A squat, Hispanic marine cleared his throat. “What if the entire op goes FUBAR? Where’s our fallback?”
Serrell highlighted a basin ten klicks from the presupposed killing field. “Here. There are extensive cave systems in this basin, entirely defendable. Also hidden there is a SATCOM transponder that can be used to signal for help.”
He looked around the room. “One last thing. I’ve paired your squads-some of you will be with ODSTs. Designations will be marked on your pods. Sergeants will share command.”
He clasped his hands together. “I believe that’s all. You’ve all seen combat, so you know the drill. Just be careful. The Brutes are getting desperate; no telling what they’ll do to win.” He nodded. “Dismissed.”
The group of marines stood, chattering and issuing orders. Kyle brought everyone in. “You heard the man-it’s gonna be on for young and old. Expect the unexpected. We’ve got an hour-let’s head back to the barracks and gather our gear. I want to go over a few things. Be at Engineering in half an hour.”
They broke up and scattered across the room, heading for different exits. Kyle eyed Gerun, who had yet to leave. “What do you think?”
The Elite growled warily. “It will be bloody, support or no. We must guard each other carefully on this mission. I am glad we all trust each other.”
Kyle thought about what Lazu had told him transpired in the cafeteria. “Me too.”
*************************************************
Horatio marshaled his breathing as the bulbous drop-pod descended towards the exit tube. His hands, clad in reactive leather gloves, settled on the joysticks before him, but he resisted the urge to trigger the chute. Sweat trickled through his hair. This is ***, he thought. I signed up for the regulars. Not these one-ticket rides into hell’s backyard.
On the screens, he could see the Elite ships, prows winking with purple lights, gliding to the edge of the system. They flashed blue-white and disappeared into Slipspace. The remaining UNSC vessels backed away from the planet and drifted.
Would this work, he wondered? Or would the Brutes see through their scheme and stay away?
He took another look at Gethrii. A truly ugly place-it looked like hell. Massive volcanoes could be seen from space, belching noxious gases and flames. A faint yellow sun was stark contrast to the blasted appearance of the planet. *** Brutes. Why do they have to take things so seriously? Why can’t they fight in normal places?
He felt a tremor ripple through the ship, and his pod rocked. His heart-rate spiked. As he calmed down, he saw, on the cameras, the planetoid. There was a rumbling as the carrier edged behind its bulk, and a low groan as all unnecessary systems deactivated. He could see nothing except the lights inside his own pod.
He had no idea how long he just sat strapped in, waiting for something to happen. But eventually, a voice crackled over the COM. “All ships, we have contacts! Repeat, we have Brute contacts. I have visuals on five Brute vessels. They are charging their lateral lines and releasing fighters. Come about and charge MAC guns-target the lead ship.”
The captain’s voice was artfully layered with false panic. Clever-let any Brute eavesdroppers think they had the UNSC ships intimidated. He made one last gear check, making sure it was secure, then waited.
On the screens, he saw the first Brute vessel take three MAC rounds on the bow. Its shields shimmered, but the last round crumpled the plating, and its running lights flickered. Its plasma turrets were failing, so it used pulse lasers instead. Blue beams stitched the Stallion’s battle plate, but did minimal damage. Hundreds of missiles launched in a retaliatory strike, practically destroying the ship’s bulbous head. It listed, and did its best to get out of the line of fire. It was too late, however. A series of explosions cascaded along its length and the ship detonated.
This sacrifice, however, had bought the other enemy vessels time and space. One disgorged a stream of Seraphs, which scattered this way and that, harassing the larger ships. A pair of frigates targeted the Persepolis, and fired a salvo of plasma torpedoes. Using its emergency thrusters, it evaded the worst of it, but took severe damage nonetheless. Armour boiled away, and the engines began flickering. The reactor was in danger of collapse. Persepolis was out of the fight.
Horatio watched with concern. If the UNSC ships were overwhelmed, they’d have to scrub the op, and the system would be in the hands of the Brutes. But he didn’t have to worry.
Space boiled green, and jagged holes in the fabric of space emerged. The jutting heads of the Elite craft made their way through. The cruiser, whose name was Mercurial Resurgence, charged headlong towards the enemy ships, engines at maximum velocity. It came to an abrupt stop as its fore projector lanced forward, a blinding beam of white energy. It gutted a Brute destroyer from stem to stern, completely disabling the craft. Decompressions ripped the ship apart. The Elite destroyers thundered towards the remaining three ships, releasing their own fighters. Volleys of laser fire lit the scene as the singleships swooped and dived. Fool’s Errand targeted a dozen Seraphs with its auto cannons, and blew them to hell.
The Brute ships were wily, however. As soon as the five allied vessels begun coming about, the last three ships, they backed off and fled towards the northern pole of Gethrii. The Elite and UNSC ships were in hot pursuit.
Another radio transmission. “Silver Lining, this is Lieutenant Jamison.” The voice was calm, unruffled, a sheer contrast to the mayhem taking place in space. Brutes have taken the bait. I estimate five battalions worth. They’re assaulting the perimeter fence, but we’re holding. Suggest you drop in.”
The ship’s engines fired, and the carrier thrusted forward-surprisingly fast. Horatio felt his cheeks ripple as G-forces pushed him back into his chair. They were rounding the dark side of the planet.
The voice of the Pod Dispersal AI onboard the ship came over the COM. “Approaching site of insertion. Releasing pods in five…four…three…two…one….”
Horatio closed his eyes, as the pod’s clamps released, and he dropped straight down.
*Chapter Eight
17th of October, 2553
Aboard Phantom Dropship
Earth
He’d no idea what happened. Everything had been fine. They’d escaped the doomed Covenant ship. And yet here he was, back in this dream world. Had the artifact’s self-destruction have something to do with it? Perhaps, but he couldn’t say for sure.
Horatio stood on the same grassy plain. But it was definitely different from when he had last stood here. Large swathes of burnt grass could be seen. Craters dotted the landscape. A foul haze hung in the air. The tranquil stream was a murky brown. It was as if a war had taken place. Had the unknown presence done this? He moved forward, trying to gain a sense of the situation.
As he strode through the tall grass, he saw pieces of armour lying here and there. Strange, they bore a startling resemblance to marine gear-
His foot struck something heavy, and he looked down.
It was the body of a human. And not just a human, a marine. His weapon, pack and other equipment were missing, but his fatigues were untouched. The man’s vacant eyes stared skyward, blissfully unaware of the devastation around him. Horatio bent down, and removed his dog tags. They read:
Corporal Howard F. travers
12th battalion, bravo company
Blood type: B-
Harvest fleet
Horatio frowned in consternation. Harvest Fleet? It no longer existed, Admiral Cole’s battle group having been long since destroyed. And why wasn’t the ship attachment listed? These days, all dog tags had any past or present attachments to vessels in the Navy. It was regulations. Why didn’t this one?
And what the hell was this, a startling remnant from the real galaxy, doing here in this dream world?
Horatio stood up, after making a quick search. The marine had been picked clean. “Guess you’re not gonna give me any answers, Corporal Travers, “he murmured. He moved onward.
He was starting to see more bodies, now. He didn’t need to look to tell they were all UNSC Marines. The ominous thing was that none of them had any visible wounds. They hadn’t been shot, strangled, stabbed or anything, as far as he could tell. There was something foreboding happening in this place. He walked for a time. It might have been years-the landscape was unchanging.
He could see a low brown line on the horizon. What was it? He squinted to look.
“Stay close, Martinus!”
Horatio immediately hit the dirt, and gazed towards the source of the voice. He was well hidden amongst the stalks of grass, so he raised his head and looked.
A group of black-clad figures, six in all, were coming up from the stream, which lay at the bottom of a slope at this point. Although their armour was scuffed and tarnished, and an older version to boot, they were, unmistakably, ODSTs.
He crouched back down, considering. They were wary, and Helljumpers had a predilection for shooting first and asking questions later. But he was obviously a marine. He decided to show himself, and stood up in full view.
The squad marched right past him, without so much as a blink. Horatio ran after them. “Hey!” The Helljumpers continued onward oblivious. Frustrated, he went to tap one on the shoulder. His hand passed straight through it.
Guess I’m not really here. But that was no comfort. The other denizens of this place were able to see him, and they posed a threat. For now, he’d tag along. The squad looked as though they knew where they were going.
He trudged alongside them, noting the gleaming scars on their armour. Had the swords of fire carried by the white men done that? Their rifles were old MA2B’s. The communication transistors on their helmets were missing entirely. Like the Corporal back there, they were obviously from a different age.
“I’m telling you, man, it’s only a matter of time, “one trooper was saying. “The Captain’s got us on these missions so we can get more of that weird-ass technology for the reactor. Then we can get the hell outta Dodge-”
“Enough jawing, Jibb, “another trooper with the chevrons of a sergeant growled.
After some time, the brown line had resolved itself into a rocky wall, which stretched for miles. It was about one hundred metres tall-an inky black hole was recessed into its rust-coloured depths. The marines headed for it. At that point, the whole world exploded.
A human fighter ship-a Shortsword bomber by the looks of it-screamed over their heads, its fuselage aflame. It disappeared on the horizon and a faint thump made the ground tremble. The Helljumpers gaped.
What appeared to be gargantuan, shimmering crystals of fire accelerated through the clouds-but they were not jewels. They were ships of some kind, bristling with weapons. The base of one uncurled, like a flower, and hundreds of small figures dropped to the ground. More Shortswords appeared, racing for the alien ships. But bolts of blinding light jetted forth, and the bombers became ash floating on the breeze.
The sergeant snapped back to the present. “Move, men! Get through that cave! Go, go, go!” The squad dashed for the cave.
A titanic figure-about seven feet tall-seemed to step from the open air, through a tiny tear. It had a long, aquiline face, and had shining silver eyes-its slender, golden body was wrapped in a robe of the same colour. A massive sword, blade made of twisting fire, was clenched in its hand. Despite its majestic appearance, there was an unwholesome element about it-as if its presence defiled the ground on which he stood.
Horatio instinctively flinched back, as did the squad. The sergeant unsung his rifle and cocked it, his voice shaky. “Get out of here. Go on, leave!”
The figure laughed, a slow, hissing sound. “I don’t have to take orders from you, human scum. I wonder why Librarian ever chose you to be our successors. You are weak. Hardly worth the effort.” The man stepped forward.
The entire squad opened up on the alien, but the bullets seemed to stop in midair, and drop to the ground. It laughed. “Is that your best effort?” It raised a hand.
The sergeant was consumed by fire-he didn’t even have a chance to cry out. One marine shouted in horror and charged forward. The blade flashed, and decapitated him. The alien leapt into the squad’s midst.
Three went down without moment. But the last ODST cried out, and drew a strange-looking weapon from his belt. It was cone-shaped, made of twisted fibres. Sparks of green energy raced along the curls of metal. He raised it and pulled an unseen trigger.
A jet of energy spat out of the cone’s tip and struck the man on the shoulder, carving a deep gash. Hissing in annoyance, the alien swung its sword for the final time.
Horatio stared in awe at the tall figure. He had ripped through them like they were paper. Who were these white men, that carried so much authority and arrogance? Yet…this one seemed different to the pair from before. He had a feeling that if they had met, it would not have been a friendly meeting. He looked back up at the sky to see the mayhem taking place, and when he looked back, the man was gone.
He stood up and sprinted for the cave.
Horatio jogged through darkness for about ten minutes, until a faint flicker of light appeared. He continued forth, until it expanded and he exited the tunnel.
What he saw took his breath away.
A massive UNSC cruiser floated about one hundred metres above his head-just underneath the rock wall, which encircled the area, making a circular canyon. It had taken damage-its port engine was missing, and several large holes marred the hull. Yet it was functional. Oddly, some new parts-definitely not Navy issue-had been attached. They bore resemblance to the hulls of the alien ships he’d seen earlier. Stolen? Probably.
Below the cruiser, buildings had been constructed-it was like a city, but all the buildings were pre-fabricated. None had the permanent look about them. People-all dressed either in Naval or Marine clothing-were running to and fro. Klaxons blared. Vehicles were being mobilized. Horatio watched all of this with interest, until a Warthog with its turret removed roared past him. He made after it, for no real reason.
The vehicle had to stop at a checkpoint, but its driver, a young woman with Asian features wearing a lab coat shouted at the marine guard to step aside. Evidently she was in a hurry. Horatio ran after the vehicle-he had a feeling this was something important.
When he finally caught up, the Warthog had arrived at a loading platform that could be lifted back into the ship. Several containers and crates had been loaded onto it. The driver had gotten out and was talking to someone. He got closer.
It was the rebel leader, still wearing his cap.
Horatio’s jaw dropped-how many more shocks were to come? He edged closer, trying to hear their conversation.
The woman was speaking. “Can’t wait any longer, Captain. We lost five platoons just trying to make the salvage. Sooner or later, we’re going to run out of men. And they’ve arranged a blockade in orbit. I can’t see this working.”
The rebel leader licked his lips. “It has to work. We’ve compiled all the tech we’ve found into the fusion chambers. It’ll be enough to make the transition.”
The woman looked frustrated. “But we can’t make the evacuation yet-we still have to call in all the outlying units. And they can’t be airlifted-those ships have destroyed all our bomber escorts. We don’t have the time!”
The captain looked sad. “I know. That’s why I’m….I’m leaving without you.”
The scientist stared at him. “What?”
He shrugged. “I’ll take a skeleton crew-enough to get the ship into space. The rest of you must stay and hold them off.”
The man grasped the woman’s shoulders, who looked as though she was about to cry. “I’ll be back. I promise, I’ll return with help, and we’ll get everyone home. I swear to you!”
“They won’t listen to me!”
The man shook his head. “Tell them I left you in charge. They’ll listen to me, believe me.”
The woman still seemed distraught. “They’ll never forgive you, Captain. For leaving us here!”
The man sighed. “We have to do our duty. To Earth. To humanity. These technologies could help turn the tide of the war. These soldiers are all good men. They will understand the necessity. And now you have the new weapons-you can meet these bastards on an even ground. I believe in you, Professor.”
The woman nodded shakily. “Al-alright, Captain. I’ll keep things running here. Good luck.” She stepped away, and walked off.
The man looked after her, then boarded the lift. Slowly, it lifted into the ship.
Horatio, seeing past the ship’s bulk to the tiny slice of sky beyond, saw incoming alien ships. They were preparing to open fire.
With a shuddering roar, the cruiser’s engines fired. A massive gust of wind assailed the buildings, making them sway. People were blown off their feet. With an effort, the cruiser lifted into the air. The massive, ungainly vessel rocketed into the sky. Around him, dozens of humans watched, unreadable expressions on their faces.
The alien ships targeted the escaping ship with streaks of fire. But as the projectiles hit the ship, a golden, filmy shield deflected them. The makeshift weapons attached to the ship’s hull fired back, as well as a salvo of Archer missiles. Horatio stared in awe as the vessel began lifting into the sky.
The alien ships were comparatively small. They fired again, and the shield failed to stop all incoming fire. Liquid fire spread over the hull, melting and fusing battle plate. But then the formidable shape of the ship’s Magnetic Accelerator Cannon turned to face them.
There was a quartet of shots, ringing like thunder; then the two alien vessels plummeted earthward, shot through with holes, burning. Unhindered, the human ship began climbing into space. It’s Slipspace capacitors were charging.
Just as it reduced to a tiny dot, Horatio caught sight of lettering on the ship’s hull.
Cfv-88
Spirit of fire
Horatio awoke with a gasp; his chest heaved. Around him were the concerned faces of his squad. Kyle set a hand on his shoulder. “You alright, Private? You flat out collapsed. Lazu, any wounds?”
The Elite finished scanning him with what appeared to be a wavy green mirror, and shook his head. “No internal injuries. He is in perfect health.”
Kyle shook his head worriedly. “Could be some radiation spill from that artifact. We’ll get you checked out when we return to-”
“Sarge. I know who he is.”
Kyle bent closer, his voice uneasy. “Know who?”
Horatio smiled weakly. “The rebel leader. The one who knew you. It’s Cutter. Captain James Cutter, of the Spirit of Fire.”
**************************************************
“It was only a dream, Private, “Lord Hood said bluntly.
Horatio gave him a hard look, while his squad, Hood’s staff and the Elite commanders looked on. They were standing inside the conference room. “I’m telling you, sir, it wasn’t a dream. It was very vivid-I felt like I was actually there. Somewhere, some UNSC personnel are fighting a war.”
Hood sighed, and tapped a holographic data projector. Lights flickered on, and lines of information and schematics scrolled across the screen. Co-ordinates for various ships appeared. “Very well; we will proceed on a limb. Let’s make this quick. Admiral?”
Admiral Dinnigan stepped forward, clearing his throat. “I have reviewed the logs on Spirit of Fire. Very tricky to find. It was a Phoenix-class colony ship, constructed in 2473. Last civilian captain was a man named Alexander Embley-retired in 2520. Refitted as a combat vessel afterwards. Participated in the Third Battle of Harvest and Arcadia. Afterwards, it left the Procyon system in a hurry, heading unknown. Was listed as MIA, then lost with all hands in 2534. Artificial intelligence: Serina. Captain: James Cutter-”
Horatio slammed his fist down. “Exactly! The ship was never seen destroyed. Who knows where it went? This Cutter dude was probably a renegade-”
“Absurd, “Hood snapped. “I knew Cutter. He was a good man, devoted to his men and his duty to the UNSC. He would never have become a rebel.”
Horatio threw his hands up in despair. “But, sir, that was then. We have no idea, like I said.”
Kyle stepped forward, eyes stony. “I saw him too, sir. Unmistakable. I met him too, on Harvest.”
Hood waved a hand. “It’s irrelevant. Even if this man is Cutter, it doesn’t lend credence to Private Zerba’s supposed vision.”
“It sounded pretty real to me, sir, “Kyle said doubtfully.
Hood gave a humorless smile. “Well, do you know of anyone who can back up your story?”
A cough was heard, and a Marine captain stepped from the shadows. “I…um, might have some new information on the subject. I met an old pilot, named Alexander, well approaching eighty. It might be him, for all I know.”
Dinnigan raised a finger. “Why should he know anything?”
The captain, Tonley, shrugged. “He said he recognised one of the reactor’s at the rebel base; said they belonged to a ship he once knew. They were combat-issue; well before its time as a colony ship. I’m just saying…he might know something.”
Hood rubbed his forehead. “Bring him in.”
******************************************
The old man, Alexander, looked frail sitting in the glare of the fluorescent lights. His withered hands were laced on his lap, and his head was bowed. Horatio viewed him without much confidence. He didn’t look well enough to pilot a tug, let alone a dropship.
Hood’s voice echoed around the chamber. “Are you the same Alexander who once piloted the colony ship Spirit of Fire?”
The old man swallowed. “Yes sir.”
Terry chuckled quietly. “The guy belongs in a museum, “he whispered to his teammates. Len kicked him.
“What can you tell me about it after the Battle of Arcadia?”
Alexander shrugged his bony shoulders. “Not a lot. Only a couple of rumours.”
“We’d like to hear them.” Kyle, standing beside Hood, gave the fellow veteran a reassuring nod. Alexander smoothed his jacket with his hands and began his story.
“There was some professor onboard, ONI I think. She was helping investigate Covenant activity on Harvest. Her name was… Anderson. Or something.”
“Anyway, after the Battle of Arcadia this professor was supposedly kidnapped. Some Elite leader nabbed her and hightailed it through Slipspace. So, Captain Cutter followed them.”
“To where?” Hood queried.
Alexander shrugged. “A low-beam transmission from the AI’s subroutines found one of our drones, and was recorded as saying that they’d arrived at a strange planet. Full of scrap metal and old shipwrecks. They’d found Covenant forces there, as well as a new parasitic life-form-”
“The Flood, “ R’tas interrupted tersely.
Alexander bobbed his head. “I suppose so. Anyway, before the signal terminated, there was something about advanced technology, doing some crazy stuff. And that was it.”
“Why wasn’t this information given proper attention?” Hood demanded.
The old pilot shrugged dolefully. “The war was more important. Besides, they probably just chalked it up to rampancy. Who’d believe it?”
Horatio nodded thoughtfully. “Sounds like something went down there. I say we investigate-”
“Enough.”
Hood stood up and began pacing around the room. “As interesting as this is, you have no definitive proof, Private. And in case you’ve forgotten, we still have a war on our hands. I won’t waste valuable resources on innuendo. Put it out of your mind.”
He cleared his throat, and withdrew a sheaf of papers. “Now then. Your squad’s posting has been cleared. You’ll be joining the next wave of reinforcements inbound to the Gethrii system. We’ve only just tightened our grip there-expect a hard fight. “
“The Jiralhanae desire the planet for its volcanic activity-it powers much of their technology, “R’tas added. “They will not give it up without a fight.”
“What is our tactical presence there?” Kyle asked.
Admiral Dinnigan fielded this question. “Frigates Stallion, Persepolis and Fool’s Errand are on standby providing armour and logistical support. You’ll be taking the carrier Silver Lining-it’s just finished resupply. Oh, and the Elites have some vessels there as well-two destroyers and a cruiser, correct Shipmaster?”
“Indeed we have, “the Elite rumbled. “And I have recently received good news. The N’kren system has been liberated. Thus, I will be sending the Xonnel Legion to spearhead the fight. They are some of our best-they will strike fear into the hearts of the Jiralhanae.”
This news was greeted by cheers and clapping. Hood nodded to Kyle. “You’ll be taking a Pelican to the Moscow Space Tether at 1630; at 2030 Silver Lining will transition to Slipspace. Make sure you’re on time.”
Kyle snapped a salute. “Roger that, sir.”
“Dismissed.”
The command staff returned to their planning, while the squad departed, a gnawing sense of unease lodged deep in Horatio’s gut. This wasn’t over, he knew. Sooner or later, he’d dream again.
And people would continue to die, and no-one would listen.
*******************************************
“Moscow in sight. We’ll be touching down in five minutes.”
Horatio felt the dropship descend, and checked that his case was secure. Around him, the rest of the squad did the same. He turned to Len. “So, Mr. Conspiracy Theorist. Any news on our destination?”
Len yawned and stretched. “Heard its pretty hot. Not a very popular place, either-was supposed to be a piece of cake, but after they lost Aegis Fate things turned sour. As you can imagine, HighCom wants this done and dusted before the month’s out.”
“Great.”
The massive city of Moscow appeared on the screens, dominated by the titanic figure of the space tether. It occupied a square mile, disappearing into the pewter sky. Industrial and commercial vessels moved around it. Disconcertingly, a few columns of smoke drifted.
The pilot’s voice came over the COM again. “Uh, Sergeant…we’ve got a problem here. City Aerospace Administration wants us to divert to the city outskirts. It’s not advisable to fly into town right now.”
“What the hell?” Kyle growled. “Fine. Take us there.”
“Inbound.” The dropship’s thrusters fired, and spiraled down, towards the snowy ground.
The Pelican came to rest on a luminescent red X, next to a few derelict buildings. The hatch popped open, and the frosty gale engulfed them. Dismounting, they headed over to the road.
A local law enforcement officer, dressed in blue and green, waited beside a pair of civilian Warthogs. Several more vehicles, police-issue, waited nearby, engines humming. Kyle, intimidating in his fatigues and rifle over his shoulder, marched over to the man. “What’s the deal? We were supposed to land at the airfield.”
“I’m afraid it’s not that simple.” The man had a strong accent. “The people have received word of the entire marine-alien collaborative effort. They’re not pleased about it, and there has been rioting. This convoy-” he waved his hand-”is to ensure your safe passage.”
The sergeant gritted his teeth, but nodded grudgingly. “Alright then. Mount up, everyone.” The squad climbed into the ‘Hogs.
Lazu seemed troubled as he seated himself next to Horatio. “Do the townspeople wish us ill?”
“Probably, “Horatio said bluntly. “But I doubt they’ll do anything reckless.” Privately, he wished something would happen, just to show humanity’s general opinion of the Elites. And who could blame them? He pulled the gearstick, and they roared off down the road.
Horatio heard Kyle curse, and saw they were drawing up to a checkpoint. An electrified steel bar barred their way, and a small boxy station was situated next to it. He slowed the vehicle, and the guard approached them from his booth. “State your business here, “he demanded. He caught sight of Lazu, and his face turned white.
The policeman accompanying them handed over a piece of paper, and the guard studied it, nodded and waved them through. The bar lifted, and the convoy rolled on. The guard gazed after them, fear on his face.
As they moved further into the city, Horatio saw evidence of unrest. Graffiti and flame-blackened walls were common. Garbage littered the streets. Few people were on the streets, and those that were stared at them with hostility. Horatio took his eyes off the road to survey his team. Although he could hardly believe it, the Elites looked nervous. They were the intruders here, and they knew it.
Horatio himself was nervous-not for his safety, but the mood of these people. If this war became as ugly as the Insurrection had been, the UNSC would be fighting two wars. Maybe they could win the first one, but never the second. The old hatreds persisted.
And people like me aren’t helping this, am I? He pushed the thought out of his head.
Before long, the gargantuan bulk of the space tether could be seen through gaps in the buildings. A large steel fence encircled the compound in which it was standing. Numerous structures-a terminal, administration offices and bunkers-were dotted about the stalk. People were hurrying about, mostly technicians, engineers and off-duty pilots.
They pulled up to the gate, which had no less than six guards on it, and an entire barracks built into it. Their leader, a clean-shaven man with carroty curls, headed over to them.
Once again, their police escort went to converse with the new arrival. They spoke in Russian, which none of them understood. The conversation grew heated, and the guard took an angry swing at the policeman. He stepped back, and held up his hands placatingly, speaking some more. Eventually the guard sulkily waved them through.
They were directed to a carpark, and dismounted. Horatio hefted his case from the boot, trying not to notice the many eyes on them. Marines weren’t an uncommon sight in Moscow, but as a rule Elites, when on Earth, were quartered in special UNSC buildings. Seeing them out in the open was bound to shock.
The squad formed up, and their escort, along with five other cops, joined them. “The entrance to the tether is over there, “he said, pointing at the squarish building at the stalk’s base. “We will take you there, but then we must depart.”
“Understood, “Kyle said.
The squad moved across the snowy field. People hastily got out of their way, eyeing the Elites with apprehension, and more than a little anger. “Never knew we were so *** popular, “Len remarked sourly. Ollie grunted in agreement.
“It is a shame, of course, “the officer said to Kyle, at the front of the group. “The UNSC had so much hope pinned on this alliance. I myself lost family to the Covenant, but one can sympathise with the Elites’ position. Now that destruction is not imminent, we find ourselves divided again-”
“What-oh!” the officer said in alarm. Ahead of them, a large crowd of people pressed against a wall of guards, keeping them to opposite sides of the long path that led through the double doors. Some waved signs with anti-Elite messages scrawled on them. A particularly determined man with an amplification chip planted on one cheek roared encouragement. The mob was seething with tangible anger. Kyle swore, and turned to their guide. “Can we go around?”
The guide shook his head ruefully. “No. I’m afraid we’ll have to go straight through.”
Kyle rolled his eyes. “Idiots. Alright, let’s go.” He shouldered his pack, and trudged stolidly towards the doors. The squad followed him.
As they drew closer, a chorus of boos and hisses hailed them. The spokesman pointed at them and cried, “Look! Proof of the UNSC’s treachery, right before your eyes! They expect these misguided grunts to work side by side with these murderers, and us to put up with it! Citizens of Moscow, do not let them do this freely! Let your voices be heard!”
“Ignore them, “Len muttered to Dasa and Gerun, who were scowling at the rioters. Lazu trailed behind, a confused expression on his face. A look that one did not see often on an Elite’s face. It was almost pitiable, like an unwanted dog that has no idea why it is so hated. Horatio caught sight of it and felt a wave of burning anger. What right did he have, looking like that?
The mob now turned its attention to the Elites. Jeers and catcalls poured down on them.
“Go back to your shithole planet!”
“Hey freak, killed any humans lately?”
“Go screw yourselves, split-chins! Don’t ever come back here, or we’ll teach you a lesson!”
The squad bore it stoically. But the crowd bulged inwards, and the guards struggled to push them back. projectiles started arcing towards them. A can caught Xavier on the chin, and he swore loudly. A broken bottle showered them with fragments, cutting Ollie’s forehead.
Gerun’s temper broke; he snarled a challenge and slammed a fist into the nearest dissident, sending him flying. The crowd, disregarding fear, grabbed the alien and dragged him into their midst. They buried him momentarily, but then he drew his sword. A man shrieked as his gut was laid open, sending a spray of blood everywhere. The guards were about to be overwhelmed.
A jarring shot rang the air, and the crowd paused, confused. The police officer had his shotgun out, and surveyed the crowd with distaste. “Disgraceful! May I remind you all that you are still subject to the law here in Moscow? I could charge you all with harassment, assault and plenty more. Now, get off this government property, before I let the Elite go to work.”
The crowd, daunted, backed away and dispersed. The spokesman was still belligerent. “And what of the murder committed by these monsters?!” he cried, pointing at Gerun’s victim. “The UNSC have pushed us around for too long! We won’t stand for this double-dealing!” The man turned and hurried away.
Gerun stood looking after them, sword still in hand. The corpse of the man he’d killed lay at his feet. “Brainless sots, “he growled. “They do nothing to help this alliance.” He sheathed his sword and turned away, still muttering.
The squad clustered together, still dumbfounded by what had happened. Benson looked particularly shocked-this was evidently a bit beyond him. The ferocity of the mob had come as a great shock. Kyle spat into the snow, shaking his head. “Bunch of stupid fools. Why do they have to stir things up?” He turned to the police officer. “Good timing. Let’s go, before anything else happens.” He made for the entrance, the squad behind him.
Horatio lagged at the back, head awash with thoughts. Was this just one example of humanity’s hate towards the Elites? Nobody liked their situation-having to clasp hands with former enemies-but he had not expected such an explosion of misdirected anger. Moscow looked like a city under siege by its own citizens. A breeding ground for dissidents, malefactors and maybe even Insurrectionists.
The Brutes weren’t their only enemies now. Humanity might well consume itself.
Horatio tried to relax, but he couldn’t. With all the vipers in their midst, he couldn’t.
*********************************************
“Welcome aboard the Silver Lining. I’m Captain Hodgkins.”
Kyle snapped a salute. “Sir!”
Horatio stood straighter at attention, and took another look around the cavernous primary hangar. They had arrived at the space tether’s command platform, and then flown into the ship via Pelican. Numerous craft-Longswords, Shortswords, Pelicans and Albatrosses among them-lined one wall, their well-furbished appearance indicating they had just come off the assembly line. Mag-lines ran underneath them, towards huge retractable trap-doors, so the aircraft could depart the ship by a way other than the hangar doors. There was a command office high on one wall, looking down at the room. Many pilots and naval personnel passed through the area. The docking doors were shut, but the tint function was inactive, so the glowing bulk of Earth could be seen. The entire room screamed: ready for action.
The captain, Hodgkins, was a short, stocky man with an unlined face that hided his inner toughness. He was an experienced naval officer, having fought six battles with the Covenant and having his beloved ship come through intact every time. A native of the planet Disbanel, which had been glassed long ago, he had a determined, firm attitude one could appreciate.
He smiled at Kyle. “At ease, sergeant. Good to have you with us-”he glanced at the Elites-”and your new additions. We’ll be underway shortly-just need to take on a last detachment of troops. You’ll be bunking with the 69th ODST company-we’ve taken on a gross of soldiers. Sorry for the inconvenience.”
“Not at all, sir.”
“Yes, well…” Hodgkins seemed hesitant. “I must warn you, most of the marines are…less than enthusiastic about the prospect of Elites being on board. I’ll make sure nothing gets out of hand…but just be careful. Dismissed, Sergeant.” The captain moved off towards the command office.
Kyle nodded, and he directed the squad towards a hatch on the far wall. Through it, they entered a long corridor, filled with people. Most of them had been talking, but fell silent at the sight of the Elites. In the silence, a muttered expletive was heard. Kyle scowled, and pushed his way through.
They eventually found the hatch marked MARINE QUARTERS. Through it, they found an even longer corridor, filled with personnel lockers. Numerous stairwells led to emergency exist and rally points. Doors were spaced apart every fifty metres or so. Kyle consulted a sheet of paper he’d been given. “Room 9-A, “he muttered. “Right here.” He waved his hand in front of the door and went in.
The room, full of steel bunk beds, was largely empty. But there were still about thirty soldiers in the room, talking, playing cards and cleaning weapons. They were dressed in off-duty fatigues, but by the golden comet tattoos, Horatio could tell them as ODSTs. They were a hard-bitten lot, with scarred faces and hard eyes. All eyes turned to them as they entered. Most were looking at the Elites with open menace and anger. The aliens were equally frank as they stared back.
One tough-looking individual wearing a boonie with sergeant’s chevrons on it stood up and appraised them. “Well, well, well. What have we here? Regulars. Common-as-dirt regulars.” He looked Kyle up and down. “You look as though you’ve seen a bit, old-timer. You in charge of this bunch?”
Kyle’s voice was deceptively calm. “Believe me when I say that I’d seen a lot when you were *** your pants in basic training. My squad can look after themselves, and if you don’t believe it just try me.”
The man swore and attempted to punch Kyle. Kyle sidestepped, grabbed his arm and twisted it around his back. Ignoring the man’s yells of pain, he pushed him down to the floor with his knee. “You gonna kiss and make up?” Kyle asked whimsically. After struggling, the man spat out an apology and Kyle let him up. The other soldiers quickly averted their eyes and returned to their previous tasks.
The squad grabbed a series of beds down the end. Len whistled in awe. “I gotta say, Sarge, you ain’t good at making friends.”
“Shut up, Corporal.”
A voice crackled over the intership COM. “All hands, stand to. We are transitioning to Slipspace in T-minus four minutes. Make ready for jump-secure all airlocks and bulkheads.”
The ODSTs scrambled to stow their gear, and Horatio’s squad did the same.
The carrier moved away from the tether, engines glimmering. Eventually it found a remote region of space, and activated the FTL matrix. Black space began to flicker, and pull apart, revealing a rippling void. White beams started to form around the ship, and with a final thrust of the Slipspace capacitors, Silver Lining jumped into the nether.
*************************************************
Horatio smirked as he saw the arrangement of the hand he’d been dealt. He delicately discarded two, and added three betting cubes. “Your move, Skippy.”
Ollie bared his teeth. “Don’t rush me.” He studied his own hand, frowning. Around the bed, the other players-Horatio, Xavier and Len-watched impatiently. Benson was napping, Terry was in the gym. Gerun and Dasa were engaged in a mock battle of hand to hand, sparring in the aisle between the beds. Lazu lay on a prodigiously bent bed, bored. He was wearing only his chest-plate and lower torso plates, so his sinuous brown head was visible for all to see.
After a few minutes, Horatio groaned and banged his arm on the bed head. “Wake up Ollie! You doing something or what?”
“Alright, alright!” He laid down his cards. “Double flux. Pay up.”
“Uh-uh, “Horatio said, smiling. He laid down his own hand. “Wide clasp. Can anyone beat that?” They all groaned, admitting defeat. Horatio gleefully scooped up the cash. “Thanks very much gents.”
Kyle stomped in, fresh from the shower. Beads of water glinted on his scalp. “Who won?” he asked, reclining on a bed. They all pointed to Horatio.
Kyle sniffed ruefully. “Might have known. We’ll be dropping into normal space in three hours-so if you’ve got anything left to do, do it now. I want everyone ready to drop as soon as we get there.”
Horatio stood. “Might go get a bite to eat. Anyone else want to come?”
Lazu roused himself; as he got up, the bed creaked noticeably. “I will come. My belly aches-the prospect of food is enticing.” He put his helmet back on. “I’ll risk human food. Let us depart.”
Horatio was about to respond with a retort, but bit it back, fuming. Couldn’t he see how inconspicuous he would be? Did he have any sense at all? He rummaged through his pack and grabbed his amenities pass. “Come on, “he snapped irritably. The pair headed through the hatch and out into the corridor beyond.
Horatio cursed softly-he had no idea where the ship’s mess hall was. He turned to a passing crewman. “Hey, could you tell me-”
The man caught sight of Lazu, gasped and hurried through an adjacent door. The Elite chuckled quietly. The marine sighed. This is gonna suck.
After some minutes of fruitless wandering, they found a directory terminal, and from there, found the mess hall. Dispensers were lined up against one wall, offering soups, steaks and other foods, but no-one was using them. They had left Earth with a wealth of fresh supplies, and everyone was queuing up at the free choice food selection. Such fresh produce was a luxury and everyone was taking advantage of it. Tables and benches stretched as far as the eye could see, most of them occupied. Horatio and Lazu grabbed trays, and joined the line.
Things were OK, until it was their turn to be served. The cook, a nasty-looking man with a stained apron, jabbed a finger at Lazu. “I don’t serve food to these split-chins, “he said accusingly, as if this resolution was somehow Horatio’s fault. “And if you’re with him, you don’t get food neither. Bugger off.”
Before Horatio could act, Lazu stepped closer to the cook. Eyes turned in their direction, and more than a few hands twitched towards weapons. Lazu’s voice was even. “Come now, sir. I only wish to partake of the food-only that, and I will go. I want no trouble.” He leant closer. “Surely you do not want me to take this issue to Sergeant Kyle?”
The cook’s face blanched; Kyle’s reputation as a hard-ass was already spreading throughout the ship. “You can have food, “he said moodily. He clanged his ladle down. “But you do it.” He stomped away. Horatio rolled his eyes.
Lazu squeezed around the metal bench, and, dipping his slender finger into a pot of curry, sampled it. “Piquant, “he remarked. He began searching for a bowl.
Horatio left him to it, moving along the selection line. He grabbed some rolls, a ham salad and coffee. Since a plasma bolt had caught him in the stomach four years ago, he had a delicate appetite. He moved away, but bumped into a rugged-looking man, dropping his tray.
The soldier whirled around, temper rising. “What’s your problem, pal?” He thrust his scarred face into Horatio’s. “Huh?”
Horatio had met plenty of big mouths over the years; most of them had been strangers to diplomacy. Nonetheless, he cleaved to his duty as a soldier. “I’m sorry, I didn’t see you there.”
The man turned to one of his companions, a weaselly-looking man. “Who is this ***?”
“He’s the douche, you know, the one with the Elite, “he sneered. “Now, I wonder, what kind of traitor hangs out with these monsters?”
“Couldn’t tell ya, Griff, “the rough-looking man said. “Reckon he should be taught a lesson.” He pulled back his fist.
Horatio knew what was coming, and was ready. He swung himself to the right, and the fist missed. He body-slammed the man against a metal beam, but the man was only winded. He grabbed Horatio’s lapels and head butted him. Silver sparkles flashed in his vision, and he felt a boot slam against his ribs. Pain exploded through him. He felt a powerful grip pulling him up.
His assailant’s weedy companion-Griff-had him around the neck, and the man himself was rubbing his hands together. “Right, you ***. Now I’ll put you in your place.”
Lazu chose that moment to act; he climbed onto the counter and leapt. The man shouted with surprise as the Elite’s weight impacted him, sending him sliding along the floor and only stopping when he hit the wall, concussed.
Horatio whipped his elbow around, striking Griff on the jaw and stunning him. He clapped him on the temples, and his eyes glazed over. Breathing heavily, he wiped away blood from a cut on his forehead and got to his feet.
The cafeteria was silent; everyone was looking at them. Food littered the floor, and Lazu was pulling Horatio’s attacker towards him. “What are you doing?” the marine asked.
Lazu indicated the man’s supine form. “It is a scoundrel and a coward who makes conflict of everything, for no reason. Take issue with him.”
Horatio turned away. “Forget it. He’s no trouble now.”
“If you will not, then I will-”
“No!” Horatio rounded on his alien teammate. “I said no! I don’t need your help! I don’t need anything from any of you!” He grabbed another tray, loaded it up with food and stalked off to find a table.
Lazu sighed sadly, and left the cafeteria, hurt and confused.
************************************************
Horatio was still stewing over the fight, and Lazu’s constant, annoying presence. The Elite would not leave him alone, and he had no way of escaping it. What had he done to deserve this insufferable situation? He angrily dug his spoon into his bowl of yoghurt.
“Mind if I sit down?”
Horatio looked up, to see an equable-looking, smiling man, of medium build and bleached blonde hair, standing in front of him. Horatio nodded grudgingly. “Go ahead.”
“Thanks, mate.” He had an Australian accent. “Private Mitch Hannaford. There’s five good ones for ya.” He held out his hand. Horatio grinned despite himself, and took the proffered hand. “Good to meet you as well.”
“So, “Mitch said conversationally, “saw you have a bit of biffo with Lastings over there. Not badly done.”
Horatio’s momentary good mood vanished. “I wasn’t trying to start a fight.”
Mitch’s smile broadened. “Of course you weren’t. Lastings is a bloody thug-no idea why they’d let a brain-dead like him into the Corps. But he’s like all bullies-all mouth.”
Horatio tentatively stroked his forehead. “Didn’t feel like mouth when he was kicking the crap out of me.”
The Australian waved a hand. “He’d just been demoted for fighting. You’d expect him to have a bit of starch in his spine. Say, you part of that experimental unit? The one with the Elites in it?”
“How’d you know?”
His breath hissed out darkly. “’Fraid so.”
‘Ripper.” Mitch actually seemed excited. A shine came into his eyes. “Reckon you’ll have no trouble. Those guys are flat-out deadly. I mean, sure, they were our enemies for a while, but I’m ready to give ‘em a chance. What about you?”
Horatio couldn’t believe what he was hearing. He shook his head fervently. “No. They’ve done too much to ever be forgiven. I came from Madrigal. Gone, now.” He dipped a hunk of bread into his coffee. “Thanks to them.”
Mitch seemed subdued by this. “Sorry to hear that.” But then he leaned forward. “I know it’s none of my business, but I saw you with that Elite. Didn’t seem too friendly. None of my business, like I said, but what say you lay off him? Stop being such a stick-in-the-mud.” He popped a grape into his mouth. “They’re making an effort. But it takes two to tango, as the saying goes.”
Horatio laughed harshly. “That’ll be the day. Forget it, Mitch. We all can’t be as forgiving as you.”
Mitch gave a half-smile, and shrugged his shoulders. “No worries. You’ll come around.” A black plastic box on his belt began flashing and beeping. He made a mournful face. “El-Tee wants a powwow before we deploy. Sorry, gotta go.” He made for the door.
“Wait a moment.” Mitch stopped, and turned. “You in ground operations?”
The Australian grinned and punched the air. “Better believe it. Might even see you down there. You’ll have to get one of those big Elite buggers to help us out. Cop ya later!” He left.
Horatio smiled again; the man’s cheerfulness was contagious. He kept eating, until he felt a tap on the shoulder. It was Terry, still sweaty from his work-out. “There you are! Been looking for you. Debrief starts in ten minutes. We gotta go.” The pair got up and exited the cafeteria.
**************************************************
The debrief room on the ship had a large holo-table at its centre. Chairs had been arranged about it, seating around sixty personnel. Gerun, Dasa and Lazu stood in the shadows, shark-eyes gleaming. The man in charge of the ship’s marine contingent, Major Serrell, a thin, emaciated man with bright, indignant eyes, presided over the briefing. An image of the planet Gethrii appeared over the holo-table’s reflective surface.
“As you can see, Gethrii is a planet full of volcanism. Large, underground tunnels full of liquefied magma form a honeycomb, leading to the spontaneous emergence of vent cores. This explains the planet’s pockmarked appearance.”
Serrell cleared his throat, and continued. “The reason why the control of this place is so imperative, is the importance the Brutes place on it. The natural geothermic conditions provide materiel and fuel for much of their native technology. The geography also suits their fighting style…and nature.” He pressed a button.
The image disappeared, and combat footage materialized in its place. Pelicans flew high over craggy plains, only to be brought down by anti-aircraft batteries concealed in the rocks. Shortswords carpet bombed legions of Brute warriors, but were quickly dispatched by Seraphs and Banshees. ODSTs charged into a rocky defile, taking up positions and firing back at Jackal snipers.
There were Elites in the recording, too. Majors, clad in scarlet armour, led their blue cohorts into combat against ranks of snarling Brutes. A bloodied SpecOps Elite grabbed his Brute attacker by the neck and snapped it like a twig. Brute Chieftains roared their fury and charged into the fray, gravity hammers sparking. Golden zealots met their onslaught with drawn energy blades. Horatio, seated towards the back, curled his lip.
“Although we’ve beaten off three past incursions by the Brutes, they managed to land a substantial military force on the ground. Intel suggests they’re mainly concentrated here, in the Divash mountain range. Occasionally they send expeditionary forces onto the surrounding plains as well.” The hologram zoomed in on a series of sharp basalt peaks, ragged as blackened teeth. Amber-coloured flats stretched out for miles.
“We have reason to believe they have carved out a sizeable fortress in the mountains, using their plasma digging equipment. The Brutes are too many to be fought using guerilla tactics. But we’ve devised a plan that will-hopefully-work.”
“For the past two days, we’ve been broadcasting falsified orders, requesting that the Elite vessels in-system be relocated to the Firanus system. If the Brutes hear this, they will certainly launch a naval attack. Knowing their savage natures, the Brutes groundside will do the same. We have also reduced the number of reconnaissance missions and patrols; this will lead them to believe that there are fewer marines standing by.”
A grin tugged at Serrell’s face. “This is where you come in. Silver Lining will hide behind a nearby planetoid: go dark. As soon as the Brutes launch their respective attacks, the Elite ships will make the jump back. That will keep them busy.”
“Then, we will slip around the battle, and hot-drop you-as well as the ship’s contingent of Helljumpers-behind the Brute forces. Meanwhile, the Elites-”he nodded to the alien trio-”will land a legion of their troops to reinforce the marines already on the ground. We’ll be able to catch them off guard, and eliminate the majority of their military presence. If we can pull this off, they’ll be too few to do us any harm. Any questions?”
A hand rose. “Won’t they see us coming? SOEIVs can be pretty *** loud.”
The Major considered. “Yes, they will. But, as soon as the ship can exit the planet’s gravity well, we’ll send bombers and Longsword escorts, to provide some air support. If we can get the space situation under control, we’ll send more troops by Pelican. Be warned, however; if the naval battle is prolonged, you’ll be on your own.”
A squat, Hispanic marine cleared his throat. “What if the entire op goes FUBAR? Where’s our fallback?”
Serrell highlighted a basin ten klicks from the presupposed killing field. “Here. There are extensive cave systems in this basin, entirely defendable. Also hidden there is a SATCOM transponder that can be used to signal for help.”
He looked around the room. “One last thing. I’ve paired your squads-some of you will be with ODSTs. Designations will be marked on your pods. Sergeants will share command.”
He clasped his hands together. “I believe that’s all. You’ve all seen combat, so you know the drill. Just be careful. The Brutes are getting desperate; no telling what they’ll do to win.” He nodded. “Dismissed.”
The group of marines stood, chattering and issuing orders. Kyle brought everyone in. “You heard the man-it’s gonna be on for young and old. Expect the unexpected. We’ve got an hour-let’s head back to the barracks and gather our gear. I want to go over a few things. Be at Engineering in half an hour.”
They broke up and scattered across the room, heading for different exits. Kyle eyed Gerun, who had yet to leave. “What do you think?”
The Elite growled warily. “It will be bloody, support or no. We must guard each other carefully on this mission. I am glad we all trust each other.”
Kyle thought about what Lazu had told him transpired in the cafeteria. “Me too.”
*************************************************
Horatio marshaled his breathing as the bulbous drop-pod descended towards the exit tube. His hands, clad in reactive leather gloves, settled on the joysticks before him, but he resisted the urge to trigger the chute. Sweat trickled through his hair. This is ***, he thought. I signed up for the regulars. Not these one-ticket rides into hell’s backyard.
On the screens, he could see the Elite ships, prows winking with purple lights, gliding to the edge of the system. They flashed blue-white and disappeared into Slipspace. The remaining UNSC vessels backed away from the planet and drifted.
Would this work, he wondered? Or would the Brutes see through their scheme and stay away?
He took another look at Gethrii. A truly ugly place-it looked like hell. Massive volcanoes could be seen from space, belching noxious gases and flames. A faint yellow sun was stark contrast to the blasted appearance of the planet. *** Brutes. Why do they have to take things so seriously? Why can’t they fight in normal places?
He felt a tremor ripple through the ship, and his pod rocked. His heart-rate spiked. As he calmed down, he saw, on the cameras, the planetoid. There was a rumbling as the carrier edged behind its bulk, and a low groan as all unnecessary systems deactivated. He could see nothing except the lights inside his own pod.
He had no idea how long he just sat strapped in, waiting for something to happen. But eventually, a voice crackled over the COM. “All ships, we have contacts! Repeat, we have Brute contacts. I have visuals on five Brute vessels. They are charging their lateral lines and releasing fighters. Come about and charge MAC guns-target the lead ship.”
The captain’s voice was artfully layered with false panic. Clever-let any Brute eavesdroppers think they had the UNSC ships intimidated. He made one last gear check, making sure it was secure, then waited.
On the screens, he saw the first Brute vessel take three MAC rounds on the bow. Its shields shimmered, but the last round crumpled the plating, and its running lights flickered. Its plasma turrets were failing, so it used pulse lasers instead. Blue beams stitched the Stallion’s battle plate, but did minimal damage. Hundreds of missiles launched in a retaliatory strike, practically destroying the ship’s bulbous head. It listed, and did its best to get out of the line of fire. It was too late, however. A series of explosions cascaded along its length and the ship detonated.
This sacrifice, however, had bought the other enemy vessels time and space. One disgorged a stream of Seraphs, which scattered this way and that, harassing the larger ships. A pair of frigates targeted the Persepolis, and fired a salvo of plasma torpedoes. Using its emergency thrusters, it evaded the worst of it, but took severe damage nonetheless. Armour boiled away, and the engines began flickering. The reactor was in danger of collapse. Persepolis was out of the fight.
Horatio watched with concern. If the UNSC ships were overwhelmed, they’d have to scrub the op, and the system would be in the hands of the Brutes. But he didn’t have to worry.
Space boiled green, and jagged holes in the fabric of space emerged. The jutting heads of the Elite craft made their way through. The cruiser, whose name was Mercurial Resurgence, charged headlong towards the enemy ships, engines at maximum velocity. It came to an abrupt stop as its fore projector lanced forward, a blinding beam of white energy. It gutted a Brute destroyer from stem to stern, completely disabling the craft. Decompressions ripped the ship apart. The Elite destroyers thundered towards the remaining three ships, releasing their own fighters. Volleys of laser fire lit the scene as the singleships swooped and dived. Fool’s Errand targeted a dozen Seraphs with its auto cannons, and blew them to hell.
The Brute ships were wily, however. As soon as the five allied vessels begun coming about, the last three ships, they backed off and fled towards the northern pole of Gethrii. The Elite and UNSC ships were in hot pursuit.
Another radio transmission. “Silver Lining, this is Lieutenant Jamison.” The voice was calm, unruffled, a sheer contrast to the mayhem taking place in space. Brutes have taken the bait. I estimate five battalions worth. They’re assaulting the perimeter fence, but we’re holding. Suggest you drop in.”
The ship’s engines fired, and the carrier thrusted forward-surprisingly fast. Horatio felt his cheeks ripple as G-forces pushed him back into his chair. They were rounding the dark side of the planet.
The voice of the Pod Dispersal AI onboard the ship came over the COM. “Approaching site of insertion. Releasing pods in five…four…three…two…one….”
Horatio closed his eyes, as the pod’s clamps released, and he dropped straight down.