i went ahead and corrected/ added to the first chapter. feel free to totally skip this first part..... 
that is to say, avoid this intro...
actually, just let me go ahead and omit all this....

be as cruel as you'd like. i just had an itching to do something with this, so we'll see how it goes....

---

New story out! Halo: Below the Brine
(it's the best story you're not reading!)

Very cool. I wonder what they've found? Keep going Footbutt, this is pretty awesome.

PS - You spelt "Sneak Peek" wrong.

;)

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"This one has forgotten whether it's heatsink is over capacity. It wonders whether the criminal scum considers itself fortunate" ~ Blasto, the only Hanar Spectre.

Wolverfrog49:

Very cool. I wonder what they've found? Keep going Footbutt, this is pretty awesome.

PS - You spelt "Sneak Peek" wrong.

;)

HA! i did, didn't i?
uh, maybe i'm foreboding a certain geographical location where a specific event will occur very "sneakily"?

but i'm glad you enjoyed it, i'll try and plug along to get some more up soon!

---

New story out! Halo: Below the Brine
(it's the best story you're not reading!)

Good prologue.

---

Whenever a thread was hijacked and there were big quote boxes and lots of flame, I was there!

Rank:Master Hijacker

GT: I DFang I

http://averagejoesgames.com

Chapter 1

Spirit of Fire
Location: Unknown
Military Clock: 0125 hours, 23.04.2536

 

"Captain, wake up. Something has happened."

Hesitantly, Captain James Cutter forced his eyes open. Overwhelming light stabbed into his aging eyes and he was sure tears would form under his gray eyebrows. His cryo-pod cracked open with a hiss, the burning sensation over his covered torso nearly crippling him. He failed to maintain his balance and he dropped to the grated floor. Heaving a chilling breath, he exhaled with a hacking cough, racking his body with even more pain.

His mind tried to catch up with his present state. The Captain had been quick-thawed only once before, and he knew the only reason for such a risky procedure was dire circumstances. And if they were indeed dire, then as captain of the Spirit of Fire, he was needed to be fully functional.

He rolled onto his rear and cleared the moisture from his face with a brush of his hand. He shielded his eyes till they were partially adjusted to the Cryo Room’s overhead glowpanels. He coughed a few more times before looking up at a small pedestal stationed at the very end of the chamber. James was expecting to see the glowing avatar of Serina, the ship’s on board AI, but the pedestal remained dark.

Nevertheless, Serina’s voice echoed though the speaker system. "Captain, I need you on the bridge."

James frowned to himself. Since when did I take orders from an AI? He shook the mildly amusing thought from his mind and lifted himself up off the floor, clutching his own pod for balance. "Give me a minute." He let a quick dizziness spell evaporate before his eyes and started for the exit. James found his locker and quickly got dressed. It would be highly improper for a UNSC Captain to go strutting around the deck wearing nothing more than a body suit.

Placing his trusty cap on his head, James paused in front of the locker’s small mirror. His mind was racing with random thoughts, even distracting so-called priorities of dressing one’s self, and his gut began to grow cold with worry that any more delay could ultimately effect the Spirit of Fire in the most negative way. He nodded to his reflection and slammed the door shut.

James exited the Cryo Room, taking note that there were no other crew members up and about, and walked down the short foyer that lead to a long hallway. He passed Cryo Rooms Two and One, and he stopped short when he noticed the empty lockers outnumbering the occupied ones, situated along the wall. James sighed as he placed a hand over an opened locker door and shut it quietly. On its exterior, the paint had been chipped and scarred from too many times when the owner had hurried off to battle. The worn identifying label was still attached: Pvt. Gregory Aiken. Cutter didn’t recognize the name, and he wondered at what point the marine had sacrificed his life in service to the UNSC. Was it on Arcadia, or possibly on that God-forsaken shield world?

He didn’t have the answer, but the memories of those engagements were still vividly entrenched in his mind. His priorities since taking back Harvest had changed suddenly and drastically after discovering the Covenant had found and unlocked an ancient star map deep inside the polar regions. Professor Ellen Anders was able to access the map, albeit briefly, and it led them to Arcadia, the doctor’s own homeworld. Cutter pivoted on his right foot and leaned back against the locker’s cool metal surface. When we got there, the Covies were just slaughtering innocent civilians. He felt his hands tighten into fists so he forced them open. We saved as many as we could that day.

The Covenant had found something of importance on Arcadia, and after a long battle, Anders and Sgt. John Forge were able to search the devastated area for clues of the enemy’s plans. Only Anders was captured and we had to follow her transponder. A security breach like that could have ended the war right then and there. But what Cutter or Serina couldn’t anticipate was arriving at an uncharted system. Only it wasn’t just another transit stop, but a shell of a world. A shield world, if you will. There they not only encountered a Covenant presence but a new lifeform Serina had classified as parasitic in nature. Had Private Aiken succumbed to the ill affects of this infection? Sadly, James knew that of all the possible ways to die on the battlefield, that would have been the worst.

Following Anders’ signal brought them to the inside of the planetoid where the Spirit of Fire clashed briefly with the Covenant ship that led them there. Taking a lot of damage, they were able to achieve some hasty field repairs before clearing the engagement. Miraculously, Professor Anders had escaped her captivity and Sgt. Forge helped her get back to the ship. While he was able to lead the ground forces in establishing a beachhead on the surface, Anders relayed her findings that the Covenant had unlocked an ancient armada of highly advanced ships and were planning to instigate them into their own fleet.

James pushed himself off the locker and started walking again. He wondered why he didn’t dream of any of this while in cryo sleep, but he figured it was for the best. Without Sgt. Forge’s sacrifice of personally detonating the Spirit of Fire’s FTL drive at the shield world’s core, the Covenant could have wiped Humanity off the galactic map in a matter of years with that technology. Sacrifice, James thought to himself. If there were one word that could sum up the actions of the brave men and women who have fought with the Spirit of Fire, it would be sacrifice. Pursing his lips, he shook his head and tried to reorient to his current situation. Get your mind right, Cutter.

His brisk amble down the empty corridors was short lived when he turned it into a flat out sprint. Slightly annoyed at Serina’s vague "something has happened" statement, his mind wanted to fill the void with his own speculations. Could we have reached a UNSC outpost already? Did something go wrong in Medical? Have one of the Cryo Rooms malfunctioned? Either way, he would know soon enough.

The bridge door hissed open just as James Cutter stomped his pace down to a fast walk. Catching his breath took longer than he had expected, but he did breathe a deep sigh of relief at seeing Serina’s holoform glowing at the central tactical display. He knew she was coming up on the end of her expected lifespan, but as for now, she appeared her usual, bland self. "Serina, status."

She pivoted in place, turning to face him. "Sir, are you alright?"

"Just a little winded," he said, finally able to get his breathing under control.

Serina eyed him closely for a few more seconds before nodding once. "Sir, I’ve managed to pick up a faint transmission, very dim, but without any FTL oscillations to color the frequencies, I was able to find it under an old broadcast range." The tactical screen flickered to life, its blue grid pattern replaced with a fuzzy image of a somewhat-round, large object with smaller specs littered around it. "The source is coming from here."

The Captain’s eyebrows met together in confusion. "What exactly am I looking at, Serina."

"My best guess is that this is a remnant of an asteroid field."

James leaned over the edge of the display, but quickly looked up and started out the forward viewports. He could see nothing but the black velvet void with very few stars sprinkled over its canvas. There was no light coming in from the outside, only the low-lit glowpanels near the floor of the bridge provided any illumination. How can we be anywhere near a system? He pressed a few buttons on the tactical display and brought up a split-image view of Serina’s find with that of the local star chart records.

The records simply read: STAR CHARTS UNAVAILABLE/ UNKNOWN.

"So we’re still out in No Man’s Land," Cutter conceded. "Can you give me anything on where we might be? Even a local star?"

"I’ve been updating our database on a rolling basis, but without a familiar constellation backdrop, our mapping of this area of the galaxy is really only good for where we’ve been." Serina switched the error message to a crudely constructed star map that was very cylindrical in nature, due to the never-changing vector they had been traveling.

Cutter chewed on the inside of his cheek. "How long has it been since our departure?" he asked, marveling at the size of the area they had covered.

"Five years, one month, and twelve days."

That long and we’re still nowhere near friendly territory. He shook his head wearily, and pulled his attention back to the other half of the tactical hologram. "So what does this transmission say?"

Bringing a hand to her ear, Serina activated the bridge speakers. A burst of static boomed loudly and lasted for several seconds before cutting off abruptly. The garbled transmission started again, but this time at a quieter volume, as Serina explained. "I’m afraid there’s not much more to it than that, Sir."

James straightened up and folded his arms across his chest. "And this is what gave you reason to quick-thaw me?"

"The likelihood of sentient life communicating out here in between star systems is infinitesimal. And honestly, Sir, there has been nothing to see or hear since we left the shield world." She gave him a flat smile. "And I knew everyone else would already deem me crazy."

Sighing, more out of contemplation than frustration, Cutter shifted his weight. "Regardless, I’m here." He motioned to the blurry image floating before him. "What’s so important about this static transmission? Even black holes emit radio waves, Serina."

She nodded. "Yes, but not with a perceivable pause. The break in the transmission is likely the sender awaiting a response."

"And the message is repeating?" James asked, suddenly feeling his pulse quicken.

"Yes, Sir." Serina gathered her hands behind her back. "The pause will vary in length, so I ruled out an automated signal in the likelihood of it being a pre-recorded message."

"Is there anything in the transmission to make you believe it’s Human in origin?"

"I’m unable to tell for sure. The initial run through the audio scrubbers came up blank, but there’s no encryption on the signal."

Cutter worked his jaw. "What are the odds this is Covenant lure?"

Serina was silent for a moment. "It is possible, however unlikely. It’s too obvious for a trap," she deduced.

James growled to himself. He knew the chances of making it back home safely were small. He also knew that being in unfamiliar territory had forced them to run silent, whereas if they were adrift in UNSC-controlled space they would light up the airwaves like a New Year’s celebration. Five years. He shook his head. If this is our chance at contact . . .

"Serina, set a course towards the source of that transmission." He circled around the other side of the tactical display to find an operable terminal.

"Aye, Sir," Serina said assertively.

"Have Cryo Rooms One, Two, and Four queue for a quick thaw." Cutter narrowed his eyes. "And wake the Professor. We might need her help on this one."

 

 

*** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** ***

 

 

Professor Ellen Anders wiped the last lingering bit of tiredness from her eyes and straightened up when the lift doors chimed open. She walked into the small personnel lift and pressed the button for the Bridge, closing the doors.

Once she was released from her cryo-pod, Anders had raced to her lab down on the observation deck only to find most of her equipment on a hard restart. She knew her things were safe from other crewmembers meddling with the delicate artifacts, but it didn’t rule out Serina poking her head in and turning off Ellen’s computer gear. She had silently cursed the AI, knowing full well that Serina would just as soon wipe all of Ellen’s recent findings just to spite her, let alone use some rant about shutting off the power to unused decks as justification.

The doors chime again, this time opening up to a fully lit corridor and other crewmembers in a state of self-collection. Anders let a smile tug at the corner of her mouth. She had always prided herself in combating the ill effects of cryo-sleep. She was even able to adapt her own cryo-pod to apply a thin layer of specialized coating to limit the itchiness and discomfort prone to one who wore clothing during the flash-freezing. It most likely was illegal to tamper with UNSC surplus, but the Captain had never voiced his concerns to her.

She moved quickly now, abandoning her hold on her white lab coat, and started for the bridge. She kept her pace somewhere between a trot and a fast walk. It wouldn’t do her any good to look foolish in front of others, for that matter. The crisp sound of synced footsteps turned her head partway around.

"Excuse us, Ma'am."

It was the trio of Spartans that marched past, and Ellen mentally kicked herself for not picking up on their orderly gait. They, unlike every other person— save her, appeared fully functional and walked with a purpose. She reckoned they were headed for the bridge as well, providing her with a little more data on the current chain of command. Forge was the leader on the ground, but now . . . Ellen frowned at her recollection. That *** sergeant had to go be a hero and save us all. She let out a sigh. Just when I was starting to like him. Well, if the Spartans were going to head up an assault team, it was fine with her. They had definitely proven themselves time and time again on that shield world.

Up ahead, the bridge doors hissed opened for the three soldiers, the two in back judging the distance so as to clear the doorway with a centimeter to spare on either side. Anders quickened her pace, hoping to make it through the door while it was still ajar.

Nope. It slammed shut and she took a sudden sidestep to avoid activating the sensor to open the door. She was sure the Captain was already filling the Spartans in on what Serina deemed important, but she needed to make her own entrance. Not in an arrogant way, Ellen explained to herself, just so everyone on the bridge knows that I'm as important as the next person. She cringed at her own semi-delusional thoughts and entered the bridge.

And was greeted by the most annoying sound she'd heard since her youth when she was pulled to a local dive and forced to listen to the stuff they called music. But unlike the rhythmic pulse of long ago, the static blaring over the bridge's speaker system seemed almost mathematical, binary. She saw Captain Cutter wave her over towards the tactical display, and noticed that the three Spartans huddled on the nearest edge were studying the floating blob before them. Serina stood on her pedestal, lifted chin and all, and smiled as the Professor took the only available spot around the tactical display.

The static cut off and James Cutter nodded to Anders. "Good to see you're not suffering too badly." His right eyebrow arched up. "Though I didn't expect you to take that long to get here."

Ellen pursed her lips. "I wanted to stop by my lab," she said, mechanically rotating her head to stare at Serina. "But someone already beat me there." She was pleased to see Serina frown, though briefly, and the AI opened her mouth to speak. But Anders cut off any side comment. "It doesn't matter. My equipment needs to have diagnostics run on them anyway." She pointed to the holoform before them. "What's this?"

The Captain sighed, more audibly than usual. "The source of that signal you just heard. But other than that, we don't know."

One of the Spartans, the biggest one, spoke up first. "Could this just be an interstellar outpost stationed by the Covenant?"

Serina shook her head, keeping the rest of her body completely stiff. "Highly unlikely. The transmission I just played was not under any of the usual Covenant frequencies, or UNSC frequencies. It's very weak and very low-fi." The image on the tactical display flickered once and the fuzzy image became slightly more detailed. "We're on an intercept course with it, thus the visual and audio scanners are updating every few minutes. But there's a very good chance we won't know what we're dealing with until we're right up on it."

"That's not very comforting," Anders murmured. She let her eyes fix on the semi-transparent blob and ran a thousand images in her mind in which to compare. While resembling a chewed-up asteroid, there was one side that was smoother than the others, as if worn down from thermal reentry. "What's your take on this thing?" she asked, partially wanting to see if her deduction was an original thought.

"Serina believes it to be an asteroid of some sorts," Cutter offered.

Anders eyed the Captain. "But that’s not what you think," she inferred.

Cutter placed both his hands on the edge of the display, gently supporting his weight. "I’m not sure what I think now. With everything the Spirit of Fire has been through over the last few engagements, I doubt I’d be surprised if it was a Covenant Prophet heralding a peace treaty."

That remark earned an abbreviated shoulder bob from one of the Spartans, the other male, Anders noticed.

"Either way," Cutter continued, "it has to be some type of sentient lifeform."

Ellen felt a wave of stiffness shoot down her spine and it straightened her up. Thoughts of those parasitic beasts they battled on the shield world came right into the forefront of her mind. The new categorization of that species was still, since her freezing, being debated by a collection of medical officers on board. It was another wildcard to throw in the deck, but after dealing with both the parasites and the Covenant, Anders knew there was no way the two could have anything to do with one another. Still, it was unnerving to think they could run into those interesting specimens again.

"You alright, Professor?"

Ellen snapped out of her daze and gave a lopsided grin to the Captain. "Yes, Sir. If it will help, I’d like to run a few tests of my own on the signal." Out of the corner of her eye she could see Serina turning to face her, but Ellen avoided making eye contact. "I have some analysis equipment down in my lab that could clean up some of that noise."

"Sir, with respect, I believe that will not be needed," Serina chimed in. "As we get closer to the source our chances of interpreting the signal increase. We are still well outside weapons’ range for any known capital ship, and if my calculations are correct, our sensors should be able to make complete sense of the anomaly in approximately 2.2 hours."

"We’re still that far away?" Ellen blurted out. She studied the floating holoform again, trying to find some hidden detail she had not seen before.

"Yes," Cutter confirmed, "and we’re going to need everyone ready when it comes time to deal with this." The Captain looked across the tactical display at the three soldiers. "I can’t thank the three of you enough for sticking with us after evacuating the Arcadian civilians. None of us could have anticipated the path that has lead us here— wherever ‘here’ is." He sighed and pushed himself upright. "After loosing Sgt. Forge and over half of my officers, I need some leadership my guys can follow on the ground. I know it may seem unorthodox, but ONI brass isn’t here to debate with me." Cutter gathered his arms behind his back. "If you’d be willing to lead the taskforce team in the Sergeant’s wake, I would greatly appreciate it."

The center Spartan remained unmoved for a few seconds. Anders tried to stare past the golden visor of his helmet to see the man’s expression underneath, but she failed to do so. She could image the thoughts swirling about his mind.

Ellen, like the Spartans, was commissioned by the Office of Naval Intelligence, and knew the various protocols, or sometimes lack thereof, given on each assignment. But Red Team was a special case, being hauled off to track down Anders herself. I had gotten them into this mess in the first place. She dismissed the guilt within half a second, realizing that without the Spirit of Fire following and rescuing her, they never would have halted the Covenant from using those ancient ships.

While she assumed that Dr. Halsey was soaking up most of ONI’s funding, she couldn’t deny the valuable resource these super soldiers had become. She may be a total ***, but she knows how to get things done. She smiled internally. If Catherine ever heard me say that about her, things might get even more heated between us. Even with a compliment thrown into the insult.

The Spartan— Jerome 092, Ellen finally remembered— turned his head to his left then right, catching the glances from the soldiers at his sides. "While I feel we function better as a support group, I understand the circumstances." He straightened himself up to his full height. "Duty accepted. We are in your command, Captain." In unison, the other two Spartans snapped to attention.

Cutter nodded solemnly, and Anders could almost see a weight lift off of the older man’s shoulders. "Thank you." He held his prideful gaze a moment longer before nodding once more. "We still have a few hours before we can make any real judgement, so Professor," he said, turning his head to Anders. "You have that time to run your analysis."

"Thank you, Captain," Ellen replied, anxious to begin her work. "If there’s nothing else, I’ll go ahead and start."

James Cutter gestured to both Anders and the Spartans. "Then if there’s no other questions, we have some preparations to make. Dismissed."

---

New story out! Halo: Below the Brine
(it's the best story you're not reading!)

Chapter 2

 

 

Ellen took another sip of coffee and set her mug down on the see-though flooring of her lab, also known as the Observation Deck. She had "commandeered" the deck for several reasons, but at the heart of it, she just liked view. Though right now, the blackness of space felt more devouring, more cold than usual. Her reason for sitting cross-legged on the ground was her obsessive-compulsive way of not staying in the same place for very long. Ellen found that if she was stuck on a certain hypothesis or theorem, simply by moving to another portion of the room she could adjust her perspective and most often than not, resolve the issue.

She had only been working on the audio transmission for twenty minutes when she was finally able to make some semblance of sense. The small computer device in her left hand beeped once, informing her of the scrubbing program's completion, and she placed the large headphones over her ears once more. She set her datapad in her lap and pressed her hands over the headphones, removing any unwanted, outside sounds. Ellen closed her eyes to focus all the more.

"Thi . . . SC . . . Tradewi . . . can hea . . . espond . . . damaged . . . this ast . . . tion code . . . avo, Bravo . . ."

Ellen smiled, opened her eyes, and replayed the transmission again. It’s English, alright. From the latest batch of recordings of the signal, Anders could easily begin to notice the sounds of a voice. The words were too colored to make much sense of them, but Ellen knew if she was to get to the right conclusion before Serina, she would have to act fast. She knew others would find her competitiveness with the AI trivial, but Ellen considered it a healthy, professional rivalry.

Going on the assumption that the message was being repeated rather than having a new string of words with each burst, Anders was able to take the subtle nuances of annunciation and find common patterns in the speech. By taking the samples after every pause, she developed a wide pool from which to grab.

Above Anders, at one of her many desks filled with all sorts of gadgets, a terminal beeped, signaling the newest batch of transmissions was ready for analysis. She quickly got up and found her legs tingling from being locked in the same position for too long, but Ellen walked the numbness off by taking small, careful steps to the desk. She glanced over the recording times, finding them to be between fifteen to eighteen seconds long, and started her filter program once more.

Ellen donned on her headphones again and eagerly waited for the program to finish.

*** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** ***

 

Captain James Cutter was looking over the latest supply listings, hoping to hear some good news from the quartermaster, when Ellen Anders burst onto the bridge, looking a little haggard. Her hair had fallen loose around her face and sweat dotted her forehead. "Professor, anything new?"

It only took Anders one gulping breath to bring herself back to normal, but her eyes searched the bridge, obviously looking for something in particular. She smiled and keyed the datapad in her hand. "Yes, Captain," she said, walking towards the tactical display. "I’ve managed to clear up most of the noise and what I found is most interesting."

"Terrific," James thanked the Professor. For all of her quirky behavior, she truly was a great asset to have on board. "Hold on," he asked, holding up a hand and turning to the AI pedestal. "Serina, Anders has something."

It was a few seconds before Serina’s avatar appeared, and her smile seemed more forced than usual. "You’ve completed your analysis of the signal already?"

Cutter noticed Anders wearing a satisfied grin. "Go ahead," he prompted.

The Professor switched on the playback and folder her arms across her chest.

There was a short pop before the recording started, followed by something James never could have guessed. "This is the UNSC vessel Tradewind. If you can hear us, please respond. Our ship is badly damaged and we're stranded on this asteroid. Authorization code: Epsilon, Delta, Bravo, Bravo, Four, Two, Epsilon." The transmission cut off abruptly, leaving the bridge in stunned silence.

Serina spoke up first. "Running a search of our databanks for Tradewind . . ."

James narrowed his eyes, trying to search his own memory for a ship that went by that name. Of the countless ships he had the honor of fighting along side, most were dead and gone or stuck in a repair yard.

He came up blank.

"Captain, EDBB-42-E, sounds a lot like a fleet designation," Anders offered.

"Here we are, Sir," Serina said.

The tactical display lit up with a new image, one of a spacecraft design that James had not seen in a very long time. The title Tradewind was displayed below the oddly shaped craft, as the ship slowly rotated in midair. Tradewind had a boxy engine section connected to a forward cabin by a cylindrical-shaped fuselage. The hull was covered with sensor probes that James imagined could retract during atmospheric flight. Lines of data and statistics began to spew out over the hologram and he caught the measurement of length to be 200 meters long. While still appearing to be military, its design was one of a forgotten past.

"What exactly is it?" Anders asked.

"Epsilon-Delta-Bravo-Bravo is the prefix designation for scout ships," Serina informed.

"It’s a mapping ship," James clarified, pointing to the extensions protruding off the hull. "Those antennas are layered with sensor gear. They were commissioned by the government right around the time when the inner colonies began their boom, hoping to get a better idea of what planets we could populate."

Anders frowned and pointed to the flashing message: MIA. "But that was nearly 200 years ago. Why is it that no one came looking for them? "

Serina tilted her head thoughtfully. "Tradewind would have been traveling through uncharted regions of space, the most dangerous of missions, and the crew knew it when they signed up. However they came to be stranded here in interstellar space is a mystery. I’m not sure the UNSC would know where to look. These mapping ships covered a wide range of the galaxy."

"Hmm." Cutter leaned over the tactical display, reading over the endless amount of information scrolling before his eyes. The specs on Tradewind revealed it to be equipped with a first generation Cryo Room along with stores of supplies. James knew how awful those first-gen cryo-pods could be. They were prone to failure and often left one’s flesh permanently scarred from the freezing process. But coupled with lasting foodstuffs, the crew could theoretically survive as long as they have. "Serina, send out a broad-spectrum ping for acknowledgment, then queue the comm channel. Let’s not leave them waiting any longer."

"Aye, Sir."

Thankfully, Serina had enough sense not to deafen them by playing the full-range ping over the bridge speakers. When the AI nodded to Cutter, he took a deep breath and keyed the comm on the terminal at his side. "This is Captain James Cutter of the UNSC Spirit of Fire. We copy your transmission, Tradewind, and we are here to lend assistance." James straightened up and waited for a reply.

*** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** ***

 

Seated on an ammo crate, Jerome stared at his warped reflection off the golden visor of his helmet. His pale face was made a shimmering sun that stretched to both left and right. He rubbed his gloved right thumb over a scared section of the lower jaw. Even through the protective layer encasing his thumb he could feel the divot an Elite had gouged out during one of Red Team's most recent engagements. If he wanted to, Jerome could have recalled the battle in perfect detail where he had earned his armor's latest blemish. But he wasn't in the mood.

"Jerome, the Captain wants . . ."

He looked up to find Douglas fully armored, standing in the doorway of the Armory. The bright light filtering in from the hallway shrouded him in a ghostly silhouette, but his stance told Jerome he was taken aback by seeing the weary face of his leader. Jerome forced a smile at the fellow Spartan and sat up tall. "You and Alice ready?" he asked donning on his helmet.

"Yeah," Douglas said slowly, shifting his feet. He poked a thumb out into the hall. "Captain says they found out what the anomaly is. He just called for us to head to the bridge."

"Right," Jerome said, as he sealed the collar of his armor. His heads-up-display flickered to life when the MJOLNIR helmet connected with the necessary feeds coming from the rest of his suit. The quick diagnostics he had run just minutes before proved accurate as the HUD's motion tracker caught the nearby movements of people wandering the hall outside. What gave him pause was the lack of an ammo counter in the upper right corner. He reached a hand behind him to feel for the MA5B assault rifle he had strip-cleaned prior to his M6 pistol at his side . . . but no, the M6 wasn't there either.

"You okay, 092?"

Jerome gave Douglas a glare. He had told both him and Alice not to use their Spartan tag numbers when he took charge of Red Team. He knew the numbering system was considered necessary in its own rite, but he felt detached when Spartans referred to each other as a set of digits. The only reason Douglas would have called him by 092 was if the other Spartan needed to remind Jerome of his profession and place in the military. They were family, after all, and Jerome wanted to keep Red Team a tightly knit group.

He turned around in a circle, seeing if he had laid his weapons down on the floor or propped them against the crate. "I thought I had—" He stopped his rotation when he saw the reflective silver of his M6 in a rack on the wall above his MA5B. Shaking his head, he could hear Douglas walking over to his side. "I must be losing it."

Douglas shrugged and pulled the assault rifle off the rack, handing it to Jerome. "Hey, five years in a cryo-pod would do this to anyone."

He accepted the weapon and locked it in place on his back. "But we're not just anyone. We're Spartans." He slapped the M6 to the magnetic strip on his thigh and let out a sigh. Jerome knew most of his uneasiness was stemming from something he had worked all his life to remove: Survivor's Guilt. He had been primed, even anxious to personally align the Spirit of Fire's FTL core to detonate the drive in the shield world's artificial sun. But Forge stepped in and sacrificed himself as we held off the Covies. And now that guilt was back with a fervor.

Whenever he was in the heat of battle, every rogue thought subsided to the back of his mind, a tactic that was most useful to a soldier. But during these "off the clock" hours, every stray thought would begin to connect to another and create a deceitful web of remorse that threatened to bubble over into outward expression. And Jerome was good at not showing any emotion. He once thought it was a good quality to have in a Spartan. Once.

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath to quell the pain of his past. He had his share of bad memories, those before everything that transpired with the Spirit of Fire. Killing? That is something Spartans are groomed for. Suppressing the memories of all we have seen and experienced? Well, some deal with it better than others. For Jerome, a certain memory was best kept locked and sealed in the back of his mind.

Shaking his head again, Jerome patted Douglas on the arm. "I'll be fine, now let's go see what this mystery signal really is."

 

*** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** ***

 

In the time it took for the Spartans to make it to the bridge, there was still no variation of the transmission to infer Tradewind had heard Cutter's reply. The desperate calls began to sound more frantic and James realized they would have to approach contact with the mapping ship in a different manner. He stood at the forward viewport, their destination finally in view. "Serina, ETA on Tradewind."

"We will be upon the asteroid in approximately twenty minutes, given their trajectory doesn't shift."

"That would be unlikely," Anders murmured from across the bridge. She was staring rather intently at the two-dimensional image of the asteroid displayed along the back wall of the bridge. "And I don't think it's what you say. The smoothness of the forward-most side is leaning me to believe it to be a comet."

"A comet? Are you meaning to say this is something similar to Earth's Kuiper Belt Objects?"

Cutter spun around to find Anders standing with arms folded, obviously trying not to give Serina the satisfaction of stumping her with some obscure reference. He knew what the KBOs were. Every time a ship left the outer edges of the Solar System they had to check with the local outpost's traffic controller to make sure the outbound vector was clear of floating debris. But he doubted the Professor had ever heard of them.

Anders sighed. "I'm merely stating my opinion that it doesn't really match the characteristics of an asteroid."

Raising an eyebrow, James interjected. "If you two are done arguing semantics, we need to figure out our approach."

"Sorry, Captain," Anders said quickly. She glanced over at the three statue-like soldiers, as if noticing them for the first time. "Sorry."

Serina nodded her head. "Sir, Tradewind seems to be located on the back end of the . . . object. It's still moving at nearly 20 percent of our flank speed."

The tactical display lit up with the clearest image of their destination since first contact. The comet-like object was nearly a quarter the size of Earth's moon, but its texture was rockier and colored an eerie green. The other, smaller objects looked as if they were broken off chunks of the larger but had been caught up in the gravity well, staying huddled like baby chicks to a hen.

James tapped a finger over his lips contemplatively. If we bring the Spirit of Fire around the back of the asteroid— it still looks like an asteroid to me— all of those smaller pieces floating around it could chew through our hull in a matter of minutes. Taking a ship their size through any sort of debris field would spell disaster, but the Captain was not without options. "Serina, I assume since Tradewind hasn’t responded to our hails that it is unable to receive inbound signals."

She nodded. "I concur."

"And what about visual contact?"

Serina changed the hologram on the display to a rough interpretation of the mapping ship’s orientation on the asteroid. Tradewind was lodged into the object from the midsection on to the forward cabin, with only the rear half of the ship above the surface. From their vantage point, Cutter couldn’t tell if the forward sections were obliterated or if they survived the impact and became buried underneath the rock and ice. A thick cloud of dust surrounded the entire rear portion of the asteroid, shielding anything secondary sensors would be able to detect.

It’s a wonder they’re even able to transmit through that mess. He frowned. "I see."

"Or not, really," Serina chided.

James gave her an abbreviated glare, but gestured to the image without further comment on her inability to tell a decent joke. "If our sensors say this is mostly made up of rock and ice, what about the smaller objects?"

The view shifted to a close-up of a few tightly packed chunks, and a sediment analysis filled an opened window next to them. "More ice, rock, and gases," Serina said. "Nothing too important." She opened her mouth to speak but snapped it shut, delaying her words for a moment. "Though if you plan on using them for target practice with the MAC, it might not be a wise choice. The gases are combustible and would inevitably set off a chain reaction that could do more harm than good."

"Wonderful." James folded his arms across his chest, contemplating his next move. Cutter’s mind started to race with ideas. He so enjoyed a good puzzle, but when human lives were at stake, he often went with the safest method. "If the Spirit of Fire can’t make it to Tradewind, then we’ll have to fly in some transports to scout the area," he concluded.

Anders stirred where she stood, and hastily entered a command into the tactical display to bring up the image of Tradewind’s likely position. She zoomed in on the boxy engine section and pointed to it with an index finger. "Captain, if the engine section is still running on power . . ." She brought up her head and laced a smile on her lips. "Then their slipspace drive could still be intact." She took a long stride to the terminal next to the tactical display and began typing away. "If I can compare the specs of each vessel, we might be able to adapt the FTL drive for our own use," she said, he face lighting up with hope.

"One problem at a time, Professor," Cutter calmed, suppressing a smile. Last time it was Serina who jumped to the next step in his otherwise unmade plans. The conversation even revolved around the use of a certain FTL drive— the Spirit of Fire’s to be specific.

Serina made the sound of a throat clear and turned to face the Captain. "So we’re to send a boarding part over? How nice."

James snorted. "I’m glad you agree, Serina." He looked up to the Spartans who were silently watching the drama on the bridge play out in its usual fashion. "This is where you come in. It would be too risky to drop down a Fire Base with all that surrounding clutter, so we’re going to ferry our people over via dropships." He nodded to Spartan 092, keeping his distance so as not to strain his neck while looking up. "I imagine flying over will be no easy task, but we need to contact Tradewind. I ask the three of you to take three different birds over, bringing a squad of marines each. It is a UNSC vessel and I don’t expect trouble, but nowadays, you never know."

He gathered his hands at the small of his back. "I’ll have my best pilots fly you to the landing zone."

"And the LZ is where?" 042 asked mildly.

Cutter gave a short laugh. "Wherever you find room around Tradewind’s crash site." James circled back around to stand along side Anders at the terminal. "We’ll update you as we get more information."

The Spartan leader nodded. "Sir," he acknowledged.

"Good luck out there, Spartans."

He waited for the three soldiers to exit the bridge before recognizing Anders silent stare. He could feel her eyes boring into the back of his head, so he didn’t bother turning around. "I assume you’d like to head over with the first wave," he stated.

The Professor sighed. "Captain, I know the risks involved and—"

"Get your things ready," James interrupted, finally turning to face her. "I know keeping you here would be fighting a loosing battle."

"Thank you," Anders breathed.

He held up a hand to forestall her rushing out. "But keep in mind our priorities here. The safe rescue of Tradewind’s crew is our main objective." He allowed a smile to tug at the corner of his mouth. "But salvaging an FTL drive afterwards wouldn’t be so bad."

Ellen Anders nodded enthusiastically and left the bridge in a hurried trot.

With that final comment, James was left to help organize the landing party. He only prayed things would go a lot smoother than they did last time.

---

New story out! Halo: Below the Brine
(it's the best story you're not reading!)

Chapter 3

 

 

Jerome felt the sealed cabin’s floor rumble as the three dropships lifted off and out of the main hangar. He was seated behind the pilot in the cramped quarters of the cockpit, but managed to crane his neck around to see the six marines seated in the small passenger section of the ship. A few wore expressionless masks, while at least one clutched his harness as if it wouldn’t keep him in place. Jerome knew a search and rescue mission was rarely just that, and he could tell these men had their qualms as well. Even if they don’t visible show it.

Captain Cutter’s voice sparked through the comm. "Be careful out there. If we are able to give you any updates on Tradewind, we’ll let you know."

"Aye, Sir," the female pilot said. "And thanks." Fully encased in a sealed pilot’s suit of her own, Jerome had not even picked up on the fact that his pilot was a woman. With her accent, he placed her as definitely being from an outer colony world, though which one, he couldn’t tell. He would have asked her, if he truly wanted to probe her personal life, but the task before her was a daunting one at that and she needed to be completely void of distractions.

The dropship made a smooth right turn and veered towards the floating mass that was their destination. Jerome suppressed a shudder when the cockpit’s forward viewport completely filled with the large green chunk of ice and rock. Up until now he had not realized that sheer size of the thing, and some of the smaller floating satellites were big enough to pound the tiny dropship to dust. What added to the uneasiness was the green dust cloud that swirled around the large object, thickening at the rear, right in their path to Tradewind.

Confidently, the pilot kicked in the thrusters and resituated herself in her seat, getting as comfortable as possible before the evasive maneuvers. "Stay loose. There’s a lot of debris out here," she said into the comm.

"Copy," came the reply from the other two pilots.

Jerome smirked at the coolness of their response. Whether the rumors about pilots being arrogant and cocky were true, they still knew when to buckle down and focus. Well, most of them. In his mind’s eye he could also picture Anders taking up the reins as the backseat driver in Alice’s dropship. He reckoned the female Spartan’s quiet display of fearlessness would rub off on the Professor and set a lady-like example, but he just as soon preferred not having an incessant instructional commentary on the matters of piloting in his own ship.

The dropship took a winding path through the outer edges of the mist, curling up and over the larger chunks of rock and sometimes dipping below the rolling forms. Jerome began to hear particles of dust and fist-size portions of rock ding off the outer hull of their ship, and he winced as a louder impact hit close to his head. The cloud of green dust started to thicken to the point of hindering visibility and Jerome cycled through a few visual filters in his HUD to better his vision. He settled on one that relied on heat mapping, but soon found it to be useless with the outer environment. Switching his visor back to normal, he felt as if they were flying through an emerald sandstorm rather than attempting to land on an asteroid.

But the pilot was good. Better than good. When her instruments failed to detect incoming objects, she flew on instinct, wit, and guts. Maybe the stereotype of pilots being arrogant has some merit.

The dropship began to shake violently and a few marines in the back moaned at the sickening jostling. Jerome forced himself to relax. In these situations when he could not directly control his fate, he knew getting frustrated did nothing to improve his circumstances. Though the anxiousness was still there.

Then just like turning a faucet off, the mist evaporated and they were through the worst of it. The friction of dust against their hull died down as they entered the thin atmosphere of the asteroid. Jerome knew the surface would be as inhospitable as space itself, but he was hoping there was a decent amount of gravity to keep the dropships from floating away, once they had landed.

Out of the left corner of his visor, he saw another dropship blast through the dust cloud and level out with his own. It was a moment later before the third ship appeared on their right, completely inverted but intact. "Form up and report," the female pilot ordered.

"Fox Two, here. Got a little cooked but we’re okay."

"One, Three. Took a hard hit in the portside steering vain. Loss of 40% maneuverability. No hull breaches."

In front of him, the pilot swore under her breath. "Once we’re dirt side, we’ll see what we can fix." She steered the dropship in a lazy arc down towards the waypoint flashing at her from the sensor board, but the ship’s forward lights shining into the near distance were not yet close enough to spot Tradewind. As a precaution, she slowed the dropship to half-thrust.

Jerome waited patiently in his seat, counting down the meters to the waypoint. The gloom of the back end of the asteroid was just as eerie as the green dust that surrounded it, and he couldn’t see any better for the distance they had covered in almost a full minute.

"See anything?" Fox Two asked over the comm.

Before the female pilot could answer, a sharp, cornered angle rose up into view. "All stop!" she yelled, and matched action with words by pulling the throttle all the way back. The engines reversed thrust and the ship hovered precariously close before the port stern of Tradewind. "That was close," the pilot muttered admittedly.

Jerome sneaked a peek at the waypoint readout and was confused to see it oscillating between all nines and all eights. "Sensors must be having a fit," he offered as politely as possible.

"Magnetic distortion," she replied. "There must be pockets of it everywhere." She keyed the comm. "Two, Three, form up on me. Let’s find a section of the upper hull we can latch on to."

He leaned forward and placed his left hand on her shoulder. "Preferably a spot where there’s sealed bulkheads," Jerome mentioned, pointing a thumb back at the marines.

"Right."

Jerome meant it as a joke— albeit, a weak one— but the pilot either ignored the humor or was still frazzled from the near miss.

The pilot pulled up the schematic of Tradewind that Serina had provided for each ship and pointed to a flashing, circular outline just forward of the bulky engines. A small information window opened and it read: Emergency Ventral Aft Hatch. She kept her hand poised over the readout for a moment, contemplating her next decision. Within two more breaths, she straightened up and signaled the other two dropships. "Hold up here. I’ll offload my team first. Then Two, then Three."

Jerome unfastened his harness and stood up, even as the pilot lowered the ship to the hull of Tradewind. "What about your wingman’s condition? It isn’t quite the best environment to administer repairs out there."

She rotated the ship and initialized the docking collar sequence. A few muffled thumps resounded through the hull of the dropship as the boarding device was locked in place. The pilot turned her head to the right and pointed to a section of Tradewind’s fuselage on the schematic display. "Tell you what, Spartan. If you manage to get their starboard docking bay functional and our ships can land there, I’ll call it even for getting you here safe and sound."

Jerome nodded. "Deal." Though he had no guarantees, there was a large portion of him that knew he could get the docking bay open and usable. Call it determination, pride, or ego; he didn’t care.

He snorted to himself. Maybe Spartans are just as egotistical as pilots are.

But then another thought occurred to him, and he knew he had someone that he could "delegate" the request to. He smiled at the upcoming conversation.

 

*** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** ***

 

 

Ellen Anders stepped off the last rung of the ladder that ushered the team from Fox Three to the interior of Tradewind and sighed. She had been through numerous shuttle transfers from ship to surface aboard Pelicans and other vessels, but never had she experienced such a frightful, bone-jarring ride through the crumbling remains of a comet. She shook her hands and flexed them to return proper blood flow after holding her restraints for all she was worth. Ellen would never tell the others how scared she had been, and she hoped she had masked her fear well enough.

The few snickers coming from a circle of marines told her it was a false hope.

I thought we were going to crash when that fragment hit our left steering vain. Luckily she didn’t scream outright. At least I don’t think I did . . .

"Professor."

Ellen spun around to find the female Spartan standing before her, and nearly took a step backward. Nearly. "Yes?"

Without warning, the overhead glow from the dropship vanished, plunging them into darkness, and on cue, the marines flicked on their flashlights mounted to their weapons.

"Ma’am, 092 would like to see you other there," the Spartan said, pointing to a group clustered against a wall. The light from the tip or her assault rifle illuminated a clear path to them.

"Thank you," Anders replied curtly. She pulled out a glowrod and thumbed it on. The soft blue light played over the dusty surface of the ground and it was then that Ellen realized how stale the air was. It was definitely breathable, just left a nasty taste in one’s mouth. She played the light over to her left then right, mentally measuring the distance to the walls and finding the place they had landed far from spacious.

The "path" that the Spartan had directed was really the only way to reach 092 in the narrow confines of the room they had found themselves in. "Sir?" she announced into the small group of six, nestled against what she now recognized as a sturdy-looking blast door.

The marines parted as the Spartan leader came out of his crouch, holding a datapad. "Try it now," he said to a marine at the door’s release panel.

With a stuttered cough, the door retracted into the ceiling and the squad of marines filed through into the dimly lit room beyond.

Anders returned her attention back to the Spartan who was still standing there, but his weapon was now drawn and the datapad was nowhere in site. "You wanted to see me?" she tried again, this time failing to keep the annoyance from her tone.

He nodded and waved a hand over his head, signaling for the others to move on ahead. 092 looked back down at Anders and gestured with a nod of his head for her to follow. He led both of them inside the next room and moved off to the left so the others could enter without hindrance. "I have a task for you."

Ellen pursed her lips and tilted her head at an angle. "Excuse me?" Doesn’t he know I have an important job to do involving getting us back home?

"The dropship that you rode in on, Fox Three, needs to exact repairs. The starboard docking bay should still be intact and I need you to get it open and running again."

"With all due respect, I need to examine the FTL drive. Without it we can’t make it back home," she murmured with her arms folded across her chest.

"We can make it back home, just not as fast as everyone likes." 092 squared his shoulders. "And to put it bluntly, until we get Fox Three repaired, we are not going anywhere off this rock. To me, that takes priority."

Ellen was about to protest, but reviewed the Spartan’s use of the word "we" and realized it didn’t necessarily include her. How noble. She shuffled her feet, looking for some sort of comeback, but came up short. "Who’s coming with me?" she asked instead.

"I am," the female Spartan announced from behind Anders.

Ellen closed her eyes and let the sudden rush of adrenaline from being rudely surprised subside.

"130 will be your escort, along with the squad she brought," the male Spartan informed her.

Wonderful. My own personal scare tactic. She frowned. "What about the rest of you?"

092 shrugged. "We’re going to secure the ship’s auxiliary bridge. Our initial scans show no signs of life in the general vicinity, so considering everyone else could be in Cryo, we should find at least one soul down there, calling out to the Spirit of Fire."

The Professor snorted. "Well, maybe don’t tell them their rescue party is technically in need of rescue as well," she said sarcastically. Ellen pulled out her datapad and tapped the screen. "You want to send me the coordinates of the docking bay or should I just start walking in the general direction?"

The two Spartans exchanged glances, and then the leader pulled out his own datapad and transmitted the floor plans. "Be careful. The portions of this ship above the surface appear to be intact, but there’s no telling what may lie below the surface."

How very foreboding. Ellen turned to the female Spartan who had already secured her own datapad back in place against her armor. "Ma’am," Ellen prompted, giving a slight nod of the head.

"Ma’am," the female Spartan echoed. She turned and signaled the six marines walking into the room. "On me. We have our objective."

Ellen sighed and wondered how Sgt. Forge would have handled the situation. He probably would have done the same, she conceded. But at least he could be humorously charming . . . from time to time. She sighed again, this time internally, and realized how much she missed John.

*** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** ***

 

 

Tradewind felt more like a ghost ship than it did a lifeboat, as Jerome walked the darkened halls of the ship. Almost all emergency floodlights had burnt out and the few glowpanels still operable were flickered like an old motel vacancy sign. Jerome had noticed the marines in his squad wrinkle their noses at the mildew and mold, and some had donned on their rebreather masks. Still, others maintained the stern expression, wanting to look like a tough guy in the face of such a trivial thing.

Jerome glanced back over his shoulder to spot Douglas in the middle of the pack, looking around like some seasonal tourist. He turned his head back around and marched on ahead. Deep down, Jerome was starting to have second thoughts about sending Alice down with Anders and her squad. He wasn’t second-guessing the female Spartan’s ability, Alice is as good as they come, but knowing the docking bay was a wildcard held in Fate’s hand, he wondered if he should have sent more of an escort.

He looked back at Douglas again and shook his head. I couldn’t really send him. Jerome highly doubted that the Professor knew of the dispute between Forge and Douglas where they debated Doug’s recommendation to fire on the Covenant ship that was carrying Anders, but it was better not to risk igniting a possibly incendiary situation.

Douglas caught his leader’s eye and swiftly moved to the front of the group. "Update?" he asked warily. The Spartan knew something was up but kept his voice low enough that the following marines couldn’t hear their conversation.

"Not really," Jerome hesitated. They continued to walk in silence for another few seconds before he properly answered. "I’m wondering if we should have sent either one of us with Alice. You know, for backup?"

Douglas turned his head and gave him sideways look. "You think the Professor is more than she can handle?"

Jerome laughed lightly. "In a certain way, I’m sure that could be true." He shook his head and sighed. "No, I’m thinking the docking bay being usable is a long-shot," he lied, masking the ice forming in his gut.

Douglas harrumphed. "You said so yourself, if the damaged dropship can be repaired here, it beats having to send an empty one back through that rocky maze to pick us up." He played an arm off Jerome’s shoulder. "And Alice is a big girl. She can take care of herself."

"Right," he agreed.

Jerome turned his attention back to the long corridor they were walking down and heard a soft beep from up ahead. He raised a fist in the air and stopped everyone where they stood. It was then that he noticed the blue, upside-down triangle marking his waypoint to read "12 meters". With all his distracting thoughts, Jerome nearly walked right up on the auxiliary bridge without even noticing where he was. The beep came from the locking mechanism that was currently glowing red next to the bridge doors.

He turned around and waved a narrowed hand twice. The squads separated into two columns of six along each corridor wall. His motion tracker was still void of movement, but it didn't necessarily mean no one was there. Jerome nodded to Douglas and the two Spartans led their respective teams to the double doors of the auxiliary bridge.

The same marine that had helped with every other locked door was quickly by Jerome's side, keying an entry code to bring the doors open. He paused and raised an eyebrow. "Shouldn't we just knock?"

Jerome thought for a moment and then shook his head. "If they haven't responded to us hacking our way through the main corridor, then they most likely won't notice this either."

"Notice or care," Douglas added quietly.

The marine shrugged and returned to his datapad. "It'll just take a sec . . ."

"Stay sharp," Jerome ordered and set himself with his MA5B across his chest.

The doors slowly parted, the gears creaking from age, and revealed a circular room that descended several meters to the center, much like a miniature auditorium. A few consoles were still operable and lines of red text were scrolling over their screens, while others looked blown out or damaged beyond repair. Five wide viewscreens were arrayed along the far wall; all were awash in static.

And sitting in the captain's chair was a graying, weary looking man, gape-mouthed and staring at the two super soldiers. His eyes grew wider and his brow wrinkled even more. The old man spun his chair partway around and fumbled out of it. He rotated the chair to keep the back of it shielding him from the Spartans. He poked his head around the side, his eyes full of fear, and reeled back away. "Who . . . who are you?" he asked with a shaking voice.

Jerome frowned and exchanged a quick glance with Douglas. When he saw his fellow Spartan standing tall, clad in his MJOLNIR armor, he realized the reason for the old man’s fright. In the modern-day military, seeing a Spartan would still be rare but most would cast them with a look of wonderment and awe. To someone that has been out of the UNSC loop for nearly 200 years . . . well, Jerome figured he properly responded in the same way a squad of Grunts do when their Elite commander has been slain.

"I am Spartan 092, and this is 042. We are with the UNSC Spirit of Fire and are here in response to your hails." Jerome and Douglas took a few steps forward to allow the marines to file into the room. "We are not here to harm you," Jerome continued, trying to defuse the tension in the man’s eyes.

Once the older man caught sight of the marines, and more directly their UNSC badges emblazoned on their sleeves, his posture slacked and he heaved himself up off the ground. He tossed an antiquated pistol into the command chair and raised his hands into his sobbing face.

Jerome waved the team’s medic over and got his first real look at a Tradewind survivor. His long gray hair had been tied in a loose knot, and his beard looked to be somewhat trimmed but still covered his throat and the upper portion of his worn tunic. The sleeves of his jacket were tattered and torn, along with the legs of his pants. His feet were bare, leaving an open view of grimy toes. He reminded Jerome more of a sea-faring, shipwrecked castaway than of a UNSC crewmember.

When the medic reached him, the old man lowered himself into the chair and leaned his head back against the headrest. With gloved hands, the medic ran a scanner over the man’s body and offered words of comfort. "It’s okay. You’re safe now."

The man dried his eyes and sniffed. "Where did you come from?" he asked, his voice still quivering.

The medic turned his head and nodded to the Spartans to let them handle the questioning. Though he held up a hand to caution them to go easy.

Jerome and Douglas made their way through the winding maze of consoles to the central commander chair. Jerome locked his assault rifle behind his back and looked down at the old man. "We’re from the UNSC vessel the Spirit of Fire," he repeated. "We’re here to help you, but we do have some questions as I imagine you do as well."

"Spirit of Fire?" the man asked with a raise eyebrow. "Never heard of it. Must have been commissioned after we set off on this . . . this suicide mission," he bit off the last part of his statement with a bodily tremor.

"What’s your name, Sir?" Douglas asked quickly, hoping to forestall a rant.

"Edwin Ferguson."

"Are you the captain?" Jerome inquired.

"Acting-Captain," Edwin clarified. "Captain Leonard was killed during impact." He looked down to where the medic was examining his right leg. "I took some shrapnel just below the knee, but managed to seal the wound without infection. That was some time ago. I wonder how long it has been . . ." He trailed off and looked back up to the Spartan. ". What is the date, by the way?"

Jerome was about to rattle off the current date, but paused when he looked into Edwin’s cold blue eyes. He wasn’t sure if the man would go into a catatonic state when given the truth, so he patted him on the shoulder instead. "It has been long enough."

Edwin sighed and nodded. "Indeed."

"Are there any other survivors?" Douglas asked.

"A few. They’re in our only functional Cryo Room, though it has been some time since any of them has been thawed." Edwin winced and nearly doubled over in the chair, moaning as he did.

The medic steadied Edwin’s shoulder and eased him back to a sitting position. "His nervous system must be going," he explained to Jerome by whispering. "At his age and if he’s been in and out of a first-gen Cryo, I can’t image the pain he’s gone through."

Jerome nodded to the medic and knelt down to face Edwin. "You’re going to be alright. We’ll get you and the rest of your crew off this rock and our medical staff can treat you."

"How many are left?" Douglas asked quietly.

"Including me . . . twenty."

Jerome suppressed a whistle. Twenty survivors out of a possible hundred or so. He nodded to Edwin and stood up, activating his comm. "Alice, we need that starboard docking bay working as soon as possible. We have twenty passengers that will need evac and we need all three dropships to ferry them over to the Spirit of Fire."

"No!"

Jerome looked down to find Edwin with a look of horror on his face. "What?"

"Don’t access that docking bay," he uttered. "It’s where we put the Object."

"What Object?"

"Please, don’t let them near it!" Edwin pleaded to Jerome, reaching out to grab his forearm. "It’s the reason we’re here, shipwrecked on this asteroid."

Jerome pursed his lips and activated his transmitter again. "Alice, Anders, you copy?"

But the only response was static coming through the comm.

---

New story out! Halo: Below the Brine
(it's the best story you're not reading!)

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oh, drat. why do i continue this....

 

Chapter 4

 

Ellen inhaled another taste of stale recycled air from her rebreather and studied the panel once more. Their small group of eight had trekked through a fairly normal-looking portion of the ship to reach their current location. The halls connecting to the main corridor had been symmetrically laid out, giving them a straight shot to the outer room of the bay. From what Ellen noticed, this section of Tradewind housed the many sensory nodes and storage equipment that gave the vessel the title of a “mapping” ship. Some of the technology looked familiar while most of the equipment was too big and bulky to still be considered useful . . . at least to Anders.

The old electronics of Tradewind’s external docking bay terminal were proving to be most difficult with which to interface. All of the capacitors had lost their charge and some circuit boards had been completely fried. Her only hope in getting the Docking Bay functional was to get the pressure equalizers to start doing what they do best, but at the moment, the access panel was almost as stubborn as Alice was impatient. Do Spartans ever appreciate the work scientists do?

“Anything?” the female Spartan asked from over Ellen’s shoulder.

Holding her tongue, she rolled her eyes. Ellen focused on the final lead of the transformer that connected to the power relays. If I can just get enough juice through to this . . .

With a dissonant whine, the equalizers revved up to nominal output, and the program running on Anders’ datapad screen gave a percentage readout of the proper oxygen levels along with a countdown to full pressurization. Ellen stood up and turned around to face Alice to give her an I-told-you-so look, but the Spartan was no longer facing the Professor.

“Form up,” Alice ordered to the marines that had taken needless defensive positions at either end of the small anteroom. They formed up in a neat little pack at the main entrance to the Starboard Docking Bay. Alice glanced over at Anders who was purposely ignoring her command by staring at the datapad. “Fall in,” the Spartan said.

Ellen’s datapad beeped an affirmative that the pressure had been sealed beyond the primary and secondary blast doors that the team was now waiting to barge through. She gathered her gear and nodded to Alice. “After you,” she said, as she pressed the door panel’s release. 

The first blast door slowly retracted into the ceiling but it got stuck when it was three quarters of the way up. The secondary blast doors parted with an efficient wheeze that belied their age. Alice propped a hand underneath the primary door and shoved it upward to lock it in place and permit easy travel. She walked forward and stepped into the Docking Bay. Ellen quickly came up beside the Spartan to survey her surroundings.

Like she figured, the Starboard Docking Bay was nothing more than a scaled-down hangar. The square-shaped bay rose up three levels and was wide enough to barely accompany two of their own dropships. Off to her left was a docking collar that could swing and extend out past Tradewind and Ellen imagined that that was the main way the mapping ship’s crew could disembark. On the other side was what looked like a collection of old mining tools and analysis equipment, covered in deteriorating black tarps.

Alice walked past Anders and keyed her comm. “Fox Three, we have the bay sealed. Come around and we’ll open up the outer doors.”

Ellen’s own comm crackled with static and masked any response from the dropship. “They must be in another magnetic distortion pocket.”

“Or we’re in one,” Alice offered.

Anders turned to her left and spotted the outer doors controller. “Hold on,” she requested to the Spartan. Ellen cleared away some of the dirt and grime caked on the controller’s screen and found the activation switch. The console sprang to life and she nodded to Alice. “It’ll just take a moment to warm up.”

The Spartan gestured to the marines behind her. “Fan out, but stay close,” she ordered, and they obediently complied.

Leaning over the console and drumming her fingers impatiently on the chassis, Ellen waited for the green light to tell her the hydraulics to the large bay doors had been primed. By the time it took the marines to take their positions the console beeped and Ellen hit the glowing green button.

The floor underneath her feet began to quake as the outer doors ponderously opened. Expecting a long, drawn out shriek from antiquated machinery, Ellen was amazed to find the bay doors open without as much as a whimper.

The group of eight was finally able to get an unhindered view of the asteroid’s surface they had found themselves on. Since Tradewind had crash-landed on the asteroid at an angle, they looked out at a tilted landscape, nearly thirty degrees worth. Being as they were closer to “ground level” the green haze hung like fog over the surface, but they could still see the sharp protrusions and rocky hills that marred the asteroid.

When the doors were almost completely open, Fox Three dipped down, almost unexpectedly, to maneuver into the docking bay proper. Its thrusters’ high-pitch whine nearly deafened Ellen, but she winced till the pilot touched down and shut them off.

Alice moved toward the dropship with the marines in tow.

From her distance, Ellen couldn’t really see the extent of the damage to Fox Three, but soon realized it was due to lack of light. She searched the consoles many switches and knobs and found the overhead lights switch. She thumbed it on and was rewarded with only half the main lights coming up to full brightness while the other remained unlit.

Alice gave her a thumb up and she nodded in return. At least she appreciates my hard work, Anders thought sarcastically.

Ellen let her eyes drift over to the right wall again, but this time found one of the tarps had been blown off its equipment by the dropship’s thrusters. She frowned when she noticed that it wasn’t an old piece of Tradewind’s mining gear, but something else entirely. Ignoring the rest of the group now craning their necks to examine Fox Three’s smashed steering vane, Ellen walked over to the two-meter cubed, glass enclosure.

She pulled a sleeve over her hand and rubbed at the dusty surface. When she had cleared enough of the dirt away, she focused her glowrod into the container.

But the beam of light only illuminated a portion of a charred mass suspended within. Ellen growled and started examining the casing itself, looking for a release lever or hatch. She knew her curiosity might have seemed unwarranted, but deep down, the container seemed completely out of place in the bay.

Finally finding a passcoded keypad on the lower half of the cube, she quickly cracked the lock with her datapad. The keypad blurted out a short tone, but the air around it hissed, notifying her that the container’s integrity had been compromised.

“Hey.”

Ellen looked up over the glass cube to see a marine walking her way with Alice close behind.

“What are you doing?” the marine asked.

The keypad let out another tone, this time higher in pitch and longer, and the top lid of the container opened up. The lid retracted into the back of the cube and the four glass walls slowly lowered like drawbridges over a moat.

Ellen’s eyes grew wider than she thought possible. She had never seen anything like it.

And from their rigid posture, she was sure neither marine nor Spartan had ever as well.

 
 
*** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** ***

 

 

Jerome turned back around to face Edwin and forced himself to keep his voice under control. “What is this Object?”

Edwin shook his head absently. “We didn’t know what it was. Just that it was emitting a faint burst of static when we found it in an asteroid field.” He looked down at the floor. “We were traveling on the outskirts of a system when it first lit up. Thinking it was a forgotten UNSC probe, the Captain ordered it to be retrieved.” Edwin shook his head again, this time with a look of pure disgust. “But it wasn’t. It was something else entirely.”

Jerome held up a hand to halt the other's explanation. “Is it a Covenant device?”

Edwin frowned. “Covenant?”

“He wouldn’t know, Jerome,” Douglas said quietly. He then nodded to the survivor. “Was it man-made?”

“Definitely not,” Edwin replied with a snort.

Jerome tried his comm again but was met with the same static as before. He pointed to a marine close by. “Keep trying to reach 130’s team.” The soldier nodded and took a few steps away from the rest of his team, accessing his comm unit in haste.

“Well, what does it do?” Douglas asked.

Noticing his fellow Spartan’s anxious tone, he knew Doug felt the same ice growing in his own stomach. We need to hurry up this interrogation if we’re going to make it to Alice in time. If it’s not already too late.

Edwin opened his mouth to speak, but shut it briefly. “I’m not entirely sure. Tomlesson, our chief engineer, looked it over and couldn’t determine its origins, but it did look like it had been . . . attacked.” He shrugged. “I guess the curiosity got the better of Tomlesson.”

Jerome sighed. “Look, we don’t need a full history lesson here; we just need to know what danger it possesses.”

Exchanging glances from both Spartans, Edwin nodded. “When our engineer started examining it, he must have set it off. There was a huge electromagnetic pulse that temporarily crippled our ship, sending us on a reckless course back into the asteroid field.” He opened his arms to encompass the room. “We crashed on this particular rock and have been careening into the wild black for . . . well, since 2230.”

Douglas reached down to grip Edwin’s shoulder. “How bad was the EMP?”

A frown tugged at the corner of the survivor’s mouth. “Bad enough to bring down Tradewind. It totally wiped out our dumb AI we had on board.”

Jerome’s eyes darted to the right to stare Douglas square in the face. Of all their hope to find Tradewind a useful piece of salvage, it was starting to look like it would usher in the end of their campaign. “Squad!” he belted, eliciting a twitch from Edwin.

Within two seconds the marines were before the central command chair. Jerome eyed them over before speaking. “You two,” he said, pointing to a pair of soldiers at the end of the group. “You stay here with the medic. The rest of you, fall in line.” He turned on his heel and started for the door.

“Whatever you do, don’t touch that Object!” Edwin called out from over his shoulder.

Jerome gritted his teeth and increased his pace.

The two Spartans barged through the opening auxiliary bridge doors, leaving a dent on both. Jerome broke into a flat-out run, not really caring if the marines could keep up, and activated his comm. “Spirit of Fire, we have a situation down here. We have a possible EMP detonation in the making. I repeat, an EMP detonation.”

A static reply was all he heard.

Douglas came into view on the right, pumping his arms as he ran. “Too much interference. Our comm units won’t be able to penetrate that mess out there.”

“No, but one of our dropships could,” Jerome added between breaths. “If the Professor got the Starboard Docking Bay open then Fox Three should be in there.”

“You think Anders would activate the Object?”

Jerome gave Douglas a sideways glare. “You know her catch-phrase: ‘Nothing venture, nothing gained.’ ”

“You’re right,” Douglas admitted. “We still need to keep trying the comm. Maybe something will get through.”

Jerome nodded. “Be my guest.” His nostrils flared and he pressed on.

 
 
*** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** ***

 

 

“What did he say?” Captain Cutter asked Serina, as he clenched his hands over the terminal’s sides.

“I’m not sure, Sir.” Serina lowered her head in concentration. “I’ll play back the transmission.”

The recording wasn’t any clearer than the first time and James pursed his lips. “See if you can clean any of that up.” He looked up to see the wall-mounted display showing a slowly decaying image of the exterior of Tradewind supplied by Fox One. “What’s going on down there?”

“My guess would be that magnetic fields are constantly shifting on the asteroid,” Serina suggested.

James turned back to the comm. “Fox One, are you able to contact any of our squads on board Tradewind?”

“Negative. The mapping ship’s ablative hull is blocking any sensors I have.” There was a pause over the comm, filled with increasing static. “Do you want to abort?” Fox One asked through the white noise.

Cutter frowned. Tradewind’s hull was designed to protect them from vast amounts of radiation. It was a useful feature for a mapping ship that tended to travel into hostile environments, but one that was currently doing more harm than good. And this is one variable I overlooked. He pounded a fist off the terminal, upset with himself for not catching this “minor” detail earlier, and straightened up. For now, all they had lost was communications, but the frantic, garbled hails from 042 were keeping his heart beating faster and faster.

He sighed. “Fox One, have Two return to the ventral hatch and see if he can link up with the ground team. You try to stay clear of those magnetic fields and remain in contact with us.”

“Copy, Sir.”

“Captain, I have managed to scrub some of the distortion from Spartan 042’s transmissions.”

“Play it," James said, folding his arms across his chest.

The comm crackled again, but this time sounding muffled and compressed. “Spirit of . . . uation . . . ere . . . possi . . . MP det . . . I rep . . . EMP . . . ation.”

James shot Serina a look of horror. “EMP?!”

From across the bridge, the wall display suddenly flashed to black and the audio feed from Fox One vanished. Cutter spun around to face the floating rock outside the forward viewport and could see an enormous shockwave rippling outward.

And it was coming their way.

“Kill all power, Serina!”

“Sir, I— ”

“Now! Do it now!” Cutter yelled, bracing himself against a bulkhead.

But his grip was of no use and the pounding force of the electromagnetic pulse pitched him backward. James hit his head hard on ground, jarring him.

As darkness enveloped the Spirit of Fire, Captain James Cutter could not be completely sure if he was blacking out or if Serina had complied with his order.

When James felt his consciousness fade, he realized that a third option existed. And if the EMP had indeed hit his ship while under full power . . . well, he didn’t want to think of the worst case scenario.

 

 
*** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** ***

 

 

Jerome had rounded the last corner when an invisible fist slammed right into his chest. All at once, his armor froze up, and with his momentum, he hit the Starboard Docking Bay anteroom wall rather hard. The impact with the wall, followed by the subsequent meeting with the floor, sent a bone-jarring vibration through his body. He cried out in pain as he finally came to a stop on his back. He could hear Douglas grunt as well but was unable to look past his own raised arms, locked in place.

He swore to himself. He had his armor ready to be shut off with a flick of a switch in preparation for the crippling pulse, but he was using the full capacities of his MJOLNIR during his desperate break for Anders and didn’t accomplish either goal. Jerome knew his hopes of getting up and moving again would be riding on his squad getting to him, but a heavy clank of metal hitting the ground told him something else might take their place.

“Jerome? You okay?”

Spartan 092 could definitely hear Douglas, though it was through natural hearing and sounded rather muffled to him, but the blackness of his vision told him that the rest of the ship had suffered from the ill effects and the power grid was offline. “I’ll live,” he told his fellow Spartan, wincing at the throbbing in his left elbow and shoulder.

“Hold on.”

A single light spouted into the darkness and made Jerome frown. “You’re powered up?”

“Kind of,” Douglas admitted, coming around to squat at Jerome’s side. “I managed to shut down my main components, but I’m sure I didn’t get everything off in time.” He pulled out his datapad, found its screen completely black, and tossed against the wall like the useless piece of technology that it now was. “Well that rules out my first option. What about yours?”

“Check it,” Jerome said, unable to move. “I always turn mine off after I’m done using it.”

“How conservative of you,” Jerome joked, though his tone of voice was one of light humor. He pulled out Jerome’s datapad and turned it on. “Aha, got something.” He entered an unseen command. “Standby.”

“I can’t really go anywhere,” 092 said, tensing his muscles for the inevitable. His armor unlocked with a quiet hum and his arms fell down on his stomach nearly knocking the wind out of him. His heads-up display slowly wavering into existence but only glowed with half the intensity.

Douglas helped him up into a sitting position. “I don’t know how much of your suit is functional, you’ll have to have the Professor look at it, but you should be able to move in it, just not with the full acceleration you’re used to.”

Jerome eased himself off the ground and shook his head. “It’s better than being immobile.” He rotated his left shoulder and found the soreness still there but bearable. He pointed a thumb towards the blast doors a few paces down from where they were. “Let’s hope Alice is okay.” He started for the Docking Bay with Douglas close by.

“Here,” 042 said, handing the abandoned assault rifle to his leader. “Just in case. We still don’t know what that thing is.”

Squaring his shoulders, Jerome nodded and flicked on his own short-ranged lights attached to the sides of his helmet. Only one lit up and he sighed. Here they were, two Spartans about to encounter an unknown device of unfathomable power . . . and they had to do it in the dark.

Jerome was beginning to think that waking him from Cryo sleep that day was a bad idea.

 

 
*** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** ***

 

 

Ellen Anders brought a hand to her forehead and could feel a smear of blood paste a few strands of hair to her skin. Her body ached badly and she moaned, but Ellen opened her eyes despite the desire to just lie there and rest. She was greeted by complete blackness and she realized the seriousness of her actions. I had only touched that odd glyph that was etched into that thing’s top. What harm could that have done? The marking was of a circle with asymmetrical shapes carved into it: a central strip that stopped about halfway down and two roughly half-circle shapes were at the bottom corners. How could I have know what would happen?

The voice of Dr. Halsey entered her thoughts. “If the galaxy gives you a new mystery, examine it from all sides before attempting a hypothesis.”

Ellen snorted internally. Maybe you were right, Doctor. She felt the ground around her for the glowrod she had dropped, but found it drained of power. She pulled out her datapad and likewise discovered it useless. From those simple devices and the fact that the bay was void of illumination, she deduced that the shockwave the Object had emitted was an EMP.

Great.  Ellen couldn’t tell what had happened to the thing itself, but due to the fact that she was still alive, she figured it didn’t explode on her and was still intact, though its state would have to be determined later.

She got herself up to her hands and knees, hoping her vision could adjust to the loss of light. Pain stabbed her eyes as a bright flash swept over her face.

“Professor?”

“I’m here,” she said, shielding her eyes with a raise hand. “Who is that?”

“042, ma’am,” the Spartan replied, waving his beam of light over the others sprawled out on the bay floor. “Alice?” he called out, his voice reverberating in the open space.

“I’ve got her,” answered another voice.

Ellen looked up to see the big guy, 092, walking awkwardly towards the prone soldier. She searched her satchel and found an emergency flare used to mark landing zones for aerial pickup. She shrugged and slammed the bottom of the flare to the ground. The docking bay instantly lit up with the orange glow and she tossed the flare into the middle of where everyone was slowly coming to.

“Thanks,” Jerome said, setting down his weapon and shifty his body to give him more light to look Alice over.

Anders felt sympathetic when she saw the female Spartan face down on the floor and started for her. “Do you have an operable datapad?” she asked.

“Here,” 042 answered, tossing the device to her.

She caught it in a not-so-athletic, two-handed grasp. She accessed the program the Spartan already had up and keyed for a diagnostic on both 130 and 092. As the numbers scrolled across her screen, she breathed a sigh of relief that all of her files were saved on multiple copies back at her lab, seeing as her own datapad was now useless. While she did have a dozen computing devices, she especially liked the one she had brought and was sad it had met its demise.

The program finished and she keyed the sequence that would reset the MJOLNIR for all three Spartans. “Hold on. I wouldn’t move for a few seconds,” Ellen suggested. The three super soldiers complied and within three deep breaths, their armor was fully functional again. “You might need some calibration, but that should do for now.”

092 nodded in appreciation as 042 continued to make his rounds helping the others to their feet.

Ellen looked out to the disoriented marines slowly becoming mobile again and noticed the light at her feet turn a shade of green. She frowned and slowly turned around . . .

The Object that she had previously discarded as nonfunctional was now hovering over its collapsed container. Its large, glowing blue eye was almost bright enough to cast a glare that would make further examination impossible, but Ellen was able to make out the round-edged cube outline. It turned to the left then right, perhaps studying its whereabouts, and then faced Anders again.

Ellen gasped but was unable to make any word form on her tongue. She took a step backward and the Object floated forward at walking speed.

"Ah, a Reclaimer!" it exclaimed.

Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Jerome bolt upright. "Anders, get away from that thing!" he shouted, quick-drawing his pistol.

"I am 49 Contrite Variant, the Monitor of installation 03 and of Research Facility B-23," it announced with pride and in perfect English. "How very convenient that you are here to assist. We have much to do."

 

 

---

New story out! Halo: Below the Brine
(it's the best story you're not reading!)

Chapter 5

 

The Captain's eyes popped open but immediately winced as a light waved back and forth over his face. He brought his right hand up and swatted away the annoyance.

"He'll be fine. No signs of anything too serious, but we'll know more after we get a portable scanner up here."

"Good," came a voice to Cutter's left.

James tried to sit up and found helping hands at both sides. "Thanks," he said, catching his first real look at either person. The woman on his right was wearing a medical staff outfit and a smile that reassured James of his condition. The young man to his left still had a concerned look etched in his face but managed to bring the Captain up to his feet.

"How are you feeling?" asked the woman.

"Like I just got hit by a runaway bus on the beltway," James answered bluntly. His body ached and his head was pounding, but he was functional. He looked around the bridge and was surprised to see consoles and terminals all in their rebooting sequences. "Status?" he asked the young man.

"Engineer Bradley, Sir," he replied with a nod. "We're bringing our primary and secondary systems up now, and we hope to be at nominal power in a few minutes."

Cutter glanced out the forward viewport to see that their view of the asteroid had shifted to where they could only see the bottom portion of the floating mass. He knew ordering Serina to kill all power was a hastily laid plan, but the urgency in the Spartan's voice was more than enough to take the precaution. "As soon as Communications are back up, try to reach our ground teams." He closed his eyes and shook his head to clear more of the haze that fogged his mind. "Serina, get me Propulsion first on the priority list. We don't want to be drifting too close to the asteroid."

Beside him, Bradley cleared his throat and lowered his head slightly. "Um, Sir. We can't get Serina back up."

"What?" James took two steps forward before needing the added support from the engineer.

"She did successfully shut down the power to the Spirit of Fire, but she decided to keep herself on standby, rather than a full shutdown."

Why would she do that? James then realized Serina might not have wanted to wait for a tech specialist to start her back up and opted for flipping the switch herself. Or she was just being her stubborn self and wasn't too concerned with the validity of Jerome's statement. And as he looked out at the tumbling asteroid, he figured the giant rock had amplified the EMP, using it as a conductor. Serina would have trusted in the magnetic shielding that encased the outer hull of the Spirit of Fire, but with the added power . . . "What is the time frame on getting her functional again?"

"Unknown," Bradley sighed. "We can pull a few techs off other duties to work on her, but we still can't give you a reliable estimate."

James pursed his lips. "No, get Propulsion first then Communications." He placed a hand over the pedestal Serina used and found the device uncomfortably cold. "And have First Battalion suit up. There's no telling what could happen next down there, and until we do, I want drop-pods ready for launch."

 

---

 

Jerome kept his aim steady as he tracked the floating object. "Hold it right there!" he shouted.

The Monitor quickly turned to face him but did not advance. "There is no need for panic. Weapon fire is strictly against regulation in this facility." Contrite Variant appeared to look Jerome up and down. "And may I suggest upgrading your combat skin? Your current model only scans between a Class-One and Class-Two, and I assure you, the work involved will require a more . . . advanced suit."

Beside Jerome, Alice sat up, took in the whole scene with one quick glance, and grabbed her MA5B, aiming at what her fellow Spartan saw as a threat. "What is that?" she demanded.

"I am the Monitor of this installation . . . though, I'm sorry to say that it has changed considerably," Contrite Variant answered slowly, doing a complete rotation and coming to a stop to stare back at Jerome. "I do apologize; it seems I am mistaken as to our whereabouts."

"This is the UNSC vessel Tradewind," Anders said with a curious tone.

"Then how did I . . ."

Jerome sighed and lowered his weapon slightly. "You were found by the crew of this ship nearly 200 years ago in an asteroid field." He looked over at Anders who did her best to hide the shock from her face, but her rigid posture gave her away. "When the Chief Engineer first examined you, there was a crippling, electromagnetic pulse that disabled this ship and sent it off on a wild vector," he said in an accusing tone towards the Professor.

The Monitor never missed a beat. "Well then, we must be on our way back to the Research Facility. A site that has been dormant for that long must be in desperate need of maintenance."

"Hold on there," Jerome said with a raised hand. "We're not going anywhere. We have personnel we need to extract and to put it bluntly, we don't know what you are."

Contrite Variant seemed to hiss in frustration. "I am the Monitor of Installation 03 and the-"

"Yes, we know," Anders interrupted, folding her arms across her chest. "What Spartan 092 is trying to convey is that we are currently involved in a rescue mission. Anything else is considered a secondary objective," she said with an undertone of bitterness.

"I assure you, this is of primary importance," the Monitor insisted. "And might I add that the incorporation of numeric identification to a Reclaimer is most interesting. It seems my Makers were wise in their choice."

That comment nearly sent Jerome rocking back on his heels. "What 'Makers'?"

The Monitor dipped slightly in height, which Jerome interpreted as a mechanical shrug. "Why, the Forerunners, of course."

Jerome shot the Professor a glance who in turn frowned at the machine's comment. "Who are the Forerunners?" he asked with a renewed interest.

"I'm sorry to say they have left, for I have not heard from them in millennia." Contrite Variant started pacing back and forth. "The Infection was a most persistent adversary, and the Installations were a last resort." The Monitor perked up and came closer to the two Spartans. "But I am pleased to inform you, Reclaimers, that my research on the Flood has finally yielded positive results."

"What?" Jerome and Alice exclaimed in unison.

Anders slowly walked over to the two Spartans, keeping her eyes fixed on the floating machine, and she gestured for Jerome to hand her his datapad. "This 'Infection' . . . what did it look like?"

"The Flood come in various stages and types, most commonly found to-"

"Does it look like this?" Anders asked, finally cycling through the various static images cached in the datapad's memory. She held up the screen that displayed a small, bulbous body with multiple tentacles used for mobility.

Contrite Variant froze as he looked at the datapad. "Why . . . yes. That is an infection form." He looked back up at the others. "Where did you encounter these specimens?"

Specimens? Why would anyone want to collect those things for observation? Jerome gave the Professor a warning stare not to say anything that might give this unknown robot any key information.

Anders turned to fully face Jerome. "Sir, we found some common ground here. Obviously this Monitor knows what we have faced," she said in a lowered voice. "This could open up a wealth of information."

Behind them, Douglas snorted. "Bag 'em and tag 'em. This bucket of bolts has just caused us a world of trouble, and we can't play 20 Questions with it while we piddle around here."

"Good point," Alice chimed in. "For all we know this is a Covenant AI."

The Professor's eyebrows met together in a condescending expression. "I highly doubt that."

"What is this 'Covenant'?" the Monitor asked inquisitively.

"A coalition of alien races that is set on destroying Humanity," Anders answered before either Spartan could interrupt. "Are they these Forerunners?"

"Absolutely not!" Contrite Variant waggled to either side. "That is most disturbing. Why would they want to exterminate the Reclaimers?"

"Who knows," Douglas said with disinterest. He took a position beside Jerome and nodded to the fellow Spartan. "Everyone's okay, just shaken up." He motioned to the Monitor with the end of his rifle. "What do you want to do with this?"

Jerome sighed. With his misgivings and the fact that this Monitor caused an EMP to go off, this was quickly turning into a nightmare. Contrite Variant did not currently appear to be hostile and his apparent lack of information on the Covenant was leaning Jerome to believe that the Monitor was not in league with the aliens . . . But priorities need to be issued. "First, we communicate with the Spirit of Fire, see if we can get a hold of Captain Cutter." He looked over at the Professor. "Anders, go help get Fox Three's comm unit up and running."

She stood there defiant and worked her jaw in anger for a few seconds, silently protesting his orders. "Fine, but what are we going to do about the Monitor?"

"If you are in need of assistance, I am more than willing to help, Reclaimer."

"No, you're staying put," Jerome said, waving the now-coherent marines over to his position. "Once we speak with our commander, we'll discuss your fate."

"Then please, hurry. I will not interfere," the Monitor replied, obviously not picking up on the seriousness of the situation.

Jerome couldn't tell with whom he was more mad: the Professor, for getting them into this mess; or the Monitor for being the source of their predicament. Either way, it wouldn't do any good to stay upset. He looked back at the marines. "Keep an eye on him," he ordered, as he escorted the Professor to the dropship.

 

---

 

Corporal Nathan Parker rotated his shoulder experimentally, testing his range of motion. Like most soldiers stationed in the barracks, he was totally unprepared for the sudden lack of gravity when the Spirit of Fire lost power and sent him crashing into a bulkhead in complete darkness. He was still getting over the after-effect of grogginess from the cryo-pod and his aching right shoulder didn't help his mood at all.

He figured after the ordeal with getting them off that shield world, as everyone had called it, that he was due for a little rest and relaxation. It is only proper for an ODST who helped the glamorous ONI Professor to safety to deserve such a respite. But the abruptness of the events over the last few hours had omitted all of his hopes. Though rumors were running that Anders was going to fix the FTL drive, he had his reservations about her skill- or decision making, for that matter.

He jammed another four-round clip into his ammo sling and started on securing his SRS Sniper Rifle into its housing in his drop-pod. He wasn't sure what they would encounter on that asteroid, but he was a marksman and a UNSC sniper never went anywhere without an SRS. He pulled the latches up and locked his long-barrel weapon in place.

"Parker, you set?"

Nathan turned to his head to the left and nodded to a fellow corporal. "Just loading up the last of it, Toril."

She offered him a smirk. "That's 'Holmen' to you and the rest of your squad." She kept her deep blue eyes on his till he felt the awkward tension dissolve and she shook her head. "You Bravo Boys need to lighten up."

"Hey, we're as jovial as the next group," Nathan laughed, failing miserably to keep the uneasiness from his tone. Given Toril's unnatural rank-vaulting ability, she was quickly on her way to becoming an officer. And that made her almost as intimidating as a Spartan responding to a domestic disturbance. Maybe more.

Toril returned to examining her own pod with folded arms. Her SMG and pistol were still readily at her right and left sides respectively, locked against her armor, and it looked to Nathan as if she was contemplating the proper use of the weapon holder next to her seat. "How do you boys do this?" she asked with her pleasant Scandinavian accent.

Smiling, more to himself than outwardly, he walked over to her pod and adjusted the railing of her weapon holder to fit the SMG on her right hip. "It will latch in place just fine, but sometimes they're a pain to pull out." Off to Toril's left, farther down the line of drop-pods, another ODST snickered at his last statement, and Nathan rolled his eyes.

But she didn't catch Nathan's disregard for the play on words and gave him a frown full of narrowing blond eyebrows. "Thanks," she said with disgust, and shoved her SMG into the slot with enough force to rattle her drop-pod. Toril picked up her dufflebag, spun on her heal, and let out a sigh. "I'll be in the ready room, waiting for the green light."

Nathan opened his mouth to explain himself, but she was gone through the door before he could muster a proper response. He lowered his head in defeat. So much for welcoming the new girl. Toril Holmen was an interesting case to Nathan. Despite the overly-macho attitude she exuded, Toril still carried herself with a quiet grace that screamed femininity. She was almost never seen without wearing her helmet or a cap that she would keep low on her brow, always hiding her long golden locks that most women would kill for.

She was new to being an ODST, transferring from a local garrison on Arcadia right into the ranks of those that fought the Covenant there, and she had a lot to learn. But the fact that Nathan Parker's commanding officer had transferred her into Bravo Squad meant that people more versed that he was at evals did it for a reason. Toril was to be given no special treatment and she made it a point to enforce that order on her own. But Nathan couldn't help but feel burdened to help her adjust.

A few months ago, he was considered the "new guy" and everyone in Bravo made *** sure he knew it. He served just two years in the Marines before his application into the Orbital Drop Shock Trooper Division was accepted. Since Nathan was raised on a farm on Harvest, he had been handling rifles all his life, and when it came time to fill the void of a recently-fallen sniper in 2nd Platoon, he landed the position.

His concern for Toril Holmen was rooted in the fact that she might not fully comprehend the nature of an ODST. "Feet first into Hell" was more than just a slogan; it was real life. While her no-holes-barred attitude had shaped her into a soldier, it would be the cooperation and reliance on her squadmates that got her through the engagement. And her hardened exterior isn't doing much to help the situation.

"Down in flames?" asked the ODST that had snickered earlier.

Parker gave him a stiff glare. "It's not like that."

"Sure. You keep on telling yourself that, and I'll go see if she needs some . . . comforting." The ODST gave a casual salute and followed in Toril's wake.

Nathan just shook his head and returned to packing his pod. He had enough to worry about than to hit on the lone female in Prep Room B. Still . . . He knew romantic involvements within the ranks was a bad idea and mostly resulted in permanent postings in rural outposts on outer colony worlds. But he couldn't deny that ache in his chest when he did see her without headgear. Her perfect complexion, her subtle use of makeup around her beautiful blue eyes, the way her shimmering blond hair collected over one shoulder to help frame her lovely face . . .

Parker closed his eyes and sighed, slightly annoyed at his daydreaming. Maybe it is "like that".

 

---

 

Ellen Anders reseated the power coupling and stood up from her crouch. "That should do it," she informed both the pilot and Spartan 092. She activated the backup battery and the pilot's console flickered to life. "The antenna might need calibrated, but for now, the comm's all yours," she said to the Spartan.

"Thank you," Jerome replied, stepping past her to plop down in the pilot's seat.

As 092 attempted to hail the Spirit of Fire, Anders slipped out the rear of the dropship, disappearing into the darkness enveloping the docking bay. Sure, she could fix a radio in record time, but without the proper frequency alignment, it was just a glorified karaoke machine set to the wonderful tones of white noise.

And that little adjustment will have to wait just a little longer. She needed to buy some time to figure out what Contrite Variant's origins really were, and a dysfunctional comm was a decent down payment.

Ellen spotted the other two Spartans conversing with two new squads of marines that had just entered the docking bay, and she started for the Monitor. She kept her pace even and quiet, hoping to mask her approach, but a marine waved a light over at her and she held up a hand to shield her eyes. "Easy, soldier. I'm just going to ask this thing some questions," she explained.

If anything, the marine looked as if he took offense at her "soldier" remark, but he lowered his weapon nonetheless.

She moved past the sentry line of marines and the Monitor lowered itself to stare Anders directly in the face. Ellen quickly held up a hand to forestall a possible rant by the machine and leaned in closer. "The installation you referred to earlier . . . what kind of research did you oversee?"

"Which site? Installation 03 or Research Facility B-23?"

"B-23," Ellen clarified.

"The facility was used primarily to contain and study the Flood using new and various techniques. Genetic decoding, cell division, flash freezing, mutation; all of this was carried out over the initial window I was given," Contrite Variant said.

Ellen looked down at the docking bay floor, washed in the soft blue glow of the Monitor's eye. As far as she knew, no one had ever encountered the alien race the Monitor identified as The Flood, and up until a few minutes ago, she was unsure whether or not they were indigenous to the shield world. As it turned out, these "Forerunners" had been experimenting on them for thousands of years. "Wait, earlier you mention millennia. How old are you?"

Contrite Variant remained still for a moment before answering. "It is impossible to know for certain. I have just recently been reactivated from Standby, and I've been unable to locate my current whereabouts."

"Can you give me an approximation?" she asked, looking briefly over her shoulder for signs of anyone paying too close attention.

"I was constructed approximately 103,700 years ago," the Monitor answered. "Though, there is a gap in my memory dating back shortly after my breakthrough with the Flood research some 22,000 years ago."

That information rocked Anders back on her heels. Contrite Variant was speaking as if these measures of time were of little significance, and she knew she was dealing with something truly ancient. "Look are you sure your calculations are correct?"

"Without a stellar-bearing, I am unable to calibrate my internal clock, but the margin of error is plus or minus 300 years."

Then another thought occurred to Ellen. If the crew of Tradewind said they had found this Monitor in an asteroid field in its current, mangled state, then the possibility of it being extra-galactic could not be fully discounted. "Where is B-23? Is it close by?"

"Again, without proper bearings, I am unable to fully orient myself." Contrite Variant dipped lowered and kept his voice soft. "But if I were to bring this ship up to nominal functionality, I could use sensor data to-"

"Anders!"

Ellen spun around to see Jerome stalking out of the dropship, followed by the pilot. Both looked decidedly angry in their gait. Apparently my diversion didn't last too long. "Problem?"

Spartan 092 marched past the semi-circle of marines to stand before her. "Why didn't you align the frequency coupler before I started hailing the Captain?" He pointed a finger towards the Monitor. "And what have you been discussion with this thing? Something to compromise mission integrity?"

"On the contrary, Reclaimer," Contrite Variant interjected. "I was about to recommend that I examine this ship for possible restoration of power. While the electrical design seems a bit archaic, I believe I can access and fix most systems in a matter of moments."

Without a second thought, the Spartan nodded. "Noted." Anders could almost feel his gaze burn through his visor at her. "And you, Professor, need to get that comm fixed now."

Anders sighed and started for the dropship again. So much for finding the easy way out. Ellen never sought out to make herself problematic, but she knew an opportunity when she saw one. Even if insubordination was a possible outcome.

"So will I be looking over the nearest terminal?" Contrite Variant asked.

"Negative," 092 murmured and turned to follow Anders back to the dropship.

 

---

 

"All power has been restored to the main decks, Sir."

James Cutter nodded to the engineer in appreciation. "An hour before your estimates. Impressive."

Bradley shook his head, deflecting the praise. "My team is the best there is, but we're still working on bring Serina back online as well as the few remaining decks."

"I trust you'll do everything you can. Thank you," he said with a nod. Taking a seat in his command chair, James looked over his personal terminal to find it functional again and he allowed himself a smile. The comm unit diagnostic was still showing in the red and he was about to ask for an estimation on the repair time when the overhead speakers crackled to life.

"Spirit of Fire, this is Spartan 092. Do you copy?"

Cutter hastily keyed the comm. "We're here, 092. What's your status?"

"All ground teams accounted for, but we still can't raise Fox One over the comm. If we get Tradewind's sensors up and running, we could try to find her."

Our own sensors won't be able to pierce that gloom down there. "See to it then." James' brow furrowed. "092, what the hell caused that EMP?"

There was a moment of static over the comm before Jerome continued. "Um, it's difficult to explain, Sir. This mapping ship found an object that, when activated, sent out a crippling wave of energy that caused Tradewind to crash-land on this asteroid and set off on its current vector." The Spartan sighed. "Needless to say, Anders found the object and inadvertently activated it."

James leaned back in his chair, suppressing a whistle. The fact that this "object's" pulse managed to break through most of the Spirit of Fire's magnetic shielding was very unsettling. Coupled with the information that Tradewind had found it during their mapping mission made his stomach turn frigid. "Are there any signs that this could be a Covenant device?"

"Not initially, Sir. But it is . . . interacting with us."

Frowning, James straightened up. "What do you mean?"

"The Object appears to be a self-containing artificial intelligence like none of us have ever seen. When we asked it about the Covenant it claim ignorance on the subject." Jerome cleared his throat. "It calls itself 49 Contrite Variant, a so-called Monitor of installations."

James stared at the comm, as if looking at it would provide him with more insight. He signaled an ensign to start a data search on the name the Object provided, but he knew that if any information was in the archives, the Professor would most likely already know what it was. "Is there any risk that this thing could go off again?"

There was a pause, as if Jerome was speaking with someone else before answering. "Highly unlikely. It says the EMP burst was a result of coming out of standby."

The ensign looked up from his console and shook his head, informing the Captain that his search had drawn a blank.

Sighing to himself, James rubbed the bridge of his nose with thumb and forefinger. So far, he had only lost Fox One and Serina, but both were temporary. Hopefully. And on top of all that had pushed them back several steps, they still needed to secure Tradewind and search for survivors. He pursed his lips and breathed heavily through his nostrils. "Spartan, continue with the ship-wide search for survivors. Have Anders help with getting the sensors repaired so you can find Fox One."

"And what about the AI, Sir?"

James inclined his head contemplatively. "Leave it be, for now. The Professor can oversee its handling after everyone is accounted for. Understood?"

There was another pause over the comm, and Cutter wasn't sure if Jerome was perturbed by his orders or if the Spartan was merely sinking in the information. "Yes, Captain. 092 out."

Keying off the comm, James sat still, making an ill attempt at quelling his stomach. But the ice was still there, lodged between his abdomen and his chest. He knew his fears were rightly founded, but it never did well for a crew to see their captain locked in a cage of anxiety.

---

New story out! Halo: Below the Brine
(it's the best story you're not reading!)

continue plz

---

Supreme Commander Matt Klassen, captain of the Devastator-class ship Enlightened.

All Halo achievements unlocked.
All CoD4 achievements unlocked.
All MW2 achievements unlocked.

Chapter 6

Viln 'Rengum figured life could not get any more boring. He was stationed on the isolated listening outpost known as Hydra's End, an unoriginal title being as it was floating on the edge of the Hydra System. Viln absently watched the endless amount of sensor data scroll past his screen while resting his tired head on his hands. His workspace was high above the actual guts of the station, sitting on the relative top of the Jjrahli fruit-shaped hull like a lonely watchman. He blew a sigh and leaned back in his chair, struggling to keep his eyes from closing.

Two days ago, a SpecOps Cruiser had arrived and docked with the station, sending a fresh buzz of excitement through the entirely Sangheili crew. Apart from the monthly frigate that would retrieve the data cores and supply Hydra's End with new cores and supplies, no other ship in all the Covenant Fleet would have any reason to visit. And that made Viln hesitant to share in the gawking that the dozen other crewmembers bestowed upon the elegantly designed cruiser.

He suppressed a yawn and stood up to look out the tiny rectangular viewport conveniently cut out above his desk. There it is, the Fantastic Something-or-Other, Viln thought bitterly. He never really cared for the Fleet's colorful, poetic vessel naming, and for all he figured the ship should have been called Siphoner of Fuel. The shipmaster had pretty much bullied his way into getting the crew of the station to top off his cruiser, citing a high-level priority due to the importance of his secret mission, and Viln had ordered his crew to comply as he retreated to the safety of his workstation.

After a day-long malfunction with two of the fuel lines, the transfer was almost complete and Viln was ready to see the SpecOps vessel leave. And right as he was about to rattle off a curse, a comm ping from his console alerted him of an incoming transmission. Viln plopped down in his chair and flexed his mandibles in preparation of speech. When he noticed the origin coming from the cruiser, he bit out his curse anyway. "Station Manager Viln 'Rengum," he identified himself, as he flipped the switch to accept the transmission.

At first, all he heard was a snarl, but then the sound of a throat clear cut through and the image of the shipmaster appeared on Viln's screen, his console straining to interpolate and convert the holographic into the two-dimensional. The shipmaster's head was bent down at an angle to give him a most sinister appearance. "Our fuel transfer is nearly complete. I trust you understand the imperative need I have of making this stop."

Viln blinked his eyes slowly and nodded in the same fashion. "You honor us with your presence," he forced out with all the false sincerity he could muster.

Whether the link between the two was degraded to the point of masking Viln's tone or the shipmaster couldn't detect his sarcasm, the commander of the cruiser merely nodded in response. A faint beep caused the shipmaster to turn his head to his right. "Ah, it seems we are finished here. If you would have your crew retract the lines, we'll be on our way."

Viln was reaching for the comm to switch the channel when an alarm blared from behind him. He spun his chair around to find the racks of buoy sensor receivers flashing in protest as their feeds were abruptly cut off. His eyes scanned the data pouring over the many smaller screens when the next row of receivers shorted out. As his hearts raced and his mind computed the events, he realized the outer-most sensor buoys had failed followed by the next ring . . .

Over his shoulder, the shipmaster growled. "Is there a problem?"

Spinning back around, Viln's long fingers flew over the console as he attempted to access emergency protocols. "Get your shields up now, Shipmaster!" he yelled.

The cruiser's commander reeled his head back in disgust. "Now see here. You have no place to order-"

"Just do it!" Viln countered, finally finding the outpost's list of overrides to bring its own shielding online. "Some sort of crippling pulse has just knocked out our sensor buoys," he quickly explained.

The shipmaster barked an order at some one on his bridge, but Viln was already tuning him out. The faint haze of orange was beginning to appear just outside the tiny viewport, but Viln quickly turned away, hoping the shields would hold under the inevitable wave.

He signaled a station-wide alert and was in the process of manually removing data cores, when the floor shook violently and pitched him to the ground, kicking his hooves out from underneath. He knew he hadn't hit his head, but the small room swam in and out of focus as he struggled to upright himself.

Slightly disoriented, he found his chair and sat down. His workstation was completely void of power and he assumed it was true of the entire outpost. He pressed a few start-up buttons experimentally and was rewarded with his console humming to life. Smiling, he looked up through the window to see the shields no longer there, but he figured they had absorbed most of the effect and silently thanked the makers of this particular station for adding such a safety feature.

As Viln's screen flickered on, the comm began to light up with damage reports and injury listings. He was about to access the intercom when the shipmaster's face appeared again. Viln was taken aback by the image and frowned, curling his mandibles in displeasure. But the shipmaster ignored his expression. "By the Forerunners, what was that?"

Biting back another retort, Viln decided to appease the shipmaster for once and he called up the real-time analysis program he already had running. The first batch of data littered the screen and Viln nodded. "It was an electromagnetic pulse, a very strong one at that."

"Not strong enough," the cruiser's commander rumbled as he expanded his arms to encompass his ship.

Viln was about to add that without his warning the SpecOps vessel would be nothing more than a glorified lifeboat when a file attached itself to the currently streaming data. He brought up the record and scanned it's contents . . . and felt his mandibles drop in astonishment. If his equipment was functioning properly then the EMP they had just survived matched the exact same readouts as one that had emanated coreward- nearly 200 years ago.

"What is going on?" the shipmaster asked, snapping Viln from his stupor.

"I'm transmitting you a file for your techs to take a look at," he said. "Most of my gear needs a diagnostic check and I'm afraid if I try to process some heavy data stream then all I'll get will be a plume of smoke."

The shipmaster turned his head, obviously looking at some display, and motioned with an opened hand for the techs to hurry and muted his comm with the other. It only took a handful of minutes for him to turn back towards Viln with a predatory smile spread across his face. "It seems we have found our long lost Oracle," he said quietly, conspiratorially. "The Prophets will be most pleased."

Viln felt his hearts nearly freeze up at the very mention of either holy figure. He didn't have the slightest clue what the shipmaster was talking about, but it was definitely something to call in. He absently searched his console, but found his long-range communications out of commission. "Will you be sending a Fleet?" he breathed.

The shipmaster snorted. "And let them rob me of my glorious victory?" He dismissed the thought with a wave of a hand. "I shall horde it for myself."

Even with his own limited knowledge of how the Fleet operated, Viln knew it wasn't wise to scrap a previously made mission for a glory-seeking expedition. "But-"

"We have determined the location of our long-awaited prize and will head there will all haste!" he bellowed, eliciting cheers from his bridge crew.

Swearing to himself, Viln knew he would never be able to convince the shipmaster not to go, but he could try stalling him. His eyes read over the damage assessment just now coming up on a secondary screen. "Shipmaster, I have cataclysmic failure in my reactors; I'm not sure how long we can remain operable."

The shipmaster flashed him another toothy grin. "Long enough for your next supply frigate, I'm sure." His face seemed to darken under a shadow. But when they do arrive, we were never here. Do you understand Station Manager?"

Hands balling into fists, Viln just stared back at the intimidating Sangheili.

The shipmaster lifted his head in arrogance. "I take your silence as future compliance."

The image winked out and Viln stood to once again peer out the viewport over his desk. Looking out over the outpost's hull, he could see the SpecOps Cruiser break away from Hydra's End. With bile brewing in the back of his throat, Viln 'Rengum doubted he'd ever see the ship again.

Returning to the comm, he began responding to the hails of his crewmembers. Well, at least this is a change of pace.

---

Jerome steadied his breathing, forcing himself to relax. Being one of three people on Tradewind to have a sealed suit, he put it upon himself to venture out into the partial vacuum that was the asteroid's surface. It didn't mean he liked it, he rather hated it, but he needed Alice and Douglas to get things done inside while he was outside.

A marine standing near the edge of the docking bay had spotted Fox One solely by the fire that was burning from one of the dropship's thrusters, getting Anders off the task of fixing Tradewind's sensors. And that fire was Jerome's only beacon as he took another cautious step on the hard ground. There was enough metallic elements for the magnetic layer on the soles of his armor's boots to take hold with each step, giving him a little more assurance that he wouldn't just float away.

"You takin' a stroll, or just admiring the view?"

Jerome turned his head around to see Douglas standing a dozen meters away on the edge of the docking bay with arms folded across his chest. "Aren't you suppose to be organizing the search for survivors?" Jerome asked mildly.

In response, Douglas shook his head and jumped two meters down to the rocky surface. "Two squads are roaming the accessible sections of the ship, but our acting-captain said he was the only one not in cryo." He crossed the distance to Jerome quickly, finding more confidence in his armor's ability to keep him close to the ground than his Spartan leader. "So I took a page from your book and tried that whole delegation thing."

Jerome tilted his head, eying Douglas with half curiosity and half amusement. "How's that working out?"

Douglas merely wrapped the knuckles of his right hand against Jerome's chestplate and headed for the fire that burned some distance away. "It only means it frees you up for other duties, like backing up your commander."

Chuckling, Jerome shook his head and the two men picked up their pace. "You think Alice will manage keeping tabs on Anders?"

"Honestly, I think we're over the worst of this so-called rescue mission." Douglas shrugged. "And I think the Professor knows the ramifications of what she did. She'll be a lot more cautious."

Jerome gave Douglas a sideways glare. "Let's hope so on both accounts."

---

Ellen exhaled, blowing a loose strand of hair off her face, if only temporary. The long bangs fell gentle across her left eye and cheek again, so she tucked the stubborn hair behind her ear.

"What's wrong?" asked the female Spartan standing off to Ellen's left in the confined reactor room.

"Nothing, it's just taking longer than I thought," Anders answered, not even attempting to hide the annoyance from her voice. "Could you hold that light a little more steady?"

Just inside the doorway, flanked by two marines, the Monitor perked up. "Perhaps I could-"

"No," both Alice and Anders cut him off simultaneously. The two women exchanged glances but quickly turned their eyes away.

Ellen sighed in frustration. After Contrite Variant's barrage of questions about Tradewind and his eagerness to help get the ship's reactor running, Anders had had her fill of AIs for the day. At first, she was anxious to asked questions of her own about the installations the Monitor had talked about briefly, but whenever she'd bring them up, Contrite Variant would just express their need to go to B-23. The floating AI was proving itself to be a nuisance, but Ellen still held out hope that she could speak with it at length. As soon as I get this ship back to life . . .

She finally got the side panel to the reactor's main console open and started diagnosing the problem. "More light," she said, lowering herself down to the cold metal floor to get a better view of the finer circuitry inside.

Alice complied without comment, but Ellen figured the Spartan was just as agitated.

Ellen was more than anxious to start examining Tradewind's FTL drive, but first she had to restore power throughout the ship before those crewmen still in cryo had their pod's batteries depleted. Anders knew the lifespan of 200 year-old batteries were next to nothing, but at the very least, they had automatically kick on once the EMP pulse knocked out the crippled ship's power. Guilt began to filter into the corners of her mind. Keeping them alive is the least I can do.

Within a handful of minutes Anders realized there was not much she had to fix. Surprisingly, none of the caps were bad and the few transformers still held a nominal rating. She merely had to bypass a few sequences in the start-up order and she was good to go. Doubting Tradewind had extra parts lying around that were easy to find, she chalked this little victory up as a near miracle. Tightening the clamps down over the panel, she gave Alice a thumb up. "Now all we need is the reactor's core realigned," she said as she stood up.

"How do we do that?" Alice asked.

"Manually, of course," Ellen answered with raised eyebrows. She frowned suddenly when she realized the problem that presented itself. She looked out the opposite glass wall, into the reactor proper, and focused her own glowrod's beam inside. "We'll need someone to physically make the adjustment," she pointed a finger to the reactor, "inside there."

Alice marched up to the glass and peered inside. After a few seconds of examination she turned to Anders, shaking her head. "There's a coolant leak ten centimeters deep. If someone were to reactivate the reactor, they'd instantly fry from the radiation spike."

"So we either need to clean up the fluid and make sure the floor has been properly coated, or we just need to not touch the ground . . ." Ellen trailed off, as both women turned to face the floating Monitor.

For the first time, Contrite Variant waited to speak. He just kept looking back and forth at the two females.

"No. It can't be trusted," Alice grumbled.

Anders thought for a moment before answering. To properly align the core, there had to be some very fine adjustments to the inner casing: tabs need to line up to the micron, pins need to make simultaneous contact. She wasn't even sure she could do it without partially ruining the core. Since we don't have the equipment, the AI could be exact . . .

"What about just using a battery backup, like the cryo-pods are using?" offered one marine.

Ellen shook her head. "They used up their charge a long time ago. Whoever was in command here, didn't think he would be stranded for very long, or else he just made a stupid mistake." She pulled out her datapad and brought up the schematic of the reactor. "We need to get this reactor core aligned," she added, looking at the Spartan.

The two women were locked in a staring match for a few breaths before Alice snapped her head up. "Monitor, do you have any experience with this sort of thing?" she asked pensively.

Contrite Variant looked to Anders' datapad before answering. "Of course. I was- am, the Monitor of Installation 03 and Research Facility B-23 where I perform many tasks such as this." He dipped down slightly. "I assure you, the hazards in the targeted room will not effect me."

"Whatever the outcome, we'll at least solve one problem," Alice muttered. "Alright, Professor, your show."

Anders could tell there was an unspoken remark lurking behind that golden visor, and she wanted to call it out. But instead she led the Monitor to the closed blast door off to their right, perpendicular to the doorway the floating machine was still hovering in. With the portable power supply one marine had rigged together with parts on loan from Fox Three, they were able to open the door without much stalling. Thankfully the large lip at the bottom of the doorframe was large enough to halt the coolant from flooding on to Ellen's shoes.

"Okay, let me run you through this," she started, bringing up the reactor core layout on her datapad's screen.

Without warning, a bright yellow beam crossed the distance from the Monitor to the screen with a hiss. It vanished just as quickly as it appeared, and Contrite Variant looked over at the Professor. "No need. I understand completely."

Ellen's jaw was still open in shock when the Monitor entered the reactor proper. Her hands tingled from the small electric shock, but her datapad appeared fine. When she turned her head to ask if the others had seen the flash of light, they were all in the process of lowering their weapons. Swallowing hard, she motioned for the marine to seal the blast door and wondered if she had made a mistake by allowing the AI access to such a vital part of the ship.

---

Nathan Parker set his helmet down on the holoprojector's outer edge and leaned heavily on the metal bar that wrapped around the entire centerpiece. He was staring at the floating holo-image of the asteroid in the dimly lit ready room when it suddenly shifted to a view of the stars. He frowned and straightened his arms.

"Excuse me?"

His eyes darted to the source of the voice to his right. "I'm sorry," he stated, narrowing his eyes to peer through the darkness.

The dark armored figure standing at the far end of the projector shrugged. "Apology accepted, but do you mind?"

Nathan's frowned deepened. "Tor- Holmen?" he hastily corrected himself. "I'm sorry, I didn't think anyone else was in here."

"Right. Even though I told you this is where I would be?" she responded with sass.

He pressed his lips together in denial. Wait, she did tell me that. "Sorry, I can go . . ." he said apologetically, standing up straight.

Toril sighed loud enough for Nathan to hear. "No, I was just studying a possible target." She waved a hand at the floating star field. "Would you mind switching it back?"

"Ah, yeah." He looked down at the array of buttons surrounding his helmet when he realized he had accidentally changed the image by setting his helmet down where he did. He picked up his headgear and tucked it under his left arm while switching the projector back to the asteroid's image.

"Thank you," Toril said, the first syllable sounding almost percussive.

Nathan nodded and nearly turned to go, but something inside his mind told him that to leave would be to retreat. Despite the brief, awkward shift of his feet, he returned to his original position but kept his helmet securely between his forearms. Although he could sense her gaze fixed on him, he just stared at the rolling rock hovering a half meter away. Nathan could tell this was some sort of test of hers and a large part of him wanted to prove her wrong.

The room fell silent and Nathan actually started to study the asteroid, looking for the best possible insertion points. He knew, like any other ODST, that landing on such a thin-aired environment would mean vac suits, so he began to examine the wreckage of the mapping ship instead. The problem he could see was all the small rocks collected at the rear of the asteroid where Tradewind was "parked". To him, it would seem they should aim for the smoother far side and adjust their trajectory accordingly. Though the actually gravity of that rock might send us crashing to the surface a bit prematurely.

"So much for the 'D' in ODST," Toril muttered. "There's no easy way for us to get to that ship."

Letting a smile tug at the corner of his mouth, Nathan nodded. "My thoughts exactly," he said, keeping the amusement from his voice. The fact that they had come to the same conclusion was a minor victory, but one he would have to keep to himself.

"So why are we prepped for pod launch?" Toril asked, then quickly threw up her hand in frustration. "The Captain's not as quick without his AI."

Finally, Nathan turned to face Holmen. "I think Cutter has a lot more experience than you give him. He has his reasons," Nathan gently retorted, slightly surprised at how quickly he had come to the Captain's defense.

She snorted. "Yeah. Reasons that give everyone doubts about his ability to lead us into battle."

Nathan's eyebrows met together. Has she forgotten everything that transpired since Arcadia? "And what about him getting us out of the interior of that collapsing shield world?"

Toril circled around the opposite side of the projector to stare through the image at Nathan. "We never would've needed to be there if Cutter had listened to Spartan 042," she bit out.

He opened his mouth to speak but remained wordless. Nathan totally forgot about 042 strongly recommending to destroy the Covenant ship Anders was on. In one way, Toril had a point, but Nathan was sure Cutter made the right decision by listening to Sgt. Forge. Unlike most of the soldiers aboard the Spirit of Fire, he had a soft spot for the Professor. He would have liked to think it was all because his sister was a scientist, but a vision of Ellen Anders' beautiful face replaced that of his sibling.

"That lousy Professor," Toril added under her breath.

"Playing the 'what ifs' won't change the past, Holmen," he said, shifting his mind back into gear. "Decisions were made, lives were lost, and you know what? We completed our mission." He looked down at his pointed right index finger, not realizing he had extended it towards Toril, and lowered his hand to his side.

The female ODST spread her arms wide. "But at what cost?" she replied with unusual calm.

Nathan sighed and blinked his eyes slowly, bringing his pulse back to normal. Here they were, limping back to UNSC-controlled space, floating alongside a 200 year-old shipwrecked vessel, hoping to gut the ship for its FTL drive, and he was arguing ethics with a fellow squadmate. "Look, I-"

Suddenly, warning klaxons blared overhead and the holo-image of the asteroid was abruptly replaced with the last thing Nathan could ever have expected. His eyes grew wide, and he quickly slammed on his helmet. "Break's over," Nathan said as he waved Toril to the exit he was already starting for.

---

Through the glass, yellow bursts of light would flash at random, as Contrite Variant worked to align the core. If the AI was familiar at all with the process, he would have the ship's power restored in a matter of minutes.

It was during the third minute when Ellen's comm crackled to life and she expected an update on 092's progress. But the voice of the Monitor filled her right ear instead. "It is very interesting to see you Reclaimers progress. I would have thought by now you would be more . . . advanced."

"What?" Ellen said, puzzled. "Focus on the core, then we can talk."

Contrite Variant chuckled, his voice sounding even more processed through her tiny earpiece. "My Makers infused in me the ability to multitask." Through the glass, a few more traces of light could be seen reflecting off the shiny walls and gently stirred coolant. "I apologize for the inconvenience my startup process caused," the Monitor commented dolefully. "This isn't the first time I've inadvertently crippled a space-faring vessel."

Ellen sighed. Maybe if I talk with it now, it will get on with the reactor. "Yeah, we know you caused Tradewind to crash here," she said with disinterest. looking at the others for any kind of help in conversing with the AI. But all she received were expressions and body language that told her she had gotten herself in this mess and she would have to dig herself out. "So, are you looking for someone to accept your apology?" she asked, as a thought quickly occurred to her. If I can deflect this line of questions to someone more suitable . . . "Because technically I'm not the leader of our little squad."

Anders was pleased to see Alice lower her head in a warning posture.

"No," Contrite Variant said. "I'm just trying to achieve a better grasp on my timeframe."

A large vibration shook the floor and Ellen braced herself against the glass. Suddenly, like someone igniting a flame, the reactor fired up and brilliant white light washed over her face, blinding her. At first she winced, but her eyes quickly adjusted to see the core perfectly aligned and the Monitor facing her, silhouetted by the light. She gave Alice a nod and walked back over to the console. "It will take me a minute to get the fuses to their default positions."

"You see, my first encounter with intelligent life outside of my Installation duties came long before I was acquainted with this vessel," the Monitor continued, unfazed by his success with the reactor. "And it was with those that were unlike you. Similar, in some ways, but different."

Ellen rolled her eyes. "That's great, but we're a little busy right now." She entered the last command into the rebooted console and the room's glowpanels flickered to life with the telltale hum of power coursing through the ship. "That's it, we're good to go," she called out. Her fingers flew over the keypad, and she nodded to Alice. "Power to the cryo-room has been restored."

The Spartan relayed the information to second squad and turned off the light at the end of her MA5B. "Maybe that AI isn't so bad," she conceded.

Ellen shrugged. "When it does what it's told." She stood up and wiped her hands off on her pant legs. "I can prioritize everything else a lot more efficiently from the auxiliary bridge," she suggested.

"Right." Alice motioned with her rifle to fall out. "Get the Monitor out of there and we'll regroup with the rest of third squad on the Aux Bridge."

---

In the end, Jerome was glad Douglas had tagged along. It took the both of them to pry open the twisted rear hatch of Fox One, and Jerome was praying the cockpit door had properly sealed the pilot from the partial vacuum. Walking mostly on the starboard bulkhead, he made it to the tilted forward door and banged his fist three times on it's surface.

Two muffled thumps replied in the affirmative and the door slowly opened with a stuttered vibration. The female pilot wordlessly waved him in.

Even through the slight haze of the pilot's visor, Jerome could see she was in pain. He looked her over to find her sealed suit scarred with a nasty looking gash high on her left thigh. The fail-safes of her suit had sealed off the rupture but the pale look in her eyes told him she needed medical attention. And an in-field patch-up job is out of the question.

She reach up and grabbed his head, pulling his visor to touch hers in an awkward pose. But when she yelled, Jerome realized she wasn't trying to kiss him, but rather communicate through direct contact. "My suit's integrity will hold, but I'm still loosing blood."

At this distance, Jerome could see pale skin on her freckled face. Her deep green eyes were still sparkling despite the redness creeping it's way into the corners. "We'll get you out of here," He pulled away from their embrace and waved Douglas to come closer. He was able to get the female pilot out of her seat and hand her off through the cockpit doorway.

Douglas was quick to notice the injury and took great care to carry the pilot out of the dropship without causing further discomfort.

Jerome gave one final look at the broken console and headed back out in Douglas' wake. He quickly overtook the Spartan carrying the wounded pilot and held the twisted outer door open for them.

The woman smiled wearily and gave Jerome an appreciative nod.

As he patted Douglas on the shoulder, a flicker of pseudo-motion off in the distant blackness of space caught his eye. His grip on the twisted metal slacked as he turned to face this new oddity. His heart nearly froze in his chest when the tiny spot just above the horizon opened up into the circular pattern of a slipspace rupture.

And out of it came the recognizable hull of a Covenant cruiser.

"C'mon Jerome, let's get . . ." Douglas trailed off when he followed the Spartan leader's gaze. "Oh, no," he breathed. "We need to hurry, Jerome."

Still keeping his eyes on the cruiser hovering on the horizon, Jerome started for Tradewind's starboard docking bay. He stumbled down the rocky slope, but as soon as his feet made contact he was sprinting. Behind him, Douglas was now running with the pilot slung over his shoulder.

It was in those first few strides that Jerome wondered how his day could get any worse.

---

New story out! Halo: Below the Brine
(it's the best story you're not reading!)

Chapter 7

 

"Slipspace rupture detected!" a voice bellowed from the bridge's sensor station.

James Cutter snapped his head up, his insides twisting into a knot. "Where?" he asked, starting for the tactical display. A pocket of technicians working on a broken console parted for the Captain as he moved past. Without Serina to do most of the computing, James was left with bridge personnel to fill the void that she had efficiently held. And throw in the rough state of repair his ship was in, it made this latest news turn his stomach.

"Far side of the asteroid, Sir," the sensors officer called. "Bringing up visuals now."

At the tactical display, the view zoomed out and encompassed both the asteroid and the large space surrounding it. To Cutter's relative right sat the Spirit of Fire, with her port side facing the asteroid. And to the left of the floating mass, closer to the tail end, a ship blossomed from a slipstream ring.

A Covenant Cruiser.

For a single long-winded breath, the bridge was completely silent, and then like a black hole regurgitating a star, the air filled with a barrage of information.

"Unknown Covenant vessel- er, cruiser-class. Single ship."

"No outer marks. IFF not lining up with any know Covenant fleet designations."

"Confirmed, Covenant cruiser is not in any of our archives."

James listened to the words of his bridge crew as he reset his cap on his head, smoothing his gray-black hair with the perspiration on his forehead. "Has it detected us yet?" he asked over the buzz.

"Uh, I'm not sure, Sir," the sensors officer nervously replied. "The visual and sensor data we're picking up is from Fox Two parked on top of Tradewind's hull. We're out of its direct line of sight, though they can cross that plane at anytime."

"Helmsman!" the Captain yelled, spotting the youthful man at the helm. "Keep us directly opposite that cruiser. I do not want it to know we're out here."

"Aye, Sir!"

Cutter turned back to face the tactical display. The Covenant ship was more or less still getting its bearings as he keyed the comm. "Spartan Team, this is the Spirit of Fire, we have a Covenant Cruiser off the far side of the asteroid. Do you copy?"

There was a brief, static pause as Spartan 092's comm linked with the transmitter on Fox Three. "We see it, Spirit of Fire," he answer with a huff. "It would be wishful thinking to believe that EMP would go undetected."

A sour taste brewed in Cutter's mouth. That thought had been in the back of his mind, but there was no way to determine how fast a possible Covenant response could be mounted. Apparently fast enough to catch us here. "Go dark, Spartans. We'll try to swing around and catch them by surprise."

"Sir! Covenant dropships are exiting the cruiser's hangar," a voice called from the crew pit.

James turned his attention back to the tactical display. Three Phantoms were departing from the keel of the cruiser in a perfect triangular pattern. Since the Captain had not seen the smoothly-curved ships since his first few battles at Harvest, he almost didn't recognize them. "092, you're about to have company. Go dark before they zero in on your location," he ordered.

"Sorry, Sir, but you need all the intel you can get," Spartan responded matter-of-factly.

"That wasn't a suggestion, Spartan," James said with a slight grit to his voice.

"He's right, Sir," the sensors officer offered, scratching the back of his neck. "Without Fox Two supplying us with the data feeds, we're blind until we come around and spot the ship ourselves."

Cutter swore to himself and closed his eyes for the duration of his sigh. "Alright, hold tight, Ground Team."

"Copy. Wait, I see them. Three marks vectoring in," 092 informed. "We'll hold them off till you get here."

"Good luck, Spartan." James straightened and started for the rows of officers behind consoles. "What's the status of our weaponry?" he asked when he came to a stop beside a female officer.

Gritting her teeth, the woman enter the inquiry into her console. "Not good, Sir. Half our deck guns are still off-line. 30 of our point defense guns are operable. And the MAC is just now warming up." She looked up from her screen with a faint smile. "I can't guarantee how many shots we'll get out of it."

James placed a hand on her shoulder and gave a quick squeeze. "Do what you can." He glanced over at the helmsman and made eye contact. "Bring us around, Helm."

As the youthful-looking man nodded in compliance, the Captain watched the stars shining into the forward viewport slowly shift right. Deep down, James knew this engagement was a risk. Even though his ship out-sized the cruiser twice over, the Covenant vessel had shields, a defense that could deter him from ending this fight quickly. Without Serina to operate the MAC, he was forced to rely on human targeting, something he had never done.

His crew was tired, still groggy from cryo-sleep, and for a number of them, it was their first time manning their consoles outside of a simulation. James turned around to see Engineer Bradley hard at work on the holographic pedestal to get the shipboard AI functioning again. Cutter didn't feel helpless without Serina, but the fact that the Spirit of Fire was in such great need of her now made his stomach turn even worse.

---

"Fox Two," Jerome called out. He came to halt just inside the docking bay the damaged dropship was in, and he waved a few marines over to take the wounded pilot from Douglas. Jerome quickly caught his breath and entered Fox Three's cockpit with Douglas on his heels.

"This is Two," came a nervous voice over both his helmet's comm and the cockpit's audio gear. "You guys seeing this?"

Jerome leaned over the pilot's seat to stare at the visual feed on the main display. "Yeah." On the screen, the three Covenant troop carriers were heading towards Tradewind's location, bearing down like a group of carnivorous avians. He turned his head partway around and pointed outside. "Douglas, get these blast doors closed, now."

042 nodded and flew out the opened hatch.

"Um, Leader?" the comm beckoned in panic.

Looking back at the display, Jerome could see one of the Phantoms maneuvering into a position directly over Fox Two. *** those things are fast. "Get out of there, Two!"

"I can't! I need someone to seal the docking collar."

"No, just get inside Tradewind and leave the dropship behind!" he yelled.

"I'm moving," the pilot panted as his breathing continued to broadcast over the comm.

With the Starboard Docking Bay's doors noisily closing over his shoulder, Jerome could barely hear the pilot's last cry when the feed from Fox Two abruptly cut off. Jerome could feel the entire mapping ship shudder under an explosion as he stabilized himself against a bulkhead. "Two? Two, do you copy?"

There was no answer.

He slammed a fist down on the console and left the dropship just in time to see the large bay doors meters apart from closing. In contrast to the rumbling sounds of the ponderous doors, a high-pitched whistle was getting louder. At first there was a blur of motion in the closing crack, but then the object outside slowed and an odd-shaped barrel lined up for a shot. Within half a second he recognized the weapon and Jerome lunged to his left.

Boiling pink plasma shot out an under-slung turret of the Phantom, super-heating the deck 092 had just vacated. Jerome tucked and rolled, getting farther away from the path of destruction. The double doors slammed shut, as the barrage of plasma fire rang out like hollow muffled thumps against the protective outer layer of the bay.

Jerome quickly scrambled to his feet and examined his armor. When he found it fully intact he breathed a sigh of relief. That was close. He joined Douglas with the group of Marines huddled near the corridor entrance.

"You okay?" Douglas asked, one of his SMGs already in hand.

Jerome rolled his shoulder and flexed his left hand. "I'm fine." He pulled his assault rifle from his back and motioned with the weapon towards the exit. "They'll be coming through the dorsal hatch, right where Fox Two was docked."

Douglas gave a quick, nearly undetectable turn of his head.

Likewise, Jerome gave an abbreviated shake of his helmet to let the other Spartan know the dropship was probably nothing but a charred mass. "Let's move out. Hopefully we can cut them off before they can scatter throughout the ship."

---

"Copy, Jerome," Alice answered. She lowered her head and nodded to the four marines. "We've got Covies at our drop-off point. We'll meet the rest of our group there."

"What's going on?" Ellen demanded, slightly annoyed at not having heard the female Spartan's conversation with 092. Anders hated being left out of the loop and she was pretty sure Alice was doing it on purpose.

"Phantoms are inbound, that's what's going on," Alice reply tartly.

Being irritated as she was, Anders had totally missed the Spartan's words to her troopers. And now, even as she processed what Alice had said, Ellen felt her heart nearly cease up in her throat. "The Covenant?" she breathed, asking as if hearing it a second or third time would make it more believable.

"Thanks in no small part to you two," Alice muttered.

Ellen exchanged a glance with Contrite Variant and her shoulders slumped from the weight of the guilt that latched onto her like a predatory wasp. Anders had never thought the effects of such a calloused accusation could eat at her emotions, but the sting had pierced her deeply. All she ever wanted to do was to get the Spirit of Fire back home safely, and now her actions had doomed them all.

Spartan 130 noticed the Professor's posture change and Alice's own stance shifted apologetically. "Look, you two get back to the Starboard Docking Bay and lock it down. Maybe even see if you can get some of Tradewind's security cams up and help us track these aliens down."

Ellen looked up at the towering figure, trying to read the Spartan's body language. With her face hidden behind a visor, the only clue Ellen got was the slight tilt of Alice's head. Coupled with the tone of her voice, Anders concluded Alice was trying to offer her a chance for redemption, even if it was a small one.

The Professor squared her shoulders. "I'll see what I can do," she said. Ellen looked down both ways of the corridor they were in and pointed to her left. "This way?"

Alice nodded. "Take it till it dead ends, then go right." She leaned in ever so slightly. "And please keep an eye on your friend here," she added quietly.

A smirk formed on Ellen's face only to fade out in the time it took for her to sigh. "Good luck."

---

The holo-image on the tactical display winked out of existence when Cutter was just about to alert the dropship of the bogey.

"We just lost Fox Two, Sir," a crewman called from a console. "And our visuals with it."

James switched off the static display and marched forward towards the main viewport. "Do we still have communications?"

Y-yes, Sir. barely," came the quivering voice of his communications officer. "They were using Fox Two's transmitter and routing the signal to Three where that dropship would link up with the ground team." The officer, a lanky male from some back-world colony, swallowed visibly. "The signal's diminished, but operable."

"Very well," Cutter murmured. "Sensors, what all were you able to pull up on that cruiser before Two's feed cut off?"

"Not much, Sir," he said regrettably.

"Give us what you can. I want all possible structural weak-points and weapons blisters identified. Use our templates we have on file as a reference, if you need."

"Aye."

"Helm, ETA?" he asked. Cutter's mind tended to work fastest when he was under the pressure of battle, and now was when everyone needed to be on their toes.

"In what shape would you like the hull when we get there, Sir?"

James was about to reprimand the officer about properly informing him of the situation, but when he spotted the first Pelican-sized rock floating into view from their left he understood. The shipmaster, not too concerned with collateral damage, was beginning to carve a path through the cloud of rock and ice, and in so doing, sent the rubble flying off in every direction. Well, at least he's clearing the battlefield for us.

The captain folded his arms across his chest and drummed the fingers of his right hand in his left bicep. He was hoping the cluttered back end of the asteroid would mask their approach, but the debris field was larger that he had anticipated. One option would be to use their point defense guns to eliminate some of the larger rocks- like the cruiser was doing, but in the process it would give away their stealth. The other option would be to swing around even wider to avoid their hull being chewed to bits, but giving the Covenant cruiser a clear view of the Spirit of Fire. James sighed. Command is never easy.

"Captain?"

Cutter chewed the inside of his cheek. "Swing us around wide, but keep us as close as you can to the outer edge of that debris cloud."

About halfway through the turn, the sensors officer spoke up. "Sir, I have the approximate readouts you asked for."

James circled around behind the sensors station. The screen showed the cruiser in a translucent grid pattern with small boxes of text branching out from highlighted areas. "Go ahead."

The officer pointed to the port and starboard bow. "I've located their forward batteries here and here, but it seems they rely on doors that open in order to fire." He switched to a bird's eye view of the enemy ship. "And they have pulse laser turrets running just below their mid-line on either side, also housed behind large doors."

"Hmm." Frowning at the readout, James scratched the stumble on his chin. The turrets were nothing new, but the use of keeping them hidden from visual contact and not from focused sensors was a mystery to him. "Your thoughts on those doors?"

The officer opened his mouth quickly then shut it just as fast. "I don't see any advantage to keeping their guns hidden; it's obviously a military craft and the design clearly gives that away." He tapped his left index finger to his lips. "Aside for the aesthetic purpose in making the ship look sleek, I really don't know."

Cutter patted the man on the shoulder. "Keep at it. Maybe something will make sense."

"Coming around, Sir," the helmsman said.

James walked forward to the main viewport to see the asteroid beginning to appear off the port bow. He narrowed his eyes, to try and spot the enemy ship . . .

"Covenant cruiser on the horizon!"

"Bring weapons systems online," Cutter ordered calmly. "Get me a visual up on the main screen."

As he predicted, the cruiser had settled over Tradewind's crash site, using their own point defense turrets to clear a path wide enough to fit. For now, the enemy ship was holding steady. "Weapons, lock in firing solutions as soon as we're within range," he said. "Helm, swing our aft around and get us facing that cruiser. I don't want our flank exposed till we're ready."

The view outside shifted once again, and some of the rocks following the larger asteroid began to ping off the Spirit of Fire's hull, causing a few crewmen to cringe at the multiple impacts.

"Steady," Cutter murmured.

"The Cruiser is firing!"

"Elevate us thirty degrees," the Captain ordered, taking a seat at his command chair.

Off to his right, the woman at the weapons console turned halfway around to face him. "Why would they be firing now? We're still a dozen kilometers out till either side has maximum range."

James frowned, feeling his brow crease in concentration. There was only four laser pulses headed towards them and he had plenty of time to dodge out of their way . . . He bolted upright when he realized their subtle yet simple tactics. "Hard to starboard! Get us away from these rocks," he bellowed.

Without waiting, the helmsman took the ship in a sudden turn, the engines groaning in protest. Outside, the enemy's magenta-colored fire made contact with the larger chunks of floating rock, blasting it into thousands of smaller fragments that made contact with other gaseous rocks, exploding them on impact. The chain reaction ran its course over the rear portion of the orbiting debris, creating a huge cloud of dust and fire.

Spirit of Fire shook violently as its port side was peppered with the downsized chunks. The forward viewport was washed in dark brown particles as if a windstorm had suddenly caught the UNSC vessel in its gale.

James held on to the arms of his chair, clenching his teeth till the vibrations subsided and the crew collected itself. "Report."

One officer to his left spoke up first. "Uh, minimal damage to our flank," he informed, reading the diagnostics on his screen. "One of our deck guns took a sizable hit and is unable to rotate. Firebase Cluster 2 won't be able to disengage from dock till the C clamps are repaired."

"Thank you," Cutter said, trying his best to keep the anger from his voice. He had been played the fool. Taking a so-called 'masked' route had nearly cost him the entire ship. He was playing against the odds and lost without even looking at his hand. The lack of Serina's instant analysis and functionality was being deeply missed, but the Captain knew he should have factored in the possibility of the cruiser noticing his maneuver.

James pounded a closed fist off his knee and growled to himself. No more mistakes. "Helm, put us on an intercept course with that cruiser. Weapons, prepare to fire."

"That could be a problem, Sir," the sensors officer added with a nervous tone.

Frowning, Cutter looked out the main viewport, as the Spirit of Fire turned slowly to the left. "What?"

"The Covenant Cruiser . . . it's gone."

---

"Alice, location," Jerome asked between breaths as he turned the last corner to his destination. The main corridor was still undamaged and sealed off from the ventral hatch, leaving Jerome to believe the Phantom's weapons were precise enough to eliminate Fox Two but leave the docking collar intact.

"We're in position in the far room to your right."

"Copy." Jerome came to a stop against the metal frame of the blast door that would shut off access from the main corridor to the hatch room and leaned his head forward to spot Alice down to his right a good ten meters. "Stay hidden." He caught her nod and she ducked back out of sight.

Hugging the other side of the door frame, Douglas shifted uneasily. "What's taking them so long?" he asked quietly, flexing his fingers around the pair of SMGs he was holding.

Jerome shrugged and took a quick look behind him to see both squads of marines hunkering in for battle. Some were content with kneeling, while others had hauled old filing cabinets out into the hallway for make-shift cover. The two Spartans were running point, and most of the marines probably wouldn't be able to get a clean shot off between the three-meter gap separating 092 and 042, but their positions would enable a quick retreat, if it came to that.

But in the back of his mind, Jerome was as anxious for battle as Douglas. His senses alert, he waited. C'mon.

As if on cue, a circular purple light flashed into existence, sculpted by the rough circumference of the open hatch. A sound akin to a reactor humming rippled through the walls, as the gravity lift made the connection to the hatch room floor. A single Unggoy floated down and landed with a snort. Jerome could see the odd design of its methane tank differ from those Grunts he had encountered before. Rather than wearing a pink, triangular re-breather system, this one was encased in jet-black armor with two slender protrusions attached to its back. It quickly turned to examine its surroundings, sniffing the air while pulling out a Needler.

Still in the relative darkness of the corridor, Jerome slowly pulled out his M6 pistol and lined up a headshot. "Psst," he hissed.

The alien snapped his head around faster than Jerome would have thought, but he squeezed the trigger and hit his mark square in the forehead. The round passed right through flesh and bone to ding off the back wall. For a moment the Unggoy remained upright, as if unfazed by the sudden end to its life, and it took another two seconds for its body to collapse to the floor.

Two more Grunts dropped down the light chute, one landing awkwardly on top of the dead companion while the other landed in a crouch, its Plasma Pistol already charged.

Jerome easily picked off the one that had stumbled via a shot to the side of its head, but in so doing, gave his position away. The ball of green plasma scorched towards him and he quickly pulled back as the blast struck the door frame, instantly liquefying the metal and warping it. "Fire at will!" he ordered, resetting his shoulder against the bulkhead in a lower stance.

But when he peered around the corner to find the lone Unggoy, four Elites were in its place: two with Needlers, one with a Plasma Rifle, and one with an Energy Sword. As the marines opened fire, the Elites split off into pairs, diving to the left and right. The lunging move took them out of the marines' line of sight, but more Covenant were on their way down the lift.

"Concentrate all fire forward!" he yelled to his squad.

The staccato of Douglas' duel-wielding fire could be heard over the sustained assault rifles coming from the line of marines. Douglas emptied one magazine into the Elite rifleman struggling to find some cover and was able to bring the towering alien's shields down. Jerome swung his upper torso around the metal striping of the door frame and hastily fired half a dozen rounds at the Elite. He pulled himself back into cover just in time before a barrage of pink needles littered the doorway, giving the wall the appearance of a technicolor porcupine.

"He's down," Douglas confirmed. He quickly reloaded both SMGs and reached his arms around his side of the door frame, firing blindly at the source of the needles. "We got more coming."

Switching to his MA5B, Jerome spared a long glance at the confined battlefield. There were a handful of Unggoy bodies piled up at the base of the glowing lift, but still more Elites were fanning out to the extreme left and right of the rectangular hatch room laying down suppressing fire. Jerome knew it would only be a matter of a time before the Sangheili warriors overran the Spartans.

But he still had an ace up his sleeve. "Alice, now."

Even from his shielded position, Jerome could hear the roar of Alice's squad as they opened fire on the intruders. Bullets lowered shields and purple and blue blood splattered against the walls, as the gravity lift retracted. Caught between two lines of fire, the remaining Covenant troops had no chance at survival but to charge. One Elite ran towards Alice's group only to be cut down beside a pair of Grunts.

With a resounding yell, the sword-bearing Elite rushed at Douglas who was caught reloading both SMGs. The marines halted their fire, afraid to hit one of their own, as the Elite lunged forward.

Jerome slammed his right shoulder into the alien's side, sending both of them to the ground. In midair, the Elite tried to swing his Energy Sword around to impale the Spartan leader, but Douglas swung his leg up, connecting his foot with the alien's elbow. The glowing blade lanced off of Jerome's back, sparking against but not puncturing the armor. He then landed partly on top of the Elite and felt something crunch inside the alien. It snarled in protest, but Douglas brought his foot down hard on the Elite's long neck, crushing its windpipe and ending the fight.

Jerome pushed off the dead Sangheili and stood up to survey the engagement zone. All weapons had ceased fire and the smoldering bodies of dead Covenant littered the floor. "Alice, report."

"Right here," she called, emerging from the doorway to his right. Alice kept her assault rifle moving back and forth over the fallen enemy, seeing if any were still alive, as she and her squad met the two male Spartans near the center of the room. "One of my guys took a needle to his leg. Nothing serious but he should still see a med tech."

Jerome nodded in acknowledgment. "Doug?"

"No casualties to report." He prodded a Grunt with his foot, flipping it over to lay its back. "These Grunts look different to you?"

"Yeah," Jerome agreed. "They must be a special task force or something."

Alice tilted her head in amusement. "'Or something'? Whatever division they're from, they didn't last long." She waved her left hand at the carnage. "It was a crapshoot."

Jerome shrugged. "That was mostly due to superior tactics and the element of surprise." He bent down and hefted the extinguished Energy Sword from the dead Elite's hand. "But something tells me, this is just the beginning of a long fight."

---

New story out! Halo: Below the Brine
(it's the best story you're not reading!)

Looks promising so far, will complete reading it tomorrow.

---

GT: Tri edge T 1000
aka: MATRIX

I have a magnificent talent in killing threads.
Either that or they're sterilized for noticeable periods of time whenever I post !

Looking for competition or a place to be recognized ?
http://gamebattles.com/join

a very well written and well thought out tale, i love it!

---

Dulce et decorum est pro patria mori.

it is sweet and honourable to die for ones country

Chapter 8

 

Closing the double doors behind her, Ellen Anders waved the Monitor over to the console she had previously repaired. The screen was still lit up with diagnostic data, but she was hoping to access the more intricate programs buried in the subroutines. As much as she wanted to return to the bridge, Ellen could read the seriousness in Alice's tone and granted her the fact that running around an old UNSC mapping ship unescorted while under Covenant attack was not a good idea. The docking bay provided them with a solid escape route and defensible positions, making it an ideal place for a last stand. If it ever came down to that.

Following the female Spartan's request, Ellen sealed them in, locking the docking bay off from the rest of the ship. The lone marine in the bay was patching up the pilot from Fox One, while the other pilot, kneeling at her side, did his best not to vomit at the sight of blood.

Frowning to herself, Ellen started for the wounded woman propped up against the forward landing gear of the dropship. Anders did take a few med courses during her quick transit through the various universities, and any help she could offer would probably be desired. Probably.

"Anything I can do?" she asked the marine.

"No, ma'am," he answered without looking up. He had just finished wrapping the last layer of medi-tape around the woman's thigh. "The wound didn't nick the femoral artery but it was close." He finally turned his head around and abruptly stood up when he recognized the Professor. "Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't know it was you."

Ellen's eyebrows met in partial amusement. "It's okay. Is she going to be alright?"

"Yes, but she really should visit the Med Bay." The marine's eyes defocused and he took a step back. "Uh, ma'am? Is that the . . ."

Anders looked over her shoulder to see Contrite Variant hovering at the console, watching their conversation for a distance. "Yes, that's the Monitor."

The marine worked his jaw for a moment. "Oh, so the cause of all our problems has a title?" He shook his head. "Well, you might want to keep it out of the survivor's sight. He keeps mumbling about that 'wretched machine'," he said using air-quotes.

Feeling a fresh wave of guilt being ushered into her her heart by the bitterness of his words, Anders just nodded. "Where is the survivor?"

He poked a thumb towards the the dropship. "He's inside. Got himself strapped in, ready for takeoff."

"Good, keep him there." Ellen looked down at the wounded pilot. "Better get her inside too, if we have to jet out of here in a hurry."

"Right." The marine waved the dazed Fox Three pilot over and the two men carried the injured woman into the dropship.

Ellen let out a long sigh and returned to the console only to find the Monitor keeping a watchful eye on her.

"Is something wrong?" Contrite Variant asked.

"You have to ask?" Ellen countered. She brought up a menu system on screen and started to access the security programs Tradewind had installed. "Look, there's a lot I need to fix here. I've dug myself a pretty deep hole."

"Why would excavation be an issue?"

"No, it's . . ." Anders clenched her hands into fists and gritted her teeth. Dealing with an AI like Serina had it its ups and downs, but they mostly worked things out for the better of the crew. She tried to return Serina's sass with an authoritative demeanor of her own, but dealing with 49 Contrite Variant was like telling a child genius to stop doing astro-navigation calculations and just go to bed. It some ways, it reminded Ellen of herself. She sighed again. "I need to fix the problem I created."

"So . . . redemption?"

Ellen looked curiously at the machine. "Sure."

"Then I stand by, ready to assist," the Monitor said with a renewed vigor she found a bit alarming.

To say this AI was odd was an understatement, but the word best summed up her experience so far. Returning to the keypad, she quickly found the security protocols. "Just be quiet for a moment."

"Oh," Contrite said. "As you wish."

Ellen rolled her head from shoulder to shoulder and got to work. She began to restore power to the archaic security cams stationed at key junctions and rooms aboard the ship.

Just as the fish-eye view into the ventral hatch room popped up on screen, the comm crackled to life. "Professor? Any progress?"

Through the fuzziness of the video feed, Ellen could easily make out the three Spartans and the dozen or so marines making their rounds over the dead Covenant troops. And there were a lot of bodies. Ellen cleared her throat. "I've got a visual on your team," she informed Spartan 092.

Jerome looked up at the opposite corner of the room, then finally spotted the security camera and nodded. "Good, can you lock down this room? I doubt the Covies will attempt the same entrance twice, but better safe than sorry."

Ellen pulled up another program, checking to see if she could carry out such a command from her station. As expected, an error message came up, alerting her that she didn't have authorization. One thought that quickly died out was to go grab Tradewind's acting-captain and have him enter his passcode, but she figured he should be left alone for now. Still, fail-safes should be in place. She keyed her comm. "The only way I can get those blast doors closed is if there's significant atmospheric venting."

The warped image of 092 shifted as he pulled something off his belt and hefted it in his hand. "That won't be a problem."

"And why- oh, great," Ellen murmured when she recognized the fragmentation grenade. "That's one way of doing it."

On screen, the UNSC team filed out, while 092 placed a single plasma grenade on top of the pile of dead Grunts lying under the hatch. A moment later, with the room void of humans, a blurred, round object flew into the room, landing just behind the Uggnoy. With a blinding white flash, the camera's feed cut off, followed by a muffled rumble Anders felt through her boots.

"That should do it."

Ellen called up the lockdown program and sure enough, the hatch room's blast doors had closed shut. Anders was about to protest over the use of explosives inside such an old ship when static blared over the comm. She hastily tried to scrub the frequency and managed to limit the amount of white noise. She couldn't tell if someone was trying to contact her, but since she had just been speaking with the Spartan she figured Captain Cutter was trying to reach her. "Spirit of Fire?"

---

"Gone?" Cutter searched the stars, looking for some hint of a slipstream entrance.

"No sign of the Covenant Cruiser, Sir," the sensors officer said, sounding confused. "It must have jumped."

James shook his head. There should be one way to verify.

"Professor, can you heard me?" James asked over the busy sounds of the bridge. All hell might not have broken loose, but people were still scrambling about, fueling a sense of panic. "Communications, can you tighten our transmission?"

The comms officer nodded and the static dissipated somewhat.

"I can barely hear you, Captain," Ellen Anders said. Oddly, when her voice sounded over the bridge speakers, the crewmen quieted down.

"Professor, can you get anything up on Tradewind's sensors?" James asked.

"I'll try," she replied, sounding agitated.

"092, report," he ordered, switching gears.

When Spartan 092 spoke, the bridge nearly fell silent. "We were able to eliminate the attackers, Sir."

Cutter passed up the chance to breathe a sigh of relief, not fully knowing how or why the cruiser had left.

"We'll regroup at the Starboard Docking Bay," 092 continued.

"Very well, Spartan." James glanced at the main viewscreen, finding it void of anything but rocks and rubble. But no Covenant ships were seen. Frowning, he turned to the sensors officer. "Did those Phantoms jump as well?"

The officer nodded. "It appears so, Sir. Either that or they returned to the cruiser before it entered slipspace."

Cutter's expression deepened. The latter would have been nearly impossible, and the former made the most sense. But why would they have left as quickly as they arrived? The Captain had never faced a Covenant force that ran at the first sign of trouble, let alone drop off a squad of troops to be slaughtered and then call it a day. The fact that their sensors were blinded by the debris cloud the enemy lasers had kicked up during the cruiser's escape made detecting the slipstream rupture out of the question. Usually there is a burst of radiation, but if the whole in slipspace was small and fast enough, it wouldn't render on their sensors even after clearing the dust and magnetic distortion the cruiser had created.

Anders' voice came over the bridge speakers. "Captain, of what little resources I could restore, there appears to be nothing on the radar but you."

James didn't like this one bit. The speed of the enemy's response to the EMP was amazingly fast, and if the Covies were to return, they'd sure as hell bring a fleet with them. And that was something Cutter did not want to stick around for. "Ground Team, the cruiser is gone along with the Phantoms." He sighed. "Prep for evac. We're not going to get ambushed."

Even through the comm distortion, 092's voice sounded puzzled. "They just left?"

"Not before leaving us with a few parting gifts," Cutter said dryly, scanning his eyes over the damage reports. "We'll bring the Spirit of Fire into the clearing the cruiser made and send some Pelicans down for quick transport off that ship."

"Captain," Anders interjected. "What about our reason for stopping here in the first place? We can still use Tradewind's FTL drive. It should be easy enough to remove."

"The main reason was to respond to a distress call, Professor," Cutter rebuked mildly. Still, even running at full speed, the Covies would surely spot us against the blackness of space. If they could extract the FTL drive from Tradewind and at the very minimum get it aboard, they stood a good chance of getting out of this alive. And return home.

"Bradley," he called over his shoulder.

The engineer was at his side in a flash. "Yes, Sir?"

"Report to Chief Engineer Prescott and tell him he's got a job to do," Cutter informed.

Bradley smiled. "Yes, Sir," he said with a pinch of enthusiasm. He was through the exit and running down the corridor before James had even turned back around.

"Professor," he said into the comm. "I'll be sending down a team to help with the drive's removal. Please help them in any way."

"Absolutely, Captain."

"Helm, bring us in. And alert Medical. We'll be having a few extra guests that have been in Cryo for far too long." He stood up and folded his arms across his chest. "Let's make this quick, people. Time is of the essence."

Even as he silently watched the bridge crew carry out his orders, James still felt the stirring in his stomach that something wasn't right. Maybe it was an effect from the thaw. Or maybe it was warranted.

---

"Seriously?" the tiny voice said in his ear.

Nathan flipped his HEV's secondary monitor over to the receiving channel and wasn't surprised to see Toril Holmen as the source. "Copy, Control. Standing down," he said for his squad, wanting to defuse the situation as quickly as possible.

He exhaled a weary sigh and keyed the hatch open. The hydraulics hissed and he climbed out to find the row of ODSTs filing out of the room looking rather annoyed- and rightfully so. In the military, one was used to being ordered about, doing things without question, but this back and forth, stand-up-sit-down gambit was loosing its charm. He heard the soldier to his left grumble a complaint.

"They just need to make up their minds once and for all or just shoot us into vacuum," the ODST griped.

Nathan raised an eyebrow, but the expression was lost underneath his helmet. "You know how unpredictable these things can be," he admonished lightly.

"Eh," the soldier waved Nathan an unpleasant hand gesture and marched off.

Shaking his head, Nathan looked down to his right to see a certain pod, Toril's, unopened. He dialed in a personal line to her HEV on his comm and walked over. Immediately his ears filled with what was most likely curse words in her native tongue. He cringed at the vehemence in her voice but tapped on the pod's glass window nonetheless. "You okay in there?"

The swearing cut off, followed by a sigh through clenched teeth. "Go away," she said tiredly.

Nathan pulled his helmet off and ran a hand through his hair, relishing in the relief it brought. "There's no where to go," he replied, deciding to probe her underlying demeanor.

That response elicited the glass on Toril's pod to opaque, blocking any visual contact. "Find somewhere."

He folded his arms across his chest and shifted his weight to his right leg, holding his helmet by the brim. "I think here is where I need to be." He rolled his eyes at the cheesiness of his own statement. What a stupid thing to say!

Without warning, the HEV's hatch snapped open, narrowly missing his face and sending Nathan to tumble backwards and land on his rear. Still sitting in her pod, Toril gripped the handles above her head, looking as if she would fly out feet first. But her body sagged and she slumped back down. "Please, just leave me alone," she said quietly, no longer transmitting over the comm.

Trying to play it cool, Nathan sat up and bent his knees, placing his forearms casually over them. His eyebrows met together but he softened his expression with a smile. "There's obviously something going on with you. If you tell me, maybe I can help."

Toril snorted, the sound coming out more nasally than normal. She was still wearing her helmet, but at least she had depolarized it. "You don't get it, do you? When someone says they want to be alone, that's when you leave."

Nathan felt color rising to his face. "I know, and if you really want me to go, I will," he said with a wince, hoping she would give in just this once.

Her gaze lifted to his, the blue irises contrasting with his brown. Toril narrowed her eyes as she studied his sincerity. Nathan could read a distant pain behind those beautiful eyes and wondered if he may have opened a wound she didn't feel like sharing. He panned his head around to find the room empty, and started to sense that he too should probably go . . .

She visibly swallowed and lifted her chin. "What makes you think I can trust you?" she asked cautiously.

Blinking in surprise at the turn in her tone, he set his jaw before speaking. "Holmen, I know you're new to being an ODST, but things are a little different here. We're a family, more so than marines. My squadmates are my brothers," he pursed his lips for a second, "and you are my sister." He tucked his right leg underneath the other. "So if there's something you need to talk about, I'm here."

Toril's head lolled to the left. "You really mean that, Parker?"

"Of course. Sometimes talking through an issue is the best way to feel better about it," mentally he cringed at his choice of words. In his mind, Nathan was coming off as an idiot.

A smile tugged at the corner of her mouth. "No, I mean the whole sister-brother thing." She sighed. "Can we really be like that?" she asked with half a frown.

Nathan felt his stomach tighten. Deep down he knew he would like nothing more than to invite her into his quarters for some "R & R", but the way she asked her question meant friendship was possible and nothing else. His emotions were conflicting with one another as he stared at her partially obstructed face. On one hand, he desired the intimacy. But on the other hand, he truly wanted to help Toril, even at the cost of a romantic pursuit. "Yes," he replied with difficulty, as if the word was oozing out a meat grinder.

Toril's expression softened and she actually smiled at Nathan. "Okay."

Nathan mimicked her smile. "Okay."

Toril leaned forward and lowered herself in her seat, situating herself as if to take a nap.

"So . . ." Nathan trailed off, not really understanding her change in comfort.

"Don't press your luck, Parker," she said, nearly laughing. "I'd say this is a good start. Let's not ruin it by going any further."

He opened his mouth to speak but immediately thought otherwise and clamped it shut, not wanting to loose any ground he made by ruining it with a quick comment. Instead, he stood up and gave her a casual salute. He spun on his heel to go.

"Parker?"

His brow furrowed as he turned back around. "Yeah?"

Toril gave him another rationed smiled. "Thanks."

He nodded and started for the ready room, feeling a wave of relief wash over him.

---

By the time Jerome had returned to the Starboard Docking Bay the place was buzzing with activity. Four Pelicans had managed to squeeze in around the still immovable dropship, and medical staff were pouring out of the UNSC ships. He sent Alice and Douglas off to escort those that would retrieve the 19 frozen Tradewind crewmembers.

Even as more marines filed out of one Pelican, Jerome still felt uneasy about everything. The firefight in the hatch room was short and to him it ended a little too quickly. And then the Covies just leave? He shook his head, and made his way over to Anders, standing by the lone console in the bay. In his mind, he couldn't figure out why a shipmaster wouldn't at least patrol the area of the engagement before committing troops for a ground assault. Odd as their tactics usually were, this didn't make any sense.

He came to a stop to Anders' right, stepping in between her and the Monitor. "Thanks for the help back there." He glanced at the screen, noticing a sensor sub-program of the mapping ship was running. Either she was as skeptical of the Covenant leaving as he, or she had just left it up for lack of nothing better to do. "Still scanning?"

Anders shrugged without looking at him. "This ship may be old, but its sensor equipment was top-notch when it was built." She waved a hand to the screen. "Might as well be on the look out."

"Find anything?" Jerome asked.

"I'm getting some weird readings on gaseous clouds." Anders leaned on the console, using her hands to support her weight. "But if I focus the spectrometers for more than a few seconds, the program freezes up and I have to start all over."

"Your readings are probably due to the cruiser's laser blasts exploding those smaller asteroids out there."

Both the Spartan and Professor turned towards the source of the voice. It was a young man with a mop of red hair tucked underneath an engineer's cap. "And you are?" Jerome asked.

"Engineer Jonathan Bradley, Sir." He held out a hand and gave the Spartan a surprisingly firm handshake. "The Captain sent me down to retrieve the FTL drive," he nodded to Anders, "with your help, of course."

Jerome frowned. "Where's Prescott?"

"Getting ready to do the math," he answered with a grin. "Assuming Tradewind's drive is still operable, there's a lot of voltages and amperes we need to check. Once we have everything verified, a pair of Pelicans can pick up the FTL drive and we will finally be on our way."

"Sounds like a good plan to me," Anders said with a little more cheer than usual. "Shall we get started?"

The engineer smiled again but his eyes glanced over at Jerome. "The Captain wants our team to have an escort. Who should we ask about that?"

"Follow me," Jerome replied. "The med team will need all the help they can get. No sense in pulling away any more marines than needed."

"Good." Bradley waved a half dozen techs over, each holding some form of electronic equipment. "Lead the way."

Before Jerome was half way turned around, the Monitor quickly moved to block their path. "Do I understand you correctly in saying that you will be leaving soon?"

Jerome exchanged a glance with Anders who frowned. "Yes. We're getting out of here," she said, her words coming out slowly.

Contrite Variant perked up and his eye glowed a little brighter. "Wonderful!" He seemed to vibrate where he floated for a half second. "There. I've uploaded the location of Installation B-23 to your computing device. We should hurry."

Jerome noticed the Professor gasp when she heard her datapad sound a negative tone. She pulled the device from her pocket and frowned. "You just completely filled up my memory," she growled.

Fed up with the machine's antics, Jerome reached out with lightning-fast reflexes and grabbed the lower chassis of the Monitor, pulling it closer. "Look, Glowrod. You've done enough already. If you think you can use the Spirit of Fire as your own personal MagLev train, you're wrong." He let go, giving Contrite Variant a slight shove. "You stay here, touch nothing, and we'll consider taking you with us. Is that clear?"

The Monitor was silent for the span of a long exhale. "Of course, Reclaimer." Contrite Variant sputtered away, lifting high above the Pelicans to hover between the cross beams supporting the bay's ceiling.

Jerome looked back at Anders, willing to argue his method of interaction. But she merely sighed with a understanding smile and motioned for him to lead.

---

After the first twenty minutes of successful evacuation of the Tradewind survivors, Captain Cutter exhaled a quiet sigh of relief. His crew was moving with the efficiency he had expected, shaving ten minutes off the original estimates to get the Cryo Room emptied. He had dispatched a group to retrieve the logs and anything else the techs deemed vital from the auxiliary bridge, and they were almost finished.

And the most thrilling news of all: Chief Engineer Prescott had given Cutter the green light on the FTL drive. "While it is an old model, I'm positive we can adapt it to our power conduits," the aging man had said. Prescott was older than James, but still had his bearings in place. While some men his age would have gone senile by now, Prescott showed no signs of instability. If he says he can get something done, he gets it done.

And with that wonderful transmission, two Pelicans were en-route to Tradewind's stern where they would extract the drive and return it to the Spirit of Fire.

And once we've installed the new drive, we'll be on our way home. James felt a tightness in his throat and swallowed past it, quelling the emotions that were struggling to water his eyes. Mary how I have missed you.

It had been far too long since the Captain had corresponded with his wife, and he, like everyone else aboard with family, was praying that the galaxy had not given up all hope for their return. He knew the UNSC would classify them as MIA at best, but the thought that Mary and his daughter Ruth could go through such unneeded suffering was plucking at his heart strings. Up until now, he had tried to place the worry into the back of his mind, but now with the possibility of returning home in their grasp, he wondered if they would have moved on with their lives. How long would they wait? Would Mary accept my lost fate and return to Earth to live with her sister? Had Ruth finally married that marine medic she had been dating for two years?

So much could have happened, and yet it was all out of his control. With another swallow, he mentally pushed aside those questions, forcing himself to focus on the task at hand. James motioned to the main viewscreen. "Bring up the feed from those Pelicans."

The screen split into two views, both slightly off from each other, giving the impression the visuals were coming for a single, cross-eyed individual.

"Delta 749, what's your ETA?" Cutter asked into the comm.

"Forty seconds, Sir," the male pilot answered quickly.

"Everything's prepped and ready to go," Bradley informed from Tradewind's drive room. "Opening the outer doors."

"Glad to hear it," James said with a smile. "Ground Team, how's the rest of the evacuation?"

"The last medical transport just left," Spartan 042 responded for the other two. "Aside from the first three squads in the docking bay, the team in the aux bridge, and those at the aft end, all personnel are off Tradewind."

"Good." Cutter returned his attention to the main viewscreen. "Delta 749, let us know if-"

Suddenly, the image on the right belonging to Delta 750 vanished only to be replaced by static. A terrified gasp echoed over the bridge. "Spirit of Fire, we-"

But Delta 749's feed was cut off with an audible crackle.

"Multiple contacts!" the sensors officer yelled, switching the main screen to a tactical one. "Three Phantoms just took out our Pelicans!"

Cutter's eyes grew wide when the faint flicker of a ship coming out of active camouflage appeared at the top edge of the forward viewport.

"Enemy cruiser right above us!" an officer hollered in a panic.

"Oh no," James breathed. He never would have thought a Covenant ship that size could have the means to cloak, but sure enough, the vessel had materialized out of nowhere. Cutter's mouth went dry.

The Covenant Cruiser was back. And it had the Spirit of Fire locked in its sights.

---

New story out! Halo: Below the Brine
(it's the best story you're not reading!)