User:Dragonclaws/Ascension22

Belief
“That was a waste,” Gedeg sighed as he disabled the hologram recorder, so carefully smuggled into an unused storage room. “Now we know none shall support us. We fight alone, Jitji.”

“Well, the Jiralhanae will not support us,” he agreed. “There may be others... Not Kig-Yar.” That was self-evident. “Nor Yanme’e... The Huragok and Sharquoi barely think for themselves...” None remained... not in the Covenant, at least. “Humans.”

“Humans?” Gedeg was surprised, bemused, but ever faithful. “You think they will... hear us?”

“We are on a holy mission, Gedeg. They will recognize that.” After all, if they would let three distict beliefs about the one God all exist peacefully, why would they not allow that of the Unggoy. ''Of course, our story is the only true one. But they do not need to hear of that.'' “We will depart from shadow soon. When we do, we shall address the Human people. Until then, we must recruit the Unggoy in this trapped fleet.”

Gedeg nodded, moving to recalibrate the device. “Under what pretense?”

“Training exercise,” he smiled under his mask. “Lessons on doing battle with the Flood...” As he spoke the name of the beast, the room around him grew dark. For but an instant he saw the hole into which he had jumped. Its jagged edges resembled the sharp teeth of a gaping mouth, ready to swallow him whole... and at once it was gone, replaced by the dimly lit storage room and Gedeg setting up the transmitter.

What in the name of the one God was that? “The Flood...” he muttered quietly, but to no effect. No image appeared before him, frightening or otherwise. ''A vision? A warning? What does it mean?''

However, he could not focus on such questions at the moment. “Greetings, Excellency,” he cheerfully addressed the Jiralhanae Ship Master. “Me Sergeant Jitji. Me to aid your Unggoy by teaching Flood fighting!”

***

The holographic representation of the Human vessel In Amber Clad slowed to a stop. Beside him, Jahnsen released a sigh of great relief. Gerka ‘Setfethee was in agreement. One crisis had been averted.

Yet this spawned still more threats and potential causes for alarm. The Flood was here, at the Human stronghold. Any chance of escape could prove disastrous for all of them. “Major,” he addressed the veteran, whose name he had not bothered to learn, “Open a channel with every Ship Master in the fleet.”

“Yes, Excellency.” The Major got to work. “That is queer,” he heard him mutter.

“What is?” he asked sharply. Another communications barrier?

“No, nothing,” the Major denied. “There is no problem, just... Nothing to be worried about, Excellency.”

“Nothing?” He glanced at Jahnsen, whose eyes remained locked on the viewer. “There is everything.”

The viewer morphed into a mirror copy of himself and Jahnsen, an indication of how the transmission would appear to all who recieved it. He gently nudged Jahnsen out of the capture, and then tapped the symbol to commence with the broadcast. “Peoples of the Covenant, be you in favor of separation or loyalty, heed my words now! For this once-holy city has been taken over by the vile Flood parasite. At any moment, they may try to escape, to infest this world or any other. I urge you, not as a proponent of separation, but as a sentient person capable of all the thoughts and emotions of you and those for whom you care most deeply, to stop this creature that would threaten all our lives. Should any vessel emerge from High Charity that is not one of the following, consider it to mastered by the Flood. The safe vessels include the Enlightened Soul, the Zealous Missionary, the Silent Blessing, and the Human vessel In Amber Clad.” He terminated the connection.

There. That would certainly reduce the likelihood of Flood escape. Whether or not they were in favor of separation, all were in fear of the Flood’s awesome potential for destruction.

His stream of thought trailed off as a series of ships in the fleet suddenly penetrated shadow. At first it was but a few, soon escalating to hundreds, all vanishing into the Shadow Realm. “What is this...?”

“Excellency,” the Major called, “Incoming transmission from Jiralhanae Ship Master Numitor of the Bright Beacon.”

“Hmm.” He tapped the appropriate symbol, engaging the two-way broadcast. The image of the Alpha Jiralhanae soon appeared. “Greetings, Ship Master...”

“Greetings.” The Jiralhanae craned his neck, as though trying to peer into the control center. “Are your Unggoy treating you well?”

He blinked in confusion. “Unggoy?”

“No incidents of rebellion? No rumors of insurrection grace your ears?” The Jiralhanae shook his head at Gerka’s blank expression. “No, you are free from it...”

“Unggoy trouble, Numitor?” he asked with an extended mandible. Your race’s mass Unggoy killings would have that effect.

“Me? No, of course not.” He grinned wickedly, “Unggoy are very tasty when served alongside Sangheili eyeballs.”

“...Was there something you wanted to discuss, or are you just asking for culinary advice?” He spread his arms in an open invite. “I, myself, am most partial to the fat of the Jiralhanae buttocks when dripped lightly over Kig-Yar breast.” That was, of course, a total lie thought up on the bare moment. He had never consumed a Jiralhanae in his whole life, and he doubted he ever would. Unclean creatures...

“Hmm. Yes,” Numitor nodded. “That speech given by Aeson’s bloodmate and the Arbiter... Well, it was something, wasn’t it? Heretical by any means... You intend to spark a revolution, do you not? Yes, you have made many enemies on this unit! Well, consider me a ‘friend.’” He laughed. “Never thought I’d be saying that to a split-jaw, but there it is. I am one of your ‘separatists.’”

“That is very good news,” he said with cheer. “You have certainly chosen the correct side–”

“Yes, yes, yes,” Numitor cut him off with a wave of the hand. “Well, those still loyal to the Covenant have jumped to the other side of the planet. Fear, I suppose, of you, of the Flood...” His eyes glinted. “I am not afraid!” He brought his hand out to terminate the connection, but paused. “Oh, I shall have to try that fat thing you mentioned. It sounds positively delightful.” He cut the connection.

Well, now... That is something... He realized Jahnsen was staring at him, and turned to face him. “Yes?”

“You’re cannibals,” he stated. He shook his head. “You’re all goddamn cannibals.”

Gerka blinked. “Are you not?”

Jahnsen just stared at him. “Aliens are so weird,” he muttered finally.

***

“Well?”

“Many many targets,” Gedeg reported from behind the recording device. “Some... some not used by Covenant!”

“Great.” The attempts at rallying support from other Unggoy had been successful, and he knew that if they could get the Humans to help... well, the odds would certainly be higher. “Find one and connect!”

“Done...”

Jitji stared at the device until an image of a Human appeared. It was of the lighter variety, like Keezz. Fortunately, this one was male and wore a different uniform, so he was easily able to tell them apart.

''“What? A Grunt?”'' the Human exclaimed in English.

Jitji knew some English from his brief stint monitoring Human transmissions. ''“Greetings, Sir. Me want talk with high-high Human. It important.”''

“Uh...” The Human appeared to be listening to someone beside him. ''“I’m... gonna transfer you to ONI.”''

Jitji understood. ONI was their equivalent to the High Council, or perhaps one of the greater ministries. He waited.

The image was soon replaced by a pale-skinned female, but with head fur shining a pale yellow, as opposed to Keezz’s black fur. Her uniform consisted of light grey clothing with no distictive markings, save a small rectangle of crimson loosely attached to the fabric on the left side of her chest. “Greetings, Unggoy,” the Human spoke in an admirably preformed, though highly accented, Shuni – the Sangheili language. “I am Balencyah Haidrik. I represent the Office of Naval Intelligence. What is it you want?”

Jitji and Gedeg shared excited glances. He eagerly addressed the Human with the speech he had prepared, “I want your alligence in a holy campaign against the Covenant. You see, I have been visited by the one God – not a collection of gods as dictated by the Covenant’s heretical leaders who dare to call themselves ‘prophets.’ God, the one true God, creator and overseer of the universe, saved me from certain death and bestowed me with knowledge of His greatness. I am the leader of our race, a position assigned by the Sangheili Arbiter and recognized by the Covenant, and it is my wish to lead my people away from this heretical system. However, we were all enslaved long ago by the Prophet of Truth and his Arbiter, forced into a life of meaningless devotion. I, Sergeant Jitji, shall challenge them soon, while they are weak from warring with rebels and Humans. I ask... no, I beg for your support in this holy task.”

Balencyah Haidrik stared at him, an utterly shocked expression disturbing her once cool exterior. “My superiors... will have to discuss this endeavor... How long are you free to talk?”

He glanced at Gedeg, who shrugged in a Human-like manner. “Until the Arbiter sends for us.”

“Well, the more you can tell me, Sergeant, the more my superiors shall be willing to consider your request. What forces have you amassed as of yet?”

ONI. Office of Naval Intelligence. Intelligence. That was what this was about. Haidrik was gathering intelligence. ''Well, it is something. Perhaps an indication of friendliness at the barest.'' He decided to comply, for now at least. “Every Unggoy on seventeen ships,” he said proudly, knowing that even that was paltry in the face of their enemy’s forces. “We will get more, for there exist many more Unggoy in this fleet.”

“You spoke of an Arbiter... What circumstances instigated his creation?” she asked smoothly.

Jitji knew she was likely being prompted by someone he could neither see nor hear. “When Master Chief Spartan-117 destroyed the Fortress World, it was the Supreme Commander of the Fleet of Particular Justice who the High Council blamed for the Covenant’s failure. It was he who the Prophet of Truth transformed into Arbiter, and set forth on a sacrilegious quest to kill Sangheili rebels. He was expected to die, as Arbiters are, yet he did not.” Jitji wondered how many Humans were studying him as he spoke. Possibly hundreds. He decided it was time he ask a question, “How have you fared against the Covenant? Are you fit for conducting revolutions?”

“We have taken our losses,” she admitted calmly, never losing her rhythm. “Yet still we remain strong.” There was a slight hesitation, a tiny flicker in her eyes, and then: “The 123rd Prophet of Truth has been eliminated, only to be replaced by the Prophet of Justice–”

And the room darkened. The image of Haidrik, the projector, and Gedeg all shrunk away. And then… a shape in what shadows lay! It was the dark Unggoy, he was sure of it. It opened its great mouth of broken rubble, ready to swallow him whole...

“Dead...” he murmured as the room shifted back to the way it should always have been. He shook his head, putting his thoughts back in order. “...Justice is dead. You must be mistaken.”

“What makes you so sure?” Haidrik cocked her head to the side.

He hesitated. What he had to say could potentially anger the Humans... yet he had no doubts that they would be able to tell at once if he lied. “Cortana,” he said truthfully. “The construct Cortana told me of his death, that the 123rd had slain him as he tried to board Ascension.”

“Cortana...” Haidrik and the organization she represented were quite intrigued, and there were many more questions to follow on the subject of the construct. Of course, he knew only very little, but the discussion soon changed the instant he mentioned the Flood.

***

“Fear not, Reclaimer! All traces of Flood have been expunged from this vessel,” the Monitor remarked cheerfully from where it floated in the Ship Master’s chair, perhaps eighteen subunits above the seat.

The Arbiter and Consus stood on each side of it, both watching the Human Fleet Admiral on the two-dimensional viewer. The Monitor’s loyalties had altered just as easily as when Keezz had sent it against them, and now it behaved much the same as before, excepting the fact that it now considered this Lord Huuhd as its master.

“Excellent news, Monitor,” the Fleet Admiral replied. “Arbiter, Consus, I would like to invite you aboard Cairo station. I am afraid the accommodations are meager, given the unfortunate circumstances around us, but I can arrange for a specially-prepared meal for the both of you from our finest storage.”

Consus visibly perked up, but the Arbiter shook his head. “I thank you for your kindness, Fleet Admiral, but we have important matters to see to as of yet. The Prophet of Truth’s reign continues, and until the last Prophet’s head has been severed we cannot rest for any purpose.”

“Until the Prophet once-of-Justice breaths his last,” Consus agreed, clearly amused at the irony that he would now be hunting his once-master.

The Arbiter could sympathize. Indeed, he felt regret that he could not have dealt the killing blow on the 123rd himself. We shall see who is to claim the final kill. “If Ascension has begun to uncover the Ark, then our paths must lead there at once. I would like to request the aid of your troops in this endeavor. Truth must be halted as swift as possible!”

“Of course, Arbiter,” Fleet Admiral Huuhd nodded. “Any and all we can offer shall be at once placed within your command. It is a fine day, a blessed day, one where our peoples shall join together as one. Together we...” The sound abruptly halted, though the Human’s mouth continued to move rapidly, his face animated.

“I am afraid that will not be possible,” spoke a new, more arrogant voice, over the Fleet Admiral. The image soon faded, to be replaced with one of a far less decorated Human sitting in an ordinary chair. His skin was pale and he possessed short brown fur at the top of his head. “Good evening...”

“What...?” Consus sounded just as baffled as the Arbiter was. “Who are you?!”

“Ah, allow me to introduce myself,” he smiled thinly. “My name is Colonel Jeimz Aakersen. I serve the Office of Naval Intelligence, which is one of the highest military branches in the United Nations Space Command. My power exceeds even the dear Fleet Admiral, do you understand?”

“Indeed!” the Monitor chirped. “The authority of the Office of Naval Intelligence exceeds all but those in High Command.”

“Bright AI,” the Colonel noted, laughing as though the concept was humorous. “No, Arbiter, you may not have our troops, nor may you set foot – or hoof, is it? – on this planet.” He made a striking motion with his hand. “Nope, Earth is off-limits to split-jawed sons of bitches and sadistic balls of fur! Your caring act may have flown with Huuhd, but don’t expect HighCom to buy your story at all.”

Consus sputtered with outrage and the Arbiter began to protest, but the Colonel held up a hand to halt them.

“Nuh-uh, boys. No party favors for you. Now, I’d normally just blow you guys out of orbit, but some of your buddies are causing a bit of a ruckus. If you really wanna do something nice, you can help us out by taking out all of the ships currently firing on our forces. When you’re done with that, y’all can get back inside your big mushroom and fly back to Neverneverland. But if you or your buddies take one step on our soil, I can guarantee we will have an incident of biblical proportions.” He addressed the Monitor, “343 Guilty Spark, your orders are to aid in the transfer of the Human prisoners Keezz and Jahnsen back to Cairo station. After the prisoners have been brought safely into UNSC hands, proceed to the following location along with all your Forerunner artifacts.” The screen went dark but for a line of digits that streamed across the display.

The Arbiter stared at it in shock. Never had he expected this range of disrespect from a Human leader. Not when Keezz and Jahnsen had been so honorable... now it seemed as though no treaty would be forged, regardless of the two he had kept protected.

“I much preferred the first one,” Consus muttered darkly.

***

“Well, it’s clear Ackerson is a total idiot.”

Oshiro stopped sipping his coffee to let out a laugh. “He can play the part, that’s for sure,” he agreed in his thick Cuban accent.

“No, I mean it,” Kader insisted. He twisted around in his chair and interfaced with his console, bringing the Colonel’s CSV onto the main screen. “Look at this: the man tried to bomb a Spartan-II. It’s not an act; the man is a joke.”

“I like the Grunt,” Yamamoto broke in, a wide grin across her face. “He’s cute.”

“Cute?” Kader blinked, distracted. He couldn’t understand why these people would so often arbitrarily leap into near nonsensical tangents inappropriate with the preceding conversation. “He’s a Covie.”

“A very cute Covie.” She brought up a looped animation of the ‘Sergeant’ nervously shifting his weight back and forth. The animation had been sped up dramatically, making the Grunt’s movements appear dance-like. The effect was increased by a light flip soundtrack playing over the speakers.

Kader rolled his eyes. He had been utterly unprepared for the childishness of the Alpha-6 inhabitants, though he supposed it had something to do with their prolonged isolation in a base that normally rested miles underneath the ocean. Though once the base was quite active, most of its staff had been transferred out months ago to deal with the situation on Mars. Perhaps they had to either resort to childish fun or simply go mad. Or perhaps they did go mad. “Eh, regardless,” he continued, “That buffoon is going to make us lose our shot at peace.”

“Peace? You been living under a rock, Kader?” Oshiro laughed hard at his joke. “Peace is for xenophilic bark-kissers. We could have gotten away with it a few weeks ago, maybe, but now? Now we gotta spill all the blood we can so people won’t rip each other apart in rage.”

He shook his head. “I have more faith in humanity than that, Oshiro. Far more.”

“Faith may keep you sane, but a weapon will keep you alive,” Oshiro repeated the old saying. “You’ll need one, too, when the masses turn on you to get their share of blood.”

He shifted uncomfortably. It was always a tough job, when going undercover, to maintain a loyal appearance without becoming that which he so despised. Was that what was happening? Was he allowing himself to slip deeper into the role and abandoning reason? “Well, he’s still an idiot,” he muttered, staring distantly ahead, the Grunt dancing the night away.

***

Avery Johnson carefully strapped his unconscious commander into the charred Pelican seat, eying the large silver spider with caution. Sure, the Arbiter had said it was a Sentinel, but it just plain looked creepy.

“Fear not, Reclaimer,” the lightbulb told him as it pressed Keyes firmly upright using a yellow-ish beam of energy. “She shall wake very shortly. Her vital signs exhibit no anomalies.”

“Yeah, whatever.” He strapped himself in next to her. “You just keep the amazing spider drone well away from me, ‘kay?”

“Alright,” it agreed easily. The spider creeped over to the other side of the bay, while the Monitor entered the cockpit. “Prepare for takeoff.” It began humming what took Johnson a moment to recognize as the Filipino national anthem, while the Pelican shuddered as it left the launch bay.

Strangeness aside, it really was a relief to get free of the Covenant environment at last. He craned his neck, catching a glimpse of Earth’s beautiful blue sky swirled with white. He really was grateful for the Arbiter’s hospitality, but there was nothing like those precious skies... His joy faded as he caught sight of the massive fields of wreckage littering the area between them and Earth. ''My God... What have they done?''

He placed a comforting hand on Keyes’ shoulder, although it was more he who needed the comforting. “Everything will be okay, ma’am,” he whispered. “They can’t kill Mother Earth... Never her...” He fell silent.

After a moment, he began humming along with the Monitor. Ever within thy skies and through thy clouds, / And o’er thy hills and sea, / Do we behold the radiance / Feel the throb of glorious liberty...

It wasn’t long before the Pelican docked with Cairo station. He watched the doors open, anticipating human contact once more. He was greeted with the sight of several ONI officers, mostly scientists from the look of them, wielding M6C magnums. “Officers,” he acknowledged, standing. “Hope there’s a medic with you. Commander Keyes got knocked out when some Brutes attacked.”

“Sergeant Major,” an officer nodded, stepping forward. “You and your commander must submit to medical and psychological examination at once. You are the first POWs the Covenant has released willingly, and we need to make sure you have not been conditioned for any form of attack against the UNSC, CAA, or any of their respective branches.”

“Conditioned?” He rolled his eyes. “You mean brainwashed? The Elites were never holding us captive. We were just hitchin’ a ride.”

The officer shook his head. “Orders are orders, I’m afraid. Please come with me now.”

***

“Alright,” MacWilliams called out. He glared at the conjoined Covenant ships floating outside. “The POWs are safe, no bombs are inside them, so get that monstrosity the hell out o’ my vacspace!”

“Your vacspace?” Lord Hood questioned, raising an eyebrow at the ONI agent. “I thought we’d agreed that you would only have jurisdiction over alien artifacts?”

“Change of plans, Hood.” The spook flashed a data pad bearing details of the appropriate law. “ONI’s setting up shop here now. Not that you haven’t done a fine job, I’m sure.”

“And just how does ‘ONI’ expect to command an orbital MAC platform?” he demanded. He swept a hand to indicate his men, currently leaving their consoles to be replaced by spooks. “These are the men who have keeping Earth safe...”

“...And they will continue to do so,” MacWilliams finished for him. “Just within a secure capacity in specific duties we have outlined. Your flight leaves in...” he glanced at a wristwatch, “25 minutes, one-way to England. If I were you, I’d not make a fuss. Rumor has it zero’s very interested in your little ‘Halo’ campaign. Ciao.” He returned to yelling about the Elite ships.

Fuming, Hood turned away. There was little he could do, short of mutiny, if section three was committed to occupying his MAC platform. What the devil they expected him to accomplish in England escaped him entirely...

***

Accomplishment?

There was plenty.

Cronus stood upon the crest of the hill, a wicked smile creeping across his face. Below him, a once mighty city was now charred rubble. The High Prophet of Regret had seen well to that. In its remains cowered a mass of Human infantry. It was as if they were offering themselves to him, a desperate gift from their pitiful leaders.

He knew something about gifts from leaders, though his were endlessly greater in every way. Under the true Prophet of Truth, he had been given the proud dress of an alpha with an army to match. Fit Kig-Yar, Lekgolo, Unggoy, enough to secure dominance over this landing zone by any means were now at his command.

“Your orders, Excellency?”

It took him a moment to realize the Major beside him had spoken. When he did, he smiled at his inferior. “Rape them.”

His warriors cheered in expectant glee. Nothing could stop them. Certainly not the Humans, even Master Chief. Especially Master Chief.

***

“Congratulations, Johnson,” the cold ONI medic announced. “You appear fit for return to active duty.”

Great, thanks, he thought sardonically. Nothing I didn’t already know. “Yes, ma’am. And Commander Keyes?”

“I do not believe that is of your concern, Sergeant Major.” She indicated for him to leave the room. “Please report to the bridge to receive your orders.”

Uh-oh… “Yes, ma’am,” he nodded. Dressing quickly, he exited the chamber and strode quickly toward the tram. Something’s wrong… Hope Keyes didn’t talk about that Bible encryption thing.

Stepping into the tram, he refrained from sitting down. As it sped along, he watched as the hybrid Covie ships sank off into the distance. That’ll make one hell of a story… in about seventy years. That was how long it would take for ONI to loose their grip, most likely.

Arriving at the bridge, he stepped out to be greeted with the sight of dozens of spooks replacing good soldiers. ''Huh. What exactly is going down here?'' He frowned. Not us…?

“Sergeant Major.”

He turned to see a tall white man with an unusually large scruffy blond mustache. He wore only a simple grey uniform embroidered with the ONI emblem, above a laminated red card indicating crimson-level access. Civilian, he assumed. “Johnson. Reporting for duty.”

The man nodded. “I’m Special Agent Harsha MacWilliams, ONI section 3. You’ve done us a great service, Johnson, in gathering intel.” He tapped the top of his head to indicate a helmet cam. “Until now, we’ve never gotten so much detail on the innerworkings of the Covenant… ‘Shadow World’, huh? And then there’s this Cortana business… The ‘Gravemind’… Avery Johnson, you are hereby sworn to secrecy. Any attempt to relay your account to any unauthorized person or persons will be considered an act of treason. Is that understood?”

“It is,” he nodded. “Never thought otherwise.”

MacWilliams gave an oily smile. “And while we’re on the subject of treachery… I’m sure you recall when Commander Miranda Keyes, in full knowledge of the law, gave out confidential codes to Covenant soldiers?”

He stiffened. ''What? No! They can’t…'' “I remember,” he choked out. ''Bastard. That was… It shouldn’t even show up on their radar. A misdemeanor at most!''

“The punishment for treason, I believe,” MacWilliams went on, stroking his mustache thoughtfully, “Is eternal comatose. A living death, as it were. They say that traitors don’t dream… but there is some brain activity, after all. Personally, I think that the monkeys from section zero give them just enough room to hate themselves until the day they die. What do you think, Sergeant Major?”

His eye twitched involuntarily. “I really couldn’t say,” he said in an offhanded manner. “Never paid section zero much thought, myself.” Sadistic bastard.

“Ah, well,” MacWilliams sighed. “I suppose she hasn’t actually had her hearing, yet. But I think we both can predict how that will turn out.” He chuckled wickedly. “Now, Johnson, your talents are needed by the good men and women of New Mombasa. Your Pelican is waiting in the docks. I suggest you don’t dawdle.” He waved his hand in a dismissal.

He nodded stiffly. “Thank you, Special Agent.” He walked back to the tram. As soon as he was far enough away that he couldn’t be seen from the bridge, he sat down hard.

“Merciful God,” he hissed out in a shuddering whisper. Images of his smiling commander, of his former captain, sailed through his mind. Jacob Keyes… Miranda Keyes… I have failed you…

***

“Wicked little fool,” Consus spat. They stood now in the control center of the Enlightened Soul, relating their experiences to ‘Setfethee, now all they had left…

“The Human was, indeed, less than polite,” the Arbiter agreed darkly. “His arrogantly hostile words were often interspaced with species-specific insults.”

“Then there is no hope for an alliance?” ‘Setfethee asked, his tone grim. His eyes went to the viewer.

The Arbiter followed his gaze to see the Human fleet forming a barrier between High Charity and Earth. “I would not be so doubtful… Even though they may be antagonistic, the Humans know they have little hope without our support.”

“Especially now that we’ve led the Flood to their homeworld,” Consus added.

“Consus…” he sighed, weary of the Jiralhanae’s unrestrained criticism.

“The fact remains,” Consus asserted. “Now that the Flood are here, they will need all the support they can get. I’m guessing they will not be too ‘particular’ on the source.”

“That will likely be so,” he agreed. Stepping over to the viewer, he turned the focus away from the Human navy and onto the Covenant forces gathering in orbit, preparing for an assault on them – on High Charity even. “The Humans do not wish for us to land… Very well. The battle for us is here.”

“You think the Humans possibly have the ability to overcome Ascension on their own?” Consus scoffed. “Even with our help, the mission is a fool’s errand. Without it? Suicide.”

“The Humans will not let our ships enter the planet’s atmosphere,” he stated, his mind fast at work. “Indeed, many of our ships will not survive the coming engagement. We must gain all the kills we can before daring to assist in the assault on the Forerunner vessel. I will wish, however, to speak to ‘Lafatee and perhaps to Cortana about these specific penetration methods that can allow a ship to exit within the gravity well of a Halo, or of a planet.”

“You will risk the hopes of an alliance for this?” ‘Setfethee questioned.

“I have faith in the Humans’ honor.” He then smiled lightly, “But should I be mistaken… this will be a traitor’s mission. I will ‘betray’ the separatists and steal the Zealous Missionary along with any other ‘traitors’ among us.”

“I will betray you,” Consus chuckled. “I would much rather die in battle with Truth than by the hand of some idiot Human.”

“And I will remain,” ‘Setfethee decided. “To command the separatist movement.”

“I shall send a message of treason,” he declared, tapping a control to record his voice. The message would come of use later, when he intended to launch such a dishonorable attack. In the time present, he would command the fleet of separatists. For whatever result that emerged, he would have the satisfaction of knowing he made every effort to ensure the destruction of the Covenant.

***

“Covenant bastards!” Johnson growled as he crawled from the broken wreckage of his Pelican, shot down by a Covie turret. His pilot… the four Marines and the ONI guard sent down with him… All dead.

He was quite frankly surprised the good Lord saw fit to spare him, though he had to remove a nasty bit of metal that had gone through his left shoulder blade. Despite the injury, he was able to stumble away from the crash site with an assault rifle before the Covies decided to make sure there were no survivors. He headed away for the woods, trying to find some cover.

The terrain, Mombasa area, looked only vaguely familiar. The Covenant had sure done a number on the place. The landscape had before looked halfway decent. Now… now it was scorched grey, the color of ash. The whole sky was filled with smoke, and not just because of the dead Pelican. No, a hell of a lot more had been destroyed around here.

A wailing shriek in the distance, brought along by the wind, made him drop to the ground. Hugging dirt, he crawled quickly into the bushes. Whatever that was, it wasn’t human. Of that much he was certain. That and the fact that it didn’t sound like much of a pained scream, either. No, it was more of an ‘I’ll rip out your ribcage and wear it as a hat’ scream.

He waited cautiously for a few minutes, then slowly began to creep forward. A large hand suddenly grabbed his shirt and roughly threw him up and out of the bush. He spun around, ready to deliver a hot spray of metal into the face of whatever Covie had been stupid enough to engage him.

He halted quickly when he saw that it was a man. Big guy, over six feet, held a battle rifle in one hand, the remains of a cig in the other. He wore only grey fatigues and brown armor plating, with no indication of rank visible.

“Why don’t ya take that ruttin’ rifle outta my face,” the man said with a surly expression. As Johnson lowered his weapon, the man called out into the trees, “Sarge!”

“Sure that’s a good idea?” he asked quietly, raising an eyebrow.

“I ain’t scared of Brutes,” the Marine growled, his light mustache lifting into a snarl as he took a drag of tobacco.

“Well, maybe you should start, Private Cobb.”

Johnson turned to see a newcomer slide out of the foliage. This Marine wore standard-issue jungle-pattern camouflage, and had a far more friendly appearance than his buddy in the grey.

The Marine stiffened when he looked at him. “Sergeant Major Johnson,” he awknowledged respectfully. “Gunnery Sergeant Reynolds at your service.”

“Johnson, huh?” the burly man grunted in what could pass for respect.

“At ease,” he muttered, glancing at Cobb before returning to face Reynolds. “There are Brutes here? On Earth?”

Reynolds chuckled. “Where’ve you been? Mars?”

He started to answer, but caught himself and simply said with a hint of humor: “I’m not at liberty to say…”

“Cagey,” Reynolds noted with a smile.

“It’s the truth, in fact,” he explained. “Orders come straight from ONI.”

“ONI, huh?” Reynolds shook his head. “Never did like ONI, myself. It’s the name, you know? ‘Oni.’” It was an old joke, making reference to the trollish creature of Japanese folklore. “Anyway, best we be getting to safety quick as can be. Any other survivors?”

He shook his head. “None. I’ll need a medic myself. Took a piece of debris through the shoulder.”

“Got a doctor back at camp,” Reynolds nodded, gesturing for Johnson to follow him. “It’s a funny thing,” he muttered as they started out. “You know, the only reason we’re fighting to keep this ugly ruin is that the higher-ups want to secure a landing zone. Strange that they’d send a bird in when we hadn’t even taken out the anti-air.”

“Strange…” he echoed. Jesus Christ. If that was true, then ONI… There was a chance that the ‘higher-ups’ had just sent him down here to tie up loose ends, to eliminate the only trusted witness… of something.

Of what? he wondered. What do I know that’s worth that kind of action? “Yeah, ‘ONI.’ Might as well just call it ‘ON.’” That elicited a couple of chuckles from the leathernecks.

They made it to ‘camp’ a few minutes later. ‘Camp’ was hardly the word to describe it. ‘Bunch of Marines playing hide and seek in the trees’ could be a more apt term. Everyone had only the packs on their person and a gun in their hands, no fortification to speak of.

“Everyone in the city’s getting hit hard,” Reynolds explained. “We stay on the periphery, we may get a lucky shot at one of their leaders. Bit of luck, we may even get out of this alive.”

Alive… he mused as the medic examined him. If ONI had tried to kill him, if there was something he knew that they couldn’t let him live for knowing… then everyone here would die. Even if they weren’t slaughtered by the Covies, ONI would make sure they all had ‘accidents’ to cover up whatever he could have told them.

“The wound isn’t as bad as it appears,” Private Tam muttered as he applied some biofoam. “Frankly, you might be the luckiest man alive to come away from a Pelican crash with barely a scratch.”

“Uh-huh.” He was tired of unrealistic bedside manner nonsense. At least the cold ONI medic was straight with him. He winced as the biofoam went into effect, and flexed his arm in an attempt to work out the pain. “Thanks for the fix, doc.”

He got up, slipped his clothes back on, and picked up the weapon. “I’m going into the city,” he declared. “You all just forget I was ever here. I’m, uh, here from ONI. I was never here; you never saw me; you never even saw the bird crash, alright?”

“O-NI,” Reynolds enunciated in a sing-song manner. His skepticism regarding Johnson’s story was obvious. “I’ll lead the Sergeant Major out to the edge. Corporal Alleyne, you’re in charge.”

“That won’t be necessary,” he denied with a shake of his head. The less contact he had with these people, the better chances for their survival.

“Oh, I insist,” Reynolds smiled, his good looks showing through the crud on his face. His tone was friendly, but there was something in his eyes…

“Alright,” he agreed, if only out of curiosity. “Lead on.”

He followed the Marine through the trees. After a bit, he became aware that the trip was taking much longer than it should have taken. As they passed a familiar tree with certain knobby features, he was positive that he was being led in circles. Planting his feet down, he raised the rifle cautiously. “Yes…?” he demanded of his guide.

Reynolds turned. “You’re not a ninja.” It was not a question.

He kept his tone even. “How do you know what I am?”

“I know you’re not a ninja,” Reynolds repeated. “You’re not a rebel, and you’re certainly not a Covie. I know what you ain’t, but I don’t know whatcha are.”

He blinked. This was not the conversation he had expected. “I’m a patriot.”

“Ain’t we all?”

“Sergeant Reynolds, you wanna tell me what in God’s name this is about?”

“You don’t have a chance out there,” Reynolds stated with utter conviction. “No man does. The Brutes own that city, not us. You’re obviously hiding something, and I don’t know if it could help or hurt us. I will not let something like that go without–”

“They’re trying to kill me, okay?” he interrupted the rant. “ONI thinks I know something and they won’t let anyone go that may know it. You never saw me, understand?”

“Well, then,” Reynolds said after a pause. “I always knew there was something I didn’t like about ONI…”

“Now you know,” he sighed. “Right, well, if you won’t take me to the city, I’ll just find it myself.” It wouldn’t be too hard, not with the echoes of explosions sounding through the air.

“You know why the Covenant are so strong?” Reynolds asked instead. It was clear he had a reason in mind.

Johnson grudgingly decided to play along. “Why’s that?”

“Faith,” Reynolds replied. “Certainty. The Covenant all believe to the depths of their, you know... beings... that what they do... is just. After all, to them, we’re just some kind of affront to their gods, and that killing us serves them.”

“We have faith too,” he argued. His eyes glanced meaningfully at the Marine’s neck, around which hung a cross necklace.

“Yeah, a little church on Sundays,” Reynolds said disparagingly. “An afternoon prayer meeting. No, I’m talking about something that gives us more than justification for our actions. I’m talking about meaning, about belief. Now, you can salute the stars and spheres and chant ‘united we stand’ all you want, but you will never have as much faith in the CAA as the Covenant have in their Prophets. Know why? Because the Prophets are just a step away from gods. The CAA? Hardly. It’s about belief. They have it, we don’t. United they stand, divided we fall.”

He had to admit that the man had a decent point. “Still, there is something we can believe in, something to give us that spark of faith intertwined with justice.”

“And what might that be?” Reynolds asked.

“The Master Chief,” he said. “Spartan-117. He’s definitely the hero type.”

“Hero...” Reynolds pronounced the word carefully. “In my humble experience, a ‘hero’ is nothing more than a man who gets his whole unit blown away while he makes some half-assed attempt to take out a group of tangos, usually getting himself killed in the process.”

“Huh,” Johnson grunted, flashing back to the days when men mostly fought each other. Before the Covenant changed everything. “Sounds like you need a bit of ‘belief.’”

“Belief,” Reynolds repeated. “In a Spartan? A ‘hero’?”

“That’s right,” he nodded. “He can save us. He will save us. We just have to survive long enough to give him the chance. And we can’t do that divided. That means no more hiding in the woods. We go into the city and we buy our friends all the time they need, even if we get killed in the process.”

Reynolds shook his head, smiling. “I have to say… Minister Dunn speaks way prettier than you.”

“Yeah, well, Dunn’s never put his life on the line,” he said. “So, you with me?”

“To buy time for the Master Chief to come and save us?” Reynolds verified the plan. “Who says he’s even coming? …I know a man,” Reynolds said slowly. “He works at HighCom. He, uh, could be willing to order the Master Chief to help us out.”

Johnson raised an eyebrow. “Isn’t that illegal?”

“Everything worth fightin’ for is,” Reynolds smiled. “Sounds like you need ‘belief,’ Sergeant Major.”

“You do that,” Johnson warned, “And ONI will never let you go. Ever.”

“…But they can’t stop the signal,” Reynolds grinned, patting his COM. “Okay, I’ll take you to the city. I’ll send for Master Chief. If all goes well, our hero will arrive. Perhaps even soon enough to save us.”

***

“Forty thousand credaroos say the Elites win this one.”

Kader sighed at his colleague’s antics. “You’re betting on the success of a battle?”

“Everyone bets,” Oshiro claimed, adjusting the view of the orbital naval engagement. “They just don’t always use credits.”

The sudden beeping of a text chat interrupted Kader’s retort. Opening his chatter in a private window, he swore when he saw Reynolds’ name. That fool Marine knows better than to try to contact me. He opened the text message and swore again.

‘That is impossible. It is illegal and inappropriate to even consider,’ he texted back. There was no immediate response, and he resumed his bickering with Oshiro.

A few minutes later, another text message arrived from Reynolds. Through the bilingual profanities was a desperate plea for help. ‘We’re all gonna die,’ was the gist of it. ‘Send the Spartan 2.0.’

It was obviously impossible for him to comply. His cover had been threatened enough by the Fafnir mishap, and it would be suicidal to even consider. Section zero of ONI would learn who he was, and URF plans would be threatened.

Yet… The cry of desperation kept his eye. It would be cold… too cold to simply let an ally die like that. It would be as though he were in fact ONI… and not human. Screw the rules.

He got to work, crafting an order that would look as though it had come from Vice Admiral Parangosky, sending Spartan-117 on a desperate mission to save New Mombasa. It occurred to him that keeping the Spartan away from Ascension could make the UNSC lose their chance at taking out the current Prophet of Truth… but the chances were never good to begin with. He hesitated with his finger on the key that would submit the order, thinking over his responsibilities. This could be considered treason to both the UNSC and the URF, making him dead on each side of the line… but he knew it was right.

He pressed the button.

“I’m not gonna say that was the best decision,” Oshiro said from behind him, looking over his shoulder, “But it was definitely goodhearted.”

Swallowing, he stood. “Thanks…” Time to go…

***

''John laid his head back in the cool grass, looking over at Kelly beside him. Sighing, for this was the first time in forever that they had time to themselves, he turned his gaze upward. The stars were gorgeous, the sky free of clouds. As he gazed at the marvelous display, he began wondering, as he often had before this Spartan life, whether or not humanity really was alone in the galaxy. “You ever wonder what’s up there?” he muttered aloud.''

“Like what?”

“Well…” he fought to turn his thoughts into meaning, “Maybe someone up there is wondering what it’s like here.”

''“I guess,” she conceded. “Do you think we’ll ever meet them?”''

''“I hope so.” If there were aliens out there somewhere, they were likely eons more advanced than technology. Pacifists, probably. Atheists too. He imagined them coming in a giant saucer-shaped ship, delivering great wisdom and ending all war. He smiled at the image. Being a Spartan was wonderful, but he knew it would be nice to see his family again… He couldn’t even remember their names… “Don’t you?”''

There was no response.

''He turned his head away from the stars. Kelly was gone. In her place was a shiny, MJOLNIR Mark VII helmet, freshly spattered with dust.''

Screams filled the air, both his and Kelly’s, merging into the screech of a mortar smashing into the ground in front of him. Suddenly it was daylight once more… on Earth… in a Covenant warzone. A myriad of voices filled his head, some real, some imagined. He raised himself up, trying to clear his head. His MJOLNIR helmet lay in the bare patch of grass beside him.

“Time to go,” Kelly whispered to him, and he quickly slipped the helmet back on. “Do you think we’ll ever meet them?”

“Chief, leave me,” Cortana insisted as he regained his balance.

“Is anyone out there?” someone called.

“Chief!” called a Marine. ''“Marines! Fallback now!”'' came another as his eyes finally focused on a dropped shotgun, laying about a meter away from him.

“Any sign of the Chief?” asked one of his Marine support, a sergeant, as John found the strength to stand.

He picked up an assault rifle that had fallen from his side, and attached it to his back. The magnetic nature of the Mark VII armor allowed him to easily carry weapons this way. Two glowing Wraith mortars caught his attention as they fell from the sky, and he fingered the ONI shield generator at his waist.

“Negative, sir. I think we lost him,” came the response.

“Not yet,” he broadcasted, throwing the generator at his feet. The dome-shaped shield proved excellent protection against the strength of the mortars, and he took off running toward the Wraiths. Pulling the assault rifle into his hands, he leaped off of the small cliff that separated him from the collection of Brutes that waited around the Wraiths.

They were surprised by his leap. Some of the Minors even backed away, while the Alpha just readied his gravity hammer. He took a quick burst of rounds at the Alpha, darting around him to strike at the back of his head with the butt of his rifle; the Alpha went down.

Some of the Brutes were scared off by this point, but so many opened fire. He dodged the spikes as best as he could, grabbing the gravity hammer and smashing the engine of the nearest Wraith. The resulting explosion took out a couple of the Brutes, while offering him a bit of cover. Taking advantage, he traded his pistol for a spiker and impaled the next Brute. A well-tossed grenade took out another Wraith, and soon he stood triumphant over his dead foes.

“Glad to have you back, sir,” enthused the Sergeant as he let his shield recharge. ''“Urgent call from HighCom – you’re to leave for New Mombasa at once. They’re scrapping the mission.”''

Why? was the first thought that ran through his head. The ship Ascension was in sight, a colossal storm gathering above it. They could possibly never have a better shot at the new Prophet of Truth. However, that was not for him to decide. That detailed map sitting inside his helmet would have to wait for another time.

***

The Arbiter sighed as he took in the arrangement of forces displayed on the viewer. His sigh was not in response to an enemy strength, or weakness for that matter. The separatist forces actually had quite an advantage, the Humans reluctantly assisting.

No, he sighed because he had already resigned himself to what was surely a suicide mission. He no longer believed in a life after this, and knew he… him… the spark of identity that made him special… would be lost forever. He tapped the control that would allow his message of recruitment to be heard on every location the ship possessed.

''“Greetings, my warriors. I am the Arbiter…”'' the message began.

He could not bear to stand there, listening and pretending all was well. He turned and walked out, the goal of fetching Jitji in mind. He did not speak to ‘Setfethee as he passed, merely bowing his head respectfully. It was in all probability the last chance they would have to speak, but he could not focus on that at this time.

“…We of this council of traitors have placed much criticism on faith this past unit,” the message went on as he walked through the corridors. “Faith has made us commit terrible atrocities, crimes against all civilization…”

He paused to ask a passing Unggoy where Jitji was located. The Unggoy seemed very hesitant to tell him for some reason, but was eventually led to a storage room. Inside he found Jitji and another Unggoy beside a partially mutilated Sangheili corpse that appeared as though it had been taken from the food stores.

“…Genocides and enslavement are but few of the crimes perpetuated by blind faith…”

“Greetings, Arbiter,” Jitji spoke in a chipper tone, violet blood dripping from his hands. “We, ah, were learning how Sangheili work.”

How crude. “There are science lessons for that,” he noted, then realized the flaw in his statement. “…And I’ll ask Ship Master ‘Setfethee to make them available to Unggoy.” Maybe he would send the Sangheili a message while they were in shadow so they would not have to exchange dialog. “Jitji, a mission. We may not return, but we may yet end the Covenant. Will you come?”

Jitji nodded slowly. “I will. Gedeg,” he turned to his fellow, “You teach all Unggoy what they need to know.”

“Yes, Sergeant,” the Unggoy eagerly agreed, then turned to him and bowed. “Arbiter…”

“…However,” his voice went on as he led Jitji beside him, ''“It is not the case that faith is evil, rather it is the shortcomings of its followers that can corrupt its usage. We need faith in our darkest times to pull us out of what shadow that lays around us. For those who possess faith, not in a mythological state of ‘ascension’, but in the knowledge that the Covenant is the enemy of us all and must be destroyed, join me on a final mission upon the Zealous Missionary. Ascension, the vessel, it is not holy… not magic… and those who dwell within it are as mortal as they come. Come with me, all who possess faith in the belief that Truth’s reign must be ended… at any cost, even that of honor. There will be no recognition for the completion of this task, no tapestries woven to demonstrate your worth. This is a matter purely of belief. Is yours strong enough?”''

***

They had lost the bridge.

Despite the great effort of the UNSC Marines fighting courageously, the Brute forces were flowing in strong. They blew up the bridge, hoping to cease the enemy advance. However, the Brutes had only charged down and across the valley without the limited space of the bridge to reduce their numbers.

After the bridge was destroyed, the outcome of the battle for the hill was cast into doubt. Already dozens of Marines were dead, now more still were dying. And the Brutes… They could only kill one Brute for every three Marines killed.

The battle had seemed lost before John entered the fight. As soon as they saw him, the Marines were inspired to keep going. Spartans were known for having that effect, though John wasn’t quite sure why they weren’t giving their all in the first place.

Now, however… Hopeless was an apt description. Or perhaps ‘bloodbath’ fit better. Even John had to admit that there seemed to be no way out.

Then he saw Cronus. The white Brute led a whole pack of Brutes up the hill, his great big scythe in hand. Then John smiled under his mask. He had found the way out.

He made his preparations carefully, placing a plasma grenade discreetly in his belt where it would be obscured from view. Then he did what many would call foolhardy at best. He surrendered.

It was a risky move, especially when the unpredictable nature of Brutes was taken into account. However, Cronus had spared him once, and John had seen something of his enemy’s personality. He believed that Cronus would not take his death lightly, and would attempt it himself. If he was right, Cronus would take him to the top of the hill and attempt a public execution that would simultaneously lower human moral and raise that of the Covenant.

He wasn’t certain. There was, in fact, a good chance this foolish action would gain no ground. However, he believed otherwise. And that, right now, was enough.