Halo: Necessary Evil

Prologue
A quiet exile. That was what Ger ‘Hullen had resigned himself to, punishment for the crime of choosing the wrong side in war. Banished far from his keep on Sanghelios and forced into subservience to honorless humans, he had almost forgotten the pride he had once felt as a warrior of the might Covenant Empire. To think that I actually count myself among these vermin, he thought bitterly.

But now, standing in the troop bay of a human-made Pelican dropship, Ger felt a twinge of his old warrior’s pride returning. Surrounded by subordinates and racing towards a hunt—a hunt at his command—he could almost recall the years past when he had led lances of his brother Sangheili into battle against their worthy foes. Almost.

“We’re coming in on the building now.” The human voice crackling over the dropship’s intercom grated Ger’s nerves, reminding him of the ugly truth: this was not the Covenant and he was not leading warriors. This wasn’t even a proper war. “Get off my bird as quick as you can, I’ve got four more runs to get to.”

Ger tapped the com unit at his armor’s collar. “Understood,” he replied. The human words felt coarse and ugly coming out of his mandibles, yet another reminder of how low he had fallen. His human employers could not even be bothered to outfit him with translation devices. “All of you, get ready to move!”

The mixed group of humans and Kig-Yar with him in the Pelican bay mumbled affirmatives and checked their weapons. Ger looked away from their sloppy appearance and even sloppier discipline, barely able to stomach the quality of fighters he was now forced to lead. Humans and Kig-Yar might not look alike but they shared the same repulsive lust for profits that drove nearly every aspect of their degenerate societies. Unfortunately, that greed seemed to be what ruled the galaxy now that the Covenant was gone. Perhaps that was why the humans and Kig-Yar got along so well, especially on this planet called Venezia.

Ger checked his own weapons. The plasma pistol at his hip and the repeater slung over his back were both fully charged, as was his energy sword. The blade was one of Ger’s most prized possessions, among the few things left of the keep and bloodline he had been forced to leave behind on Sanghelios. His armor—a relic of his service in the armies of the Covenant—was a similar reminder of his lost pride. Unlike the other Sangheili sharing his exile from their people, Ger took extra care to keep the armor in prime condition, as if this were still the Covenant and an inspection could be made at any time. Some might see his pride as useless vanity, but to Ger it was all he had left. Some day he would leave this disgusting planet behind and return to his people. When that day came, he would prove that he had never forgotten his honor as a warrior.

The Pelican’s engines whined as the dropship lurched down to land. The humans and Kig-Yar scrambled to find handholds, but Ger ignored the lurching and strode towards the open bay door. The cool evening air washed over his face. Outside, the ground rushed up to meet him. The decrepit buildings surrounding the landing zone cast lengthening shadows across the pavement. Venezia’s capital city of New Tyne was hardly a gleaming metropolis but the slums on its outskirts were even worse. Ger had known Unggoy villages that were better maintained.

Ger stepped off the Pelican before it had even fully touched down, his powerful legs easily absorbing the impact. He strode forward imperiously as the others scrambled to disembark behind him. More armed fighters—Ger would not dare think of them as soldiers, much less warriors—milled about in the streets surrounding the landing zone. Most of these were humans, though Ger could see a handful of Kig-Yar and even a few hulking Jiralhanae among them. Most of the fighters had their weapons trained on one solitary building: a run-down tenement that might once have been a housing complex. From the way the structure looked about to collapse, Ger assumed it was abandoned, though he wouldn’t put it past human dregs to still be sheltering inside like insects beneath a rock. If the war had taught him anything about his former enemies, it was that they would hide anywhere.

One of the humans broke off from the makeshift siege as the Pelican lifted off. Though tall for a human, he was still dwarfed by Ger. Most humans found the difference in stature intimidating, but this one seemed not to mind. Ger usually had difficulty telling humans apart, but he knew this one from his shaved head and the broad scar running from the man’s ear down to his neck.

“About time you showed up,” the human said in greeting, falling into step beside Ger. “You stop for drinks at the bar?”

“Ramos,” Ger said curtly. The human’s overly familiar tone irked him, but he had worked with this particular man in the past. Ramos was at the very least a capable fighter in his own right, one of the few on Venezia Ger could actually rely on as a subordinate. “Why haven’t you stormed the building yet? Were you waiting for me to arrive?”

Ramos shook his head. “I’ve got a couple teams circling around the back to cut off the side alleys. Got a few sharpshooters covering the upper stories as well. If he tries to make a run for it, we’ll light him up.”

“Are you sure he’s still in the building?” Ger demanded. “If I lead a charge on an empty room, heads will roll.”

Ramos was unperturbed by the threat, though he had worked with Ger enough times in the past to know that it was not an empty one. Ger could respect that about him at the least. “He’s in there. Kept taking potshots at us from the windows. Killed a few guys before the sharpshooters pinned him down.”

Ger glanced around at the fighters around them. There had to be at least twenty here, along with the ones who had come with him on the Pelican. “All this effort for one renegade?” he asked. “Who are we dealing with here?”

Ramos shook his head. “Some local enforcer. Used to handle wet work for the Syndicate, at least until he pissed them off. A few of the guys say he’s called ‘Stray,’ but the way they tell it he’s a nobody.”

“Stray.” A human word for an animal without a master. Homeless, dirty, unwanted.

“And yet they have thirty of us here for a nobody,” Ger noted as they approached a human truck parked around the corner from the besieged tenement. A pair of humans stepped aside to allow them access to a small table crammed with computers and communications equipment. Ramos moved up and tapped a quick sequence into the center monitor.

“Hey, don’t look at me,” the man said with a shrug. “You think I want to be stuck out here all night over one guy? I just want to kill this guy, get paid, and hit the bars. Just give me a sec here and I’ll patch you in to the boss.”

Ger folded his arms across his chest and waited as Ramos bent over the monitors. A few moments later the man nodded and addressed someone on the screen. “Yes sir, he just arrived,” Ramos said, tone far more deferential than the one he had used with Ger. “One moment, sir, I’ll put him on.”

Ramos stepped back, giving Ger space to step forward and face the monitor. The Sangheili looked down to see the image of another human smiling up at him. This man was well dressed—by human standards—with a broad face and a shock of white hair. Ger recognized him immediately: Min Ai, the human in charge of Syndicate operations in and around New Tyne. There were no underworld dealings here that went on without Min Ais’ knowledge or approval. Not even the local authorities dared oppose the Syndicate.

“Ger,” Min said warmly. “Thank you for coming on such short notice.”

Ger eyed his employer, forcing himself to remain civil. Min Ai was an amiable creature, considering the power he wielded. A Sangheili in his position would have taken its own life before addressing subordinates in such a relaxed manner. Such informality was perceived as a weakness; weakness invited assassination attempts. But Ger understood that humans like Min Ai saw things differently. This human’s relaxed demeanor was as much an expression of power as a Sangheili warlord’s aloofness.