Halo: Avenger's Quest/Part Two

Chapter Twelve: The Ship Master
From a distance, Famul was merely a nondescript and vaguely attractive planet floating amidst the stars. The trackless deserts that covered most of its surface were interrupted in several positions by spots of green and blue: the sites of terraformed forests and grasslands along with the artificial lakes and oceans that nourished them. These colors joined together in a patchy, spherical tapestry that drew the eye for only a moment before becoming as commonplace as all of the oxygen-less companions that traveled with it in its endless journey around their sun. Merely another planet amongst the billions of others that filled the galaxy.

But when you drew closer and your ship's sensors became useful, the picture became much more interesting. What had once been nondescript specks against the light of the planet were now spacecraft, transports and warships that drifted together in a parade of different sizes and origins. The largest of these were battered, Covenant-made cruisers and even a single carrier that dwarfed all of the others, but the rest ranged from smaller corvette and transport class Covenant ships to blocky, ugly human vessels to strange hybrids of both. This ragtag fleet drifted around the planet and its two moons, both of which were dotted with weapons emplacements and pressurized living domes. Now the scene was far more interesting.

And when you moved through the upper atmosphere and the ships that orbited within it, you found even more activity on the surface. Fishing vessels and hovercraft trawled the lakes and oceans while the plains and forests were covered by pre-fabricated living spaces, defensive positions, and marketplaces that teemed with all the species the galaxy had to offer. A similar panoply of small craft filled the skies with their patrols and flight patterns, which stretched from the upper atmosphere to paths that nearly brought them crashing into the ground.

There was all that, on that one planet.

And then, of course, there were the slave pits.

The vast majority of them were just that: pits. Holes in the ground with walls supporting walkways and guard towers that overlooked the unending misery that played itself out below. Those unfortunate enough to find themselves as the captives in those pits were just as varied in race as the denizens of the marketplaces, though these were mostly half-starved, bleeding, and naked. Those not slated for work duty or being prepared for an exhibition in the market did their best to find what shelter they could and avoid the hungry gazes of the armed Jiralhanae guards who stalked amongst them, Spikers at the ready to carve savage marks of punishment into those who drew their ire.

These monuments to squalid misery dotted the outskirts of the terraformed lands, outnumbering the settlements by almost two to one and forming barriers between the lush plains and the unending deserts.



Far removed from the sights of the surface, back out to the point where Famul merely caught and then released the eye, a silvery flash winked into existence against the twinkling backdrop of space. Faster than the eye could see, the flash expanded until it had formed a hole, one that led to a formless tunnel somewhere in the dimension known as Slipspace. That tunnel rapidly disgorged a single vessel, then vanished as quickly as it had appeared.

The craft that had emerged from the Slipspace rupture carried on towards Famul. Its curved, almost seamless form tore through the nothingness of space while from its handful of small hangars a squadron of Seraph and Banshee space fighters issued forth to form a defensive escort on all sides.

With its fighter escort now fully deployed, the Covenant-made corvette's engines flared and propelled it onwards towards Famul. With its purple-hued hull, it could have passed for any other light ships that had once made up the Covenant's massive navy--save for the strips of red coloring that had been spread across each of its sides and down its top.

Located at the corvette's prow, the command bridge was a hub of quiet activity. A handful of white and purple-clad Sangheili were scattered about the spacious room, all manning holographic terminals that linked them to the various functions that operated the vessel. A pair of white armored guards maintained a silent vigil over the bridge's single entrance, while three more were dispersed across all sides of the rounded control room. Apart from an occasional murmured exchange of information between bridge operators and the constant hums and whirs of its control panels, the room was completely silent.

A single presence dominated the room's center. Standing erect with both arms across his chest, a wiry Sangheili observed a large holographic display of Famul and its moons. Unlike the other warriors throughout the room, the white coloring that dominated most of his own armor had faded into an almost gray hue, and the orange finish that denoted him as a Ship Master within the Fallen separatist movement was barely visible at all. A small strip of dark cloth had been clipped around his armor's neck-piece and fell to cover his right side all the way down to the waist. His yellow pupils were narrowed as they scanned the hologram's analysis of Famul's ships and defenses.

One final warrior strode from where he had been peering over the shoulder of a subordinate and approached the central hologram. This tall and powerfully-built Sangheili wore his white and blue armor with pride; every inch of its surface had been cleaned and polished until not a single scrape or smudge of grime could have possibly clung to it. He brought a muscular arm up to his chest in a salute.

"Ship Master," he announced, his fist still clenched over his uppermost heart. "All hands have reported in. No problems in the transition from Slipspace."

The Ship Master's gaze didn't waver from its study of the hologram. "And communications?"

The Fallen Ultra nodded, still not abandoning his salute. "They were established moments after we transitioned. The ones on the other side directed us to move the Renewing Fire into orbit around Famul's largest moon. Chieftain Mallunus will be awaiting your arrival aboard his flagship from there."

With a nod, the Ship Master turned away from the hologram and belatedly returned the salute. The Ultra allowed his arm to drop to his side.

"The ship is already on route to the moon," the Ultra reported, moving up to stand beside his commander. "I had the coordinates set once we broke off communications with the... communications officer." He spat out the title as if he were gagging on it.

"Very good," the Ship Master told him. His voice was calm, almost entirely devoid of emotion. "Send this report back to Chancellor 'Nafal: 'We have reached Famul and are about to make contact with Chieftain Mallunus. No complications to report.'"

"Understood, Ship Master." The Ultra moved as if to go carry out the order, then paused and moved back to the Ship Master's side.

"But please, before we go any further with this, tell me why we have to come here and treat these savages as if they're our equals? Why must we ask them for aid?"

The Ship Master casually clicked his mandibles. "The Jiralhanae are formidable warriors, Umbra," he reminded his subordinate. "And Chieftain Mallunus has managed to scrape together an impressive fleet out here. He controls this entire system and his ships keep it safe from the Union's encroachment. If anyone can give our ships a safe haven, he can."

Umbra twisted his neck to one side in grudging acceptance. "But still, how are those apes any better than humans? This goes against everything the Fallen stand for."

"Desperate times, Umbra," the Ship Master noted, his voice bearing traces of amusement. "Sometimes they call for desperate measures. A treaty with Mallunus here means resources and support for the Fallen." He abruptly left the bridge's center, striding towards the exit while gesturing for Umbra to follow him. The guards at the door saluted as they passed through the door. Umbra returned their salutes; the Ship Master merely inclined his head.

When they were alone in the passageway, the Ship Master continued. "As far as I'm concerned, all these old prejudices will just hold us back from our goals. If we need the help of the Jiralhanae to achieve them, then I'll deal with as many of those creatures as I need to."

Umbra shook his head. "How can you say that when it was the Jiralhanae who slaughtered your clan?"

The Ship Master clicked his mandibles again. "They killed them, true. But others sent them into hiding. Others put them in harm's way. Those are the ones responsible for their deaths."

"I see." Umbra sighed. "I will go along with this then. For your sake, if not mine."

"Thank you. But keep complaining and raising objections. Not everyone on this ship shares my views on this matter."

They rounded a corner and the Ship Master stopped with Umbra coming up short behind him.

"Pula should be here shortly," the Ship Master murmured, half to Umbra and half to himself.

"So you're sending her out, then?"

The Ship Master nodded. "I have business of my own on Famul."

Umbra sighed again. "So not much longer, then."

"We won't be relying on the Fallen for too much longer, yes. They've rotted away and destroyed everything we fought for back on Sanghelios, Umbra. We can either stay and decay with them or we can use them as much as we can for now to further our own goals. At the moment, I prefer the latter option."

The Ship Master looked past Umbra and down the darkened hallway. "Ah, Pula. Thank you for joining us."

Umbra cast a startled glance behind him, but saw nothing. It was only when he heard the faint shimmering noise of a deactivating active camouflage cloak that he thought to look down by his feet. There knelt a thin young Sangheili wearing only a light shield-skin and bearing combat armor only over her torso, hands, and joints. If Umbra didn't know better, he'd have sworn she'd waited to reveal herself in that position just to embarrass him.

"Master," Pula said, her voice as quiet as a whispered breath of air. "You summoned me."

"You understand the situation?" the Ship Master asked, and Pula nodded in silence response. "We're approaching Famul now. I'll be departing soon for Chieftain Mallunus's flagship, but there will also be several shuttles departing this ship for the surface to resupply. You'll be aboard one of them."

He pulled a small data chip from his belt and handed it down to her. "This contains everything I've already briefed you on, as well as some additional points of interest. If everything goes according to plan, you'll have almost thirty cycles to work in."

Pula accepted the chip and bowed her head even lower. "Understood, Master."

The Ship Master turned away. "Don't let yourself be detected. If you run into trouble down on the surface, you are not to be affiliated with the Fallen in any way."

"And if I can't avoid that, Master?"

Her mentor clicked his mandibles. "Don't kill anyone that I have you communicating with. Everything else is up to you."

"I understand, Master. I won't fail."

"Then get to it."

Pula bowed again, rose to her feet, and shimmered out of view once again. Umbra didn't even here her as she departed.

"You certainly put a lot of confidence in a female," Umbra noted once he was somewhat certain that Pula was out of earshot. "If the Chancellor found out..."

The Ship Master shook his head. "Another example of prejudices limiting our potential, Umbra. Besides, the Chancellor finding out that one of my best agents is a female would be far less dangerous than him finding out exactly what I'll have her doing down there."

"I see your point," Umbra grumbled. "But we once fought to preserve the traditions of the Sangheili. That's why we've served the Fallen all this time, to preserve our people's way of life. But now you seem to delight at subverting those traditions at every turn."

The Ship Master turned back towards the bridge. "The idea that we can move forward in this twisted galaxy without evolving is foolish notion. It's one that I made a long time ago, and it's one the Fallen have made the mistake of clinging to. It's the reason they're losing this war, if you haven't noticed already."

Umbra didn't follow his commander, but instead called after him: "You say you want to save the Sangheili, but you also say you want revenge on our government for what was done to your clan during the Schism and to your friends on Sanghelios. Which do you want more?"

The Ship Master didn't even break stride. "That's an easy one, Umbra. The ones I want vengeance on are the very disease that eats away at our people. Once they are removed, I won't be needed and you traditionalists can try restoring us to what we were.

He smiled. "But until then, I'll do whatever it takes to bring this rotten galaxy down around me."

Shinsu 'Refum, Black Knight of the Fallen and so-called final heir of the hero Sesa 'Refumee, vanished down the darkened hallway, leaving Umbra lone with his thoughts.

Chapter Thirteen: Two Spartans, One Sangheili... And Diana
Tuka did not like Diana.

Although he was not entirely sure as to exactly when he came to that conclusion, he did know that it had happened sometime between their hasty evacuation of the combat zone and the long dropship ride over to a small residential base that had been filled with awkward silence save for when Diana came up with a new pearl of wisdom to share with the cramped troop bay. While he had tried falling back on all the self-correcting meditations that he had learned over the course of his training, Tuka couldn't help but clench his mandibles together whenever the construct's voice emanated from the speakers that seemed to have been built into Simon's armor.

Even though most of his attention had been diverted by the still-unconcious Fira, who had been laid out on the floor of the troop bay while Cassandra continued to tend to his wounds, Tuka found it impossible to ignore the construct's opinions on nearly everything present in the troop bay, from Tuka's "rice paper" combat skin to snide comments on Fira's injuries. Not only was the incessant flow of insults testing Tuka's normally abundant patience to the extreme, it also seemed to be affecting Cassandra as well. From where she crouched next to Fira, the medic's shoulders would flinch every time Diana started a new sentence. And Tuka was afraid that this added distraction could prove dangerous for Fira as long as he was under Cassandra's care.

Ever since Tuka and Simon had found her stabilizing Fira, she'd been said next to nothing to anyone. Even requests for help came through simple hand gestures, and though she kept her attention on her patient Tuka could see her eyes darting over and over again towards Simon, who had been equally silent save for an occasional "Shut up, Diana" whenever his A.I. carried on for too long without rest.

Tuka was beginning to realize that he really didn't have any idea about what had passed between these two when they'd last parted. Cassandra had already said that she'd spent the past three years thinking that Simon was dead, so even with his own revelation that her friend was alive, she must not have been prepared for his sudden appearance. Whoever Mordred was, his help hadn't been necessary after all.



Kenpachus leaned his massive frame against a blown out prefab shelter and ran a finger down his massive blade while his irate partner paced irritably in front of him.

"How could you just let them leave?" Ro'nin demanded angrily, gesturing at the dropship-filled landing field. "You were supposed to delay them until I got back!"

"Didn't feel like it," the Jiralhanae warrior rumbled calmly. "None of 'em looked worth fighting anyway."

"You didn't have to fight them!" Ro'nin snapped in exasperation. "We had them right where I wanted them and then you just let them fly off!"

Kenpachus shrugged. "I don't see what the big deal is. Why are you so interested in them?"

"The older warrior has a bounty on his head, you idiot! That damn honor-snob's on a whole list of officers the Fallen want dead!"

"The older one?"

"That uptight snob! The one the building fell on top of! It would have been the easiest credits we ever had and you didn't lift a finger to stop it!"

"Maybe you should have told me about this earlier then."

Ro'nin glared at his partner for several moments, then allowed himself to relax a little. "You have a point there, I guess. Well, at least he's hurt now. And those idiots went off with Mordred. That runt will sell them out in a heartbeat once I offer him a cut of the bounty."

"If we're going after that one, then we're waiting around a while," Kenpachus said firmly. "I'm not attacking him while he's wounded like this, and neither are you."

For a moment, Ro'nin simply couldn't find the words to express his exasperation. "No," he muttered darkly. "Don't tell me you're..."

Kenpachus grinned. "Yeah, I am. That bastard took on David Kahn by himself and walked away. We saw it from that window. He's going to recover soon, and then you're gonna let me fight him. Once I've killed him in a fair fight, then you get the money."

Ro'nin shook his head. "You realize this is an 800,000 credit bounty you're giving up."

"Not giving up, just waiting on."

"Fine, have it your way." Ro'nin stalked away. "I seem to recall making a lot more money before I hooked up with you."

Behind him, Kenpachus's grin widened. "But isn't my way so much more interesting?"



"So," Simon grunted, slipping out of the shuttle's cockpit and into what appeared to be its common area. "Make yourselves at home. Don't trip over any of the crap."

Cassandra looked around the room. "It hasn't changed much in three years."

"Yeah." Simon swept a hand over a couch that had been bolted to the meta plated wall, sending dozens of bullet casings scattering across the floor. "It's still a shithole."

And as Tuka surveyed the common room, a small part of his mind agreed wholeheartedly with Simon's assessment. Yes, it noted. This is a shithole.

It was as if someone had taken the underground human sector of Cordial Harmony and condensed it into a single room. Having grown up amidst the meticulously cared-for gardens and well-furnished buildings of the Visag keep, Tuka was already inclined to feel that most of the materials that humans used for their buildings and ships looked dirty no matter how well maintained they were, and when, as was the case now, next to no effort had been made to maintain them, the effect was downright skin-crawling.

Clumps of dust and grime seemed to coat every surface, be it the uncomfortable-looking couch and chairs that were bolted to the wall, the wall itself, or the shuttle floor. Not that there was much of the floor exposed for filth to gather on. Most of it was coated by the dozens of weapons and other bits of gear that had been left lying across its expanse. Tuka had to step carefully to avoid treading on them, their composite parts, or the various types of ammunition that were strewn amongst them.

"Are you sure this is safe?" Tuka asked, pointing to two grenades that had just been left beside a plasma rifle. "Shouldn't all this be secured somewhere?"

Simon shrugged and tossed his helmet down onto the bench. It fell with a clang but remained upright, its cracked visor staring blankly up at the three of them as if someone's head was still in it. "I'll get around to it the next time I take off. None of the guns are loaded anyway, so just kick 'em out of the way if you need to."

"And the grenades?" Tuka wondered, doing his best not to touch the explosives as he walked by them. "Kick them too?"

"Yeah, you might not want to do that." Simon began unstrapping the myriad of pouches and holsters that adorned his armor. "Guess I should deal with those, come to think of it."

"Where'd all these come from?" Cassandra asked quietly, inspecting a human-made handgun. "I got rid of most of the Insurrectionist gear after you... left."

"Lots of this stuff lying around places like these," Simon replied, laying his accessories in a disorderly pile next to the helmet. "I just pick them up as I go along. I'll probably sell most of this stuff next time I hit a port, but till then it's good to have spares handy."

Tuka felt a small chill. "You mean you took these from fallen warriors?" he asked.

"Yeah, mostly. Why?"

To take the weapons and gear of warriors from the battlefield when there was no immediate need was dishonorable and was strictly forbidden by generations of Sangheili warrior creeds. Tuka and Simon had both learned that back at the Visag keep; they'd been in the same room when Roni had given the class. Perhaps humans felt differently on the matter, but Tuka would have hoped that Simon would have taken more of the master's teachings to heart.

Either unaware or uninterested in Tuka's consternation, Simon finished disarming himself by unclipping the two energy swords from his chest and dropping them down onto the waiting pile. Tuka actually found himself flinching at the callous treatment of what were supposed to be a warrior's most prized possessions.

"Fira's stable," Cassandra told Tuka, her voice still quiet. "I've sedated him, but he should be awake soon."

She turned to Simon. "I put him in the living quarters. I don't remember you doing much sleeping there before."

Simon shrugged. "Yeah, I hardly ever use that place. Might be some extra gear stashed away in there, but I haven't cleared it out in a while."

He sighed, running a hand through his shaggy hair and over the bandage that hid a brutal scar on his forehead as he sat down on the couch beside his gear. "Now let's get to the real issue: what are you two doing all the way out here?"

Cassandra moved to sit on one of the metal chairs, nudging a human assault rifle out of the way as she did so. Tuka followed her lead, squeezing himself uncomfortably into another chair.

"I thought you were dead," Cassandra said. "Those Brutes shot you back on Hekate right after you told us to take off."

Simon snorted, but a shadow seemed to pass over his already shadowed eyes. "A few hours later I was wishing they had killed me. I wound up in one of their slave camps, lasted a few weeks before some Sangheili warriors raided it and brought me out."

"That's what Tuka told me," Cassandra continued. "You lived in their keep for a while, right?"

"A while, yeah." Simon's voice was unreadable now, and Tuka wished he could glean more details about the ex-pupil's feelings from his face. "And now I'm out here. Getting by, keeping out of the UNSC's way, getting shot at all the time. Not much different from before, really. I tried looking for you the first few months, but that got shot down pretty fast. Diana said you were okay, though."

"That was nice of her," Cassandra muttered. "I was wondering if she'd told you I was dead out of spite."

"Oh, I don't report fantasies, Doc," came Diana's now-hated voice. "I'm afraid breaking the news about you dying to the dumbass here has always just been a pleasant little simulation I like running from time to time."

"Diana," Simon muttered, rubbing his neck wearily. "Did you cross-check all the systems?"

"Only three hundred and seven times," the disembodied voice shot back. "You don't have to worry about this junk heap falling apart until the next time we take off."

Simon sighed. "My own little corner of hell," he said to no one in particular.

"You mean our little corner of hell."

"Whatever."

Cassandra shifted in her seat. "It's good to see you again," she said in a voice that Tuka couldn't read. Though it was only for a moment, he thought he saw the shadows leave Simon's eyes briefly, but then he blinked and they were there again.

"It was good fortune we found you back there," Tuka put in. "We were looking for someone called Mordred to help us find you until you showed up."

Simon's eye flickered. "Guess your information was spot on, then."

Tuka blinked. "What do you mean?"

With a sigh, Cassandra leaned forward and rested her head in her hands. "Isn't it obvious, Tuka?" she asked. "Simon is Mordred."

"Yeah, nice deduction, Sherlock," Diana put in. "Who else would come up with such a dumb name?"

"But you were the one who suggested it!" Simon snapped irritably. "You said it would be a good cover!"

"I was joking, dumbass." It seemed that not even the bonds of partnership could protect someone from Diana's abuse. "I didn't think you'd actually take me seriously."

"I'll bet," Simon muttered angrily, before turning back to Cassandra. "How'd you guess?"

She shrugged, but the way her body was slumped made Tuka wonder if she'd been hoping her deduction hadn't been true. "The mercenaries who took us after you talked about Mordred a bit. The stuff they said about him wasn't too kind, and they just kind of reminded me of you. I guessed it when you showed up in the same place we were supposed to be after Mordred."

He jerked his head. "I needed something to operate under, and certain people told me to pick something distinctive." He shot a dirty look at one of the many cameras that Tuka noticed were bolted onto the shuttle's ceilings.

Simon looked back at Tuka. "So, you're going after Mallunus, huh?"

"Yes," Tuka replied, delighted to finally focus on the reasons he'd undertaken this journey. "I've graduated from Master Roni's swordsmanship school and I have blessing to hunt him down."

"You never said anything about this," Cassandra noted.

"I was more interested in finding Simon first," Tuka explained, though he felt guilty for not letting her in on the other reason for his quest sooner. "I never thought you'd want to help me with that as well."

"If Simon's going with you, then so am I," she said with another one of those determined sparks that seemed to strengthen her entire figure and make her look far more like a young Spartan.

Simon leaned back against the couch and flopped a hand down on the top of his helmet. "Well, who says I'm going?"

Tuka snapped back to his friend, shocked. "What?"

Simon looked away, but Diana was more than willing to respond over the intercom system. "You're taking on the Chieftain Mallunus, here, moron. We're not really interested in taking on suicide missions, and if you'd ever really known the dumbass here you'd have figured that out by now."

"Cassandra," Simon said abruptly. "Your patient, that bigger Sangheili. He probably needs to be checked on."

He stood and motioned towards a door that led into the shuttle's rear. "Tuka, we need to talk."



The rear of the ship turned out to be a storage bay for three cylindrical tubes with thick transparent casings and rows of buttons and monitor screens.

"Human stasis pods," Tuka marveled, momentarily distracted from the matter at hand. He reached out and touched one of the casings. "I've never seen these kinds before."

"Old models." Simon leaned against one and rapped his fist against it dismissively. "I'd get a lot of money for these things, but no one's buying these days."

He sighed. "Why did you come after me, Tuka? And above all else, why'd you have to drag Cassandra into this mess as well?"

"You never mentioned her back at the keep," Tuka protested. "Fate brought her to me before I even came close to finding you, and she was determined to come with me."

"And now what? We all go after Mallunus so that you can get that revenge you were always obsessed about?"

"Well, yes..."

"Do you know where he is? Do you know how many troops he has? Do you even know how you're going to kill him?"

Tuka was beginning to grow angry again. Clearly Diana's ability to do that had rubbed off on Simon since he'd been gone. But then again, it could be a good omen that Simon was being so frank with him. Perhaps he hadn't grown so distant after all.

And though Tuka hated to admit it, Simon had a point.

"Well.... no," he admitted, his ire flooding out of him with the statement. "I just assumed that things would come together once I found you. You did say that we'd help each other get our revenge." He added the last bit with a hint of reproach in his voice.

Simon sighed again and rubbed the back of his neck. "You seriously don't know anything about Mallunus?"

"It's not as if I didn't try. There's next to nothing on him in any of the government files or reports I looked at before I left Sanghelios."

"I hate to break this to you, but the Sangheili really suck at keeping tabs on people like him." Simon straightened and looked up into Tuka's face. "Mallunus runs one of the biggest slaving operations in the galaxy."

Tuka blinked. "What?"

"Yep. He's based on some rim world called Famul and he controls pretty much the largest Brute force outside of the Covenant. What he doesn't make off of slaving he gets from just about any other shady deals you could think of. Weapon selling, drug smuggling, ship stealing, you name it. And he's not just working with Brutes here. He's helped tons of rebel groups get their hands on military tech and he controls the largest pirating fleet aside from the Syndicate."

Simon paused and narrowed his eyes. "Are you sure you didn't find anything on him?"

Tuka was aghast. "No, nothing."

Simon closed his eyes. "Roni found me in one of Mallunus's slave pits. I was only there for a week, and I still remember a lot of things..."

He shook his head. "The point is, you'd need an army to take out Mallunus. You'd need a fleet just to deal with his planetary defenses, and then hundreds of guys to get you in if you wanted to kill him personally. All you've got now is yourself, Cassandra, some warrior who just got himself beaten half to death, and Diana and myself if and only if we decide to tag along."

Simon looked away, and for a moment his expression softened and he looked more like the lonely pupil that Tuka had befriended back at the Visag Keep rather than the callous mercenary he had just met. "I know how much this means to you Tuka, but you should let it go. You don't have a chance in hell."

It took several moments for Simon's words to register with Tuka. He looked away from the ex-Spartan and scanned the cryo room, as if the answer to his sudden problems lay somewhere in the corner. Finally, he took a step back and shook his head, fighting to keep from trembling.

"How can you say that?" he demanded, finally letting his irritation with Simon leak into his voice. "How? You once told me how much you wanted justice for yourself, for all the things that were done to you. You said that it was your reason for living. How can you just tell me to abandon my whole reason for training, for coming out here..." His voice trailed off as frustration got the better of him.

"Tuka," Simon said quietly in a voice that Tuka couldn't remember him ever using. "Did I ever getting around to telling you who I want revenge on?"

Tuka cocked his head. "Of course. The rebels who used you and betrayed you and..."

"Yeah, I want Venter dead. But there are others. Quite a few of them, actually. And you know what they all have in common?"

"No, I..."

"They're all UNSC."

For a moment, Tuka couldn't find the words to respond to that. His mandibles opened and closed as he searched for something to say, but all that came out was: "Who?"

A shadow crossed over Simon's face as a savage smile replaced his soft expression and an almost wicked gleam appeared in his eyes. "Some guys called Mendez and Ambrose for starters. The ones who turned us all into killers and stole any chance for a peaceful life we might have had. And there was someone named Ackerson who was behind it all. I know that much anyway. I want him dead too. While I'm at it, let's throw in everyone who ever authorized or worked on the Spartan program. That puts me after the heads of... oh, maybe the entire ONI high command."

Tuka didn't know what to say. Someone--a friend, no less--was standing in front of him and spouting off what amounted to a declaration of war against his people's greatest ally. Why hadn't this come out sooner? Had this really been inside of Simon all this time and they'd just never discussed it?

"And why stop there?" Simon continued, his face lapsing into a look bordering on serenity. "I watched the UNSC's troops butcher my friends on Mamore, remember? They slaughtered everyone who didn't want to be part of their little political system anymore, and the kids who took me in after my own squad left me to die got caught up in all that. I saw the bodies, or what was left of them. So why don't I just pull down that entire system and help blow it to hell just like they did to Mamore? That brings me to a few hundred thousand people's blood on my hands and I can call it even. Justice for Simon, right?"

And then the shadow was gone and he just looked tired again. "Doesn't sound reasonable, does it?"

Tuka breathed again. "So that's how you..." he murmured, a part of him finally coming to grips with what Simon was talking about.

"It's impossible, unreasonable, and insane." Simon turned and headed for the door. "But I still have to live with it. I still want it. I'm not telling you to let go, Tuka. You just need to accept that the things we want aren't possible."



Back in the ship's cockpit, Diana's schoolgirl avatar looked away from a video feed from the cryo bay and smirked at the cockpit's other occupant. "I told you, didn't I? I've always told you, Doc, and you never listen: You can't save this dumbass."

Standing above the holo-tank, a white-faced Cassandra refused to look at the smug AI. "That doesn't prove anything," she whispered. "And you make it sound like you want him to keep suffering like this."

Diana shrugged. "Keeps things interesting," she remarked. "It's a bit like watching a roller coaster, really. You never know when he'll be normal and when something will set him off."

Cassandra looked down at Simon's frozen image. "He shouldn't have gone away with you," she said coldly. "He was getting better before you got your claws back in him."

The schoolgirl hologram raised her hands in a mocking shrug. "Hey, it's not like I force him to do this stuff. He's the one who chooses to keep doing it."

"I'm going to save him," replied Cassandra resolutely. "I'm not letting him get away again. Not this time."

"Well good luck with that, Doc," Diana sneered. "But you're going to find that our little dumbass is a lot more stubborn about this stuff than you give him credit for."



After leaving the cryo bay, Simon stopped briefly in the living quarters to retrieve his helmet. The small paging device on his gauntlet had been flashing, meaning that someone needed to talked to him. Slipping the helmet on, he activated its heads up display and answered the call.

A familiar voice crackled over the speaker, practically hissing with irritation. "Mordred! Do you know how long I've been trying to contact you?"

"Oh, it's you," Simon replied, recognizing the voice immediately. "What do you want, Ro'nin?"

The Sangheili mercenary hissed impatiently. "Those three who were looking for you. They're on your ship, right?"

"Now how would you know about that?" Simon asked the question casually, but alarm bells were already going off inside his head. When someone like Ro'nin kept tabs on you then it was best to keep your guard up at all times.

"Kenpachus and I were the ones who were guiding them to you."

"So it's you two I have to thank for my unwanted house guests."

"We could deal with one of them for you if you want."

Simon frowned. "What's going on here?"

"The older Sangheili with them has a price on his head, 800,000 dead or alive. If you let us in after him, we'll give you a ten percent cut."

Simon began heading for the living quarters, the place Cassandra had stabilized the "older Sangheili" in question. "Tempting. That's what, 80,000 just to let you guys into my shuttle?"

"You won't find easier credits anywhere else."

Inside his helmet, Simon allowed himself a small smile. "Sounds nice. Too bad the other two are buddies of mine, so this time I'm going to have to tell you to go to hell."

There was a pause before Ro'nin snarled, "What?"

"You heard me. We'll do business some other time, okay?"

"This is more credits than you make on any one of your pathetic jobs!" Ro'nin barked over the com. "How are you growing a spine now of all--"

Simon terminated the call and stepped into the living quarters. As the door slid open, he shook his head and muttered, "This honor crap is terrible for business, Tuka. This had better not get me killed."

"So you're going along with this?" demanded Diana over his helmet feed. "You'll help him take on Mallunus?"

Removing his helmet, Simon headed towards the bunks. Though he would never admit it to Diana, Tuka and Cassandra's joint reappearance had awakened things within him that he'd long since thought he'd abandoned, namely all those concepts about honor and loyalty that had been so alien to him, in more ways than one, back at the Visag keep. But again, he wasn't even about to start uttering words like "honor" around Diana.

"I still owe that guy a little payback of my own," he said, unwrapping the bandage from around his forehead to reveal the jagged scar left by a Brute Chieftain's energy sword back when he'd still been a Spartan. "Besides, if we take Tuka to Famul we'll have a shot at one of the richest planets outside the IU. There's a jackpot there just waiting to happen if we play our cards right."

Diana snickered over the intercom. "I bet you're just doing this so you can get laid with Cassandra."

"Go to hell," Simon retorted, but there was no hostility in it. He rounded on a bunk that had been fitted with medical equipment; it was time to see if he could get some information out of this older Sangheili who was worth so much.

But he stopped short in his tracks. The bunk was completely empty save for a few bandages stained by purple blood.

"Looks like you'll be going there a bit sooner than I will," said Diana cheerfully. "I'd look behind you if you want to live, dumbass."

Simon heard a sharp intake of breath behind him and sensed a shift in the air as someone behind him tensed for an attack. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a wall of grey and white hurtling towards him and he whirled to face his attacker.

"Oh shit," was the first thing to come out of his mouth before an angry Sangheili barreled into him and pinned him square against the quarters' back wall.

"Demon!" Fira 'Demal snarled. "Die!"

Chapter Fourteen: The Knight and The Beast
"Hey, boss, check this out!"

Redmond Venter looked up from the sidearm he was cleaning. "What is it?"

The man in charge of monitoring ship traffic around Famul gestured towards his display of monitors. "We've got that big Brute flagship maneuvering out of orbit!"

With a snort, Redmond returned to his cleaning. "And this interests me how?"

"Well, it looks like it's got to do with that corvette that dropped in system a few minutes ago. Looks like a shuttle's going from the corvette to the carrier."

"Mallunus's social schedule isn't my problem," retorted Redmond, inspecting a piece of the gun testily. "Far as I'm concerned, nothing that goes on around this place is my problem unless shit starts blowing up."

"If those markings on the corvette are any clue, I'd say it's with those Fallen guys," the ship monitor carried on, undeterred by his commander's lack of interest. "Wonder what they're doing around here?"

"The same thing we all are," Venter shot back. "Making a profit. But since the Syndicate's spent the past few weeks ignoring us than that's not true because we're not making any profit at all out here."

"There's more to life than profit, sir," the monitor replied, momentarily waxing philosophical.

"Yeah, sure," muttered Venter irritably. "In case you hadn't noticed, we make our living by fighting now. If the Syndicate isn't going to give us some targets than I may as well go back to picking the targets for us instead."

The monitor decided to end the conversation before his boss got out of hand. "I'll see if our contact has anything new tomorrow, sir."

"Whatever." Venter threw down the gun piece in disgust. "Damn, I miss the old days. While you're at it, see if Mallunus has any jobs to throw out. Right now I'm so bored I couldn't care less who we wind up working for."

"Will do."

So this is how the Humanity Liberation Front ends up, Venter thought irritably. On some second-rate freighter waiting to eat out of some alien's hand. Sometimes he regretted finishing off the Insurrectionist movement's leadership, but then again they'd been half a step from putting him down themselves. At least now he was the only one giving himself orders."

"And where the hell is Peter?" he demanded aloud. "I haven't seen that little punk in days."

"Um, well he went down to the surface, sir. Said he wanted to poke around a bit."

Venter let out another snort. "I wonder how many people that kid's killed down there already," he muttered. It was a good thing that people got killed all the time on Famul, or he might actually be worried about his bloodthirsty protege.

The Insurrectionist closed his eyes and sighed. Yeah, he'd been missing the old days a lot more usual lately. It was a lucky thing that things got far more interesting shortly after that, or there might have been no telling what he'd have wound up doing to entertain himself.



"Approaching Chieftain's Pride now," the pilot's voice rang through the passenger bay. "We are cleared for a landing in the main hangar."

From where he stood next to Shinsu, Umbra snorted. "Chieftain's Pride," he muttered scornfully. "No deeper meaning, no reflection at all, just how proud he is of his little fleet."

Shinsu said nothing, but this response was so common that Umbra knew not to take it as an implied rebuke. His leader was simply not interested in joining in on his derision, but that didn't mean he couldn't vent a little on his own. "It's no wonder these animals are being driven from the civilized galaxy," he went on. "They care for nothing except their own petty lusts and accomplishments."

"And yet our ultimate target is the civilized galaxy," Shinsu replied, which caught Umbra off guard. "I see no shame in being shunned by that well of corruption."

"But even so," Umbra protested. "To throw our lot in with the likes of these vermin..."

"Their punishment will come in due time," Shinsu murmured. "But they all have their roles to play first."

The ten other warriors in the bay, all wearing the colors of Fallen special forces, didn't respond, but they all nodded their silent approval. Of the crew manning the Renewing Fire, only a rough third were loyal to the Fallen movement. The rest took their cues from Shinsu and served the Fallen only because he commanded it. They were all veterans, survivors from the Sons of the Preserving Blade or former Fallen devotees who had fallen in with Shinsu back on Sanghelios. They had been hardened by the fires of war, fires that had extinguished the flame of devotion to the Sangheili culture that had first driven them to take up arms against their own people. They had watched as the Sangheili government's twisted alliances with the rest of the galaxy choked the life out of their friends and families and how that twistedness had begun to corrupt even the culture and movement they fought to defend. And they had all emerged bearing an unending hatred for the galaxy that had spawned such corruption and filth.

These were the warriors of Shinsu 'Refum, Sangheili who didn't need propaganda or messianic promises to follow their leader. They fought and died for Shinsu because every last one of them believed in the cause he represented. Even reluctant adherents like Umbra would give their lives at Shinsu's word in a heartbeat if he were to ask it of them.

In time, the remaining crew of the Renewing Fire would come around to their way of thinking or they would die.

Umbra clicked his mandibles and folded his arms. "If you say so," he muttered. "I'm having the pilot keep our weapon systems warm all the same."

The shuttle they rode in had once been a humble Phantom dropship, but by now all that remained of the original Phantom was the troop bay itself. Everything around it had been stripped away and enlarged until the shuttle was three times the size of its dropship progenitor and mounted enough plasma cannons and missiles to rival that of any assault gunboat. There were two more of them aboard the Renewing Fire, and just one could lay waste to entire brigades of enemy forces. From what Umbra had heard, Shinsu had gotten the idea for them after watching a similar human vessel rip apart a crowd of Sangheili back on Sanghelios.

"Entering the Chieftain's Pride's hangar now," the pilot reported. "Be ready; there's a lot of Jiralhanae out there."

"Of course," Umbra muttered. "Wouldn't want Mallunus to miss his little show of force, would we?"

He stepped to the front of the troop bay and the ten special operations warriors quickly followed suit. Shinsu eyed the display appraisingly.

"Shows of force, you say?"

Umbra gestured at the as yet unopened bay door as the shuttle shuddered and passed through the hangar's shields. "He needs hundreds of warriors to make his point. We need only ten of ours."

Shinsu adjusted the strip of cloth that hung about his armor and moved into his own position. "What's Pula's status?" he asked.

"She boarded the first supply ship that reached the Fire," Umbra replied. "It will take her down to the surface shortly. She'll be doing all the real work while we keep Mallunus occupied up here."

The shuttle ground to a halt, and every warrior in the bay straightened expectantly.

"Opening bay door now," the pilot reported.

As the door slid open, Umbra saw that Mallunus had in deed taken the opportunity to make a show of force. The hangar seemed to have been cleared of all vessels it would regularly service, and in their place stood rank upon rank of Jiralhanae warriors. While their armor and weapons lacked any uniformity to speak of, they stood at motionless attention on either side of the shuttle. Umbra remained unimpressed, and took a step down the shuttle's ramp. As he did so, he noted the Kig-Yar and Unggoy that lined the hangar's upper walkways. There were even a few pairs of Lekgolo frames here and there amidst the bystanders.

The Sangheili escorts marched down to the bottom of the ramp and reached the greeting party that waited below. Coming to a halt, Umbra gazed upon Chieftain Mallunus for the first time.

Even with all his practiced contempt, Umbra couldn't help but be impressed. The chieftain towered a full four heads over him, clad from head to toe in ornate body armor that scarcely contained his enormous frame. Two small eyes peered down at the Fallen delegation from behind a helmet that made the chieftain seem even taller than he already was. Had Umbra not been escorting his commander, he might have taken a few steps back. Instead, he merely stepped aside and allowed Shinsu to approach their enormous host.

"Chieftain Mallunus," Shinsu said quietly, inclining his head. "Chancellor Leran 'Nafal sends his regards."

"Interesting words, coming from the Fallen," Mallunus rumbled. "But I accept them nonetheless. And for him to send Shinsu 'Refum, the Black Knight of Sanghelios, is an honor unto himself."

"It's rare for someone not from the Fallen to have heard of me," Shinsu said with an uncommon respect that Umbra admired. His leader was quite good at hiding his true feelings under the veil of a skilled diplomat. "I am little more than a mouthpiece for Chancellor 'Nafal."

Mallunus snorted. "I highly doubt that. The tales of your exploits from the battles on Sanghelios are most enjoyable."

Umbra clenched his mandibles tightly at the thought of a savage such as this entertaining himself with the struggles of far more worthy warriors. But if Shinsu felt the same way, he didn't show it. Instead he inclined his head once more.

"The Chancellor sends his assurances that his only enemies are those who have made themselves enemies of the Sangheili people. He holds you and your achievements in the highest regard."

Mallunus indicated the assembled warriors. "A gesture I fully appreciate," he declared. "What you see before you is the greatest force of Jiralhanae assembled outside of those deluded fools within the Covenant."

"And it is exactly that fact that has led us to your doorstep," Shinsu replied smoothly. "Of all those not taken in by the Interspecies Union's web of corruption, you are the strong."

"And the strong naturally attract other strong ones to them, eh?" Mallunus boomed. "I trust that our dealings together will be quite profitable. But that is a discussion for later. For now, I have quarters prepared for you and your entourage. I trust you'll find them accommodating enough until we can begin our negotiations?"

"We look forward to enjoying your hospitality." Shinsu motioned to Umbra, who quickly signaled the other warriors to fall into line behind them.



"He's far too trusting," Umbra gloated the moment they had swept their new quarters for listening devices. "All we need to do is stroke that ego of his enough and he'll be eating from our hands!"

Shinsu leaned against the wall, barely acknowledging the lavish suite that Mallunus had prepared for them. Instead of listening to Umbra, he was examining Pula's first report from Famul's surface. "It seems that there are other persons of note here as well," he said, almost speaking to himself. "Apparently our visit coincides with that of a high ranking member of the Syndicate."

"That human group?" Umbra groaned. "Don't tell me we'll be dealing with them next."

"Mallunus will be more than happy to arrange a meeting with us, so long as he stands to profit from it in some way," Shinsu continued. "Their support for our cause will be welcome."

"For whose cause, ours or the Fallen?" Umbra demanded.

"Ours, of course," Shinsu muttered, still reading the report. "The spies we have within human space aren't nearly efficient enough. A partnership with the Syndicate will change all that immediately."

He looked closely at the report. "And one more..." he murmured before turning to Umbra.

"Contact the Renewing Fire and have it set up communications with an organization called the Humanity Liberation Front. They should be somewhere in orbit right now."

Umbra saluted, but didn't hide his consternation. "They sound like just another human separatist movement. Why contact them?"

"Their leader, a warrior named Venter, interests me. I'd like to meet him personally."

Chapter Fifteen: A Failure to Communicate
Simon's enhanced reflexes saved him by milliseconds. He twisted his head sideways just far enough so that the energy gauntlet that Fira had clumsily attached to his right arm buried itself in the wall rather than his forehead. He could smell the stench of his hair burning from the heat of the blade.

"For my clan," Fira hissed. His mind was still hazy from his injuries and the painkillers Cassandra had injected in him, but he was quite sure of one thing: the Demon before him must have taken him prisoner. For all he knew, this unnatural warrior had killed Tuka and Cassandra long the way. "For my people. Die, Demon!"

He was about to stab again with the gauntlet when he felt the press of something cold against his bare chest. Looking down, he saw the Demon's fist pressing against his dark skin.

"Cool knife," Simon wheezed, still dazed by the sudden attack. "Got one of my own."

Fira blinked. "You lie."

"Spend a lot of time around... you guys..." Simon's voice was faltering from Fira's left forearm, which was pressed tightly against his throat. "Picked up a few... tricks."

Fira might have been dazed and angry, but he wasn't suicidal. "You'll die before you can do me real harm, Demon," he spat, his woozy mind trying to come up with a way to kill his opponent without winding up dead himself.

"Wanna bet?" Simon gasped, his head twisting about furiously to get space between his neck and Fira's arm. "I'm not ready to die just yet, pal, but I promised myself something a long time ago."

"Promised what?" Fira's arm tensed. If he could shoot forward fast enough, he could slit the Demon's throat before he could activate his own gauntlet. If indeed he even had one...

It was a risk, he decided, that he was willing to take.

To his surprise, a faint smile crossed Simon's strained features. "Guy who takes me out... goes to hell with me," he panted, and Fira felt the Spartan's fist tighten against his belly.

The time for talking was over. "Let's test that theory," Fira snarled, and his gauntlet blade shot forward.

"Fira!" cried a desperate voice from behind him and Fira instinctively flinched. The blade went wide again, marking a new slash in the wall beside the first.

Fira looked over his shoulder to see that Tuka and Cassandra had both burst into the room. Tuka was unarmed, but Cassandra had pulled out her sidearm. She held the weapon loosely at the ready, looking torn between aiming it at him or setting it down.

"Tuka?" Fira asked, his hazy state beginning to get the better of him.

"Fira, let go," Tuka said, looking strangely desperate. "Simon, please don't kill him."

Surprised, Fira looked back at his human captive. With a start, he realized that while he'd been so focused on the right arm--the one with the supposed gauntlet blade--that he'd forgotten to check the left as well. The dull grey prosthetic was raised up to his neck, and in its battered fingers sat the smallest human sidearm that Fira had ever seen.

That was why the Demon had kept on talking, Fira realized as he began to feel dizzy. He'd been buying time while he inched the gun into position.

A whole host of questions flooded into his mind then, and rather than deal with them the exhausted Fira simply released the human and fell over backwards, unconcious before he even hit the floor.



Simon crouched over the motionless Fira, massaging his throat and gasping for air. Tuka ran over to check Fira's vitals while Cassandra remained in the door, her sidearm dangling limply at her side.

"Nice guy you brought aboard," Simon wheezed, struggling to his feet. "Any other psychos with you guys that I should know about?"

"He's just confused," Tuka explained hurriedly. "He never saw you before he was injured. He probably woke up and drew the wrong conclusions when he saw you."

"Seemed more than that to me," Simon muttered. "He was going on about his clan and his people, not you two."

"I'll talk to him," Tuka assured him. "I'll find out what the problem is."

Cassandra moved in. "Get him back onto the cot," she told Tuka. "I'll need to check him again to see if he opened any of his wounds."

Simon stepped aside to give Tuka space. "And to think I was just about to start helping you," he muttered, returning his miniature pistol to the small compartment on his leg armor.

Tuka's gaze whipped up. "You were?" he asked incredulously. "But you just said..."

"It might be more possible than I figured," Simon said with a noncommittal shrug. "I'm not doing anything besides consider it right now. Getting jumped in my own ship really threw me for a loop."

"I apologize for my companion's actions," Tuka said quickly. He didn't feel quite right taking responsibility for a senior warrior, but he wasn't about to let Simon's tentative offer to help slip away.

Simon snorted. "You're not the one who should be apologizing," he said, glaring up at one of several cameras mounted in the living quarters. "Diana! Why the hell didn't you warn me about that guy sooner?"

The construct's voice snickered over the speaker. "I wanted to see how things would go, dumbass," she said playfully. "I didn't think you'd go down that easy, and I was right. And it was fun watching you deal with him, so everything's good on my end."

"You're not the one with a sore throat and an aching back," Simon muttered. Tuka was puzzled that he didn't put up more of a fight, and even more puzzled to learn that Diana was willing to put her partner's life in danger like that.

"She let you walk into his ambush?" he asked incredulously. "For her own amusement?"

"Yeah, she does that sometimes," Simon grumbled. "You get used to it after a while."

He looked over at Cassandra, who was now checking up on Fira. "I'm guessing you're still coming along for the ride too?" he asked wearily.

"As long as you're going, I'm staying with Tuka."

"The place Mallunus runs," Simon warned. "You're not going to like it."

"I help run a medical clinic in an underground slum," she retorted. "I can handle hellholes."

"If you say so." Simon turned back to Tuka. "Once she finishes up with your psycho friend, stay with him until he wakes up. If we're using my ship for this then I want to know he's not going to try slitting my throat while I'm asleep."

"Alright," Tuka agreed. He had learned enough about Simon's way of looking at things now to know to ignore his insulting prediction of Fira's means of attacking. "But I have a shuttle as well. We came here on it."

Simon snorted. "Fly it over here tomorrow, but I've taken this ship to Famul a few times before. It's known there, which means they'll be less likely to blow it to pieces when we come in range of the defenses."

He turned back to Cassandra. "There's something I want to show you," he told her, then shot another glare at the camera. "Alone."



"Doe she seriously try to get you killed on a regular basis?" Cassandra demanded, descending a ladder into the shuttle's weapons locker, which was hidden under the common room's floorboards."

"If this is about Diana, just drop it," Simon said from below her. "It's never too serious."

"You could have died back there," she shot back, reaching the bottom of the ladder. "I'm telling you, she's not stable. She's a smart A.I. and it's been years since she should have gone completely rampant."

"She did some modifications while we were in cryo," Simon said, rummaging around in some crates. "She stabilized herself and avoided rampancy altogether."

"And how do you know for sure?"

"Look, she's saved my life more times than I can count," Simon said wearily. "Without her, I'd be royally screwed out doing the jobs I take on. Not many mercs have even a dumb A.I. to work with."

"And how many of those times was she saving her own skin as well?" Cassandra asked, folding her arms resolutely.

"She doesn't have skin--"

"Come on, Simon. How many?"

He sighed. "Just about all of them," he admitted wearily. "Look, I know you don't like her, but she's the only friend I've got out here. Just give it a rest, will you?"

"She's a bad influence on you," Cassandra persisted. "Whose idea was it to go mercenary?"

"What are you, my mother?" Simon demanded. "And it was my idea to go merc. We needed the cash, and this is all I know how to do."

"We could always use extra security at the clinic," she told him hopefully. "The Fallen are getting more nasty every week back on the colony we're set up on."

"Damn, you're stubborn," Simon grunted, turning back to the crates.

"Well, I learned from the best," she retorted.

"Here we go," he muttered, pulling a final crate out of the pile. Cassandra let him change the subject, knowing it was pointless to keep going right there.

"What do you want to show me?" she asked, walking over to peer into the crate.

"You left a little something when you gave Diana the shuttle back," Simon replied, pulling a battered helmet out of the crate. "Look familiar?"

Within the crate lay the stacked pieces of what could only be Cassandra's old SPI armor. She immediately recognized her chest plate, which bore the insignias of both Team Kopis and Team Jian, the two squads she had belonged to back in Gamma Company. When she'd left the shuttle, she'd hoped to leave her past behind as well, so she'd neglected to take the armor with her.

"I've cannibalized most of it," Simon admitted. "So don't expect its old performance, but it'll hold up better than that flak jacket you're dragging around."

"Doesn't look incomplete to me," Cassandra murmured, taking her helmet and running her fingers down its dented surface.

"Well, half of my armor is basically scavenged from your original," Simon told her. "But I got replacement parts in case I ever needed a second suit."

Cassandra frowned. "Replacement parts?" she asked. "From where?"

Simon shrugged. "I let some machinist firm take a look at the design, asked 'em to replicate a few components. Within the month they were mass-producing SPI knock-offs for the black market and giving me discounts on all the pieces. I've got tons of spare parts lying around now."

"You gave the SPI armor to criminals?" Cassandra asked, thunderstruck.

"Don't worry, the camo systems didn't work on mine when I brought it in and they sure as hell aren't in the knockoff design." Simon rapped a fist against his own chest-plate, which he was still wearing. "It's basically a different model of ODST-style gear with a slightly better HUD. The Innies aren't going to be getting an edge on their ops from it, and the only thing the criminals are really getting is the proceeds from the sales."

It was just like Simon, Cassandra noted, examining her old helmet, for Simon to hand you a gift in one hand and a dose of amorality in the other. You never really knew exactly what was going on in that head of his, to be sure.

"Well, thanks, I guess," she said.

"Yeah, don't mention it." He flopped down onto another crate and pulled a knife out from within it. "This is the only place Diana can't listen in on, so feel free to drop down here if you really can't stand her."

Cassandra looked at him curiously. "Is that what you do?" she asked.

Simon scraped the knife's blade against his prosthetic arm. "Nah, I handle what she throws at me. She's not as bad as you think she is."

Cassandra found her own crate to sit on, resting her helmet in her lap. "You mean handling when she tries to get you killed?"

"That doesn't happen all that often," Simon protested. "And how the hell is it that we don't see each other for three years and then we wind up arguing about Diana?"

"You've got a point there." Cassandra sighed. "To be honest, you haven't changed all that much."

"Yeah, well neither have you."

"How'd you lose your arm?"

He frowned. "When I was in the Brute slave pits. I pissed some chieftain off one time too many, so he just ripped it off. That was right before Tuka's clan leader rescued me and brought me back to their keep."

"Oh."

"I'm not looking for a pity party," Simon muttered, leaning back against the bulkhead. "I can do that fine without your help."

Cassandra looked at him, bracing herself for the question she was about to ask and the answer she might receive. "Do you really want Mendez and Ambrose dead?" she asked quietly.

Even in the dark of the weapons locker, she could see his eyes narrowed. "You heard that?"

"Diana was very happy to screen your talk with Tuka for me."

"She would be." He paused. "This is embarrassing."

"No, it's frightening. You were talking about destroying the entire UNSC back there."

"I was just trying to get Tuka to figure out how crazy his whole quest really is. You haven't known him long enough yet, but the guy's as naive as they come."

"It really didn't sound like that to me," Cassandra said. "The last time we talked about this, you said that you didn't want revenge on anyone."

"Sure, I said that," Simon sat up. "I still try to tell myself that. But the dreams just keep coming. I can't forget all the things that happened back then, and I can't just wish away all that pain either. It's always there, no matter how hard you or I or anyone else tries to knock it out of me."

"That's the real reason, right? Why you couldn't stay with Tuka? Why you can't come back with me?"

He looked away. "Yeah, I guess so. As much as I tell everyone else how much of a coward I am, all I really know how to do is fight. Anything else, and I become restless and the memories really go at it with me. This way I can at least stay focused without wanting to go on some suicide revenge mission."

Cassandra looked back up at the ladder. "I really want to help you," she said quietly. "Ever since Hekate, I've wanted to help you."

He sighed, but didn't look back at her. "You should save yourself some time and quit while you're ahead. I'm too far gone for that now. You still have a chance at getting out of all this."

"Don't say that."

"It's the truth. Out of all of us kid soldiers from Gamma, you're the only one who can get a halfway decent life out of this mess."

She sighed. "I'm not giving up on you just yet."

He got up. "Suit yourself."

He was halfway up the ladder before he stopped and looked back down. "Don't get yourself killed once things get messy, OK?" he said, his voice bearing a note of uncharacteristic concern.

"I'll be fine," she assured him.

"Yeah, sure," he muttered. "But I'm glad you're out here."

And without waiting for a response, he had vanished back up into the common room.



"Words cannot express how sorry I am."

Fira looked up from inspecting Cassandra's work on his injuries. "If you keep saying that," he said wearily. "Then I actually will start being angry with you."

"I didn't give you enough information on why I was looking for Simon," Tuka continued, regardless. "I hardly talked to you at all about that part of my quest. And you could have killed him. Or he could have killed you. Or both."

"Or Cassandra could have shot me," Fira noted. "It's just a hunch, but I'm guessing that she's a former Spartan as well?"

Tuka lowered his head. "How'd you guess?"

"Like I said, just a hunch. When did you find out?"

"She told me after we found Simon." Normally Tuka wouldn't have even considered lying about something like that to a senior warrior, but with Simon's tentative agreement to help still fresh on his mind he wasn't about to jeopardize his quest over a small detail like that. As the most experienced fighter on the ship, Fira's support remained critical, particularly with Simon's new information on Mallunus.

"Hm." Fira seemed more intrigued than angry, all things considered. "Two of them running around. I wonder what this means...?"

He shook his head. "And you say the male one, Simon, came from your keep?"

Tuka clicked his mandibles apologetically. "Master Roni brought him back from a raid on a Jiralhanae slave camp. He never said why he wanted to train him, but he put him in with the rest of us trainees and treated him as if were another Sangheili."

Fira's eyes narrowed and he said nothing, so Tuka hazarded a question. "It was foolish of me not to realize this before, but why do you hate Spartans?"

"The same reason you hate Mallunus," said Fira, his eyes flashing with old anger. "Most of my clan was killed by them. With no disrespect to your kaidon's decision, but they're unnatural creations, not true warriors."

He looked back down at his treated injuries. "And now I owe my life to one," he muttered. "This galaxy gets stranger every day."

Tuka looked closely at his benefactor. "So what now?" he asked carefully.

Fira clicked his mandibles brusquely. "If what you've told me about Mallunus is true, than I should at least journey to this Famul place to gather information on his faction. It's a testament to how furious this war with the Fallen has been that we haven't even heard about something this large."

He began inspecting the gauntlet he had used to attack Simon. "Besides, I'm not letting someone as promising as yourself just go off with a ex-Spartan mercenary into the hive of scum that this Mallunus has created. Wherever this path ends, I'm going to see it through."

Chapter Sixteen: Mordred the Weasel
Kenpachus had seated his massive frame on an even larger ammunition crate and was staring out unhappily from a prefab roof to the hangar where Mordred's shuttle was docked. "I thought you said you'd let me fight him," he complained to his partner, who was standing beside him.

"Oh, give it a rest," Ro'nin replied, looking down at the street below. "You'll get your precious duel with that honor-snob in due time. This is just going to help me figure out how hard it will be to arrange that."

The street he was looking at was gradually filling up with a small crowd of mercenaries. Roughly half were Sangheili, but some of the more influential ones had brought Unggoy and Jackal flunkeys with them as well.

"These freelancers are just going to go in and see what kind of defense they throw up," Ro'nin explained, keeping his voice low so that his potential contractors couldn't hear him. "I want to see how serious Mordred is about protecting them."

"And if their defense isn't adequate?" asked Kenpachus, still unconvinced.

"This is Mordred we're dealing with here," assured Ro'nin. "He may not be the best fighter out there, but when it comes to saving his own hide then he's the best in the business. These idiots aren't going to be able to even put a dent in that coward's ship."

"How's this going to help you look at their strength?" Kenpachus demanded. "That slime will just run away the moment he sees this group coming for him."

"He'll have to prep his engines first," said Ro'nin, feeling quite pleased with himself. "That young fool's always a step away from being creditless. That ship's systems are worse than what the humans had before the war. And while he's busy with that, we'll see how the others defend their ship."

"That Fira had better not wind up dead from this," Kenpachus warned.

"I wouldn't worry if I were you." Ro'nin gestured at the assembled mercenaries. "I'm not expecting all that much from this bunch."

He stepped to the edge of the roof and waved his plasma repeater in the air for attention. "Now listen up!" he bellowed, secretly hoping that Mordred didn't have any friends in the area to hear him. Not that he expected the little weasel to actually have anything close to a friend in the galaxy.

"Your target is in the main hangar complex! Bay 4 is where you'll find a shuttle belonging to the human called Mordred! I want you to board it and bring an adult Sangheili to me, alive!"

One of a pair of two burly Sangheili, the foremost members of the group, shook his head. "Don't you have a better description than that?" he demanded.

"There's only two Sangheili, and one's barely a warrior at all," Ro'nin told him. He wasn't eager to start throwing Fira's name around, in case any of these fools had heard of the Fallen bounty as well. "The one I want is wounded, and I want him alive. He dies and no one gets paid. Understand?"

"What about Mordred?" a Kig-Yar demanded. "Who else do we need to worry about?"

"Mordred, that younger Sangheili, and some human female. I really don't care what you do to them, just bring the injured Sangheili to me without injuring him any more."

The Sangheili who had spoken up frowned. "What's so important about this one?" he asked suspiciously.

"I've got some personal business with him," Ro'nin said, lying through his mandibles. "I owe him a little payback and I don't really feel up to going in after him myself tonight."

"Well, good," the Sangheili replied. "My brother and I have some personal business with Mordred and that wretched partner of his."

"Shouldn't have cheated us out of all those credits," the mercenary's partner, who was evidently his brother, agreed. "Shouldn't have broken his contract with us and left us to deal with the Syndicate's Expeditionaries all by ourselves."

"Do whatever you like with him," Ro'nin told them. It would be a shame to lose as potentially valuable an asset like Mordred could be, but the little runt really shouldn't have turned his initial deal down."Like I said, I really don't care what happens to the others."

He raised his voice again. "A hundred credits for every one of you!" he called out. "And five thousand to the one who brings me that Sangheili!"

The crowd cheered, and Ro'nin turned away to suppress a smirk. These idiots really had no idea how little that money would mean to him once they'd brought him Fira.

"I'll be going along," he told Kenpachus. "Watch from a distance, maybe get in a little sniping practice while I'm at it. Coming?"

"Guess I don't have much of a choice," Kenpachus grumbled. "I still don't like this."

"You don't like anything," said Ro'nin cheerfully. "Like I said, you'll get that duel that you're obsessing over all of a sudden. Just leave it to me."



"So," said Diana, her schoolgirl face smirking as Simon threw himself down into the cockpit's pilot chair. "What did you and Doc have to talk about that you didn't want me hearing?"

"If I didn't want you listening in then, what makes you think I'm going to tell you about it now?" Simon asked irritably, rubbing the bruise that had formed on his neck where Fira had hit him.

"Because if you don't I'll keep bringing up embarrassing things about you whenever she's around," she said, her voice infuriatingly smug. "And I'll also keep asking you about it till you tell me."

"You are such a little kid sometimes, you know that?"

She snorted and did a small twirl on the holopad. "Well next to me you're about as smart as a two year old, so I guess it takes one to know one, eh dumbass?"

"If it makes you happy, we spent a good half of the conversation talking about you," her partner grumbled. "Because that's all I really have to talk about with Cassandra. You're the only thing that's ever on my mind."

"Oh, you shouldn't have," she sneered, waving a hand at him in false embarrassment. "Tell me the truth, dumbass, did you really spend all that time talking about little old me?"

"I'm sure you're reading my voice patterns right now, so you know if I'm lying or not."

"But you're so good at lying, dumbass. You're just about the only person I can't read like a book. It's why you're so fun to be around."

Simon tugged a pistol from its hiding place under the control panel and began inspecting it angrily. "She doesn't like you and you don't like her. End of discussion. And I don't appreciate you sharing my private conversations with other people."

"Oh, she brought that up? I just think you're so fun when you go all psych and I wanted to share the fun with someone."

"Well find someone else to share it with. Like I told her, I was just trying to prove a point with Tuka back there. I'm not really planning on blowing away the UNSC and dancing in the ashes."

"But you can dream, right?"

"Oh, shut up." He shoved the pistol back into its hiding spot. "Between this and that stunt you pulled with that nut Tuka brought along, I'm pretty inclined to agree with Cassandra about you right now."

"Oh, but you know you'd be dead without me," she said, her smugness deepening. "Not to mention lonely."

"I'd find someone else," he muttered, but the threat was hollow and they both knew it.

"Who, like Doc? She's still going on that whole business about 'saving you' or something, by the way."

"I'm aware."

"It must be so frustrating to have a girl throwing herself at you like that and not being able to do anything about it," she said in mock sympathy. "You must be the only mercenary out here who's still a virgin. So sad."

"What the hell does an A.I. know about something like that?" Simon snapped. The day's events had been steadily diminishing his usually abundant patience for Diana's antics.

"More than you do, apparently," she laughed, blowing a kiss with her holographic hand. "Like I said, you're probably doing this whole Mallunus suicide mission to impress her."

"You make her sound like she's as gullible as Tuka," Simon said, smiling as a thought came to him. "Come to think of it, she's the only one who's ever pulled one over on you, isn't she?"

Diana's good humor vanished instantly. "Meatbags don't 'pull things over' on me," she said coldly, tossing her scarf over her shoulder and flashing a shade of green. "She just behaved in a way I wasn't expecting her to."

"Sounds the same to me," Simon replied, beginning to enjoy himself.

"All she did was yank out my data chip!" Diana protested. "There was no brains involved there at all, just that meatbag body of hers!"

"And you apparently spent the next few months at the bottom of a cargo crate." Now it was Simon's turn to smirk. "I wish I'd been there to see that."

"Yeah, well I never did figure out what the hell she was up to those few months," said Diana grumpily. "She could have been anywhere on this scrap pile for all I know, seeing as she wiped its logs clean before giving it back."

"Somehow, I really don't care what she was doing," said Simon, and he meant it. "But you two are playing nice for now--"

He stopped mid-sentence as an alarm began to sound on the control panel. Frantically, he dove forward and searched for its source.

"The bay security system we set up!" Diana's body flashed dark red, all traces of levity gone. "Multiple contacts assembling outside the door!"

"What the hell?" Simon shot to his feet and dashed towards the common room. "Get the ship ready for launch now!"



Tuka darted out of the living quarters and into the common room, nearly colliding with Cassandra as she emerged from the weapon locker. He blinked at the new set of armor she was wearing, which looked to be of the same design as Simon's. "Where-" he began just as Simon sprinted in from the cockpit.

"Get ready!" he yelled, running over to the shuttle's ramp and punching in the code to lower it. "We've got a whole mess of people trying to get into this bay!"

"How do you know they're enemies?" asked Tuka, puzzled.

"People do not drop by this shuttle on social calls!" Simon yelped, seizing his helmet from where he'd left it on the couch and beginning to re-strap his equipment onto his armor. "Now grab a weapon and get ready to start shooting!"

"A weapon?" Tuka asked, still catching up with the situation.

"They're all over the place!" Simon was practically howling. "Just kill anything out there that isn't one of us!"

He vanished down into the weapons locker as Cassandra, who had donned her helmet, grabbed one of the submachine guns up from the floor and dashed to the open ramp. After another moment's hesitation, Tuka looked around wildly and found a battered plasma repeater leaning against one of the chairs. Praying that it worked correctly and that his minimal experience with ranged weapons didn't get him killed, he lunged forward to join Cassandra in a firing position.

The intruders that had sent Simon into such a panic had already entered the bay and were all darting towards the open ramp in a single disorganized crowd. Tuka had time to pick out at least ten Sangheili along with an assorted dozen Unggoy and Kig-Yar before they spotted him and opened fire. He ducked back inside as poorly aimed plasma and needle shots splashed and bounced off of the shuttle's hull.

Both he and Cassandra opened fire. They didn't even need to aim at first, merely shooting in the general direction of the oncoming mob and letting the attackers' own disorganization do the rest. Tuka saw a reedy Kig-Yar take one of his plasma shots in the eye and collapse without a sound. That's two I've killed now, he realized and wondered if this would ever get any easier.

Cassandra was faceless inside her armor as she mowed down a pair of Unggoy, and Tuka wondered if she was experiencing the same doubts he was. But that was ridiculous. She was a Spartan, and according to Simon they'd been trained to do just this since they were extremely young. Surely she was used to fighting like this, particularly when her opponents weren't even her own species.

The attackers scattered then, still firing off their wild shots that struck the ramp and the hull without coming close to either the human or the Sangheili defending it. The rapid response seemed to have caught them off guard, but though they were still completely uncoordinated they were also now far more difficult to hit. Another one of Tuka's shots struck an Unggoy in the arm, and the diminutive creature howled as it was trampled by its companions. The attackers seemed to give no heed to each other's problems, each one focused solely on themselves and their own efforts to bring down the ramp's protectors.

A noise behind him caused Tuka to turn in time to see Simon clambering back up out of the weapons locker. He'd slung an assault rifle over his back and was struggling to pull up a human-made sniper rifle that was almost as tall as he was. Stumbling towards the ramp, he threw himself down flat and began making adjustments to the rifle.

"Which way?" he demanded. With his helmet on he was even more unreadable than usual, but Tuka could hear the fear and anxiety in his voice.

"To the left!" Cassandra called back, emptying the rest of her clip into a Sangheili's shields and ducking back in to reload. Simon adjusted his aim to match her instructions.

"You're too far in!" Tuka yelled at him. "How will you hit anything?"

"They can't hit me, either," was all the explanation Simon cared to give.

A moment later, a full-grown Sangheili warrior appeared out of nowhere and charged up the ramp. Tuka heard the boom of Simon's rifle and instinctively ducked, but the round missed its target completely. Simon cursed, then fired twice more in rapid succession. The first of these clipped the warrior and only damaged his shields, but the second punched a gaping hole in the attacker's body and sent it tumbling back down the ramp.

"How we doing, Diana?" Tuka heard Simon yell, but whatever the A.I.'s response was it was hidden inside his helmet communicators.

"Shit!" Simon yelled in reaction to Diana's unknown reply. "They're trying to get underneath the ship!"

"They won't be able to hit us then," said Tuka. "How long till we take off?"

Simon moaned in frustration. "They're not just going to wait under there!" he yelled. "They're going to try to damage my ship from below, or they'll get together and just rush us!"

"Does the ship have defenses--?"

"No!" Simon practically wailed. "Do you know how expensive those are to--"

The telltale sound of a plasma grenade detonating cut him off mid-rant. Releasing an impressive torrent of swear words in both human and Sangheili, Simon abandoned the sniper rifle and moved up to join Cassandra at the ramp's end.

"Perhaps you can distract them with those holo-drones," Tuka suggested, pointing to where three of the orbs were clipped to his armor.

"I need Diana to coordinate them if I want anything close to a convincing holo," Simon growled, readying his assault rifle. "And she's busy launching the ship."

"Then we'll have to go out there and rush them," said Cassandra. "We can throw grenades to disorient them and then use the ramp as cover."

"We'll have about ten seconds before they wise up and flank us," Simon warned, looking down the ramp. "Besides, since when did you turn into such a commando?"

"Working at a med clinic turned out to be a lot more violent then I thought."

"Huh." Simon leaned back towards the common area and used the business end of his assault rifle to pull a small box towards them. When he opened it, Tuka saw it was full of small human grenades.

"Light explosives and flash-bang only," Simon warned. "I'm not blowing a hole in my own ship."

Cassandra seized up a few, as did Simon, but Tuka hesitated. He'd barely operated plasma grenades before, let alone human ones, and he didn't know where to even start when it came to using them. Simon saw his uncertainty and shook his head.

"Just watch our backs and don't let them get behind us," he told him. "Cassandra, ready?"

"On your mark," she replied, slotting a new clip into her submachine gun."

"Let's go!"

The two Spartans darted down to the hangar floor on either side of the ramp, hurling one grenade after the other in under the shuttle where it seemed the attackers had been regrouping. Tuka heard a series of loud thumps followed by loud howls as he darted down after them and scanned the rest of the hangar for movement. It took all his training and concentration not to look back at the humans as their own weapon fire mixed with a series of scattered plasma and needle shots that followed and tore all around the ramp.

There was a sudden bellow: "MORDRED!" A torrent of heavy blue plasma beams tore through the air around Simon's side of the ramp, forcing him back into cover.

"My brother and I will tear you to pieces!" the voice howled over the sounds of the firefight. "You will pay for your treachery, worm!"

"Aw, shit," Simon muttered, slotting a new clip into his rifle. "Those guys."

"Who?" asked Cassandra as she fell back to reload as well.

"The 'Tened brothers. Just a couple of morons who think I scammed them a couple months back."

"And did you?"

"Not as badly as they say I did," said Simon unapologetically as the plasma rounds continued to shoot around the ramp. "It was only a few thousand credits."

"I don't think they care how much you stole from them," Cassandra shot back, firing blindly around the ramp's side. "That guy's got one of those mobile plasma turrets and he doesn't sound too happy with you."

"He's gotta overheat that thing sometime," Simon muttered, crouching on the ramp without bothering to return fire. "Looks like we cleaned out most of the little guys back here at least. Just the tough ones left now."

As if to qualify his statement, a pair of the "tough ones" darted out from behind the ramp on Simon's side. The two Sangheili warriors leveled their weapons as both Simon and Tuka spun to target them. Their combined plasma and projectile fire cut the first down in seconds while the other leapt to the side and fired wildly with his plasma rifle. A pair of his bolts caught Tuka in the chest and his shield flared, cut in half by the attack.

Simon swore as his weapon ran dry and tugged out one of the pistols strapped to his armor. "Back aboard," he yelled. "Fall back!"

Tuka and Cassandra scrambled to obey. Tuka stumbled and dropped his plasma repeater halfway up the ramp but didn't bother to retrieve it. Behind them, the warrior tried to bash Simon's head in with his plasma rifle. The ex-Spartan stepped back to avoid it and tripped over his own legs, falling backwards onto the ramp. Desperately, he drew one of his energy swords from off his chest and slashed off both of his opponent's legs. The crippled Sangheili howled and fell, giving Simon the opening he needed to get back onto his feet. He was halfway up when he stumbled at the exact spot that Tuka had tripped over. With a startled cry, he fell to his knees and flung his prosthetic left arm up to balance himself.

It was an accident that probably saved his life.

From out of nowhere the thin beam of a beam rifle shot forward and neatly skewered the prosthetic. Simon yelped as he saw the neat hole that had been drilled in the replacement arm and began firing wildly at the hangar's open roof with the pistol in his right hand. "Sniper! Cover, cover, cover!"

Tuka whirled, finding himself square in the middle of the ramp's opening with no weapon to speak of aside from his own energy sword. As Simon scrambled up the ramp, one of the largest Sangheili he had ever seen bounded around the side of the ramp and drew his own energy sword. "Mordred! Die, you miserable vermin!"



From his position on the rooftop, Ro'nin growled irritably as one of those idiot 'Tened brothers blocked the shot he'd been about to finish Mordred off with. Trying to get a better angle with his beam rifle, he watched as that younger Sangheili who'd been with Fira leapt down and began slashing away at the 'Tened swordsman with impressive finesse. Ro'nin refocused his rifle's sights in time to see Mordred crawl past the two dueling Sangheili and back into the shuttle. Moments later, the younger Sangheili feinted and opened a hole in the 'Tened brother's defense, which he immediately exploited and ran the larger warrior through.

"Impressive," Ro'nin muttered. But it didn't matter in the long run. He focused his sights on the young warrior's lightly armored chest and smiled humorlessly.

"And then there were three."

But just then, a memory stirred from a few hours before when they'd all been traveling to that battleground on the dropship together. ''My name is Tuka 'Refum. I was trained and raised at the Visag keep.''

Ever know of a Sangheili called Shinsu?

I've never heard that name before...

With a sigh, Ro'nin lowered the beam rifle. A moment later, the younger warrior, Tuka 'Refum, vanished inside and the ramp shut. The shuttle shook like an awakening beast before raising itself into the air and shooting out of the hangar. Several of the surviving mercenaries weren't fast enough getting clear of the ship and were fried by the backdraft from the engines. Then the shuttle was gone entirely, leaving a hangar filled with corpses in its wake.

"See?" he asked Kenpachus, who was seated beside him on the roof. "You had nothing to worry about."

"But now they're gone," the Jiralhanae pointed out. "Hunting them down isn't going to be any fun at all."

Below them, a howl sounded throughout the hangar as the surviving 'Tened brother cast aside his plasma turret and raced over to kneel beside his brother's hacked corpse. The warrior's head was bowed in grief as Ro'nin raised his beam rifle one last time.

"A favor for you, Mordred," he murmured, sliding his finger over the firing stud. "And probably a favor to you as well, 'Tened."

The beam cut through the 'Tened's head and sent him slumping forwards over his brother. Ro'nin scanned the hangar for any other survivors and saw none. His last shot seemed to have been a slight favor for both his credit account and his reputation amongst freelancers as well.

"So how do you plan on finding them?" demanded Kenpachus, who was not so easily deterred.

"Simple," replied Ro'nin. "Mordred just took off without paying off his landing fees. He'll have to stop off at one of the orbital stations the mercenary companies have set up around here if he doesn't want a bounty on his own head. Plenty of the officials up there owe us some favors, and no one up there likes Mordred very much. All I need to do is make a few calls and we'll know exactly where he's headed.

Kenpachus snorted. "If you say so."

"I know so." Ro'nin slung his beam rifle over his shoulder and headed off the roof. "So come on before they can prove me wrong."

Chapter Seventeen: Stirring the Hornet's Nest
Redmond Venter nodded approvingly at Shinsu's quarters. "Mallunus really set you up nice here, didn't he?"

Sitting across from the human rebel, Shinsu inclined his head. "The chieftain was most generous to allow us to conduct our business on his flagship." He was speaking in a human dialect that was very nearly accentless.

Venter laughed and took a swig from one of the dozens of intoxicants that Mallunus had provided. Shinsu and his Sangheili entourage had quietly refrained from touching the stuff, but Venter had been more than happy to not only enjoy the exotic beverages during the meeting but also to volunteer to take the remaining bottles back for the enjoyment of his crew. "Well, old Mallunus is just one bleeding heart of generosity here, now isn't he? That's why my crew's here, and that's why everyone else is too. He's always happy to do you a favor long as you can do some for him in return."

Standing on the far side of the lavish room, Umbra was fighting to keep his misgivings about all this out of the way. After years of serving faithfully under Shinsu, he'd gotten used to not finding out about his commander's plans until the last moment. That was just how Shinsu worked, keeping all the thoughts and ideas to himself until he was ready to start implementing them. But as far as Umbra was concerned, what had started out as a simple diplomacy run for their temporary Fallen superiors was splintering into a game of political and strategic maneuvering around Famul that only Shinsu seemed to know the rules to or the objective of.

''Weren't we just here to negotiate with Mallunus for the Fallen? Wasn't Pula supposed to be the only one working on these side jobs?'' Umbra had already decided that he was going to discuss things with Shinsu the moment this human had left their residential suite. No matter how loyal he was to his commander, he couldn't just stand by and watch these dealings go on without at least knowing something about what was going on.

"I gotta say though," Venter was saying between gulps of liquor. "What the hell does a Fallen hotshot like you want to talk to me for, anyway? The way I figure it, everyone just minds their own business and keeps things tight with their own species. It's complicated enough like that without having to figure things out with people who's brains aren't even built like ours. No offense."

"You can't truly operate out here and believe that as well," replied Shinsu. "The planet we orbit now is a living testament to how little species has come to matter in these times. Less than two decades after your kind was fighting for its survival against nearly every species in the known galaxy, we find places like this that literally team with integrated business relationships."

Venter chuckled. "Yeah, well to us, ah, business-minded people there's no point in ruffling each other's feathers over some crap that went down that long ago, right?"

"Indeed."

Finishing his drink, Venter tossed the bottle into a far corner of the room and seized another one up from the table. "So anyway, unless inviting strangers over for drinks is some kind of weird cultural thing for you squid-heads, I'm guessing there's something you want to talk to me about?"

Had the human not been Shinsu's guest, Umbra would have killed him in an instant for using such a demeaning term for the Sangheili. But Shinsu didn't so much as blink.

"Of course," he said, casually smoothing a crease in his robes. "I've heard things about you, Venter. Is it true that you once fought with the human government?"

With a snort, Venter opened his new bottle. "Lots of those 'human governments' out there, you know. I'm guessing you're talking about those UNSC assholes, in which case, yeah, I fought them for a while."

"But you no longer do that? I heard a rumor that you worked for the Syndicate now."

"My boys take some jobs from those guys from time to time. Just to pay the bills, y'know?"

Shinsu leaned forward. "So you still plan on continuing your fight against the UNSC."

Leaning back in his chair, Venter laughed. "Yeah, I wish. This whole Interspecies Union thing really put an end to all that. Terrible for the whole freedom fighter business. I mean, look at you guys."

"And what do you mean by that?"

"You're Fallen, right? The whole point of your little cause is that you hate us inferior humans messing around in your business. And yet here we are, enjoying each other's company."

Shinsu nodded. "Well noted. The entire premise of our mission here violates the fundamental ideals of the Fallen, though I feel that it's safe to say that this particular group will not be around for much longer."

Umbra was watching Venter carefully, and he noticed that though the human's posture remained slack and casual, his eyes were now narrowed and alert. Clearly Venter enjoyed playing the careless rebel, but there was something more behind those eyes of his. A strange hunger...

"You don't care about the Fallen, then?" asked Venter. "From what I've heard about you, you're a pretty big hotshot with them. The 'Black Knight of Sanghelios', right? We've heard about you, even over UNSC channels. You've done your share of damage to them as well."

"My goals have changed since then," said Shinsu evenly. "Though I might ask the same of you. Rumor has it that the Humanity Liberation Front was wiped out by an internal struggle... one that you triggered."

Venter shrugged. "We had a few conflicts of interest," he admitted. "More of, well, a budget dispute, you could call it. Once I was in charge, I tried being something I wasn't and then that was it for the Front, more or less."

"So you no longer care about your cause?"

"Like I said, this whole IU business really messed that up. I just have a feeling in my gut that there won't be much of a place for rebels in the near future and I just want to make sure I end up someplace where I can fight."

Shinsu's mandibles parted in a small, rare smile. "In that case, I have a proposition that should interest you a great deal."



The battered Pelican dropship rose out of the Chieftain's Pride's expanded service hangar and dropped from the flagship and into the unending torrent of minor traffic that spread out above Famul's atmosphere. Inside the troop bay, Venter quickly opened a secure channel to his ship's radio operator.

"What is it boss?" asked the startled officer.

"Get everyone to ready stations." Venter's voice trembled with barely contained excitement. "I want the ship ready to move out in five hours."

"What's going on?"

"We've got a job," Venter said. "To hell with all this sitting around. You heard from Peter yet?"

"Still no word. I think he's dropped off the grid again."

Venter waved a dismissive hand. "We'll get by without him for this op. Just get everyone ready for a combat op."

He paused, and looked down at a list of coordinates that Shinsu had given him. "A long combat op."



Back in Mallunus's guest quarters, Shinsu remained seated, staring intently at a small hologram of Famul. "So it begins," he murmured.

Umbra could stand it no longer. "Forgive me lord, but this is going too far!" he protested. "That human is about to destroy this entire operation!"

"I beg to differ," replied Shinsu calmly. "He is about to make this operation a resounding success."

"But you've ordered him to strike Famul's orbital defenses!" Umbra was practically yelling now. This was the closest he'd ever come to directly opposing his commander--any commander, for that matter--but he wasn't sure if he could stand any more of what seemed to him to be a colossal lapse in judgement, if not sanity.

"Precisely. He will wreak a good deal of havoc on those targets and, more importantly, he will live to tell the tale."

"Our mandate here is to negotiate with Mallunus, not start a rebellion on his planet!"

"Interesting. Weren't you the one who was opposed to the whole thing a short while ago?"

Umbra sputtered, trying to form the right words. "When the Chancellor hears of this, he will take your head! You're forgetting that not every warrior back on the Fire is loyal to you!"

Shinsu's voice hadn't lost its calm, sensible air. "The Chancellor is a fool who thinks that the Fallen, compromised as they are, can survive in this galaxy. He proved that when he approved this mission."

"But we still need them!" Umbra felt as if an invisible hand were clenched around his neck, slowly choking the life out of him as he stood by, helpless. "Where else will we get new recruits, supplies, safe harbors..."

"What you fail to understand, Umbra," Shinsu interrupted coldly. "Is that our war is no longer about the Sangheili. It is places like this that will provide us with those things you speak of. This wretched underworld that the galaxy has cultivated will suit our purposes quite nicely."

Umbra blinked. "You can't mean that."

"I mean every word. I thought I'd made this plain to you before, but allow me to repeat myself: the Sanghelios we once thought we knew is dead. Perhaps it never even existed. We cannot save our people, nor the galaxy, without a reformation that is embraced by all. That is what this operation is about. We will conquer this underworld and in doing so we will gain the means to topple every government and organization that has corrupted the universe. The Fallen no longer matter. The Sangheili no longer matter. If you still fail to grasp this, then it will be best for you to leave my company immediately."

For several moments, Umbra could only stare at Shinsu, his mandibles as slack as his arms, which hung limply by his side. Finally he straightened and gave Shinsu a stiff salute.

"You are my commander," he said quietly. "It is my duty to follow you anywhere and to die by your side if necessary. I have committed myself to your service, and now I place my full trust in you."

Shinsu nodded and turned back to the hologram. "That is very reassuring," he said quietly.

Chapter Eighteen: The Plan
"So," said Simon, taking bites out of what Tuka assumed to be a human ration bar in between words. "This is Famul."

He had assembled a small holoprojector against one of the common room walls, displaying several different images of a planet surrounded by several moons. The title "Suicide Mission Briefing" had been thrown up at the top of the display--presumably by Diana--and circles and descriptions had been added to the images, indicating ship patrol routes and defense stations.

"And where did you get this information?" asked Fira coldly. He was seated on the opposite side of the room, his body still bearing the bandages from his injuries. Ever since the incident in the shuttle's living quarters, he and Simon had treated each other as if they bore some disgusting disease that could be transmitted through eye contact alone. It was only meetings like this that even managed to keep them in the same room, though that didn't stop them from sniping at each other in every other sentence.

"We did a supply run there about two months back," Simon replied, picking chewed bits of ration bar out of his teeth and wiping them on his pants. He'd long since removed his armor, replacing it with a grubby set of human working clothes that was several sizes too large for him. "The prices there are a hell of a lot cheaper than the ones in UNSC or Sangheili space, and some of us just don't have servants to do all this dirty work for us, you know?"

Fira bristled but didn't rise to the bait.

"Anyway," said Simon as he dug into one of his large pockets for another ration bar. "As you can see, this place is just as cannoned up as any legit military shipyard out there. What you don't have on the orbital and lunar defense stations, you get with Mallunus's own private pirate fleet, not to mention any freelance ships he can recruit from all the traffic he gets out here. It's not just Brutes you have to look out for; we screw this one up and we're up to our asses in all kinds of rebels, mercs, and any other criminals who happen to be vacationing down there."

"Then it's a good thing we aren't just going to go rushing in," said Cassandra. She had, Tuka believed, strategically positioned herself at a point that was vaguely between Simon and Fira, as if to provide a buffer should the two decide to abandon their barbed comments entirely and simply try to rip each other's throats out. "Right?"

Simon shrugged. "Shouldn't be too much of a problem if we play this right."

Tuka leaned forward. "You don't sound very concerned about this. Do you think it will be easy?"

Another shrug. "Like I said, it will be if we play this right."

"And how do you plan on 'playing' this, then?" rumbled Fira.

Simon reached up and maneuvered one of images within the hologram, bringing a large Covenant-made carrier into focus. "The Chieftain's Pride. It's Mallunus's flagship and the cornerstone for his whole pirate fleet. If he's anywhere, he'll be there."

"And the plan?" asked Fira impatiently.

"Simple." A rare smile slid over Simon's face "We talk our way on board and get access to its computer network. Then Diana uploads herself, takes control of the mainframe, and vents the atmosphere out of the entire ship. We're home free, Tuka gets his revenge, and I've got a new carrier with who knows how much in weapons and cargo we can sell. I can't believe no one's thought of it before now, to be honest."

"No one else has me helping them out," pointed out Diana over the coms, so excited by the role she was going to play that she left out the usual jabs at her partner.

The common room was silent for several moments as the others contemplated the plan. Cassandra shot glances at Tuka and Fira; both Sangheili had lowered their heads and were saying nothing. She let out an uncomfortable cough. "Um, Simon, I don't think everyone's going to go for this..."

"I thought," said Fira, his voice dangerously low. "That you studied under the great Roni 'Visag for a time."

Simon dug a finger into his ear and twisted. "Yeah, what about it?"

"I happen to know that the Visag keep's Kaidon takes the education of his pupils very seriously. From the stories I hear, he feels the study of honor is as critical as that of swordplay. Am I wrong?"

"Oh, hold on," Simon snapped, tugging his finger out of his head and standing a little straighter. "I see where this is going, pal, and I don't like it."

"Since when do you care if people think you're dishonorable?" Cassandra asked with a wry smile.

"This isn't about honor, this is about not dying!" Simon was pacing now, shooting glares at Fira with each pass. "My plan is the best way to make sure we don't have to take on an army of Brutes or a fleet of pirate warships with just this shuttle and ourselves! Besides, AI infiltration and sabotage isn't just my idea, it's a textbook strategy!"

"It's disgraceful," Fira retorted. "Even when used against Jiralhanae!"

"Come on," Simon groaned, turning to appeal to Tuka. "Roni never taught us to get killed over honor, right?"

Tuka looked away. "I'm not sure," he muttered, raising his hands. "It seems logical, but it could also taint my victory over Mallunus."

"Taint your..." Simon trailed off, speechless.

"I guess we should have seen this coming," Diana trilled over the intercom. "We are working with honor-freaks, after all."

Simon opened his mouth to speak, but was interrupted by a fit of coughing. The storm of sudden hacking was strong enough to double him over as he covered his mouth with one hand and reached out to keep his balance with the other.

"Are you all right?" Cassandra asked, getting up and making for him.

"I'm fine," Simon wheezed, waving her away. "Just... need a minute."

He turned and stumbled towards the cockpit, still coughing. "Come up with a new plan then. Get us all killed."

He vanished through the door, but his last words echoed behind him amidst the still-subsiding coughs. "See if I care."



Cassandra looked after Simon. "Maybe I should go talk to him. It's weird that he'd get upset over a little argument like that."

"Ah, let him be," Diana said. "He's not sulking or anything, he's just taking care of some business he's been putting off. Believe me, that dumbass runs away from fights, not arguments."

"If you say so," Cassandra muttered, though she did not sound convinced.

"The best course of action is to pose as mercenaries again," Fira said, invigorated by Simon's departure. "Much as I hate it, we can use that guise to gather information on Mallunus's activities before we strike."

"Simon is right though," Tuka said worriedly. "Mallunus will be surrounded by countless ships and bodyguards."

"That's why we'll gather information first," Cassandra said, returning to the conversation at hand. "It's the first step in an operation like this. First we gather intel, then we prepare the battlefield, and then we go for the objective."

Both Sangheili stared at her and she frowned back at them. "What? It's how we were trained."

"It just sounds odd," Tuka admitted. "You don't behave much like what I'd expect from the Spartans we heard so much about during our history lesson."

She shrugged. "Neither does Simon, I'll bet. We weren't exactly the best candidates in the program."

Fira narrowed his eyes. "Then what were you?"

Cassandra looked away. "The worst," she admitted after a moment. "I think Simon scored a little higher in combat than I did, but the others never counted me with him because I outscored everyone in combat medicine. We always thought he was worthless."

Tuka clicked his mandibles. "Well, he never was able to beat me in sparring back at the keep, but he won fairly often against the other trainees even after they stopped underestimating him."

"He was... different when we saw him again after Mamore," Cassandra said quietly. "The Insurrectionists did something to him, gave him something that the UNSC couldn't. He used to fight as if all he cared about was surviving. Now he's actually doing it to kill the enemy."

Fira snorted. "Enough talk about him," he grumbled. "Let's make some plans for Famul."



Still coughing, Simon staggered into the cockpit and threw himself down into the pilot's chair. He stretched out a trembling hand and opened a small compartment built into the dashboard, revealing a small stash of plastic bottles which he immediately lunged for. His unsteady grasping only succeeded in knocking several of the bottles to the floor. Half-blind from the pain and exertion from the coughing, he fumbled around his feet for several moments before finally grabbing one of the bottles. WIth a desperate gasp he tore off its cap and emptied its contents--several white pills--into his mouth. Struggling not to cough them out, he bit down and chewed, wincing even more at their foul taste.

For several minutes his body continued to tremble from the effort of suppressing the coughs, but then the trembling faded and then vanished entirely. Gasping for air, he leaned back in the chair and squeezed his eyes closed.

The intercom crackled rudely beside him and he opened his eyes in time to see Diana's avatar appear on the holotank beside him. Her arms were folded and she was shaking her blonde head disapprovingly.

"You dumbass," she muttered coldly. "You forgot to take them, didn't you?"

"Shut up," he snarled back, in no mood for her games. "It's only been two days! I should have had at least another few hours before I needed another dose!"

"And the attack was more violent this time as well," Diana noted, almost talking to herself as she looked off into space. "This isn't good."

"You're telling me," Simon spat. A gob of blood flew from his mouth and splashed against the display. He angrily wiped his mouth to discover that even more had leaked out during the coughing fit, trailing down either sides of his chin like grisly drool.

"It's spreading faster," he whispered, and now tinges of fear began creeping into his voice. "The medicine should have stopped its progress, but it's only slowed."

"We need more cash if we're just going to keep getting these drugs from the Syndicate." Diana had completely given up mocking her partner now; they were both deadly serious. "A hell of a lot more than we get from these dead-end jobs."

"We'll loot a shitload of credits from Mallunus's stores after we've helped Tuka kill him," Simon muttered, closing his eyes again. "It's the only way."

"And if we can't get those credits out of this?"

"We have to."

"But if we don't?"

Simon gritted his teeth. "Then I'll think of something. But I am not going to die like that. Never."

Chapter Nineteen: Rabid Strikes
Emergency klaxons howled throughout Outer Mining Station Fifteen, sending its Jiralhanae, Kig-Yar, and Unggoy crew scampering to their stations. The Jiralhanae command crew dashed into the station's interior sensors center, hurriedly activating their monitors to find out what the sudden threat was. But by the time they pinpointed a single, large freighter within their portion of Famul's asteroid cluster, it was too late. Their distress call was quickly intercepted while new, faster moving contacts broke away from the freighter and made a beeline for the station even as the crew were scrambling their contingent of Banshee interceptors. A barrage of concentrated autocannon fire from the enemy contacts tore the fast-moving fliers apart as they rushed out of the station's launch bay.

The command crew could only watch as the enemy strike fighters proceeded to swiftly eliminated their station's handful of point defense and communications batteries. With these down, the crew were blind and deaf, trapped within their command center. As the impacts of further explosions rang throughout the station, the crew readied their spikers and plasma weapons. The Jiralhanae in the room did their best to disguise their growing fear, but the Kig-Yar and Unggoy technicians chattered desperately amongst themselves. Someone was attacking Famul. But nobody attacked Famul, not unless they wanted to face the wrath of Chieftain Mallunus.

Of course, nobody had just crippled one of the chieftain's precious ore mining facilities. Whoever the attackers were, they were either incredibly dangerous or incredibly stupid. Either option did not offer much hope to the crew of Outer Mining Station Fifteen.

Their end came with the sort of brutal abruptness that the Jiralhanae warriors themselves had often visited on unfortunate slaves or the livestock that provided their better meals. One moment the crew had their weapons aimed at the command center's door and the next that same door had been blown open by a tremendous explosion and concentrated gunfire poured through its open threshold. Those of the crew who weren't immediately cut down fired blindly into the smoke filled doorway, but a sudden volley of grenades tumbled into the room and detonated, putting an end to the last of the crew's resistance.

For several moments, an eerie silence hung over the ruined command center, with the only sounds coming from the wounded defenders or the sparking computer terminals that had been torn apart by the grenade blasts and stray assault rounds. Then a platoon of humans sidled into the room. These soldiers wore a panoply of battered body armor that varied from military grade to the kind of body protection that civilians bought at cheap surplus stores and the weaponry they carried was equally patchy. But they moved with the casual confidence of experienced fighters who were no strangers to this sort of assault.

One of the soldiers indicated the handful of Kig-Yar and Unggoy who had survived the assault by throwing down their weapons and fleeing to the far corners of the room where they stood, trembling, with their hands raised in surrender.

"What do we do with those?" he asked a short, stocky attacker who stood at the center of the human formation. "We could get a decent price for them on some slave market out-system."

"You know our orders," said the stocky man impatiently. "No witnesses."

The first soldier shrugged and joined two of his comrades in drawing their sidearms. With lethal efficiency, they put bullets through the surrendering aliens' skulls.

The stocky man turned away from the carnage and raised a radio speaker to his mouth. "Venter, this is Estrada. This station's secure. No survivors on their end and just a few walking wounded for us, just like the last two. This is almost too easy."



Out in the vacuum beyond the station, Venter banked around a series of asteroids in his Longsword interceptor, a heavily upgraded and modified relic from before the Great War had ended. "Things'll get more interesting once Mallunus gets wise to us wiping out his mining stations. This field'll be crawling with his goons then."

He pulled his fighter into a sharp turn and angled it back at the freighter that served as their mother ship--the last vestige of the once-extensive Humanity Liberation Front insurrectionist network. A quick signal over his communications had the rest of the HLF fighters do the same.

"For now, let's jump the hell out of here and send a report to that Shinsu guy before we hit the next one."

Venter deactivated his radio and set his craft on an automatic landing pattern towards the freighter. As he passed through the floating debris of the station's fighter complement, a savage grin slid over his hardened face. Yes, things were going to get very interesting from here on out.



Umbra entered the residence suite's living quarters as the private messenger from the Renewing Fire departed. Within, he found that Shinsu had moved all the luxurious furniture off to the sides of the room--a relatively easy feat, considering that over half were decadent hover models reminiscent of the thrones used by the prophets of the old Covenant. Inside the cleared space, the Renewing Fire's commander had stripped off the robes covering his torso and was going through a series of sword patterns with his energy blade.

Umbra had seen his commander's sword work many times before, but he never failed to be rendered momentarily speechless by the speed and grace with which Shinsu handled his blade. The patterns flowed seamlessly in a blur of dark skin and blue energy that seemed to blend together until they were no longer a blade and its wielder but a single, unbroken force of unrelenting speed and power. Shinsu was going through a classic basic pattern, one that Umbra had performed himself countless times in the past, but at the speeds with which he was going, Umbra could barely register the moves.

He stood there for what seemed like an eternity, lost in the mastery he was seeing displayed before him. Umbra was not usually a patron of the arts in any form, but like most seasoned Sangheili warriors, he couldn't help but be moved by true artistry with a weapon such as the energy sword.

Shinsu finished the pattern, breaking the spell by failing to perform the grandiose flourish that most blademasters would have ended such an impressive display with. Instead, he merely deactivated his blade as it cut through the air in the pattern's last upward slash and let the hand holding the dormant hilt fall to his side. He remained in the center of the room, a study in perfect, unconcerned calm. He wasn't even breathing deeply.

"What is it, Umbra?" Shinsu asked, his tone no different than if his lieutenant had found him sitting peacefully on one of the room's floating couches. "Something to report?"

"We just received a message from the Fire," Umbra told him. "An organic messenger, as you ordered. The human Venter and his followers have eliminated the crews of three mining stations out in the sector's outer quadrants. They have sustained negligible damage and have yet to be detected."

Shinsu nodded. "Excellent. I trust that he'll live up to his reputation and continue his operations out there. Any word about our other contact?"

"Pula reports that she has made contact with one of his agents on Famul's surface. He says that his end of the bargain is already in place, so long as we uphold ours."

"He won't be disappointed," said Shinsu quietly. "The pieces are already falling into place."

Umbra saluted and turned to leave.

"One last thing, Umbra," Shinsu called after him. "I believe that it's time to ensure that the crew of the Fire is limited to those loyal to our cause rather than the Fallen."

Umbra turned to stare at his commander, who returned his gaze impassively. "So the time has come? We're breaking with the Fallen?"

"Not quite yet." Shinsu reactivated his blade and assumed the stance of another sword pattern. "But once events are truly underway here, we won't need their protection any longer."

With another salute, Umbra strode from the chambers with the sounds of the swishing energy blade behind him.

Chapter Twenty: The Human Swordsman
Tuka's energy sword sliced through the air in a streak of electric blue, only to be intercepted by Simon's own blade centimeters before the human's face.

"Too slow, Tuka," Fira noted from outside the makeshift sparring ring that they'd converted the shuttle's common room into. "You should avoid overhead attacks like that; they're too easy to predict and leave you open to counter attacks."

Tuka disengaged, keeping Simon's body in focus as he anticipated the next move. It had been a long time since he'd sparred with Simon, but he could still remember how the ex-Spartan handled a blade. Unlike the Sangheili trainees, who had mostly favored straight forward attacks and maneuvers, Simon was always in motion within the ring. He dodged and weaved around his opponents in patternless, unpredictable motions that used his smaller size to distract and confuse Sangheili opponents. Roni had once told the class that such constant motion served only to weaken a duelist if the match dragged on, but Simon seemed possessed with a stamina that was impressive even by Sangheili standards. Tuka had once gone for nearly an hour in the ring with Simon and, unable to keep up with his motions, hadn't landed a single blow on him.

Simon lunged in now, and Tuka moved fast to block nearly a dozen slashes that Simon managed to keep up even as he wove around Tuka's fixed position. That was where Simon's technique fell apart: he didn't strike with any real consistency, relying instead on a multitude of poorly aimed strikes that sought to simply sneak through his opponents' defenses through attrition rather than accuracy. And while such a tactic might work on a less experienced duelist, someone with any real blade training could anticipate his strikes from the way he gathered himself up right before he attacked, as if he needed to make absolutely sure that he wasn't falling for a trap or feint. And with that in mind, Tuka knew that all he had to do was weather Simon's attacks and wait to wear him down in order to win.

Two series of assaults later, Tuka could see Simon's movements weakening, slowing. With another opponent, Tuka would have let his guard drop to lure him in, but Simon had always been perceptive of those sorts of tricks--he handed out plenty of his own when he wasn't dodging or throwing in a barrage of attacks. Instead, Tuka waited for his opponent to attack once more before carefully sidestepping and slipping his blade through to strike Simon in the abdomen.

Tuned down to its lowest setting, the blade merely sent a momentary shock coursing through Simon's body that left him doubled over, gasping for breath. He rubbed his battered jumpsuit ruefully.

"I'd forgotten how much that stings," he panted

"Your form is good," said Fira, rising to approach the ring. "You have excellent control of footwork and your blade goes exactly where you want it to. But you need to put more determination in your strikes. Even in a practice duel, you hesitate before going in for an attack.."

Tuka thought about the Fallen warrior he'd killed back on Cordial Harmony and the Sangheili mercenary he had struck down on the ramp of this very shuttle. He hadn't liked the feeling of his blade cutting through another creature, and he was sure those memories were now slowing him down in the practice ring. But Fira was right. If they were going to challenge the odds and take down Mallunus at the heart of his own fleet, then he'd need to be much more determined and focused.

The ones I fight are scum, he told himself firmly. The galaxy is better off without them. But he still wasn't sure if he'd be ready the next time he needed to take a life.

"Thank you," he said, deciding not to voice his concerns to Fira, at least not right now. "I'll remember that the next time--"

Simon's bare, sweaty foot came out of nowhere, striking Tuka square in the gut and bringing him to his knees. Tuka crumpled, his breath forced from his body, and was powerless to stop a second strike from Simon's elbow from knocking him flat on his back. Simon was suddenly standing over Tuka, energy sword pointed at his throat.

The common room was silent. Startled and still gasping for breath, Tuka tilted his head to see both Fira and Cassandra--who had been off in a corner inspecting the armor that Simon had given her--looking on in shock.

"I never could beat you, Tuka." Simon was still recovering from the duel and the blade's shock. Perspiration continued to pour down his face, though most of the sweat from his forehead was absorbed by his bandage, and his voice kept wavering from exhaustion. He wiped his face with his right hand; the prosthetic arm was holding the blade. "But I'm not the one you're going to be fighting."

"What's you're point, human?" growled Fira in a tone that he seemed to have been developing over the past two days to use specifically when dealing with Simon.

"My point," said Simon, his blade not wavering from Tuka's throat. "Is that Mallunus isn't going to be smaller than him, he'll be a lot bigger. And he won't just agree to a friendly little duel to settle things with some punk who shows up looking for revenge seventeen years after the fact. And since we've nixed the whole 'gas the ship' plan, he'll be behind a few thousand angry guards that we'll need to cut through first."

"I don't... understand," Tuka panted, crawling to the edge of the ring and trying--and failing--to get to his feet.

"You're still thinking like you're in a sparring ring." Simon deactivated his energy sword and patted the spot where Tuka had hit him. A scorch mark had formed on the jumpsuit's fabric. "A low shot like that wouldn't have come close to killing a Brute. It probably wouldn't have brought down an augmented human like me. You should have laid into me while I was all shaken up from that shock, not assumed the match was over because I started talking to you."

He turned and left the ring. "You'll have to be sneaky to take down Mallunus, Tuka, because he sure as hell won't hesitate to kick you while you're down. And if we're going to even get close enough to try taking him on, you'll have to start thinking like a dirty coward like me. Otherwise..." he shrugged. "You won't get close."

"I don't know if I can do that," Tuka moaned, rising to his feet and gripping a nearby couch for support. Like a Sangheili, Simon's lanky arms belied his actual strength. "Everything Master Roni taught us..."

"Was for living a peaceful life where you only went and fought people if you absolutely had to," Simon told him. "Everything we're doing here goes against what he taught us. But think about this, Tuka: this bastard killed your mother right before your eyes. If you want to look him in the eye when you put him down, fine. But you should be less interested in giving him a good fight and more in giving what he's got coming to him."

"That didn't merit attacking him when his guard was down," Fira growled at Simon as he unzipped his jumpsuit and pulled a towel off another of the couches. "You could have put him out of commission for--"

"Can it, asshole," Simon drawled, performing a human gesture that Tuka gathered was considered highly offensive. "Just 'cause Tuka and I go back doesn't mean I have to listen to you bitch about how I try to keep him alive."

"That's the spirit, dumbass," coached Diana from the intercom. "Show him some backbone!"

"Simon," said Cassandra quietly. "Your back."

"Huh... oh."

Simon wasn't wearing the bandages that usually covered his torso like a second skin, and the scars that covered his body were visible with the jumpsuit unzipped to the waist. But Cassandra wasn't reacting to the ones on the front of his chest, which he'd once told Tuka he'd gotten during his training as a Spartan. No, she had noticed the ones on his back, which were far deeper and extensive. To the trained eye, they appeared to form some kind of crude runic symbols.

Simon turned so that Cassandra wouldn't be looking at them. "I could get it fixed, but the operation's too expensive."

"What happened?"

"Brutes," was his simple answer. "When I was down in their slave pits I kept trying to escape, and they didn't like that at all. I think it's supposed to mean 'disobedient' or some shit like that."

Tuka remembered that when Roni had first brought Simon to the keep, he'd kept him in intensive medical care for some time before admitting him into the training sessions. Of all Simon's past experiences, his time in the Jiralhanae pits was something he'd talked least about during their time together.

"Is that why Master Roni wanted to train you?" he asked abruptly. "Because you'd kept trying to escape?"

Simon shook his head, sending bits of sweat flying all over the common room. "What happened down there between us is between him and me. But Roni pulled me out of that hellhole, and that's something I'll never be able to repay."

Covering his back with the towel, he headed for the cockpit. "I'll be back out in a bit."

Tuka followed him into the corridor that connected the cockpit to the rest of the ship. "If you owe Master Roni so much, why won't you come back to the keep?" He felt a tad proud of himself for seeing an opening and taking it, just as he would during a duel.

Simon turned and looked up into his eyes. There was something in those grey eyes of his that Tuka couldn't read, but that had always been the case with him and Simon.

"Don't take this the wrong way," Simon said quietly. "But that's none of your business. All you need to know is that I'm doing the next best thing for him."

He headed off into the cockpit, but not before throwing one last comment out over his shoulder.

"I'm keeping you alive."



"Damn," Simon groaned as he stepped into the cockpit. "That Fira guy is so fucking annoying."

"And now you know how I feel." Diana materialized on the holotank. "Having to deal with you all the time. I'm glad that guy showed up just so you could see how hard my life is."

"Shut up." Simon slid into the pilot's chair, mopping his face with the towel. "How we doing on time?"

"I'd say about twelve hours till we come out of Slipspace. I've already contacted the authorities at Famul's main spaceport, so we'll be able to land there without any trouble."

Simon leaned back and frowned at the cockpit's windows, which were covered by blast shielding to protect the pilot from the blinding light of Slipspace. "And then we can figure out how the hell we're going to get this crazy job done."

Diana fingered a lock of holographic hair. "Yeah, about that... are we still really going through with this?"

"Yeah." With a sigh, Simon ran a hand through his damp hair. "We've come too far to turn around now."

"Do you really think that, dumbass?" Diana teased, leaning her glowing frame against an invisible wall. "Or do you just want an excuse to spend more time with Doc?"

"Shove it," Simon grunted. "I'm still trying to work on how we'll turn a profit from this mess."

"Well, since Captain Honor says I can't just suffocate that chieftain than we can't exactly steal that flagship of his anymore, can we? Maybe we can do the suffocating after your friend does his whole revenge thing."

"Let's just focus on getting to that 'revenge thing' before we worry about anything else." Simon put his bare feet up on the dashboard. "We'll have to do some poking around on Famul, that's for damn sure."

"Well, since none of our schemes has ever gone wrong before, I'm sure this whole thing will turn out alright in the end."

"We always seem to make it out okay."

Diana laughed. "Hopefully we'll make it out okay with a pile of credits to show for it. Besides, it's not just us you'll be worrying about this time."

Simon eyed his partner warily. "What are you talking about?"

Another laugh. "You may not be fond of Captain Honor, but I'm sure you're not eager to see Doc and Hamlet buy it, right?"

Simon didn't respond this time, but simply frowned straight ahead at the window panels and didn't speak or more for several minutes.

Chapter Twenty-One: Forward Into Battle
"Ten hours, meatbags," Diana announced over the intercom. "Then we hit Famul, so I suggest you get some sleep, curl up and cry, or whatever else you organics do before you go charging into certain death. Don't say I didn't warn you, because I just did."

Fira leaned back against the bunk he'd staked out as his own within the shuttle's sleeping quarters. "I don't know which one I despise more," he muttered, running his thin fingers down the length of his combat harness. "That Spartan or his construct."

"Are you certain you still want to go through with this?" Tuka asked from his own bunk across the aisle, eager to turn the subject away from Simon. His chest still ached from where his friend had kicked him, but he couldn't help but admit that there had been a fine point behind that lesson. "It isn't too late for you to turn away from this now."

Fira snorted. "I still need to justify abandoning my post on Cordial Harmony, don't I? If this Mallunus is as powerful as these underworld scum have been saying he is, than helping bring him down will be reason enough to satisfy my superiors. Besides, I'm not letting someone as promising as you head into this with just humans for support."

"I'm flattered you feel that way," said Tuka, and he meant it. "It means a great deal to me that I've found strangers who are willing to aid me in this."

"If you're talking about that other Spartan, don't be fooled," Fira warned. "She has her own motives in this as well, namely keeping an eye on the other one. It's obvious she wants to keep him close."

"Do you think there's something between them?" Tuka asked, voicing the question that had been racing around his mind ever since he'd seen Simon and Cassandra together for the first time. "Besides the bond of comrades, I mean."

"I don't concern myself with the the emotions of humans," said Fira with a dismissive wave of his hand. "But if my experience with our own people is worth anything, than yes, I do think there's more to their bond than just that of the warrior. But you shouldn't concern yourself with such things. Keep your mind on your own goals for now."

Tuka looked away from the older Sangheili, hoping that the doubt gnawing on his heart wasn't showing. Ever since the sparring match with Simon, he'd been running over the goals Fira was referring to in his head, and he couldn't deny that Simon had been right on several counts. He was nowhere near having anything close to a plan for taking down Mallunus, and even with their plans to scout for weaknesses once they reached Famul, he wasn't confident that they'd be able to formulate one. Dozens of assassins must have tried and failed at this very task, and now he, a trainee duelist with no real military training, was trying to do it with a band of allies that could barely function together. Had he spent half his life planning for a revenge that would merely peter out miserably before he could even come close to achieving his goal?

As if he could read Tuka's thoughts, Fira crossed over to the trainee's bunk and laid a hand on his shoulder. "The warrior does not fear defeat or failure," he said reassuringly, reciting an old proverb. "He knows that even in death, he may bring honor upon himself and his clan. No matter what lies ahead for us, Tuka 'Refum, I know that you will do both your father and your master proud."

Without waiting for the astonished Tuka to reply, Fira headed out of the room. "Get some rest," he advised before vanishing through the door. "There's no telling when we will be able to sleep once our search on Famul begins."



Simon slid the last of several dozen bullets into an MA-assault rifle's clip and tossed it onto an untidy pile of other magazines. A trio of the assault rifles those bullets were meant to arm lay on the work bench beside the pile; he'd already checked and cleaned those. He reached for a crate of pistols and set it on the bench. The crate tipped and wobbled as it descended on the greasy surface, and he frowned. Raising his left arm, he ran his organic right hand down its metal casing and tweaked a few tiny knobs that helped him keep the prosthetic calibrated in the field.

"Damn robot parts..." he grumbled, but stopped as he heard someone descending the ladder into the shuttle's weapons bay. He knew who it was without even having to turn around.

"Cassandra," he said evenly, all trace of annoyance gone from his voice.

"I knew you wouldn't be asleep," she said. From the dull thud she made coming off the ladder, he realized that she was wearing her old armor. "You always did get jumpy before missions."

"I wasn't the only one."

"There's nothing wrong with it."

Simon turned to face her and saw that she was indeed wearing the armor he'd given her. His cannibalizations had left her with nothing but gauntlets for arm protection, leaving her thin forearms exposed, but aside from a few missing scraps here and there, the rest of the armor was intact. As an added touch, she seemed to have found some paint amongst his supplies; a pair of red crosses were still drying on her shoulder guards, and a third had been added over her heart.

"Still thinking of yourself as a medic?" he asked, turning back to the work bench. "You shouldn't. Not out here anyway."

"It's what I am," she replied, stepping up beside him. He resisted the urge to shuffle away; something inside him was telling him that she was a little too close for comfort. It brought back memories that he'd been trying to avoid since she'd come aboard the shuttle.

"You can be whatever you want," he said curtly. "Doesn't mean you need to announce it to the universe."

She just shrugged and lifted her helmet up. "When you're like us, you have to. Otherwise you just turn into the mask." She tapped the helmet's expressionless visor.

"Oh, I wouldn't worry about that." Simon pulled a pistol out of the crate and began disassembling it. "The two of us are as far from being typical Spartans as you can get. You don't need custom armor jobs to show that off."

"I guess we always were," Cassandra sighed. "Even from the beginning when we were back in Gamma."

"When we hit Famul, stick with Tuka," said Simon, still pulling the pistol apart. "I'm serious about keeping him alive, and I don't trust that Fira guy to keep him out of trouble down there."

"He helped save my clinic," she assured him. "I owe him, so don't worry about me not protecting him."

"Well, remember what I said before too. Don't get yourself killed, alright? I've lost enough people already."

"Yeah," she said, a strange tightness entering her voice. "I've lost plenty of friends too."

Simon winced. Bad call. "Yeah, I haven't forgotten," he muttered. "I'll never forget."

She mercifully didn't dwell on the subject, the fact that he was the one responsible for most of her losses. Instead she just picked out another sidearm from the crate and strapped it to her hip. "Where will you be sleeping?"

"The cockpit, or the floor down here. Depends on when I get tired."

"Right. I'd forgotten that you like to sleep on the floor."

It was a throwback to his earliest memories of homelessness, a habit that he'd kept up through training, his Spartan deployments, the savage fighting on Mamore, and even his time in the Visag keep. "Yeah. Old habits and all that."

Satisfied that the pistol was in working order, he reassembled it and laid it on the bench beside the rifles. "Take whatever you want out of here," he told her, heading back for the ladder. "I've got too much crap down here anyway, and I sure as hell haven't been able to sell it all."

"Thanks," she said, glancing around at the stacked firearms and ammunition. "I don't think I'll need more than a rifle and a sidearm though. My aim's gotten a bit better since training."

"Glad to hear it. I still can't hit the broad side of a barn most days, and Diana doesn't let me forget it."

Cassandra looked back at him. "I saw you sparring with Tuka. You're pretty good with those energy sword things."

Simon scrambled up the ladder. "Well, I had a good teacher. Besides, I have to be good at something, don't I?"

"Yeah," Cassandra murmured as his footsteps faded. "I just wish you could look at things besides fighting to try being good at."



Fira was waiting for Simon as he emerged back into the common room.

"So you're familiar with this Famul place," he said by way of greeting.

"Yeah," said Simon warily. "I already told you that. What's the deal?"

"You may say you have Tuka's best interests at heart," said Fira slowly. "But I know you're kind. If you didn't think you could profit from all this, you'd have never agreed to come along on this."

"That's none of your business," Simon informed him coldly. "What I do for Tuka is between him and me, not you."

"That may well be," said Fira softly. "But once we're down on Famul, if I so much as sense the slightest ill-intentions from you, it's finished. No more Mordred, Simon, or whatever else you go by. You will die by my blade."

"Whatever," Simon snorted, flashing a sneer Fira's way as he pushed forward towards the cockpit. "You don't have to worry about that, pal. You won't sense a thing from me, I promise."

"Somehow the word of scum like you does not reassure me."

"You don't have to be reassured, Captain Honor," Simon mocked as he stepped into the cockpit. "Like I said, if I decide to stab you in the back, you won't sense a thing."

The door closed, sealing the mercenary off from the Sangheili officer, who stood alone in the common room for several minutes, his head bowed in thought.



Chieftain Mallunus was not in a good mood.

"I want at least ten warships patrolling the mining sector," he barked at his command crew on the bridge of the Chieftain's Pride. "Tell their ship masters that I'll pay a fortune to the one that brings me the heads of the ones responsible for these attacks!"

The crew scrambled to obey, none of them eager to experience the chieftain's legendary wrath. Mallunus's eyes narrowed. "And also let them know that if any more mining stations fall, I will personally execute the ship master of the vessel closest to the attacked station who fails to stop these brigands!"

The massive chieftain fell back into his hovering command throne, its anti-gravity generators struggling to support his weight. "And contact Ambassador 'Refum. Tell him I'll need to push our negotiations back a few days."

"You don't think he's responsible for this, do you?" a Kig-Yar aide asked nervously.

"Fool," Mallunus snorted derisively. "I've monitored all communications he's made to his ship, as well as everyone who's come through this ship to speak to him. The only one of them who left the system since then was Venter and his HLF, but I've already confirmed with the Syndicate that he arrived out-system without issue. Besides, 'Refum wouldn't be foolish enough to anger me while a guest on my own ship. No, this is the work of some outside party. Some third-rate pirate or mercenary group trying to make a name for themselves out here."

"Ah," said the aide nervously. "Speaking of the Syndicate..."

"What is it now?" Mallunus growled angrily.

"Well... a corvette registered under the name of, ah, Jade Princess is requesting that Shinsu 'Refum be sent to it for a meeting with... well, perhaps you'd better look yourself, sir."

Mallunus snatched the offered datapad, but his fury quickly cooled as he read its contents. Few things in the galaxy could spur him to quickly accommodate lesser beings' requests, but now he tossed the pad away and nodded. "Do it. Get 'Refum over to that ship as soon as possible, and let the Jade Princess know that I will personally arrange any further meetings it may require."

The aide bowed and scurried away, leaving Mallunus to glower at the rest of the crew. Even one as powerful as Mallunus did not keep the Syndicate waiting when it came calling.



The room was an even bigger monument to needless luxury than the living suite on the Chieftain's Pride, but Shinsu wasn't about to let his disdain show as he casually swept his gaze over the rest of the corvette's main conference room. There wasn't a scrap of bare metal in sight; every surface was covered in carpeting or opulent wall hangings that showcased crystal light fixtures or rare works of art that seemed to have been drawn from every developed culture in the known galaxy. Instead of a regular meeting table, the center of the room was lined with sofas that made Mallunus's accommodations look drab by comparison. Every square inch of the room practically screamed of the billions of credits that must have gone into furnishing it.

But once the grandeur of the room had had time to sink in, Shinsu began to notice all the subtleties to it that Mallunus's suite had lacked. He could see nearly a dozen potential hidden doors around the room as well as several works of art--the less impressive ones--that could be rigged with any number of lethal traps should a meeting turn violent. He was sure there were outlets to pour all manners of toxic fumes in through the carpets and drapes, as well as easily accessible masks to protect those who weren't in need of a gassing.

And then, there were the guards.

A dozen of them, each wearing the distinctive armor of the elite human Orbital Drop Shock Troopers lined the room's perimeter, cradling assault weapons with the clear air of professionals who knew how to use them with lethal precision in close quarters like this. With security like that, it would take a full-scale assault for the room's hidden defenses to ever be remotely necessary.

Yes, the Syndicate knew how to protect its leaders, particularly this leader in particular.

His gaze was drawn to the head of the luxurious seats. There, nestled in the confines of a massive armchair, was the person who had summoned him for this meeting. Behind that chair stood a single guard. This one wasn't wearing the ODST armor of the others and managed to look even shorter and thinner than the rest of the security detail through his--or her--own armor, but Shinsu wasn't fooled. The armor enough was a dead giveaway.

This guard wore a dark suit of battered armor that Shinsu had only ever seen in battered holograms salvaged from the remnants of Covenant legions that had faced utter annihilation at the hands of the ones who had worn that armor. He knew in an instant that this armor was the true version and not one of the knockoffs that were passed around the black market by the thousands these days. This was true Semi Powered Infiltration armor.

The armor of a Spartan.

The SPI-wearing bodyguard wasn't holding any sort of rifle, but there were pistols and knives visible all over his dark frame. Regardless of whether the guard really was a Spartan or not, Shinsu knew that he or she would be beyond lethal with all of those weapons. The Syndicate would have picked no other to guard this particular individual.

"Shinsu 'Refum," the figure in the chair said with warmth that sounded genuine. "The Black Knight of Sanghelios. I've heard a great deal about you."

Shinsu bowed his head and, at the motion of one of the guards, approached the chair. "I am humbled that you would even know of me, much less wish to speak with me."

"Your requests for an audience with the Syndicate didn't fall on deaf ears. As you can see, your recent activities are of great interest to us."

Shinsu allowed himself a small, mandible parting smile. "Then shall we get down to the real business here?"

The human seated in the chair gave him a smile of her own. She was barely more than a child, with black hair that streamed down her back and spilled onto the simple yet elegant--by human standards--dress she was wearing. "Yes," said Helen Powell, the second most powerful figure in the Syndicate's criminal empire. "We have a lot to talk about."