RP:Hammer Fall/Episode I

When people say 'Frontier', what comes to mind is some romantic place, the fringes of space. A place of exotic adventure, where the last great explorers map out parts unknown, where dashing adventurers help out small towns against cartoonish villains. They obviously never came to this Frontier. The ass end of the universe. This is where the further reaches of human and Sangheili expansion have met, where Jiralhanae territory, where exiled peoples come to hide, and places where former client races eek out an existence, and the remnants of the ancient Covenant lurk in the shadows, alongside with even older things that should never have been disturbed. Out here there’s no exploring for exploration’s sake, the Frontier is a resource to be exploited. Corporations, Clans and Keeps vie for the rare resources out here, and constantly jostle for space, while all kinds of undesirables come out here to exploit the weak, unprotected and disenfranchised. Slaves, pirates, raiders, drug lords and arms dealers have turned much of this space into their own personal playground, far from the reach of the UNSC, or Sangheili Republic.

Still, this doesn’t stop people coming out here to find their dreams, whether it be a life free of the government, or a life free be a bandit. But like all things, it’s never going to last. The UNSC and the Republic exert more and more control every day, and the constant infighting of the Jiralhanae is beginning to subside, with the High Chieftains exerting their power here too. The constant approach of the Covenants splintered successors, the Remnant and Storm is a constant reminder too of the oncoming war.

This is where our story begins, out in this vast, lonely part of space, where warlords battle to forge their destiny, and to make their fortune. Defend the people of the Frontier, exploit them, or conquer them. What will you do?

Welcome brave soul to the first episode of Hammer Fall! This will be our first true foray into this new and unchartered territory, so you will be warned that this is going to be a little bit up and down. If you're reading this and don't have a faction, don't fret! Hammer Fall is joinable the entire way through the story!

Your opening post of the roleplay should detail a brief explanation of how your faction came to be in the Frontier, and what their overall aims are. At the end of each of your posts, your game moderator (For now only Ajax), will post a reply, giving you objectives to strive towards. He'll also update your faction stat tracker (Leave that only to a GM to update).

Post 1
The pirates never saw it coming.

When the first explosions tore through their encampment and sent every raider in the compound stumbling out of their barracks and into the night, their leader groggily took charge of his confused, half-inebriated crew. The hulking Jiralhanae fumbled with the clasps of his armor, one hand clutching his gravity hammer as he bellowed for a report from the sentries and raged at the others to take up positions against the unseen attacker.

The jumbled medley of Kig-Yar, Unggoy, and humans who raced to the compound’s perimeter found the corpses of the night patrols slumped at their posts, their throats slit or their brains blown out by needle rounds. The pirates who rushed to examine their fallen comrades only had a few seconds to examine the bodies before the plasma charges planted under them detonated, consuming entire squads in waves of blue fire and sending others tumbling from the compound’s parapets, thrashing and screaming from the burns and shrapnel.

As the survivors struggled to regroup and their chieftain bellowed for pilots to get dropships into the air, dark shapes dropped down onto the compound’s walls. Energy swords sprang to life, cutting down terrified pirates on all sides. The shapes never stopped moving, darting from target to target and leaving nothing but dead and dying pirates in their wake.

One Jiralhanae, a lieutenant in the chieftain’s skeleton pack, grabbed a human subordinate and used the screaming man as a shield against the energy sword that flashed up at him from the shadows. The human’s quivering corpse dropped down onto the blade’s owner, who took only a moment to slash the body in half. The lieutenant snarled and fired his Spiker rifle. The enormous rounds tore into the pieces of the human’s body and crashed into the shields of the shimmering figure that had just killed him.

An active camouflage unit flickered and petered out, revealing a dull-armored Sangheili warrior with a helmet that concealed its face and tapered out into a prong that extended beneath a pair of dimly-glowing eyes that held within their pupil-less depths the promise of swift death.

The lieutenant faltered, hypnotized by that cold blue visage. He never got off another shot. The warrior’s blade flashed once, relieving the Jiralhanae of the arm holding the Spiker. The sword altered direction in mid cut and returned back down to remove the warrior’s head before he could even register the loss of his arm. The Unggoy behind him squealed in fear as he toppled. They were dead before the first cries could leave their masked lips. Another warrior emerged behind them and killed them with a series of precise jabs from his wrist-mounted energy gauntlets.

The warrior who had killed the Jiralhanae nodded at the newcomer. Although the pirate she had just decapitated could never have known it, the Sangheili behind that grey, faceless armor was a female. Her fellow warrior returned the nod and they both turned away, their camouflage units reactivating as they dashed off to continue the slaughter.

The compound was a madhouse. A handful of survivors ran screaming from the walls, only to be cut down by shots from the furious Jiralhanae who had taken up positions around their bellowing Chieftain. The pilots had scrambled into their Spirit dropships, only to find that the controls were not responding, their energy cells mysteriously depleted. Only one Spirit lifted off, drifting listlessly above the compound as its pilot struggled to find targets he could actually shoot.

The Spirit’s flight did not last long. The pilot hadn’t even had time to fire a shot before something crashed down onto the dropship’s hull. The pilot’s head jerked up, searching for the source of the noise. Moments later his cockpit’s emergency seal was ripped open and something large and heavy dropped inside. An energy gauntlet silenced the pilot’s surprised cry and the Sangheili warrior wielding it shoved the corpse aside and guided the Spirit in a tight turn, training its plasma turret on the pirates below.

The Chieftain and his pack stood alone in the darkness. The rest of the pirates—the ones who weren’t lying dead up on the parapet—shrieked and screamed, running to hide within the compound’s buildings or simply throwing down their weapons and screaming for mercy from their unseen attackers. Only the Jiralhanae remained, glaring furiously around their encampment for some sign of the enemy amidst the light from the flames.

The captured Spirit fired first, sending concussion rounds from its turret crashing down towards the Jiralhanae formation. The warriors dodged the ponderous barrage, baring their teeth and laughing as two warriors darted forward with fuel rod cannons at the ready.

The Spirit’s shots were suddenly joined by a flurry of turret rounds from above. These blasts ripped through the warriors with a tight pattern of shots, blasting first at the fuel rod wielders and then creeping up in a steady barrage that sent dead and dying warriors tumbling off into the shadows. Something flickered in the darkness above the compound, blotting out the stars as its active camouflage peeled away. The Phantom dropship descended, hovering beside the captured Spirit and raining down fire on any pirates who dared raise their weapons against it.

As the chieftain herded the remnants of his pack back towards the compound’s command center, streams of plasma fire struck them from three sides at once. A trio of Sangheili warriors darted in a loose formation around them, picking off the remaining warriors like wolves circling trapped prey. Plasma rounds splashed uselessly off of the chieftain’s armor as he stood amidst the bodies of his fallen pack. Baring his fangs, he raised the gravity hammer and bellowed a challenge at the pitiless phantoms who had crushed his hopes and dreams with such ease in so short a time.

Off in the darkness, an energy sword flashed to life. The chieftain spun, bringing his hammer up as the female warrior charged towards him. Plasma shots bloomed from a launcher embedded in the armor under her wrist, flaring towards the chieftain’s face and momentarily blinding him. With a bellow of frustration, he swung the hammer down at his new opponent with a clumsy but powerful blow.

The female rolled to the side just in time, her shields flaring as they met the wave of energy that exploded from the hammer’s impact. Without hesitating, she drew a second blade from her hip and lashed out at the hammer’s head. Sparks erupted from the weapon as the blade cut into its energy supply, draining the gravity generators and turning it into little more than a blunt instrument.

The chieftain didn’t hesitate. Flipping the hammer around, he slashed at the warrior with the vicious blade protruding behind the hammer itself. The warrior leapt to avoid the blow; as she descended, her legs landed on the hammer’s handle with stunning agility. Before the chieftain could react, she darted up the weapon and jumped, vaulting up over the chieftain’s head. Both blades flashed as she descended and she came dropping low to land behind the Jiralhanae.

With a long, rasping cough, the chieftain fell to his knees. Blood flowed from wounds in his neck and back, coursing down over his battered armor. The cough became a drawn out gasp for air.

The warrior turned back and, with the calm disinterest of an afterthought, brought a blade down on the dying chieftain’s neck. Head and body tumbled to the ground in opposite directions.

Both energy swords winked out. The warrior returned the handles to her belt and looked around. The violence that had swept over the compound like a wildfire had died down as swiftly as it had come. The Phantom dropped in low, still covering the courtyard as more grey-armored Sangheili leapt down to the ground and joined the assault team in canvassing the area. Some began sweeping the buildings while others darted off to secure the landing pads. Along with the grounded Spirits, the pirates’ collection of gunboats and shuttles remained in their berths. None of the pirates had even had the chance to reach them.

One of the new arrivals approached the female, who observed the proceedings from amidst the corpses of the chieftain’s pack. Both warriors raised a hand in greeting.

“Nicely done, Pula,” the newcomer said, indicating the chieftain’s corpse. “You and the vanguard barely left us any work at all. Not that these vermin where any challenge at all.”

“Murderous thugs,” the first warrior, Pula, agreed. “But at least this one knew how to die well.”

The other warrior chuckled. “We can only hope that our real enemies know how to die as well. At least some of these fools might have escaped had they not just stood out here for us to shoot. I hope they enjoyed their last stand, though I doubt anyone will care to remember it.”

Pula said nothing, looking down at the chieftain lying amidst the bodies of his faithful pack. She could have let the other warriors finish him off from afar, but seeing him standing there among the bodies with the light of the fire illuminating his armor had stirred something within her. It had seemed proper that he should be given the chance to swing his hammer at a foe rather than be cut down from afar like the others, helpless and alone. She had given him a worthy fight, and yet she knew that her comrade was right. In the end, the chieftain’s defiant stand had earned him nothing but death. Such foolish chivalry was not the way of the Cleansing Blade.

Another warrior jogged up, another one of the Cleansing Blade’s female combatants. All who served the cause were expected to hone their skills and take up arms against whatever enemies their commander set them against. This was not Sanghelios, their beloved homeworld. There were no keeps to rule, no bloodlines to manage. Driven out by their own, by the very people they had sacrificed their lives and their honor to safeguard, the Blades now knew only this lawless frontier, where they dwelt amongst the very scum they were sworn to eradicate. But they would survive and adapt, just as they always had.

“We have secured the facility,” the other female reported. “The ships and prisoners are being secured, as ordered.”

“Right then.” The strike leader turned away and activated his communicator. “Time to inform Commander ‘Refum of our glorious victory, eh?”

He paused, tilting his head up towards the night sky that was now cloudy with the smoke from the fires that burnt around the compound. “Though something tells me he already knows.”

Pula could hear it too, a low rumbling that grew steadily louder and seemed to fill the air with the advent of its approach. All eyes turned upwards, prisoners and warriors alike, as a dark shape pushed aside the clouds and darkened the stars as its shadow fell across the compound. The once-smooth hull of a Covenant warship, now pitted and scarred by countless engagements, loomed over them all, gazing down on the burning compound like an enormous purring beast.

“The reports are in,” Umbra ‘Vesic announced from his post on the Cleansing Fire’s bridge. He looked expectantly to where his commander stood in the center of several dozen monitors and display consoles. “The compound has been seized and Herrulus is dead. The scum that were not killed have been rounded up along with the slaves they took from the human convoy.”

“Yes, Umbra, I am aware.” The commander swiped a hand across one of the displays, scrolling through the data streaming in from the warriors on the ground. “Shur did well for his first field command. We should remember that for future assignments.”

“We cut through their ranks without even a single casualty,” Umbra said with a cold smile. A few of his fellow bridge officers let out short chuckles. “Even with our reduced numbers, these scum are no match for the Blade.”

“Yes,” the commander said, still engrossed in the mission reports. “It would seem the rumors regarding the prowess of Herrulus and his crew were greatly exaggerated. As you said, our victory today was over scum. Nothing more.”

He turned his head upwards and met Umbra’s gaze with a calm, measured eye. “Don’t be too quick to declare triumph from a skirmish with the lowest sort of filth. We were not driven from the homeworld by pirates, but by warriors. We may face pirates out in this frontier, but the true rulers of this sector are warriors as well. One victory does not make us conquerors.”

Umbra clicked his mandibles and bowed his head in deference. He knew the truth in his commander’s words, but he couldn’t deny the fervor that was still coursing through his veins at the strike team’s onslaught. It had been too long since the Cleansing Blade had known true victory. Their last few months had been a long string of sacrifices and retreats, stalling and evading the government fleets sent to exterminate them. The Blades had needed this victory even more than they had needed the equipment and resources the strike team was currently pillaging from the compound. In its way, it was proof that their cause was not dead, that they were still a force to be reckoned with.

“I want the captured pirates and their prisoners processed separately,” the commander ordered. “Get them off the strike team’s hands and aboard the Fire as quickly as possible.”

Umbra nodded. “The pirates will need to be interrogated. How will we determine which to question and which to simply execute?”

“I doubt Herrulus shared key tactical data with the peons outside of his own pack. Any information that is of true value will be amongst his personal files. The strike team will handle those when they take possession of his vessels.”

“Then why—“ Umbra cut himself short. It was not his place to question his commander, particularly in front of the entire bridge crew. “Forgive me. I will relay your orders to Shur and his warriors.”

The commander nodded. “Do so.”

The Cleansing Blade did not hold with the gaudy rank colorings of the old Covenant that many Sangheili still clung to. Each warrior’s armor was dull grey, with small markings and digital identifiers denoting their place within the movement. The commander’s was no different: a battered, pitted combat harness of the kind once worn by the Covenant’s elite special forces warriors. Even now, decades since the Schism, Umbra still felt a twinge of pride when he saw the legacy of his old unit. Even to the uninitiated observer, the commander did not need any kind of markings to denote his place within the brotherhood of the Cleansing Blade. He carried himself with a casual, almost careless grace, relaxed and yet utterly alert at all times. Umbra and any number of Blades would gladly go to their deaths at a single word from him. He was the author of their victories, the fabric behind their struggle, the one who had led them through the fires of battle again and again and the warrior who had brought them out of defeat and led them out to this frontier at a time when others had faltered and swayed in the force of their enemies’ overwhelming might.

Shinsu ‘Refum, commander of the Cleansing Blade and Black Knight of Sanghelios, turned back to the displays around him. Umbra and the rest of the bridge crew followed suit. A minor victory this might be, but it still required the same level of diligence they afforded to the battles that would determine the future of their species.

And those would come, in time.

“The compound has been completely secured.” Shur ‘Vadum had removed his helmet in order to give his report, tucking it respectfully under his arm as he addressed the officers within the conference chamber. From where she stood by the door, Pula was impressed by her friend’s composure. She had seen plenty of other junior officers tremble and fumble when addressing the Cleansing Blade’s leadership, but Shur spoke clearly and without hesitation. “All of the enemy dead and those who surrendered have been tallied, accounting for all of Herrulus’s crew. Most of my team remains in the compound. Some of the pirate vessels were better secured than we anticipated.”

From his position at the head of the conference table Shinsu ‘Refum nodded. “Very well. Meet with the personnel officer before you return to the surface. He will assign you a Huragok and its assistants to help breach the remaining vessels. I want every scrap of that compound searched for intelligence.”

Shur raised his free hand to his chest in a salute. “Understood, commander.”

“An impressive first command,” Shinsu noted. “I trust that you will maintain your performance when we face our true enemies.”

The young warrior bowed his head. “I offer my all to the Blade.”

“Your sacrifice earns you a share in our fellowship,” Shinsu replied, completing the invocation. “Return to your post.”

Shur gave Pula a friendly nod as he passed her on his way out of the room. She inclined her head in return as he passed through the and slipped his helmet back over his head.

Back at the conference table, Shinsu and the other officers had turned their attention to a series of maps that had sprung up in front of them. Apart from Shinsu, Umbra, and the Cleansing Fire’s two most senior officers, holographic images of the Shipmasters commanding the Fire’s escort corvettes paced around the table.

“The pirates have been secured in two of the forward brigs,” the Fire’s security leader reported. “Their human prisoners are under guard in the rear hangar.”

Shinsu nodded. “We will contact the colony they were stolen from. With any luck, the humans there will offer safe berth in exchange for their return.”

“And the prisoners?” the security leader asked. “I would prefer not to have to waste too much time and effort on feeding the scum.”

“You won’t have to,” Shinsu told him. “Interrogate the Unggoy among them and find out where they hail from. We will return them to their homes as soon as we are able. Make sure they are clear on who we are before they are released. Their account of our attack here should do interesting things for our reputation out here.”

“What of the others? The humans and Kig-Yar?”

Shinsu pulled up an enlarged image of the pirate compound. “They will be returned to the surface, along with a small detachment of warriors to keep them in line. We will put out that Herrunus was killed in a raid and that the survivors from his crew are trying to rebuild. More raiders will quickly flock here to finish them off.”

He nodded at one of the holographic shipmasters. “Yul, you will keep the Preserver in this system to establish a more suitable base of operations around the compound. Set our prisoners to work mining the area for anything we can use to trade, but make sure they are treated well. They know the planet better than we do.”

The hologram let out a low chuckle. “So I’m to be the overseer, then? Very well. I’ll take comfort hunting down the scum who show up to cause trouble.”

“I’m assigning additional warriors to the Preserver,” Shinsu told him. “Capture as many of the vessels as you can. We need more than just the current strike force if we are to match the major powers in this region. Interrogate the captives and add them to your work force, unless you can find other uses for them. I trust in your discretion.”

“As you wish, commander.”

“And where will the rest of the Blade be going?” Umbra asked, leaning against the table. Pula had never liked the Blade’s second in command. He had none of Shinsu’s finesse and embodied every bit of old-guard prejudice that the Cleansing Blade was meant to discard. Whatever the qualities had kept him at Shinsu’s side for so long were, Pula couldn’t see them.

“Deeper into the frontier,” Shinsu answered, waving a hand over the hologram. The compound vanished and was replaced by images of several ships: the Cleansing Blade’s modest fleet. The Cleansing Fire itself was a deadly cruiser that had brought down vessels many times larger than itself in the past, but the rest of the fleet consisted only of corvettes and light frigates, along with a handful of transport ships that supported them. “We were fortunate enough to extend our intelligence network into this region even before the government moved against us in force. Our spies report that conflict is stirring, particularly amongst the Jiralhanae clans. I plan to offer the Blade’s services to whichever faction proves liable to succeed.”

Umbra bristled. “We fight to ensure the rejuvenation of our people, not for the whims of those mongrels.”

“Those mongrels have proven to be valuable allies in the past,” Shinsu reminded him. “It is they who possess the true strength out here. They have little love for the Vadams or the government that drove them into these parts after the Schism, which means that we may very well have enemies in common.”

He summoned up a map of the frontier. “The government cannot pursue us here in force and risk sparking a renewed conflict with the Jiralhanae. If any agents are sent in to track our movements, our brothers and sisters who remained behind in Sangheili space will alert us of their mission. Without interference, we will thrive here. We will grow strong, as will those we support and defend. When the time comes to return to the homeworld and defeat our true enemies, we will have the support of a stable frontier to aid us. The Sanghelios government’s seizures of colonies in these parts have made it unpopular. We will show them a different face of the Sangheili, and they will support us for it.

“We are weak now,” he told the officers. “Our warriors are some of the finest our people have ever seen, but there are not enough of them. Our fleet is small, unable to be more than a precise strike force. Pride and honor are luxuries that come only with power. The Vadams and their government understand that well. The Cleansing Blade fights from within the shadows. You all knew this when you discarded your honor to follow me. I will not allow old prejudices isolate us from the sources of power out here. If we must humble ourselves and become the tools of Jiralhanae or worse, we will do so.”

Shinsu paused, looking at each officer in turn. “If any of you object to my leadership, state your grievances now. The warriors under your commands will follow your lead, and we cannot afford divisions within our ranks.”

Every warrior, including Umbra, lowered their heads and brought an arm up in salute. The hologram of Yun let out another laugh. “Without you, commander, where would we go? We have given up everything for the Blade, for your vision. There is nothing left for us to return to.”

“The corruption that eats away at our people from within must be destroyed,” Umbra put in. “We set aside our honor in order to fight it without hypocrisy.”

“Then you have your orders.” Shinsu turned off the table’s holograms. “Return to your posts. Have the warriors under your commands redouble their efforts at training. We are still at war, and our days of retreating from the enemy end now.”

Pula remained where she was, keeping silent guard by the door as the officers departed. It was only when Shinsu approached that she broke away from her position and moved to stand at his side.

“There is a matter with the human captives I must attend to,” Shinsu informed her as they left the conference chamber. “In the meantime, I have a new task for you. You are familiar with the warriors within the fleet?”

“Of course, commander.” Pula trained with different cadres every day, lending her skills to training masters and keeping an eye out for hidden talent within the Cleansing Blade’s rank and file.

“You will assemble the best agents you can recommend, preferably ones that can operate in small teams. Just because our fleet is small does not mean our reach has diminished.”

“When the warriors are assembled, what will you have us do?” Pula asked, keeping pace at a respectful distance behind Shinsu.

“I will dispatch you to different areas of the frontier. You will make contact with as many of our spies as you can, though you will keep your allegiance hidden from all others. Infiltrate as many groups as you can, be they pirate bands, mercenary groups, or even the Jiralhanae clans. Gather as much intelligence as you can and, if need be, strike from the shadows to remove potential threats.”

Pula nodded. The Cleansing Blade’s strike teams were forces to be reckoned with, but its true strength had always lain with its skills at subterfuge, sabotage, and assassination. “I will assemble the warriors at once.”

“Excellent.” Shinsu didn’t break his lengthy stride. “The warlords will find our ability to strike down their enemies to be valuable beyond words. And as for the enemies that we will make out here, well…”

He cast a glance at Pula over his shoulder. “I expect that they are not long for this galaxy.”

She brought an arm up to her chest. “They will feel the Blade’s judgment, commander.”

Shinsu nodded and continued his march down the darkened corridor, leaving Pula alone with her thoughts. She watched him until he had disappeared into the shadows.

From the day he had found her squatting amongst the ruins and corpses of her village on Sanghelios, Shinsu had been her reason for living. He had been barely alive that day, his body flayed and battered by the torture he’d received at the hands of government warriors, and yet when he had looked down at her he had seemed magnificent as he did now at the head of thousands of devoted warriors. He had taken her in when the rest of Sanghelios would have left her to die, had trained an orphaned peasant girl as a warrior when any other Sangheili would have cast her aside like trash. No matter where his path took him—to the seat of government on Sanghelios or to a black pit of scum like the frontier—she would follow as faithfully as she always had.

There was work to be done. Pula turned away and headed down the hall to find the first candidates for Shinsu’s assassination teams.

The small line of humans cringed away when Shinsu approached. There were eight altogether, their clothes and flesh made ragged by the abuse of their pirate masters.

Shinsu glanced at one of the two guards watching over them. “Where are the others?”

“They have been moved to a holding area to await return to their colony,” the warrior explained. “These are the ones who asked not to be returned. We gather that they are criminals of some kind or another and would face punishment from their own even after their captivity.”

Shinsu nodded, moving down the line of humans. A few looked back up at him, only to shudder and quickly look away. He must look like some kind of monster to them, like one of the demon Spartans that had terrorized him and his fellow students in the tales they had heard on Sanghelios.

“Give them a choice,” he announced, glancing back at the guard. “They can return to their own kind, or we will put them to work on one of the transport shuttles. Be sure to emphasize the Blade’s dim view on treason or thievery within its ranks.”

The guard seemed surprised at the idea of humans working on Cleansing Blade ships, but he said nothing. Shinsu continued down the line and was about to turn away when he came to the last one in line. This one stood a few paces away from the others and didn’t so much as flinch when Shinsu looked down at him.

The prisoner was not much to look at, even by human standards. A young specimen, his rags seemed even dirtier than the others and his face and hair were covered with grime. Underneath the rags, Shinsu saw several fresh cuts in his flesh, markings that he recognized as being crude Jiralhanae runes. He’d seen them before, carved into the flesh of many fellow Sangheili: the mark of a disobedient slave.

“And who might you be?” he asked in a common human dialect.

To his surprise, the young human smiled and replied in thickly accented Sangheili. “Who wants to know?”

“You speak our tongue?” Shinsu asked, reverting to his own language.

The boy jerked his shoulders in the human equivalent of a shrug. “Some.”

“Are you a criminal, like these others? Why do you refuse to return to your own kind?”

Another shrug. “They don’t want me. These bastards don’t want me either.”

Intriguing. “What was your crime?”

“Some people tried to kill me. I killed them first. Besides, no one wants a Spartan kid. Freaks like that shouldn’t breed, or that’s what they said.”

Shinsu did not startle easily, but he was still taken aback by the human youth’s words. He was the child of Spartans? He looked the human over again. Yes, he was ragged and bloody and looked as if he hadn’t eaten in days, but there was a confidence to his posture that stood out from the slumped heads and downcast eyes of the other slaves. And there was something in those dark eyes of his. A certain hunger that Shinsu knew all too well…

“If you are the son of such warriors, what are you doing out in this frontier?” he asked. “Where are your parents now?”

The human’s mouth twisted. The smile was still there, but it no longer reminded Shinsu of grins he’d seen from other humans. This was more like an animal bearing its fangs. “Dead,” he replied. “And the bastard who murdered them is somewhere out here on the frontier. I’m going to find him and then I’m gonna kill him.”

“I see. And what is your name, human?”

The boy’s eyes never left Shinsu’s. “I’m Han.”

“You are barely more than a child by your own species’ standards. Why should I not simply give you back to the colony the pirates took you from?”

“I know how to fight. I’ve made it on my own out here this long. And I know things. Brute clans, Jackal raiders, things about human colonies. You keep me around, and I can help you.”

Shinsu stepped closer to the bloodied slave. Han didn’t back up even a step. “And why would you side with me? My warriors may well turn their weapons on humans before we are finished out here.”

Han shrugged. “The humans out there tossed me out. They don’t want me; maybe I’ll have better luck with you guys.”

Perhaps Shinsu saw a bit of himself in this defiant youth. Perhaps the Cleansing Blade needed to evolve more quickly if it was to survive. Whatever the reason, Shinsu knew that this human would not be going off to work on a transport ship. “I am Shinsu ‘Refum, commander of this force,” he told the human. “You interest me. Serve me and my warriors, the Cleansing Blade, and I will ensure that you are fed and instructed as one of us. Aid us in our struggle and we may even help you carry out the vengeance you desire.”

The hungry look hadn’t left Han’s eyes. “Trust me, commander,” he said. “You won’t be disappointed.”

Post 2
"The raiders are moving in, fast and low."

"Increase power to forward shields, let the first corvette pass beneath us. Starboard weapons prepare to fire. Target their engines."

"They have released dropships. Multiple contacts detected."

"Keep the Seraphs in formation. Banshee squadrons, engage the dropships. Alert the ground forces to prepare for a surface assault."

"Plasma torpedoes from the second corvette, targeting the Preserver! All decks, brace for impact!"

"Seraph squadrons, now! Their shields are down, target their weapons and hangar bays."

"Direct hit on the first corvette! Its shields are down!"

"Boarding parties, descend!"

Shur 'Vadum opened his eyes, emerging from the river of communications traffic and glancing about the Phantom's drop bay at his fellow warriors. Even with the helmet covering his face, they caught his meaning and nodded in response. Plasma repeaters and storm rifles whined and hissed as the warriors prepared for the attack. The Phantom lurched and jerked; Shur did his best not to think about why it might be taking evasive maneuvers.

He turned to the warrior beside him and spread his arms, fighting down the fear coursing through his veins. "Puq, my armor."

Puq nodded and quickly checked over Shur's armor, looking for any deficiencies that would prove deadly once they exited the dropship and entered the vacuum of space. Once he was done, Shur returned the favor as the rest of the warriors—his warriors—did the same around the troop bay.

Shur stepped back and checked his weapon once more. There were ten other warriors in the Phantom with him and twenty more in the two other Phantoms that composed their boarding party. All his command. His responsibility.

"We offer our all to the Blade," he muttered tersely to Puq, shifting his legs as the Phantom shuddered beneath them.

His fellow warrior gave him a short, almost imperceptible nod of encouragement. "Our sacrifice earns us a share in the fellowship," he replied. "We face these scum so that we may bring hope to our people. It is not our fate to die here today."

Shur turned away as the pilot's voice barked over their communications channel: "Approaching the drop point now! We will not stop, so get off my ship as soon as the doors open!"

It was time. Shur stepped carefully forward, strapping his storm rifle onto his back and taking up his position on one side of the Phantom. Puq did the same on the other as the rest of the boarding party formed up. The Phantom rumbled ominously. It is not our time to die, Shur told himself. It is not our time to die.

He looked back at the assembled boarding party and raised a clenched fist. They were all warriors of the Cleansing Blade and he was their commander. There was no place for fear now as they stepped out onto the battlefield—even if there wasn't actually a field to step out on.

"Shipmaster 'Oltem says that corvette belongs to the Cleansing Blade now!" he announced, opening a channel to his other warriors and praying that his bravado did not sound as hollow to them as it did to him. "Those pirates seem to have a different idea! Let's go serve their eviction notices!"

The warriors raised their weapons and barked in agreement. Shur braced himself against the bulkhead, feeling sick. The pilot snarled and the Phantom trembled. "Doors opening now! Move!"

The cabin was already decompressed, so Shur felt nothing as the doors slid open to reveal the inky black of space. Then if was filled with armor as the warriors on his side darted past and vanished into space. Shur waited for the last of them to jump, then forced his legs to move and propel himself out of the Phantom and into space.

For a moment he floated through the blackness, oddly peaceful as the Phantom vanished. Then he saw the burst from plasma fire and twisted his body around to see the distant outline of the Preserver as it traded fire with the second of the two corvettes who had come to relieve the Cleansing Blade of their first prize. But there was more plasma fire bursting around even closer than that, and he twisted back around to see the battered surface of the first corvette drifting just beneath him.

Shur activated his thruster pack and lurched forwards, descending on the corvette alongside his brother and sister warriors. Thirty lights winked on his helmet display like the stars around him, thirty warriors ready to fight and die at his command.

Not die, Shur reminded himself grimly. Not today.

There was a gaping hole in the corvette's superstructure just in front of him. Shur flashed an alert to the boarding teams. "Kera, take your lance and half of Puq's," he broadcasted. "Assault through the upper observation deck. Puq, bring the other half of your team with mine. We will strike through that hole."

Both sub-leaders flashed acknowledgements. Shur altered the course of his thruster pack, soaring towards the makeshift entrance. Plasma fire burst and exploded around himm; he tried to shut it out, focusing instead on their entryway and any threats that might show up to try and stop them.

He alighted on the unshielded hull, the magnetic clamps in his armor latching his feet into place on its scratched and dented surface. The rest of his team landed around the hole, advancing carefully, weapons at the ready.

Something stirred just above him. Shur jerked his head up in time to see a battered human Pelican rise up to loom over him. Its chin mounted turret turned towards them, ready to sweep him and his team from the hull like insects off a Jiralhanae's hide.

The pirate dropship never got to fire. A torrent of plasma fire tore clean through it, blowing the Pelican in half. Shur ducked as the debris cascaded overhead, followed a moment later by one of the the Preserver's Banshee fliers. Their comrades were with them, clearing the way so that they could advance.

Shur gestured to his team with new-found confidence. "Breach the ship!" he ordered, detaching from the hull and shooting into the hole. "Show these pirates what it means to challenge the Cleansing Blade!"

"A fine catch." Shipmaster Yur 'Oltem nodded at the battered corvette that now floated over the captured pirate compound. "The commander will be pleased."

The boarding party had done its job well: aside from the damage his own corvette the Preserver had dealt to its engines, the warship was relatively intact. The same could not be said for the second corvette that had come with it. The sustained assault from the Preserver's plasma torpedoes and Seraph squadrons had torn the pirate vessel to shreds. The debris from the ruined vessel now drifted lazily in the atmosphere above. It was the beginnings of a graveyard that Yur was confident would grow larger very soon.

Beside him, the boarding party's leader shifted slightly. Shur 'Vadum had commanded the attack that had captured this compound, Yur remembered. This was his second command and his second victory, another key success for the Cleansing Blade. A promising start. Shinsu had ordered Yur to watch this one; clearly the commander's perception had been spot-on.

"We paid a price for it," Shur noted. He didn't look like a successful young officer. If anything, his slumped shoulders and weary expression made it seem as if he had lost the battle. "I lost five warriors capturing that vessel."

Yur had seen this attitude before, back when he had fought as an officer in the old Covenant. It always cropped up in the young ones. If he didn't stamp it out now, it might ruin this one entirely.

"Then do not disgrace their memories by acting as if their deaths were in vain," Yur snapped, turning a cold eye on the young officer. "Five warriors for a warship is a price worth paying. They gave their lives for the Blade and we are stronger for it. They will not be the last warriors to die under your command. When entire lances must be sacrificed, when ships and all their crew must burn to ensure our victory, will you sulk and pity yourself then? Will you?"

Shur did not answer, but he did not wilt or cringe away before the Shipmaster's scolding. Instead he straightened and met Yur's eye. There was no defiance, no wounded pride in the young officer's look. The sadness was still there, but there was understanding as well. ''Yes, Shinsu was right. This one will make a fine addition to the Blade.''

"Mourn your fallen comrades," Yur continued, turning his gaze back up towards the captured corvette. "Thank their souls for your victory. Then discern why it was they died and be sure that more do not perish in the same manner the next time you take the field. Dismissed."

Shur raised an arm in salute and turned away, heading off to the landing pads where the rest of the boarding party waited to return to the Preserver. He passed through the bustling compound where captured pirates and Cleansing Blade warriors alike were hard at work repairing the damage done during the pirates' short-lived counter attack and continuing their expansion of the facility. It was slow work, but work that had to be done if this was to become a proper foothold for the Blade. Yur glanced out beyond the laborers to the makeshift training field where a lance of new initiates was conducting a mock assault on a trio of damaged Spirits. The initiates' active camouflage shimmered in the dim sunlight as watchful instructors prowled the perimeter with powered-down beam rifles, "tagging" any warrior who made the mistake of revealing themselves too heedlessly.

This was not to be the crown jewel or even a stronghold for the Cleansing Blade's revival. If the next assault proved to be too great for the Preserver and its complement to handle, Yur was fully prepared to retreat, burning everything he and his warriors had built up behind them. It was low work that offered neither honor nor glory, but it was a task that the Shipmaster took on without complaint or resentment. Had he been in search of honor or glory, he would have remained a loyal warrior of the government, never needing to forsake his keep and his bloodline and pledge his life to the Cleansing Blade.

Yur turned away from the training field and marched back towards the compound's command center. There was much work still to do. The newest prisoners would need to be interrogated and dealt with, the Preserver's damages needed to be seen to, and warriors would need to be assigned to repair and crew the captured Corvette. None of his warriors were sitting around idly, and neither could he.

"I do not like this place, Pula."

Pula glanced about the dingy market and adjusted the robes that folded loosely over her armor and weapons. Beside her, Inti 'Andal kept close to her, eying the crowd around them nervously. Sangheili and aliens from all corners of the galaxy bustled around them, haggling over every product imaginable: food, vehicles, weapons, armor, even slaves. Everywhere Pula looked, money and lives were exchanging hands. This truly was the frontier, far from the customs and niceties of Sangheili space. As long as the right coin could be produced, anything was for sale.

It turned her stomach, but her personal feelings didn't matter. ''We will thrive here. This will be the pit from which we rise.''

"It does not matter if you like it," she told her companion, forging a path through the crowd. “This is a battlefield, not some resort you picked out for yourself.”

Inti bobbed her head in assent but stayed closer to Pula than she should have. Pula considered scolding her for that as well, but decided against it. This was Inti’s first deployment away from the confines of the Cleansing Fire and its sterile, hologram-filled training rooms. Pula had seen her in action there, a keen shot with a carbine and an even defter hand with a blade. But she needed to experience the galaxy away from Sangheili planets and Sangheili-run warships; Pula had selected her for this mission in the hopes of polishing a diamond in the rough before it was snatched up by one of the Blade’s main line units. For now at least, the younger warrior’s apprehension fit their disguises well: two female merchants just off the transport here on Fell Justice, looking to find their fortunes on this miserable hive of scum and villainy.

Pula led Inti away from the market, consulting a small map on her datapad. “Is anyone following us?” she said quietly.

Inti swept a glance at the streets behind them. “None.”

“You are wrong,” Pula replied, not looking up from her map. “That Unggoy has been tailing after us since before we entered the market.”

Inti blinked. “What Unggoy?”

“The fat one arguing with that last weapons merchant.”

“How can you—“

“Learn to tell aliens apart. See beyond merely the fact that they are not Sangheili. You will never survive as an agent out here if you do not.”

Inti ducked her head. “Understood.”

“As it so happens, this tail happens to be our contact.” Pula gestured at a narrow alley between a small shanty town of prefab dwellings. “Follow me.”

They sidled down the alley. Pula leaned against a rusting, corroded wall and tapped her datapad to signal the other Blade she had brought with her to Fell Justice. Mir should be somewhere in the area, watching Pula and Inti from a distance through the human-style sniper rifle he loved so much. Inti turned outwards, watching the street they had just left.

Someone behind them entered a small, squeaking cough.

Inti moved at once, a plasma pistol whipping out from under her robes to aim at the squat Unggoy who had appeared on the other side of the alley. Pula glanced up from her datapad, first at Inti and then at the newcomer. Her companion was far too jumpy, but at least her reflexes were up to scratch.

The Unggoy raised his thick arms, palms out. “Please,” he said in fluent, albeit high-pitched, Sangheili. “I don’t particularly like it when people point weapons in my direction.”

Pula nodded to Inti, who lowered the pistol. “I apologize for my companion. It is her first assignment in a place such as this.”

The Unggoy nodded and waddled closer. “Nothing to apologize for. Give her a few weeks under me and she’ll be better than most of the agents in that farce your government calls an intelligence network.”

Inti gave Pula a questioning look. “Under him?”

“Lens,” Pula said, addressing the Unggoy. “This is Inti ‘Andal, one of the new agents the Commander has assigned to you. Inti, this is Lens. He is your new superior officer and you will afford him the same respect you would a shipmaster back in the fleet. Understood?”

Inti nodded slowly, but she looked dubious. The Unggoy known to the Cleansing Blade by the code name “Lens” gave a small chuckle.

“I wouldn’t be too worried, young one,” he said, craning his neck up at the two Sangheili. “You’ll find I’m not anywhere near as formal as the warriors from your fleet. Two agents… the Black Knight certainly is generous.”

“The Commander was under the impression that you required more, ah, striking power,” Pula said, indicating Inti. “The two with me may lack experience in your field, but you will find that they are capable fighters.”

“Yes,” Lens said, scratching idly at the mottled, pockmarked skin above his methane mask. “I did mention as much in my last report. Though you won’t mind if I want to see their skills in action myself. A ‘pop quiz,’ as my human agents might call it…”

Something rustled in the street behind them. Pula spun just as a flurry of spikes shot down the alley. They tore through her robes, only to be stopped in their tracks by the armor concealed underneath. Three Jiralhanae in battered armor stood clustered at the alley entrance, spiker rifles at the ready.

Pula reached for her energy sword, but there was no need. Without warning, two of the attackers were on the ground as if they’d been run over by an invisible train. The third only had a moment to realize that his friends were down before his head jerked slightly to the side and he joined them in the street. Blood trickled into the cracks around their bodies.

Pula turned around just in time to see the grenade tumbling towards Lens. Shoving the Unggoy roughly to the ground, she reached out and batted the grenade back out into the street beyond where it exploded. Someone screamed and there was the sound of rushing feet just beyond.

Inti was already moving. She leapt up, pushing herself off the wall and vaulting over Pula in a single bound. The younger warrior darted around the corner and vanished. A second later, Pula and Lens heard a muffled cry followed swiftly by another. The alley fell silent save for the ringing in their ears from the grenade blast.

Inti walked back into the alley, deactivating her wrist gauntlet. “Three of the, two Kig-Yar and one human. All dead.”

Lens got to his feet and dusted himself off. “Ah, yes, one of the benefits to living on Fell Justice. Nobody questions the occasional explosion or corpse in the street. That was very well done. Those hoodlums have been causing me problems for a few days now.”

Pula gave him a sidelong look. “You allowed them to track you here? What if they had killed you?”

Lens shrugged. “I was confident the Black Knight would not field incompetents. He has not disappointed me yet.”

Someone laughed from above. On the roof of one of the prefab buildings, another Sangheili emerged as if from thin air. Wearing battered, unmarked armor Mir ‘Demal rested the human sniper rifle on his knee and gazed down at the small gathering. Mir was short for a Sangheili—Pula had seen some humans who were taller than him—but he was utterly deadly with his rifle and the energy sword that hung from his belt.

“I had my eye on them when they followed our Unggoy friend out of the market,” he said, eyes twinkling with amusement. “But I wasn’t sure that they’d actually attack, so I stayed my hand.”

“They’ll do,” Lens told Pula. “They’ll both do quite nicely.”

Mir laughed again. “I think I will enjoy this assignment.”

His active camouflage melted back on and he vanished, gone without a trace to continue keeping an eye on the surrounding streets. Lens nodded to Pula. “They’ll be in good hands, I assure you. And I will be needing them more than ever.”

Pula nodded. “The frontier is on the move.”

“Indeed. The Tyraxus tribe mobilizes for war, we of the Cleansing Blade move against pirates, and I hear a particularly well-armed band of armored humans recently struck a Jiralhanae slaving camp.” Lens shook his head. “These are eventful times, to say the least.”

Pula hesitated. “Armored humans. Does that mean they have Spartans operating out here?”

“I know for a fact that Spartans are indeed working on the frontier. But my agents tell me this is another group altogether. I will gather what information I can and relay it to the Commander as quickly as possible. Though he should also know that the Sanghelios government is not the only immediate threat. They have more than just those buffoons they call agents to rely on.”

Lens turned to go and Pula indicated to Inti that she should follow. There was no need for farewells or parting orders. Her sister warrior knew her duty and what was expected of her. She would acclimate to this new environment just as Pula had when Shinsu had raised her up from the ashes. Lens and his agents already dominated the intelligence field on Fell Justice and the surrounding systems. Inti and Mir would become excellent operatives under his command.

“I am told elements of the Vadam Keep may be operating here on the frontier, independently from the normal government channels,” Lens told Pula over his stocky shoulder. “I have, of course, already informed the Black Knight as much in my latest report. However, given his, ah, interest in that bloodline’s affairs, I feel it prudent that all of his agents be on the lookout for further signs of activity.”

Pula smiled, pulling her tattered robes closer. “That blood-stained keep is no longer the Commander’s chief concern, but I will watch for their actions all the same. If they try to hinder him or cause him any harm at all…”

Lens laughed. “I can already hear the sound of corpses falling before that blade of yours. Until we meet again, Pula.”

“The fighter squadrons are in position, Commander. Their presence has not yet been detected.”

Shinsu surveyed the holo-displays from his position on the Cleansing Fire’s bridge and nodded. “The pirates seem to have taken notice of our treatment of Herrullus. They are already banding together, waiting for us to strike.”

Umbra nodded grimly, surveying the image of the planet the Cleansing Blade’s strike force was about to approach. “This is nothing like our first engagement. The pirates outnumber us nearly three to one here and we lack the Preserver and her complement. If this goes badly…”

“It will not,” Shinsu said simply. “Our advance teams have seen to that.”

In spite of the coming battle, the bridge officers couldn’t help but smile amongst themselves. The pirate vessels were about to encounter a tidal wave of malfunctions and catastrophically-timed accidents. Targeting systems would encounter bugs, misplaced plasma charges would detonate, and in some unfortunate cases entire life support systems would shut down. The Blade’s strike teams had slipped into the pirate lair just a few days before and lurked there still, ready to cause even more havoc once the battle commenced.

“Relay the message to all ships,” Shinsu ordered. “As soon as the Fire enters the enemy’s sensor range, we commence the assault.”

Umbra turned to the bridge crew. “When this day is over, we will have claimed this world, its resources, and the ships of those pirates who thought they could cower here in safety, free from retribution for their murder and thievery.”

There were nods all around. The crew was ready for this, ready for another challenge. From his position, Shinsu let out a short chuckle.

“They certainly did not count on our murder and thievery, eh Umbra?” he said, folding his arms. “I believe our newfound benefactors will be most pleased with this little endeavor.”

The pirates who were about to feel the fury of the Cleansing Blade had made the mistake of raiding ships belonging to the wrong people. Those same people had made it clear to the Blade’s agents that they would be most grateful to anyone who might put a stop to those raids once and for all. Shinsu had been more than happy to offer his services, particularly when he’d learned that the newest addition to his crew had experience with this particular settlement.

Han crouched near Shinsu, idly reviewing data on a small tactical screen at his feet. He had traded out his slave’s rags for better-kept human clothes that he’d picked up on the last port of call the Cleansing Fire had stopped in. A pistol hung from a shoulder holster on the tactical vest he’d donned over the new clothes. A few bandages were still visible, covering the places where the Jiralhanae had marked him.

Shinsu glanced down at the young human. “I must thank you again for your assistance here. Your information on their defenses was quite enlightening.”

Han bobbed his head, not looking up from the pad. “I ran some jobs for these guys a few months back. Left when they wanted me to start helping them ship slaves. I don’t mind selling them out one bit. Besides, it’s fun watching you guys operate. Makes me want to stick around even longer.”

“Well then,” Shinsu turned away. “I would hate to disappoint you now that I have raised your expectations so high.”

He signaled the navigator. It was time to advance. “Let’s get started, shall we?”

Post 3
Five years ago, Death’s End had been founded by a coalition of feuding pirates who had been fighting each other for so long that neither their chieftains nor their crews could remember exactly why they hated each other so much. So rather than ruin themselves with endless fighting, the pirates had banded together to ruin others. They had overrun Death’s End, enslaved its colonists, and established one of the most successful hubs for criminal trading outside of the Nexus. With its shipyards, thriving black market, and simple code of law (Don’t shoot at us and we won’t have to torture, mutilate, and enslave you) Death’s End had come to be known as the unofficial capital of the Equinox Sound. Billions of credits’ worth of drugs, slaves, weapons, and all other manner of goods had passed through the planet, a pirate’s paradise of lawlessness and greed.

No longer.

Now the vessels that had come to the planet in search of fortune now fled the system as fast as their Slipspace drives could warm up. The cruisers and destroyers that had made up the defense fleet listed aimlessly or burned up in the atmosphere as the Cleansing Blade strike force drifted amidst the ruins, dispatching boarding parties to the disabled ships and blasting apart any pirate suicidal enough to continue the fight. The shipyard dockmasters sent desperate hails to the Cleansing Fire, lowering their defenses and allowing squads of the Blade’s warriors to march into their command centers and seize control. The pirates on the surface who could not evacuate in time could only wait helplessly as their attackers secured the upper atmosphere. A few of the less sensible pirate chieftains turned their weapons on themselves or set their ships to self-destruct. In less than three hours, this small fleet of outsiders had changed the face of the Equinox Sound forever.

Aboard the bridge of the Cleansing Fire, Shinsu surveyed the battle reports from the rest of the strike force. He tapped a finger thoughtfully on one of the command consoles, eyes narrowed in thought. Umbra and the rest of the bridge officers watched their commander carefully, waiting for his pronouncement.

Shinsu turned away from the reports. “We are committed now,” he said calmly. “Umbra, reorganize the strike force. Get the Caregiver and the Bearer of Burdens to the nearest undamaged dry dock and have their crew enact repairs. The Avenger and her escort will be in charge of organizing the ships we captured. Assign skeleton crews to all of them and have them rendezvous back with the Preserver at the base camp. We don’t have time to fold them into the strike force.”

He turned to the navigations officer. “Bring the Fire down into the atmosphere. Prepare for a surgical bombardment of the three most prominent settlements. Squadrons from the Avenger will assist us in identifying targets. Hurry, I want all forces ready to withdraw from this system within the next planetary cycle.”

Umbra blinked. “We aren’t staying?”

“No, we are not. Distribute the orders, Umbra. Every second we remain here talking is a second lost.” Shinsu turned back to his command console and opened a link to the Fire’s security officer. “Major, the Kig-Yar vessel we captured during the fighting, the one that attempted to slip by us. Identify its shipmaster and bring her aboard. I have questions that need answering.”

The Kig-Yar shipmistress was a bold one, Shinsu had to give her that. She folded her arms and glared up at him as he entered her cell. “I don’t know who you and your warriors think they are,” she hissed angrily. “But you are all dead. You may as well go crawling back to Sanghelios now. It is the only chance you have to escape any of this.”

Shinsu clasped his hands behind his back and returned the glare with calm interest. “Oh? I wasn’t aware that I was in so much danger. Would it trouble you to enlighten me?”

“You can attack chieftains,” the shipmistress snarled. “You can raid colonies, prey on trade routes. There is no end to the strife in this sector. But no one attacks Death’s End. No one!”

“And yet it appears that I have done so. Quite successfully too, I might add, with a rather paltry strike force. I’m surprised the place survived as long as it did.”

“Are you really so stupid, you Sangheili buffoon?” the Kig-Yar spat. “You have just destabilized this entire sector! In a week’s time every pirate with a crate to fly in on will be swarming here from every corner of the frontier. Not that you will be alive by then. The families of the ones whose ships you just burned will see to that.”

“Perhaps.” Shinsu regarded the shipmistress coolly. “But that is my concern, not yours. Perhaps you could explain to me what a warship belonging to the Khok clan is doing here, in this den of pirates.”

The shipmistress laughed scornfully. “You ignorant fool, I stole my vessel from the Khok years ago. My crew is my clan, I have no other.”

“Then you must be the most dutiful Kig-Yar I have ever met. According to your ship’s manifest you have sent tribute back to the Khok after nearly every raid. Clearly you wished to repay the debt you had incurred with your theft.”

The shipmistress stared at him, the spines on her neck quivering with anger. “Don’t mock me, Sangheili. Perhaps I am a privateer in the Khok’s service. By the laws of my people it is a legitimate means of collecting revenue. What of it?”

Shinsu raised a conciliatory hand. “Nothing of it. Based off your manifests, you and your crew have many successful raids to your credit. Though I wonder why a privateer such as yourself would lie to protect her employers. It is a legitimate business method after all.”

The shipmistress only glared at him. Shinsu sighed and shook his head. “You are not the first Khok ship I have encountered in the Equinox. Perhaps the excessive presence of their privateers here violates some sort of law I am unaware of. Regardless, it doesn’t concern me in the slightest. I am not interested in blackmailing your clan.”

“Then what do you want, Sangheili? To humiliate me here before you enslave my crew and take my ship?”

“On the contrary. When we are done speaking, you will be returned to your ship unharmed and released to go about your business.”

“I am no fool, Sangheili. What do you want in return?”

Shinsu bowed his head. “Simply put, I seek an audience with your clan leaders. Grant me that and I assure you no ship under my command will ever fire upon a Khok vessel again.”

The shipmistress watched him carefully, searching for some trap in his words. “The clan leaders may not want to hear anything some Sangheili pirate has to say.”

“Then tell them that the Black Knight of Sanghelios is willing to come into their territory with only a small vessel. If I must come alone to have this audience, I will do so. Relay this message and impress upon them that time is short. As you mentioned, this entire sector is about to become a very dangerous place for me.”

“They will want to know what you wish to speak to them about,” the shipmistress warned. “If you only wish to seek their protection from the storm you have unleashed, they will kill you on the spot.”

Shinsu shook his head, spreading his mandibles in a tight smile. “Hardly. Tell your masters that I am going to give them the Equinox Sound and everything in it. That should be enough to secure my audience, don’t you think?”

Ongoing

Post 1
"You can't be serious, human."

"Do I look like I'm joking?"

"Under that helmet, you don't look like anything. Does it make you feel safe, or are you even uglier than the rest of your kind?"

Ura 'Kulem worked his mandibles irritably and folded his arms over his cracked and battered armor. Behind him, his mixed crew of Sangheili and humans rested their hands casually on their weapons and began to spread out around the hangar, moving to form a loose horseshoe around the single human who had been waiting to greet them upon their arrival on Fell Justice. The human in question, faceless behind a dirty suit of light armor, sat on a storage crate in front of Ura. A human shotgun rested against his shoulder and he cocked his helmet at Ura, by all appearances unconcerned with the dozen armed and armored killers currently joining forces to give him the evil eye.

The human sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. "I guess I didn't phrase the question right. When I asked to have a look at your cargo, what I meant was are you the same guys who've been hitting those trade routes out in the Chimeras?"

Ura traded glances with Britta, his second in command. The scarred human female took a step forward and gave the strange questioner what Ura gathered was an extremely rude gesture among their kind. "You can take that question and cram it straight up your ass, you little jack-off. What are you, some kind of cop?"

The human snorted. "Yeah, because the police are just looking for an excuse to get themselves shot up in a shit heap like this. I don't think this part of town even has a police force. Look, can you guys just make it easier on yourselves and cooperate here?"

Looking closer, Ura realized that this human wasn't particularly large, even for his own diminutive species. A grubby poncho was draped over his armor, covering his upper body and giving him a hunched, bedraggled look. The armor had definitely seen better days; every inch of it, from the gauntlets to the broad visor had been pitted and scarred by countless cuts and blows. Not that was at all out of place out here on the frontier. This strange, insolent stranger could easily have fit in with Ura's crew, had he not about to be killed by them.

Britta moved fast. She yanked up her needler and sprayed the ground in front of the stranger's crate with purple shards. He let out a surprised yelp and leaped up to crouch like a frightened animal atop his makeshift chair as the shards exploded beneath him. The sight of the armored figure quivering atop the crate was so ludicrous that Ura couldn't help but laugh. The rest of his crew joined in, roaring with laughter even as they unslung their weapons and trained them on the armored stranger.

"Not so tough after all, you little shit," Britta said, reloading the needler. "Boss, let's waste him before he does the same to any more of our time."

"A waste of time this might be, but it is an amusing waste." Ura fingered the energy sword on his belt. "It seems that any one of your kind can get their hands on armor these days, regardless of how pathetic they are. Perhaps we should take him aboard, keep him as a pet." This got another laugh out of the crew. They hadn't been expecting this kind of entertainment so soon after landing.

The stranger glanced up at Ura and shook his head, though his trembling was visible even through the armor. "Oh, come on, give me a break here. Can't you morons just show me the stuff you stole and get this over with? What do you say, oh great and powerful shipmaster? Hell, I might even let some of you clowns walk away in one piece."

The amusement was over. Ura did not know what this human's problem was, but no one insulted him in front of his crew. "Kill him," he ordered Britta.

She grinned. "With pleasure."

The human sighed as every weapon in the hangar leveled on him. "Why can't anyone ever be reasonable--?"

His question was drowned out by the roar of gunfire. Every pirate in the crew fired at once, riddling the crate and its occupant with bullets and plasma bolts. The stranger twitched and writhed for a moment before vanishing amidst the barrage. The crew kept it up for a few seconds longer, working off their space-faring anxieties on this poor, delusional simpleton.

Ura raised a hand and the firing died down. He squinted at the smoking crate, searching for whatever remained of the stranger. Now that he had time to think about it, perhaps he should have just ordered one person to do the shooting. The armor the fool had been wearing might have been worth scavenging. But as the smoke cleared, he couldn't see any trace of the stranger amidst the burnt remains of the crate.

Britta blinked. "Where'd he go?"

Beside her, one of Ura's fellow Sangheili raised a plasma rifle and aimed up at the catwalks criss-crossing the hangar's ceiling. "There! Up there!"

Every eye in the hangar jerked up in time to see the stranger crouching on one of the catwalks. Ura blinked. "How did he--"

The crew didn't even wait for his command. They sprayed the catwalks with fire, for all the good it did them. The stranger simply vanished again as the bullets and plasma hurtled up at him.

"Cease fire, you fools!" Ura spat furiously. "Stop wasting ammunition! We need to get some carbines and--"

He never finished the order. Something roared and flashed behind him; he spun to see a plume of fire and smoke arching up from their attack shuttle's engines. Before his eyes, a second blast ripped apart the cockpit and his crew with debris.

The hangar was suddenly filled with even more explosions. A grenade landed a few feet away and scattered four of his crew like dolls. The rest of the crew panicked and fired in all directions as two more grenades dropped down from the catwalks and blasted away their shields and armor.

Everything was happening too fast for Ura to process. He stood rooted in place, trying to see through the smoke, trying to see the rest of his crew, trying to figure out what in the name of all the gods was happening...

Something far heavier than a grenade dropped down from the catwalks. A dark, Sangheili-shaped shadow darted away amidst the smoke before Ura could catch more than a glimpse of it. An energy sword hissed to life; its activation was followed by sharp, short screams.

Ura activated his own blade with a trembling hand. He spun to his right as someone fired a shotgun. Britta fell in front of him, clutching desperately at a mangled and bleeding arm. Ura saw another shadow jump over her body and dart towards him. He snarled furiously and swung at the stranger's helmeted head as the grubby vermin bore down on him.

The armored stranger ducked under the hasty swing. Something struck Ura's legs and he found himself on the ground, his shields down and the wind knocked from his lungs. The stranger loomed over him, a shock prod in one hand and a shotgun in the other. Ura didn't even have time to scream before his entire body was spasming uncontrollably. As his vision dimmed, he saw Britta push herself to her feet, a pistol in her remaining arm. The stranger dropped the prod as he turned to face her. The last thing Ura saw before everything went black was the stranger driving a knife up through his lieutenant's throat...

The smoke floated up to the top of the hangar. The fires on the attack shuttle were already beginning to die down, leaving the shattered hulk of a ship looming forlornly over the corpses of its crew. As Simon-G294 bent over Ura 'Kulem and cuffed the unconscious pirate's arms behind his back, he was grateful for the helmet filters that kept out the stench of blood and smoke. Not that he wasn't used to it by now. It was just a small mercy, a welcome luxury on a small-time job like this.

He reached under his poncho and pulled out a small syringe. Ura was out cold, but it never hurt to be careful. Simon jammed the syringe into the Sangheili's neck and looked around the still-clearing hangar as he administered the sedative. "Hey, Tuka, how we doing?"

"Eleven pirates here, along with their captain," the young Sangheili reported. He emerged from the smoke, dragging two pirates behind him. "We were told there would be fourteen in total."

"I counted two in the cockpit when I was planting the bombs." Simon jerked a thumb towards the shuttle's smoldering prow. "They were still inside when I lit the place up. Think I got 'em?"

"I don't think they will be raiding any more cargo ships," Tuka agreed. He indicated the two pirates behind him. "I was able to bring these down with non-lethal blows. We can turn them in with the captain."

There was no hint of reproach in Tuka's voice, but Simon couldn't help glancing over at the woman he'd stabbed. Her neck was covered in blood, her mouth agape and her eyes wide with shock. He'd had the humbler prod in his hand when she'd gotten up, but he'd dropped it and gone straight for his knife the second he'd seen her move. She didn't have to die, Cassandra's voice murmured from a treacherous corner of his mind. You could have figured out a way not to kill them.

Simon busied himself with making sure Ura was properly secured. He wouldn't be losing any sleep over a few dead murderers. Combat was combat and he was being paid to make sure these morons couldn't murder any more freighter crews. "Nice thinking. Maybe we can squeeze some extra credits out of the bounty."

Tuka nodded and hauled the two unconscious pirates over beside Ura. His armor had once been blue, marking him as a Minor warrior within the Storm Covenant, but he had repainted it black with red trimmings. Simon dimly remembered Tuka telling him they were the colors of Clan Refum, his bloodline. A carbine was slung over the young warrior's back, though he hadn't needed to squeeze off a single shot. His energy sword had done all the real work.

"Your holograms never cease to amaze me," Tuka observed as they hauled the dead pirates off to the side of the hangar. He squatted down to search one of the Sangheili corpses and passed Simon a small orb: the holo-drone that had drawn the pirates' attention upwards after they'd opened fire. Simon took the drone and slipped it into one of the pouches under his poncho.

"They've got good programming," Simon replied. "They fool all the sensors and idiots like these love wasting ammo on them. Works every time."

"Indeed." Tuka pulled two fifty-credit chits out of the Sangheili's belt and slipped one into one of his own pouches, offering the second to Simon. "They impersonate your reaction to being shot at very well."

"Yeah, very funny." Simon took the chit. "How about next time you distract the pirates while I plant the bombs?"

Tuka glanced back at the scorched shuttle. "Perhaps you used a too many explosives?"

"Nah, I only needed to use three charges. You just need to know where to stick 'em. Besides, it's not like we're taking the ship or anything."

"If you say so." They continued picking through the bodies. The bounty on Ura was a generous one, as far as bounties on jumped-up scumbags went, but there was no sense in leaving perfectly good credit chits and power cells lying unclaimed on pirate corpses. It was just common sense.

''Just another job. Another firefight. Another paycheck.'' It was all in a day's work out on the frontier. The fiercest and most brutal creatures in the galaxy lived day to day in these lawless hellholes. Simon and Tuka weren't anything special when you got right down to it. A Spartan deserter and a Covenant deserter eking out a living with odd jobs, keeping under the radar of the countless organizations who wanted them dead. It wasn't exactly high living, but that was just how the frontier was: a life of loneliness and scavenging.

Ura and his crew might have been a pack of murdering scumbags, but Simon couldn't really hold any of that against them considering the things he'd done over the course of his short, violent life. Popping into their business and ruining their lives was nothing personal. Get the job done, collect the money, repeat. It was a mantra that had served Simon well here on the frontier and he repeated it to himself now as he wiped blood off a dead pirate's combat knife. Stick to business, don't piss the wrong people off, and try not to wonder how exactly your life had gotten this far down the shitter.

"Well, that about does it for these guys." Simon straightened and dropped the last of the credit chits into his pouch. "Guess we shouldn't have expected to find that much on them. Well, let's get a move on."

He glanced at Tuka. "How long did the dockmaster say we had until we needed to clear out?"

"He will not interfere as long as we let him have the shuttle." Tuka cast another glance at the ruined cockpit. "Perhaps we should finish our business here before he realizes that it is no longer in working condition."

"Right." Simon jerked a thumb at the three prisoners. "You go grab the 'Hog and drive these assholes down to the collection office. Here."

He tossed his partner a datapad. "The info on the payment is all there. I went ahead and sorted out how we'd divide the cash."

Tuka examined the datapad and shot him a look. "You seem to be collecting a significantly larger portion of the reward than I am."

Simon shrugged. "Hey, my bombs, my holograms, my grenades. All you needed to do was jump in and swing your sword a couple times."

"I also paid off the dockmaster."

"Fine, add that to your cut. Since when do you care about the money? I thought you just wanted to smite all the criminals, bring honor to Refum or whatever you guys do in your spare time."

"Just because I look to gain more from this pursuit than money doesn't mean I'll let you cheat me out of my cut."

"Yeah, yeah." Simon picked his way towards the shuttle. "Just go collect the bounty. And figure out where the hell Diana's uploaded herself this time. Don't let her pull that Assembly nonsense on you again, she can't just go disappearing when we're on the job."

He'd taken the liberty of deactivating the locks on the shuttle's cargo bay when he'd been planting the bombs. The hatch slid open to reveal dozens of tightly packed boxes lined up in neat rows. The pirates had taken extra care to store this cargo. Simon felt a sinking feeling as he approached the crates and removed the nearest one's lid.

"Drugs," he muttered, prodding the contents with the barrel of his shotgun. Apparently the freighters Ura and his gang had raided hadn't been quite so innocent after all. A quick inspection revealed that every crate in the bay was filled to the brim with a gold mine of narcotics.

If he and Tuka were careful, they could make a fortune off of this haul. One crate alone would be worth twice as much as the bounty on Ura's head. It was the opportunity for more money than he'd seen in a very long time, enough to really set him up for a good long while. His fingers twitched at the thought of all the cash.

With an angry huff, he tore the lids off all the crates and opened a small case of incendiary explosives. He'd need to do this fast, before he came to his senses. Already he felt ill at the thought of losing out on all the cash. His hand hesitated as he prepared to drop an incendiary charge into the first crate.

Wrecking the drugs wouldn't change anything out here. The junkies would get their fix one way or another; the only difference was that he wouldn't be rich. Tuka would be angry, but he'd come around after they crashed a few more pirate gangs. Hell, Tuka didn't even have to know. No one did, if he played things right. All he was doing was wasting a fortune and some perfectly good incendiaries. ''Just put the bombs away and sell the shit. Solve some problems, spare yourself the trouble. It's not like you're any different from Ura, just stop pretending...''

He gritted his teeth and conjured up a mental image of every drug-addled corpse he'd seen lying in the streets or on pallets in Cassandra's clinic. He threw faces on them, faces like Emily and Adam and all the other kids from Mamore. Tiny, huddled bodies shivering in the cold.

The first incendiary fell into the crate.

The rest of the crates were rigged at double time. Simon felt nauseous. The thought of all that money going up in smoke was more than he could bear, but he forced his body to move, setting up a timer and turning back towards the hangar bay. He crouched near the ramp and raised the incendiaries' detonator. His finger quivered on the trigger.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck!" He wrapped the detonator in both hands and squeezed. If the drugs let off a stench as they burned, his helmet filters didn't let him smell it.

He didn't feel relieved when it was over, just far more worn out than he'd been after the firefight with the pirates. He meandered back into the cargo bay to check over the crates and their ruined contents. What a stupid waste.

He drew a combat knife and passed it anxiously from hand to hand. He needed to get a grip. The opportunity for a fortune was gone, just like so many other opportunities in his life. There was no point in sulking over it now.

If he hadn't indulged his self-pity with one last morose glance into the cargo bay, he would have missed it entirely. There was a large, thick box in the very back of the shuttle. He'd mistaken it for a generator of some kind when he'd gone over the crates, but now that he looked closer he realized that it was another crate.

Probably more drugs.

He tried to keep his mind detached this time. No more dwelling on the what-ifs, no more wearing himself out on the alternatives. If there were more drugs in this bulky, vac-sealed crate he would burn them just like the others. He would. Without question. Definitely.

Maybe.

This crate was far more complex than the others. A small screen on one side displayed an array of statistics; whatever was inside was being kept in a temperature-regulated environment. Simon frowned and tapped the crate's release button. It hissed and the top slid open.

Simon reached for the edge but froze when he heard something rustle inside. His instincts took over and his shotgun whipped up from under his poncho. He kept it trained on the crate as he advanced slowly, ready to shoot first and ask questions later if whatever was inside turned out to have a taste for armored human.

A slender tendril snaked out of the crate. It touched the barrel of the shotgun and froze, then seemed to take an interest in the weapon and extended itself further down the length of the barrel. Several more tendrils emerged, followed by what looked like a snake with its head encased in rough plated metal.

Simon stared at the Engineer and it stared back, letting out a soft chirping sound. Simon would have felt ridiculous holding something so harmless at gunpoint had the Engineer not been saddled with an explosive harness that was definitely not harmless.

He activated a communications link inside his helmet. "Tuka, it's me. I've run into something... interesting back in the hangar. I'm gonna need some help over here."

Post 1
"I'm in position, Carolina. You and your boys all set?"

"That we are. Have fun, guys. See you on the far side."

Agent Texas cut the transmission by sending a simulated blinking motion to her armour. She shifted from her prone position at the side of a medium-sized hill and slid the two SMGs on her sides off her armour, checking the weapons one more time. Satisfied, she glanced sideways at her partner for the mission. "On three."

Agent Montana nodded wordlessly, and Tex could almost see the focus in her partner's eyes from behind the silver-blue visor. The plan was already set. There was no reason for delays.

Both Freelancers jumped up and out of cover as two simultaneous grey blurs, almost invisible in the darkness as they closed the distance on a trio of Jiralhanae sentries that had just passed not twenty feet from their hiding place. Tex's SMGs sprayed a rapid discharge of silenced rounds at two of the Jiralhanae, sparking off their power armour but not penetrating. They flinched nonetheless, and fumbled to bring up their weapons, but by then she had already closed in on them. One metal fist collided with a Jiralhanae head with enough force to cave it in partially and splinter several pieces of the unfortunate alien's skull, but before they could react, she had already run past them.

The two remaining Jiralhanae turned without thinking, giving Montana the chance to slip her combat knife under one of the enemy's helmets and slit his throat. She gave the last sentry enough time to turn around and present his unprotected eye sockets to her. And surely enough, he obliged. The barrel of the SM6C/SOCOM jerked slightly as the bullet discharged through the alien's eye and into his brain, dropping him with barely a sound.

Three guards per patrol, Tex thought, prepping an explosive and sliding it under one of the bodies. ''Better than two, but not enough to stop us. Not even close.'' She slipped a second explosive onto the reinforced main doors they were standing in front of.

"Let's move, quickly," Montana said over the COM. "It's only a matter of time before we're detected, and Jiralhanae can smell blood easily."

Tex nodded, engaging her active camouflage. She had forgotten for a moment that Jiralhanae had an excellent sense of smell. Sometimes there were drawbacks to not having some of the abilities that a human being had.

Montana had already disappeared, no doubt to carry out her part of the plan. Tex made sure her camouflage was fully functioning before heading off to do her part. She keyed her COM. "Wyoming, got your eye on me?"

"Of course, my dear," drawled Wyoming's voice in her helmet. "You're running towards three more of those Brute chaps. Should I take care of them?"

Tex ducked into the shadows of the camp wall as she saw the trio of Jiralhanae rounding the corner. Though it was unlikely that they could spot her blur in the dead of the night, it didn't hurt to be careful. For now, at least. "That's alright, Wyoming. Let's not leave too many bodies until we're supposed to."

From his position on a top hill a hundred yards away, Wyoming shifted his sniper scope to where Tex and Montana had left the bodies of the sentries. "Roger. I've got movement here. Looks like they're taking the bait."

"Get ready then," Tex said. She waited for the sentries to walk past her before continuing, trying to keep her movements silent. "I'm almost at the objective. Keep your attention on the doors. I'll be fine."

"Way ahead of you, Tex," Wyoming murmured, aiming his sniper rifle at the explosives she had attached to the slave camp facility's main doors. He waited for the group of Jiralhanae emerging from all directions to gather around the bodies of the sentries before resting his finger on the trigger. "Knock knock, mates."

He fired, and the round flew straight and true, dead centre on the explosive on the doors. The entrance was blown wide open, and a split second later, the explosives Tex had hidden under the sentries went off. The explosives had been set to detonate as soon as the one on the door had done so, and in the blink of an eye, the gathered Jiralhanae were consumed in a deadly fireball.

A bit unorthodox, perhaps, Wyoming thought, adjusting his aim on the Jiralhanae he had sighted inside the camp. But I suppose it's all part of the plan.

Meanwhile, Tex heard the commotion and knew she didn't have a lot of time. She had no doubt that Montana would do her job, but they were here for more than one reason.

There was somewhere between twenty-eight and thirty-two slaves at the camp they were attacking. Human slaves, and as soon as the Freelancers had found out about them, everyone had agreed to try and free every slave they could find. They were currently in Jiralhanae territory, and the goal was to get them out and into the safety of the nearest human colony. But we only have one Slipspace-capable ship, and a limited amount of resources, Tex had pointed out. How are we going to do this without risking our only ride out of here?

Carolina hadn't seemed too worried. You leave that to me, she had said.

So they made a plan. And then they added a few elements to make sure everything worked out the way it was supposed to, with a reward or two for them to keep for their troubles. With every camp the Freelancers raided, they also took a fair share of the riches that the Jiralhanae were so fond of stashing. It was pretty much bizarre technology and other materials none of the Freelancers really wanted to keep, but Tex knew Iris Sabio would be willing to trade most of the resources for a fair share of money. And for whatever even she didn't have any use for, there was always the option of selling the leftovers to a keen-eyed Kig-Yar.

Taking what we need so we can protect humanity, she thought as she climbed over the back wall and made her way stealthily through the camp. Just like we always do.

She made it into the camp's main facility without any trouble and disengaged her camouflage. She would probably run into one or two Jiralhanae, but this was a slave camp, not a high-command centre teeming with enemies. The security here was enough to keep the slaves in line but was laughable to someone of her skill.

And sure enough, as she sprinted towards the small facility's data centre, she saw Jiralhanae emerging from the doorways, guns trained on her. ''Dumb gorillas. They're so confrontational and eager to kill something that they don't even think a plan through.'' Almost carelessly, she took the C70 shotgun off her back and dashed through the mass of aliens, firing the automatic weapon almost point-blank into their hides with little pause. Shotgun casings clattered to the floor as she reloaded the gun swiftly. She cleared the Jiralhanae group before they noticed the SLE7 grenades at their feet. The explosions barely died down before she walked smoothly through the doors into the data chamber.

It was deserted inside. The Chieftain of the camp was either not present, or Montana was doing a very good job of keeping him busy. Either way, Tex quickly inserted a data chip into the main terminal, and waited as it leeched every bit of wealth out of the system. A fair portion of it would be currency that could be converted to cR, but whoever was doing the providing sent more resources to keep the camps running than actual money. Nonetheless, the data obtained would contain access codes to numerous resource storage caches not far from each camp, and it even came with the location of the sites to make things easier.

"Tex? I've got thirty-one prisoners accounted for," said Montana over the COM. "Wyoming's moving up, but I need you here ASAP. In about five minutes I'll have a tough time keeping them alive on my own."

Tex watched the blinking red light on the data chip to flash green before withdrawing it. "Copy that. I'm on my way now."

She turned around in time to see a fancy-armoured Jiralhanae standing in the doorway wielding a gravity hammer. She snapped up the shotgun and managed to squeeze off two shots, both of which flew wide and just skimmed the alien, before the hammer came down and cracked open the floor. The shockwave knocked Tex back into the terminal and her weapon went flying away. Shields flickering, she rapidly drew her SMGs and put every single bullet she had on him, leaping to and fro to avoid his hammer.

The next blow destroyed the terminal, and Tex soared over the Chieftain's head and landed behind him. She pulled out her combat knife and stabbed it into the back of his hand, prompting him to howl and release the weapon. She brought up one SMG and pointed it at his head, prepared to rip his face open with a burst of gunfire.

But the Chieftain was still holding onto the hammer with his other hand. He swung wildly but with a blinding speed, sending the hammer's business end flying towards her head. She ducked, and the weapon whistled as it flew past her head. She primed another SLE7 and activated its sticky function, attaching the explosive to the Chieftain's crotch before leaping away.

The grenade detonated in a blue explosion, which was quickly followed by a yellow-white one as the fragmentation charge also detonated. One of the Chieftain's limbs landed on Tex's shoulder, and it was too bloodied to identify. She quickly brushed it off and ran out of the facility.

She immediately spotted Montana and Wyoming along with the slaves that had just been rescued. They were all in the centre of the camp, with what looked like an entire platoon of Jiralhanae bearing down on them. What kept them alive were all the stationary energy shields deployed in a circle around them. And for good measure, there were numerous bubble shields set up within perimeter and the civilians were huddled inside them.

Mont really is a quick thinker, Tex thought as she squeezed between two of the deployed shields, switching her close-quarters weapons for the more accurate Covenant-issue rifles lying around. "We going to kill all of them?" she asked Montana as they fired bursts of needles from their acquired rifles.

"Nah, just making sure you showed up so you don't get left behind," Montana replied, blowing apart one alien as she covered him with the deadly rounds.

Wyoming had opted to keep using his sniper rifle. "As much as I like a last stand, chaps, I do hope our dear Carolina won't be much longer now. I'm running out of bullets here."

"She won't let us down," Tex said, reloading her rifle and sweeping up another handful of needles from the ground. She glanced once at the slaves inside the bubble shields. They were dirty, ragged, and miserable-looking. They weren't out of danger yet, and it was clear that they knew that. Well, I hope she shows up soon. The enemies were getting closer, and there didn't seem to be any shortage of them.

"Take cover!" Montana shouted. She ducked into the formation of bubble shields, and Tex did the same. Wyoming fired off a couple more shots before he followed suit. Beside them, the slaves were trembling with fear as the gleam of the Jiralhanae's eyes could be seen even in the darkness. Now all they had to do was close in...

The almost inaudible sound of Seraph fighters were heard for a brief moment before the fighters appeared out of the night sky. And then a hail of plasma torpedoes rained down on the camp, tearing holes in the walls and buildings. The ground shook as it was bombarded with bright blue explosives, prompting some of the slaves to duck their heads beneath their arms. One by one, the stationary shields flickered out and died as the torpedoes blew apart the generators. The Jiralhanae were running for cover, but to no avail; their silhouettes were outlined in flashes of blue and white before they were vaporized one after another. Tex waited grimly for the plasma storm to pass, hoping that the bubble shields would not fail.

And then it was over. The ruined camp became silent as the Freelancers stepped out of their cover, with the slaves following apprehensively. The grounds were littered with wreckage and half-melted remains of Jiralhanae corpses, and the only sound was the hiss of steam rising from the craters that the torpedoes had left.

"Hope that wasn't too rough for you guys," came Agent Colorado's voice from over the COM.

"Not at all," said Montana with a laugh, waving at the lead Seraph in formation above them. "You enjoying your new toy, Hal?"

"Once we all learned how to actually target with the torpedoes, sure," he replied. "Truth be told, some of us just had to fire randomly by the time we got here. I'm surprised we didn't accidentally kill at least one of you."

The banter was cut short as a Phantom swooped in on the remains of the camp. Its hatches were down and Carolina was standing in the troop bay. Tex led Montana, Wyoming, and the slaves towards the dropship. "Well, come on then. Don't step in the craters, unless you fancy radiation poisoning and having your foot burned off."

"Oh, very charming," Wyoming quipped.

"I was talking to them," Tex pointed out. "You don't need your feet to be a sniper, do you, Wyoming?"

"Glad to see you're so concerned for my well-being, Tex," he replied sarcastically, climbing aboard the Phantom. Tex didn't reply to this as she and Montana helped boost the slaves up two at a time, and Carolina and Wyoming would pull them on board. Everyone was soon secured, and the dropship took off with the Seraphs flanking it.

Carolina was looking over the slaves. "Well done," she said. "This all of them?"

"No casualties," Montana said, though she said this without smugness. That was how Montana always was, matter-of-fact when it came to the mission and never allowing for arrogance.

"Good," said Carolina. "We got the corvette. York is leading the others to clear it out right now. Once we secure it, we'll meet up with the three teams raiding the other camps. Which one's the closest from here?"

"North's team is thirty klicks southwest of here," Tex said. "After we pick them up, we should have enough numbers to get started on looting the resource caches."

Carolina nodded. With only twenty-seven Freelancers in their group, sometimes it was difficult to get too many things done at once. But they were proficient and knew how to do their jobs properly, and Tex wouldn't trade any one of them for a hundred soldiers.

"For the next five days, our task is to fill the corvette with every last being we can liberate," said Carolina. She turned to look at the slaves, who were listening to her words in silence. "All you're asked to do is to wait until we've done that. Then you'll be flown out of Jiralhanae space and back to your colonies."

They simply stared at her, as if uncomprehending.

"You'll have to stay here, in enemy territory, for a little while," she said. "But that doesn't make you their slaves anymore. You're all free."

And then Tex saw the understanding show on their faces. It was followed by relief, which blossomed into hope, and then broke out into pure, unchecked joy. And as she listened to the sound of their broken laughs and their cheering, she felt that for the first time since the Freelancers arrived, what they were doing really was worth something after all.

Post 1
Gavin had a theory about starships, and it was that, like pets, ships tended to resemble their captains. Not in a literal sense, really, but in a way that once you had a good look at the ship, you probably had a good idea of who the man that owned it was.

For example, he’d once known a squat little Unggoy who’d had both the ambition and intelligence to pilot an orbital harbor tug, but the barnacle-covered creature was a hopeless slob. The Grunt had filled the thing’s compartments with discarded methane canisters and fast-food moa burger wrappers, and that dented little tug was the only ship he’d ever seen that spilled when the boarding ramp was lowered.

Likewise, the officer of the UNSC Navy standing in his dilapidated old freighter’s cargo bay had the same sharp lines and uniform gray as the patrol boat he’d come from. Without bothering to look up from the data pad he held, the Lieutenant asked, “You have licenses for carrying this particular sort of cargo?”

Gavin sighed in exasperation and just about beat his head against the crate filled with civilian rifles they stood next to, fed up with the routine the officer was reciting. Squeezing shut his eyes, he motioned at the datapad and replied irritably, “Yes I’ve got the paperwork filled out, it’s all there in the file. Scroll down.”

Fortunately, the Lieutenant had patience enough for the both of them. He dragged his finger up across the tablet’s surface, and nodded once he came to the page in Gavin’s credentials he was looking for. “Ah, very good. I only ask because it’s an unusual amount of weaponry for a ship like yours to be transporting.”

A ship like his. A ship like his was an Argo-class freighter, probably one of the last examples of the transports that’d once been known to fill the skies over every minor and major human colony, decades before the Covenant war. The shape of its hull evoked memories a generation old of days when humanity had been looking to expand, colonizing new planets at the edge of a final, never-ending frontier. Times which had come again after the war ended.

Under a hundred meters long, it was a speck of stardust compared to the grand warships of Earth and Covenant empires. Its hull plating was a checkerboard of bare metal, with old plating riveted alongside new parts that’d replaced ones older still, but its smooth silhouette still made it prettier than a big, bulky -class cargo ship. Two rotating thrusters were mounted just aft of her sleek nose and cabin to make her dance nimbly in atmosphere or out, while a heavier pair on her tail provided the real kick. And she had a slipspace drive for a heart that would carry her between the stars.

Her name, the Chancer V.

And like his ship, Gavin Dunn hadn’t undergone properly thorough maintenance in a while. Spare credits for things like a haircut were hard to come by, so his long, black hair had just been combed back under a baseball cap. There was a coat of dark stubble around his chin, and a plain dark coat around his shoulders. Standing on the deck of the Chancer’s cargo bay, Gavin seemed like he was in exactly the right place in the universe.

But then, the Marines providing the Lieutenant’s security detail kinda got in the way of that picture.

Gavin had been just about to enter slip and leave the system when the UNSC patrol vessel Topeka hailed them. While Gavin and his crew had stood down engines immediately, it’d taken the Topeka two hours to get its boarding team together afterwards, putting him behind schedule and doing no wonders for his mood. He guessed the rumor about sailors posted to assignments like these being the incompetent and disgraced were true.

Still, he couldn’t blame them for the stop too much. Most movement of freight and passengers was handled by the DCS for cheaper than an independent captain could offer, so he was immediately a suspect for smuggling. To help things along, he volunteered the nature of his current job to the Lieutenant. “The guns are going to a trader colony just starting up in Hydra Minor. They’d feel safer having a little firepower for security since the UNSC patrollers are busy pulling me over.”

He couldn’t help the edge of bitterness, which got him a stern look from the Lieutenant. At that point, Gavin decided to hold his tongue for the rest of his background check. If the Navy man didn’t want to be there any more than Gavin did, he’d do well to avoid drawing the ire of a bureaucrat.

After a few more uncomfortable minutes, the Lieutenant nodded and offered the pad to Gavin. “Alright, you’re cleared to carry on, Captain Harkness, and we’ll transmit you a clearance code to avoid this sort of thing happening again. Apologies for the delay.”

Gavin showed the man a grateful smile, which helped to hide the smug satisfaction that came with one of his aliases holding up. “Thank you, Lieutenant. You boys just have a good orbital cycle.”

With a polite nod, the officer turned about and disappeared back through the docking tube, and the half-dozen Marines that had accompanied him fell in with rifles lowered. Now that they were no longer surrounded, Gavin and his ship’s first mate, the old man named Tom Spender, relaxed noticeably. Gavin crossed the deck to the docking tube and sealed it shut, then reached out to an intercom stationed on the wall beside.

“Allana? We’re clear, airlock’s sealed. Let’s slip on out of here.”

His co-pilot answered a moment later. “Roger that, Captain. Warming up the drive now, and we’ll make the jump point in five. Guess you got that cute little cadet to fall for it.”

Gavin smiled to himself. “Yeah, we got away with it this time. Take us out, I’ll meet you up there in a minute.”

“Yes Captain.” Her reply was punctuated with a burst of static as the com terminated, and immediately Gavin felt the subtle shift in inertia that meant the ship was moving. The constant whine of the engines changed, too.

Tom shut the rifle crate’s lid shut behind him with a click, chuckling. Pushing the wind out of his old lungs made for a sort of crackling in his voice, like an outdated radio. “Shouldn’t risk a rightly built-up alias like that. Should’ve used a throwaway, like your real one.”

“Mhm.” Gavin nodded. It did make sense to keep a good record for an alias, otherwise it was no good. “Why would I use the name that’d get us arrested?”

The old man cackled. “Protects the reputations of your fake ones. I like ‘em better anyway.”

Gavin just rolled his eyes and took a position next to him along the crate’s edge, helping to shift it back to where it could be tied down. Tom was just a bit crazy, and he’d known it from the day he’d been a cabin boy on the first Chancer years ago. Every once in a while in those days, Captain Spender would cause a real emergency just to test Gavin, to see if he could handle it, and it’d nearly gotten them all killed several times. But there were few spacers that’d been in the black as long as Spender, and darn it, Gavin’d sworn he would learn from him. And what he’d learned had served him well.

The crate came to rest in its right place, and Spender went around to get the straps and tie it down. Gavin left him to it, crossing the cargo bay again and starting up the ladder to the upper deck. He climbed out of the ladder well once he reached the top, and turned up the corridor to the cabin, passing the galley and life support room on his way.

Though the hallway outside was brightly lit, Gavin’s eyes had to adjust as he stepped inside the cabin’s narrow doorway. Starlight and glowing consoles were the sole illumination here. He shifted left to his seat, while Allana made the final calculations for their jump at the co-pilot’s station right of him.

“We’re hovering on the jump point now.” She told him as he fell back into his worn leather seat. Her hair was worn back in a ponytail, and her pretty face was just starting to show signs of age. Her eyes were older still, having been with Gavin through all he saw on Mamore. But not a day of it showed in her self-satisfied smile as she finished typing a command in. “You didn’t have to bribe him, did you?”

Gavin shook his head. “Nah, he didn’t know much of what he was doing. Guess the obvious cargo kept him distracted.”

Walking in and seeing a worn-out little ship like this carrying so many weapons in the open must’ve been pretty unusual for the Lieutenant, but there really was nothing illegal about it. Gavin had the paperwork all filled out, and out here there was a legitimate need for people to have weapons to defend themselves. If the officer had thought to start tearing up the deck panels, though, the two or three dozen military-grade assault rifles might not’ve cleared the check. ..

Allana idly turned a dial. "So, we get to Rourke's Retreat, drop off the guns, get paid. And what then?"

"Same as always." Gavin replied. "We finish one job, we find another." That was how it was for a ship like his. Living so small wasn't easy. You had to constantly have a source of income, for food and fuel. Always moving from one planet and paycheck to the next. It could be an exhausting way to live, and often times dangerous, but Gavin found it suited him.

The smile on Allana’s lips curled farther as she looked up from her instruments. “You want to press the button?”

It was actually a switch, but Gavin played along. “I do love buttons.”

As his hand found the activation switch for their Shaw-Fujikawa Translight Engine, Gavin looked up out of the wide window in front of them, and his eyes drank in the light coming off those stars, specks in the void like his little ship. And with just a twitch of muscle, he threw the switch that started tearing a hole in subspace before them.

A tiny supernova suddenly sprang into existence in front of the bow, and widened into a swirling maelstrom of bright blue energy that literally possessed only two dimensions, height and width. A tear between the normal three dimensions and the eight beyond it. This new drive cut open a portal that they slipped through, instead of the old ones which enveloped ships in a bubble and winked out.

Allowing himself an upturn of one side of his mouth, Gavin pushed the ship forward into the portal, abruptly removing them from the space of the local system and setting them adrift in the currents of an intangible sea lying parallel to the whole of the universe.

That Damn Sniper 00:35, May 7, 2013 (UTC)

Post 2
The air was hot, and heavy with dust. Gavin’s nostrils flared in irritation, which led him only to breathing in more of the red silt as he passed under the wood roof of a covered square between two of the township’s largest buildings, which wasn’t saying much.

Nothing here was built higher than two stories, and the whole of Rourke’s Retreat covered only about the size of a game field or two. Dirt lay thick over everything like drifts of snow, the town just having weathered a sandstorm before the Chancer arrived. Everywhere except these open-air markets, set up to offer shelter from the local star.

Between the posts standing under them for support, vendors offered black corn from farms out of town and iced water bottles for as much as seven credits a pop. Although this particular square had attracted a relatively large crowd, there was nothing Gavin was interested in, and he pushed through to the next street to get back to his ship, stepping out from under the cover.

Everything not cast in shadow here was tinted by a deep, bloody red light, reminding him of a sunset even though it was about midday. Gavin had never been to Earth and seen a red sunset, had no connection between the color and that time of day, but something in the back of his mind still insisted night was approaching. Something instinctual. ..

He let the feeling go as he neared the end of the road, spotting the Chancer where he’d set down on the outskirts. Its boarding ramp was down, leading into the cargo bay where Spender was supposed to be supervising a handful of the colonials unloading the weapon crates. Instead, he was fending off a few of the grubby children that’d gathered around to see the spaceship, the most adventurous ones having tried to climb it.

But the thing that Gavin was intent on was a figure overseeing it all, a plump man with his hands on the head of a cane named Rourke. Walking towards him, Gavin could see the white clothing he wore might’ve looked good in the red sun color if it weren’t for the thickly-ingrained layer of dirt that had ruined what was once a fashionable Inner Colony outfit.

Rourke turned as he approached, and stood with an impassive expression as he asked with dissatisfaction, “What’s this I hear about you not being able to pay credits?”

To his credit, though he knew he’d been found out, Rourke didn’t shy away from his lie. “I believe it means that we don’t have the sufficient sum of cee-ar to pay you in full for the delivery. Did you not understand?”

Gavin had understood all right. He knew very well by now what he didn’t want to hear when he heard it. “What I understand is your moisture farmhands over there are pulling the cargo out of my ship while you’re not paying me.”

“Now, Mister Dunn,” Rourke said, looking down to grind the end of his cane in the sand. “We have excess building supplies we’re willing to give you, worth almost twice our agreed price. You can easily sell those for a good profit, but we are very much in need those guns. If you were to back out of our arrangement. . .”

“Me back out?” Gavin said, nearly laughing. “Look man, I’m not the one who lied about a solid credit payment!”

“Gavin, calm down.” A hand was placed gently on his shoulder, and fell away as he spun to face the placating voice. Allana stepped close and held his gaze with her wide, amber eyes, turned red by the planet’s sun. “It’s not like we’re trading something for nothing, and they’re going to fuel us up before we go.”

“It’s not that it’s a bad trade, ‘Lana, it’s that it isn’t the trade we agreed on.” Gavin told her, exasperated. “Those guns are worth hard credits, credits we need to eat and keep up maintenance.”

She smiled reassuringly. “Well it’s not like we can eat guns, either. And besides,” she glanced over at the Chancer’s ramp, drawing Gavin’s attention to the starry-eyed kids “the people here might need them, to protect what’s theirs. Know the feeling?”

Gavin shifted his gaze from them to her to the ground, before looking out towards the horizon away from the settlement. “Alright, alright. But what are we supposed to do with permacrete mix and lengths of rebar?”

Allana crossed her arms smugly, and Gavin knew it meant she’d been waiting for him to ask that one. Something in her grin made him feel like he’d just walked into a trap. “At least I keep up on the news vids. There’s a big construction boom in some of Fell Justice’s cities, it’d be easy to find a deal.”

“Fell Justice?” Gavin asked. “Are you kidding?”

A frown appeared on her features, head tilted. “What’s wrong with Fell Justice?”

Gavin lifted his open hands, searching for the right word or the right reason. “Massive Oonskie civilian grid integration. Sangheili government and a huge criminal underground. Uh-uh, too many networks with connections that could reach someone looking for us. It’s a bad idea.”

Allana tipped her chin down, pouting in such a cute, fake way. “Well, I suppose we could jump over to the next little trader colony without any credits and see if they need any building supplies. You know, instead of taking the sure thing.”

Dammit. She had him there, and he knew it. If he didn’t know any better, he’d say she planned this all along. While Gavin was happy to stay on a small ship, skirting the borders of civilized space, Allana was an Inner Colony girl, and hated that they couldn’t get into cities very often. And now she’d found the perfect excuse.

She smiled sweetly as she noticed the slump of Gavin’s shoulders. “Fell Justice?”

“Okay. Fell Justice.”

That Damn Sniper 02:55, May 14, 2013 (UTC)