Halo: Salvation

Plot Summary
''Six months after Avalon's fall, the crew of the Dynasty return to Human space after a bloody rampage across the frontier. With nothing left to lose, Amanda Wade and Ash Mitchell lead their followers on one last mission to the glassed world of Madrigal in search of long-lost weapons rumoured to be lying far beneath the scorched surface. With just a few days available to complete their goal, the Dynasty's crew must deal with harsh conditions, the dangerous New Colonial Alliance, and the ever-looming threat of the UNSC on this dangerous mission.''

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Halo: Salvation Book Three of the Dynasty Trilogy

Adrift
"I've got 'er sighted on the long-range, Captain."

"Good. Go in slow, and prep the EVA gear."

Above the former UNSC colony, a small flotilla of ships drifted through an immense field of debris, picking through broken hulls and abandoned habitats in search of salvage. The UNSC had lost this world decades ago when the Covenant arrived, a brief, furious battle ending in a massacre and the surface's glassing. Since then, Verent had been left alone; another graveyard in the stars.

That was, until the fetchers arrived.

With the war over, mankind was making efforts to reclaim its lost colonies, and salvaging valuable materials from former battlefields had become an incredibly lucrative industry for those willing to face the dangers of traversing floating junkyards. Strapped into the co-pilot's seat of her Tug, Captain Bess Rivers checked her datapad, eyes focused on a tiny yellow blip up ahead. She grinned, and took off her baseball cap.

"It's a slipspace drive. Has to be."

Her pilot, Maurice, sighed with a smile. "You've got that greedy look in your eye, Cap."

"And why shouldn't I? We find an intact drive before anyone else and we're rich, damnnit."

A spacer of forty-eight years, Bess had been doing this sort of thing long before the UNSC had started handing out contracts and fat paychecks. Accidents were an unfortunately common occurrence in deep space, and the Outer Colonies had always needed a good supply of salvage vessels even before the Covenant showed up. Zipping past a particularly large chunk of what might have been a Covenant ship, the Ramiel II caught sight of an intact freighter, slowly drifting through the darkness.

"Would you look at that," Maurice craned his neck to get a good look. "Looks barely dented."

"Crew must've abandoned it during the invasion. Look, the rear boarding ramp's wide open. Makes our job easier."

"Hey Captain, what're the prices for an intact ship?"

"Not as much as an intact slipspace drive, I can tell you that much. Land on the side while we go in."

Their small craft slowly descended, lowering itself onto the freighter's side and activating a set of magnetic clamps. Bess unclasped the lock on her harness and drifted free, slowly edging her way towards the storage bay. Her two other crewmen - Dennis and Devrim - had already pulled themselves into bulky EVA suits.

"DeeDee," she addressed the pair of them. "We've got a live Shaw-Fujikawa in this ship, so we'll have to be extra careful when we remove it. This ship looks stable enough, but after drifting for God-knows how many years, you can never be too careful."

Devrim began pulling on his helmet. "Rules of engagement?"

"We got here first, so it's ours."

She frowned, knowing that Devrim meant well; there were some fetchers who would kill for a find like this, and having an armed ex-Marine would likely be enough to deter any chancer with a handgun who decided to play space pirate. Dennis, a thin, quiet man older than Bess, simply shrugged as he checked his suit. He'd been out here just as long as her, and knew how things worked in deep space. After suiting up, she switched to radio communication and thumbed the release catch for their airlock.

"Slow bursts," she gave the usual advice as they slipped out into the debris field.

Controlling her thruster pack, the veteran fetcher quickly corrected her course and landed safely on the derelict freighter's hull. The others followed suit, landing gently and activating their magnetised boots as they made the slow, clomping journey round towards the boarding ramp. Usually, they'd have to spend hours slowly cutting their way through the weakest point of a ship's hull before claiming their prize, so this was a lucky break for them. One by one, the fetchers clambered down and slipped inside. Three pairs of headlamps lit up the room as they took in their surroundings. Aside from a large crate bolted and tied to the floor, it was entirely empty.

"Remarkably well-preserved," Dennis muttered, running a hand over a nearby workstation. "See anything valuable, Dervim?"

"Nah, most of it's flushed out. Might be something in the crew quarters worth taking."

"We're only here for the drive," Bess scolded them. "There might be bodies aboard."

The two men kept quiet after that sobering thought. While some would freely scavenge ships without a care in the world, there were few spacers who showed no respect for the dead, particularly those who had died fighting or fleeing the Covenant. Chances were that they'd send along another team to reclaim corpses and personal belongings to return to the crew's family later on. The trio eventually arrived at a sealed door marked 'Engine Room', and with a nod from Bess, Dervim knelt with a portable blowtorch to begin cutting through. They each had enough air for at least three hours, which would be more than enough time to take the drive and get out.

"Okay, starting cut," Devim unslung his MA5B rifle and floated it through the air towards Dennis. "Won't be too long."

As the device flared to life at the top of the sealed hatch, there was a low rumble from beneath their feet. At first Bess thought a chunk of debris had struck the ship. Then, the lights flickered on.

"Wait, this thing's got power?"

Suddenly, the engine room door clanked open and Dervim found himself staring down the barrel of an M90 shotgun. It fired, the sound inaudible in the vaccum as the man's entire body jerked back, the visor a ruin of broken glass and bloody chunks of flesh.

"Bloody Elisa!"

Dennis fumbled with his weapon, only to catch the second and third blasts. He tumbled backwards as the ship's ramp slid shut. Within moments, the ship began pumping recycled air into the area and the artificial gravity activated, both corpses hitting the ground with dull thumps. Bess had frozen in fear, her arms half-raised as she stared at the figure before her. His own vacuum suit was covered in heavily-worn black armour, chipped and dented in multiple places, while his helmet - a distinctive one belonging to the UNSC's feared Orbital Drop Shock Troopers - was painted with a fearsome, grinning skull.

"Don't move," a voice intoned through the skull-faced visor.

Bess could tell he was watching her; any movement through her transparent visor would be interpreted as a cry for help, leading to her imminent execution. After a few moments of excruciating silence, the man motioned for her to take off her helmet. She did so with deliberate carefulness, placing it at her feet before throwing up her hands once more.

"Tell your crew that everything's fine," the man commanded. "Tell them that you're taking this ship out of the debris field for salvage. Nod if you understand me."

She nodded, trying not to look at the bloody corpses of her comrades as she activated her earpiece communicator.

"Maurice, this is Bess. Change of plan, we're taking the ship. Detach and meet us outside the belt."

"What? I thought we were taking the drive?"

"It'll be easier to do back at the Starsailor. Just head back and we'll bring the ship around."

"Copy, Captain. See you there."

There was a faint noise as the Ramiel II detached itself from the vessel. Bess' captor waved her towards a nearby staircase, marching the fetcher upstairs and into a corridor. Her mind raced, trying to figure out why they had been ambushed in the first place. Fetchers seldom had anything of real value until they had found something worth stealing, so it made no sense for pirates to do this. If they were slavers, it seemed like an overly elaborate, dangerous operation if they wanted to take three or four people captive. Slowly, the ship began to move.

"What's your name?" the helmeted man said suddenly.

"What?"

"Your name."

"Why does it matter to you?"

Her captor sighed, lowering his shotgun by a fraction. "I'm humanising you. You give me your name, I give you mine, et cetera. Easier to kill someone who's a total stranger than someone you know as a person. That way I won't want to kill you."

"I'm Bess. Bess Rivers."

"Nice to meet you, Bess Rivers." he removed his helmet. "I'm Ash Mitchell."

Ash Mitchell. She froze up again, recognising the name. He'd had his name pasted across every station in Human space for a long list of crimes, including hijacking, terrorism, robberies, and numerous murders. The fact that he'd evaded capture from both the UNSC and numerous bounty hunters for over a year was nothing short of a miracle, and even among Bess' circle of fetcher buddies, bets had been placed on how long he'd last before someone claimed his head. She balled her hands into fists, the blank stare of a hostage contorting into one of pure hatred.

"You killed my sister."

This seemed to surprise him, which surprised her in turn. Either he wasn't quite a remorseless psychopath the media made him out to be, or like any other criminal, he wasn't used to seeing the consequences of his actions. Bess knew that going for his gun wouldn't end well, so she awaited his response, studying his face. He was young - in his thirties if she remembered the reports - though he looked a great deal older. Several ragged scars stretched across his face, while his eyes, though brown, seemed slightly mismatched. One was likely an artificial prosthesis.

"When?"

"On Kuiper last year. You blew up her apartment building to cover your escape."

Mitchell shook his head sadly. "Wasn't me that did that, sorry. Killed some cops that day, but that's it. Now move."

As he put on his fearsome helmet once more, Bess chanced a step forward. "Oh what, you think I'm-"

The blow came with lightning speed as the former ODST slammed the butt of his shotgun into her ribs, knocking the wind out of her. He grasped her shoulder with one hand and pushed her forward. Any trace of humanity faded instantly as he reverted back to the killer who'd murdered two of her friends.

"Move." His voice was cold and hard once more.

As they approached the bridge, a woman emerged, tying back her dark hair. Clad in a grey jumpsuit and carrying a large handgun, she stopped before them.

"Sorry about your friends," she spoke with genuine sincerity, "but this is important. Do what we say and we'll let you go free."

"What do you want me to do?"

"Get on our COM and convince your ship to dock with ours. Can you do that?"

"Sure."

With that, Bess was led onto the bridge. The only people aboard seemed to be Mitchell, the woman she assumed was the captain, a pilot, and two armed guards standing behind her. A chair was indicated, and she sat down as a communication channel opened.

"Starsailor, this is Captain Rivers of the Ramiel II, do you respond?"

There was a brief crackle of interference from the debris field before a voice came through. "Riverth, what the hell d'you think you're doing, ya bloody fool?!"

It was Jim Hogan, Captain of the CAA Starsailor, an old, larger Springhill-class Mining Ship used to transport fetchers and their finds across the galaxy. As none of their smaller ships possessed slipspace drives,. She recognised his lisp and particular brand of rudeness instantly, and adopted a friendly tone immediately.

"Jim, this ship's still active, and it's got a cargo worth having."

There was a long pause. "What ith it?"

"Can't say over an unsecured channel, Jim. I need to bring it in personally so we can discuss payment, not including the slipspace drive, which is intact, thanks for asking."

"Fine," Hogan replied. "Hangar four should be big enough. Hogan out."

As the channel closed, Bess swivelled round in her chair, half-expecting a gun to her head. Instead, the ship's captain nodded in approval.

"Thanks. We'll leave you safely aboard the your ship once we finish up. Ash?"

Stowing away his shotgun, Mitchell took out a pair of cuffs and stood Bess up before securing her hands behind her back. Even with his opaque visor, she could tell he was trying his utmost not to look at her. The rest of the journey was made in absolute silence as they headed towards the Starsailor. Looking out through the ship's forward viewport, the captured fetcher caught a glimpse of what might have been the Ramiel II moving in to land. Maurice would likely be killed by the others if he tried to interfere, yet she had no way of contacting him.

"Okay then," the pilot finally spoke in a soft voice. "Coming in to land now. Do your stuff, Amanda."

The captain - Amanda - nodded and motioned for Bess to follow her. The two guards had already left the bridge, and judging by the sounds from the other end of the ship, were shifting something heavy. Flanked by Amanda and Mitchell, she was led back down to the storage bay, where Dennis and Devim's bodies had been stuffed into a corner. The solitary crate had been cut open, revealing the bulky form of a military-grade Mark IX Mantis mech. It had clearly been heavily-modified, and looked as though it had enough firepower to take on a company of Marines and win.

"Christ," she muttered, watching as one of the guards - a red-headed young woman - clambered into the pilot's seat.

"We won't use it unless we have to," Amanda reassured her, checking her handgun. "Just make sure your man complies."

Bess was marched to the ship's rear door by Amanda, keeping her hands clasped firmly behind her back. Nearby, Mitchell was loading an M392 DMR as the Mantis thrummed to life, its head turning left and right before taking the tiniest of steps forward. The freighter touched down with a gentle thump, having landed in the Starsailor's largest hangar bay, and the doors slowly clanked open, revealing Hogan and four of his cronies, two of whom were armed. It struck Bess that the Captain likely planned to take whatever treasures she'd promised, and for the briefest of moments, she found herself taking the side of her captors.

"Riverth!" the older man yelled, squinting into the bay through a pair of tremendously thick spectacles. "What're-"

He leapt back with a terrified yelp as the Mantis lumbered through the door, followed by the others. Half-dragging Bess, Amanda strode towards Hogan and raised her handgun. His guards hadn't moved a muscle, their eyes wide with fear as the mech's cannons turned towards them.

"Jim Hogan?" Amanda stood before them.

"Yeth?"

"Ciudad de Huesos. Where is it?"

It was clear that the Hogan knew what she was talking about, as he gulped nervously. Amanda raised her handgun threateningly.

"Y-y'see, I can't jutht-"

She fired, a round missing his head by centimetres. "Next one's going in your left knee. Then your right. We've got all day."

Hogan adjusted his glasses with trembling fingers, and straightened up slightly. As he opened his mouth to speak, a trio of gunshots rang out from across the bay, zipping past both him and Amanda. Glancing to the left, Bess saw Maurice, holding a smoking handgun.

You fucking idiot-

A moment later, Bess blacked out. In her last moments, she saw both Hogan's crew and Amanda's forces raising their weapons. She was glad to have missed what happened next.

***

When Bess came to, she had to check to make sure she wasn't dead. Aside from the dull throb of a bruise where Amanda had pistol-whipped her into unconsciousness, she was fine. The fetcher had been moved, and lay atop a wooden palette. Sitting up, she saw the remains of a very one-sided battle: Hogan and his men had been ripped to shreds by the Mantis' 20mm machine guns, while Maurice's corpse lay with a single, neat round through his forehead. She stared at his body, with its eyes still wide open as he lay face-up.

"We're leaving," a voice intoned over the hangar bay.

It was Ash Mitchell, standing amidst the corpses and empty shell casings while two others dragged a supply crate up their freighter's boarding ramp. The white skull on his visor was flecked with blood. Bess clambered to her feet, only now noticing that she was out of handcuffs.

"Ship's yours now," he continued, gesturing round at the mostly-empty hangar bay. "Since you're the only one left to run it."

So that was it, then. They'd killed everyone on board. Despite the Starsailor's size, it was crewed by barely a dozen full-time staff, with fetchers coming and going as new contractors were picked up. Bess felt as though she were in a dream, taking unsteady steps towards Mitchell. She had no way to hurt him, and they both knew it. He turned back towards his ship, and at last she cried out.

"I believe you! You didn't kill my sister!"

At that, he halted. The man reviled across colonised space as the 'Butcher of Kuiper' was once again given pause, turning slightly as Bess stopped a few feet away to continue.

"But you just murdered three of my friends, you asshole. Remember that."

"I will."

For a moment, his rifle twitched towards her, only for him to stow the weapon away. Perhaps he'd thought of killing her just in case, only to have a last-second change of heart. Perhaps he thought that leaving her among the dead was a worse punishment. She simply didn't know. Utterly helpless, Bess Rivers sat and watched as he boarded the ship, which took off several minutes later. As it passed through the hangar doors, she caught a name, painted onto one side in faded white lettering.

DYNASTY.

Old Wounds
"It's the second room on the right."

"Thanks."

The door to the office slid open as Bess approached. The interior was brightly-lit, with a single, ornately-carved wooden table dominating the centre. A middle-aged man sat across from her, typing something into his laptop. He indicated that she sit with a gloved hand without looking up, and after a few moments, shifted to properly face her.

"Thank you for coming here, Miss Rivers. I understand it's been hard for you the past couple of days."

"Yeah, it has."

Bess Rivers hadn't been in the best of shape since the hijacking two days ago. That ship - the Dynasty - had obliterated every other fetcher vessel above Verent before jumping to slipspace. She'd sat among the corpses for hours, reduced to a sobbing wreck as the adrenaline faded and the weight of the situation truly set in. She'd been able to eventually program the NAV computer for the nearest inhabited system, where she'd quickly alerted the authorities. In less than a day after she'd mentioned both Ash Mitchell and Amanda Wade, ONI agents had swooped in and discreetly transferred her to Earth.

The uniformed man reached across and shook her hand. It was then that she realised he wore only a single glove. Smiling warmly, he spoke.

"Captain Alexander Redford. I'm the head of a counter-terrorism taskforce within ONI. Now, I've read your reports, and to be frank, you're lucky to be alive."

"Oh yeah," she sneered. "Crew dead. Friends dead, and my fetcher contract gone. Some luck."

"I understand what it's like to survive such odds, Miss Rivers. That's why I'm here to offer you employment."

"As what?" Bess sat a little straighter in her chair. "I'm no spook."

"I don't expect you to be one. What I need are your former connections, and your skills as a fetcher."

She sighed, running a hand over her cropped hair. Every spacer knew there was a pecking order of sorts when it came to who you worked for, going all the way up the chain from independent outfits to large corporations, and eventually to the UNSC itself. ONI occupied a particularly terrifying place in the hearts of many. If a fetcher went missing, the possibility of them being snatched up by the mysterious organisation always seemed to come up in conversation.

Now here I am, about to make a deal with the goddamn devil.

"Gonna need specifics here, Captain."

Redford slid a datapad across the table. "This gives a general outline of your mission parameters and pay, Miss Rivers."

Bess took it, glancing down at the dossier. She tried not to look surprised at the number of zeroes at the end of what she assumed was her paycheck, and noted that it listed two participants. The ONI officer waited patiently as she swiped through several pages. Eventually, she put the pad down and crossed her arms.

"So, you want me to go to Madrigal?"

"Yes. We believe that based on your report, that's where the Dynasty is going."

"So that's where 'Ciudad de Huesos' is? Must be pretty important to warrant a massacre, whatever it is."

He nodded. "Yes, the so-called 'City of Bones'. We've heard rumours of a settlement on Madrigal, but it's proving difficult to find, even for us. It seems that whoever is running it really doesn't want to be found. Seems that your Captain Hogan was one of few privileged with knowledge of its location."

"Hogan was just a fat old spacer. Why'd he know where it was?"

"ONI has investigated him extensively over the last day. As it turns out, he had several business ventures on the side, which included numerous black market dealings. Seems that he was making a tidy profit selling supposedly defective machinery to clients across the colonies."

"So what, he was an Innie-lover?"

"Not that we're aware of. It's most likely that he simply wanted to make the biggest profit he could, which included selling to wealthy Insurrectionists. Not that it matters now, since he's dead, but it would appear that he was part of a larger group secretly funnelling supplies to Madrigal."

"Uh-huh." Bess suppressed a yawn, feeling somewhat out of her depth. As someone scavenged from derelict ships for a living, all this seemed like something for ONI to handle.

Redford seemed to read her thoughts. "If money isn't enough of an incentive, then know that in addition to finding this hidden city, we want you to assist in eliminating Amanda Wade, Ash Mitchell, and their entire crew. I'd think that revenge only sweetens this offer, no?"

"You're right, yeah. Like I said though, I'm not a spook. I'm sure ONI's got plenty of pilots and assassins and whatnot that they could send instead of me. Not that I wanna turn it down; I need the money."

"You and I both have good reasons to want these people dead, Miss Rivers."

Leaning forward, he traced his fingers along a faint facial scar, and removed the glove over his left hand. Beneath was a gleaming metallic prosthesis, titanium fingers curling and uncurling into a fist.

"My marks from Mitchell and Wade," Redford explained. "They have eluded capture for far too long, and deserve to be brought to justice. While I'm sure the public would have a field day with their trial and imprisonment, I'd rather not make martyrs of the pair of them. You've known loss because of them as well. That's why I want you for this mission."

There was a long silence as he covered his hand and sat back, awaiting her answer. Just a week ago, she'd been trawling through asteroid fields and scanning burnt-out ship hulls for scraps to make ends meet. She'd met the man who had - or so she'd thought - been responsible for her sister's death and the deaths of her crew. She stood up and held out her hand, adopting a businesslike tone.

"I accept, Captain Redford."

"Excellent," he gave a polite smile and shook her hand again. "I'll see that you're briefed on the mission, and that you become acquainted with your partner for this mission. Our agents will see that you have a place to stay for tonight and arrange travel for you tomorrow. I wish you the best of luck!"

As the fetcher exited the room, Redford's smile vanished. Bess Rivers had been easy to convince of her mission's righteousness, at least. His communicator chimed, and a menacing voice sounded through.

"Your second guest is downstairs, Captain."

"Thank you Armand," he addressed the AI. "I'll head down now. See to it that he's comfortable."

"Of course."

The man sighed as the device switched off, gathered up his things in a briefcase, and left. The sprawling underground structure beneath the main Bravo-6 facility was a labyrinthine maze of corridors, data centres and meeting rooms, home to numerous departments and sub-departments within both the United Nations Space Command and the Office of Naval Intelligence. A pair of black-suited officers saluted Redford as he strode past, replying with a curt nod as he made his way down two flights of stairs towards 'Core 2', the home of the BRUTUS division. While few knew of the group's existence and fewer still were aware of their true activities, everyone working within Bravo-6 knew not to cross them. Redford halted by a side door and bent slightly towards a speaker.

"Oderint dum metuant."

A tiny light by the speaker flashed green, and the door hissed open, revealing a narrow, windowed corridor. Along each side were doorways leading to over two-dozen meeting rooms, with numerous one-way mirrors that allowed he and his agents to look in on their subjects. Currently only one was occupied. An elderly man sat alone in the chamber, arms crossed and back straight as he stared intently at the window. While he couldn't see through it, he certainly knew that he was being watched. A holotank lit up by the entrance, and a hologram of a robed, hooded figure shimmered into existence.

"Captain," Armand bowed.

"How is he?"

"Irascible as his file reported, though he knows his position. Will you need me in there?"

"No thank you, Armand. See to it that the transfer order given to the Agrippa is diverted as planned. CINCONI signed the order this morning."

"Of course."

The AI disappeared with a faint flash. Redford had been partnered with Armand upon his ascension to the head of BRUTUS after he was given as a present of sorts from Admiral Serin Osman, the head of ONI. The two worked well together, which came as no great surprise to the officer; Armand was created from Redford's own flash cloned brain tissue, after all. After an experiment produced a particularly successful result eight years ago, several other AI had been created using the effective - though costly - method. After the initial strangeness of meeting a construct based on his own mind, Redford had come to rather like Armand. He swiped his keycard across a nearby scanner, and stepped into the interrogation room as the door slid open.

"About damn time," grumbled the old man.

"My apologies, Mister Asad. You won't be kept here long."

"Good. Let's just get down to business then."

Smiling, Redford took a seat and pushed the datapad containing the mission dossier across the table, and watched as the other man surveyed it. At the age of sixty-eight, Abd-al-Quadir ibn Asad had garnered both fame and infamy across the years as the former head of a Private Military Company known as 'Lion's Claw', which had undertaken numerous operations during its forty-year existence against both Insurrectionist forces and the Covenant. What many didn't know was that the group had been contracted by ONI on numerous occasions for classified operations until it was formally disbanded in 2553. Despite technically being the company's CEO, Asad had fought alongside his men on the frontlines until the end of the Human-Covenant War.

"Why?" Asad said at last, scratching his bearded chin with metal fingers. "Why bring out a retired old man for wetwork like this?"

"Because like it or not, you still owe ONI a debt. I'm calling it in."

The old mercenary leaned back in his chair, sighing deeply. "Look, I want to speak to Captain Frederick King. He knows me, and sure as hell owes me something after all these years."

"That's not possible, I'm afraid. He's in a coma."

"What?!"

Redford saw the surprise in Asad's non-prosthetic eye. "Six months ago, he was badly injured in a bombing. He's alive and still recovering, but he's not woken up yet. I'm his replacement."

"Huh," Asad looked him up and down. "New head of BRUTUS, huh? So I guess you saw the old man and me had a history, and decided to bring me in. That it?"

"Partly, though I want your presence for more than assisting some washed-up spacer in murdering a group of terrorists. This is about MASQUERADE."

"What about it?"

Asad had begun to look nervous, which pleased Redford. After taking King's place as the head of BRUTUS, he'd been given access to files on a number of his predecessor's most classified operations. While he was aware of or had personally been involved in many of them, one dating back to 2513 had interested him. He'd just been a child at the time, though both the personnel involved and the mission logs interested him greatly. Of course, following them up would have been a waste of his precious time, until a mission to Madrigal was involved.

"Forty-four years ago, you and several others were recruited for a counter-terrorism operation in the Outer Colonies. Your final destination was Madrigal, where members of the United Rebel Front supposedly kept a vault containing stolen nuclear weapons. You reported that no such vault existed."

"Yeah, and?"

"I think you were lying."

At this, Asad shifted slightly in his chair. The man knew that any violent movements towards Redford would prompt the immediate intervention of the two armed security officers outside, if the ONI officer himself didn't shoot him. Instead, he raised his right foot and set it down on the table with an audible clunk.

"See this? I lost my leg on that shithole of a planet. Shrapnel took out my right eye, too."

"Mister Asad, I-"

"I'm not done yet, asshole," he rapped his left hand on the table. "Covenant melted the real one on a mission King sent us on, and don't get me started on the amount of shit I've had to implant to hold the rest of my body together. Then after all the crap you guys have put me through, you think I'm bullshitting you? You've got some nerve." "Finished?"

"Yeah."

Redford reached down, and took an old, leather-bound book from his briefcase. A page around two-thirds of the way through had been marked with a bright note. He opened it, scrolled down for a moment, and began to read.

"We made an agreement based on Asad's idea. Final vote was five to one, with Jones as the opposing vote. I was surprised at McNair's choice; guess I misjudged the guy when I first met him. Once we stop Perrin, we're telling ONI that there was no vault. Even Jones agreed to honour that, even if it means she doesn't get a promotion. I'm loyal to Earth, not ONI. If they use those nukes for false-flag attacks, then things will only get worse out here. This time tomorrow, we'll either be all dead, or unsung heroes. If the former should occur and you recover this, Fred, then please understand our decision and tell Anna and little Alexander that I love them."

He closed the book and set it down on the table, awaiting a reply from Asad.

"Where the hell did you get that?" the old man growled, looking furious.

"It was my father's, taken from his personal study back home. I'm Alexander Redford."

There was another long pause.

"Bet you were waiting to spring that on me, huh? Harold was a good guy, for what it's worth."

"So I've been told. It's not an easy feat, to trick ONI for so many years."

"Did King not know about this?"

"No. I'd assume that he had no reason to suspect you were lying due to your injuries, while my father's friendship with the man absolved him of suspicion. I'd imagine that Mamore's eventual glassing by the Covenant destroyed any potential interest ONI had in the world until now, seeing as there's an unauthorised settlement there."

"Who's to say that the Covvies didn't just glass the vault, then? They were pretty brutal with Madrigal, as I recall."

"True. However, if descriptions of said vault are correct, it would have been embedded deeply into one of the planet's mountains, far away from any recorded settlement and unguarded since 2513. It's a small chance, of course, but one I'm willing to take if it means recovering those nukes."

"What are you gonna do with them?"

"Well, we won't be bombing colonies just to blame the Insurrection, if that's what you're thinking. That was a totally different war. Chances are they'll be stockpiles or added the the arsenal of older ships upon recovery."

Asad nodded in approval, though his frown did not diminish. "So, I help take out some pests with the spacer and find your vault?"

"More or less."

"And my pay?"

"Substantial. Not that you really need it. Seems the mercenary trade was kind to you, Asad."

He shrugged. "Yeah, big mansion out in Escalera. Can't say I have company often, but I enjoy the quiet."

"So then," Redford clasped his fingers together, "While we both know there's no refusal at this point, how do you feel about this mission? Do you feel that Rivers be a hindrance?"

"Probably not. I'm not too hard to work with. What, want me to take her out if she gets too involved with the vault?"

Even Redford was slightly surprised at Asad's blasé attitude towards murdering the now ex-fetcher, though with his decades of mercenary experience and work with Frederick King, it made sense that he'd be used to the brutal methods employed in secretive operations like this.

"No. As long as she's compliant, we can continue to use her."

"If you say so. Anything else?"

The ONI agent swiped across on his datapad, bringing up an image of a Halberd-class Destroyer.

"This is the UNSC Agrippa. Sixth Fleet. We're diverting it towards Madrigal to provide support for your mission."

"Support? I thought we were sneaking in, not kicking down the damn door. Folks see a Destroyer in orbit and they're gonna panic. That hidden city you mentioned is gonna be nigh-impossible to find if they think they're in trouble."

"I'm aware. Which is why it's going to serve as a distraction; something to force these people out of hiding. I've already arranged for said distraction, so once it happens, I want you and Rivers to immediately move in to land while they send out ships of their own. The stealth systems on your vessel should allow you to land close to the city."

"So that's the plan? We wait for them to move? What if nothing happens?"

"Then you land and move through the glasslands until you find the vault, Asad. I'd like you to have a little faith in our plan."

The older man shrugged his shoulders. "Fine. I'll put in a request for weaponry before we leave though; I want to be prepared just in case."

"That's fine. There's just one other thing about the 'Ciudad de Huesos' - this 'City of Bones' - that you should know."

"Yeah, what of it? If ONI wants to flatten the place then go ahead. It's not my problem."

"I'm afraid that's not possible. With the shitstorm we had to endure after Avalon last year, we've been forced to take an old-fashioned approach. Diplomats. Traders. Marines if they're uncooperative."

Asad cracked a smile. "Yep, that's about as old-fashioned as it gets."

"While our intelligence about this settlement is limited - its exact location, population, defences and so on - we have been able to garner some information about the man running it. It is, I'll admit, part of the reason why I chose you, behind your knowledge of this vault somewhere in the glasslands."

"Anyone I know in charge?"

"Yes. An old friend of yours, in fact." Redford keyed in another file on his datapad, showing a picture grizzled, middle-aged man with grey hair and a sneer across his lined face. Asad shook his head, grimacing in annoyance.

"Ah shit. Driscol."

Hellbound
"Officer on deck!"

Two-dozen Orbital Drop Shock troopers scrambled out of bunks and chairs to salute as two uniformed individuals entered the barracks. Captain Grace brooks strode through the room with hands clasped behind her back, followed closely by a black-uniformed Lieutenant.

"Troopers, listen up!" she spoke in a surprisingly loud voice. "I'm doing the rounds now we've cleared Slipspace, and want to make a few things clear about this mission personally. First and foremost, I have been informed that despite this mission technically being a scouting run, there is a real, genuine possibility that it could turn into a combat mission. Lieutenant Green will give you the full briefing, but I want you all fully aware that we may encounter hostiles in this system. That will be all."

Giving a curt nod to the young man standing next to her, the Captain exited the room in dead silence. After a few seconds, the assorted troopers relaxed slightly, gathering around to hear the news.

"Okay people, don't get excited," Second Lieutenant Michael Green announced, taking out a datapad. "Word's come down that there might be an enemy presence in-system."

"What kind of enemy?" asked a nearby woman, sharpening a serrated combat knife.

"Human Insurrectionists, most likely."

A collective groan went up from the assembled troopers; most folks here had spent their early military careers fighting the Covenant, and even now the prospect of taking down rebels was considered mundane at best. Green plugged his pad into a nearby terminal, and pictures of prospective enemy troop numbers flashed up onscreen. While a few looked it over, most had already gone back to lazing around.

"So we might be chasing ghosts," a voice came from the doorway.

Green turned. "Maybe, maybe not. You missed the big speech, Bill."

"Sorry Lieutenant, but nature called."

The Lieutenant fixed Cross with an offended stare for a moment before smirking. "Y'know, you don't have to keep calling me that, Bill. We've known each other long enough."

"Wouldn't want to make it look like I'm sucking up, sir," replied the older trooper. "Besides, you earned it. Heard OCS was rough."

"Oh, hardly. Want to grab some lunch while we can?"

"Might as well. I've got room now."

The two ODST's set off down one of the ship's corridors at an easy pace; an unlikely pair for most to look at. Shorter than average, Master Sergeant Bill Cross looked much older than his actual age of thirty and bore the scars of numerous battles, including a nasty plasma burn along his greying scalp. Having enlisted back in 2545, he'd seen action during the darkest days of the Human-Covenant War and lived through it all with a surprisingly easygoing demeanour for his rank.

"So, what's next?" Cross inquired as they stepped into an elevator. "Planning to stay with us, or are you getting plucked?"

Green frowned. "I haven't decided yet, Bill."

Being 'plucked' was a term that had been floating around the ODST's of late, referring to the tendency of the Spartan Branch to recruit particularly outstanding individuals into its ranks. While some saw the chance at becoming a supersoldier as a great honour, there were many others who held resentment towards the Spartans as a threat to the Helljumpers' distinguished history and excellent espirit de corps. Rumour had it that they had asked Green to join their ranks. Tall, muscular and square-jawed, the man looked like a walking poster for the Marine Corps, and had attained a fairly meteoric rise through the ranks in his seven years of service.

"Is it true that they're offering a promotion if you turn it down?"

"Not officially," Green said with a sideward glance, confirming it. "But ultimately it's down to me."

"Fair enough. Heck, maybe you should stay on with the Corps. Give it another ten years and you'll be running the show at this rate."

The younger trooper smiled, though he still looked visibly worried. They exited the elevator, heading towards one of the ship's cafeterias. Cross stopped for a moment by a viewport, looking out towards the planet their ship had begun to orbit. Once a thriving, populous colony, Madrigal had been the site of a brutal Covenant attack back in 2528 that saw millions dead. While many civilians survived and had even set up a colony of sorts in the nearby asteroid belt for several years, its loss had been a particularly hard one.

"So that's Madrigal," Cross spoke with quiet reverence. "Heard a lot of stories about this place."

"Me too. Gotta wonder why folks would come back here so soon, though."

"A lot of civilians got out alive, as I recall. I'd guess that they wanted their home back, and put that idea in their kids' heads."

"Maybe. You think the Innies down there are former residents?"

"It's possible. Hell, they might not even be Innies at all. Plenty of unauthorised settlements springing up. You hear about that one on Emerald Cove last year?"

"Pirate base, wasn't it?"

"That's what they said. Still, they brought down the hammer hard on that place. Just hoping we're not going to drop on a bunch of civvies."

Green patted his friend on the back. "C'mon, let's not get hung up on the what-ifs. You worry too much, Bill."

"Fair point." Cross turned away from the viewport with a final, lingering look towards Madrigal. "Hey, could you order for me?"

"Why's that?"

"Because I know you come here because they give you discounts."

Cross grinned as his friend became flustered. "They do not!" he protested weakly.

"Hey, it's the benefits of being young and handsome, sir. I'll have two of those tuna sandwiches, by the way."

"You know, I could pull you up for speaking to an officer this way, Master Sergeant Cross."

"And that would be my lucrative military career over," Cross raised a hand to his forehead theatrically. "And all for two tuna sandwiches. Actually, can we make that chicken?"

Green shook his head and strode towards the nearby counter while Cross took a seat at a nearby table. The two had met three years ago, during a highly-secretive mission run by the Office of Naval Intelligence. A squad of ODST's and two SPARTAN-II's had been deployed to a glassed colony world on an assassination mission, and were lucky enough to survive the harrowing events that took place there. They'd more or less stuck together since then, with Green going from a somewhat inexperienced ODST recruit to a capable battlefield leader in a very short period.

''And here we are, still fighting the fight. We're the only ones left from that Op, aside from the Spartans. I wish-''

"Food's here."

The trooper snapped out of his reverie as two triangular packages and a bottle of water landed on the table before him. Shaking his head, he began to unpack one, hunger overriding any previous thoughts.

"You were miles away," Green remarked.

Cross glanced up as he tore open the packaging. "Was thinking about ASHES." "ASHES? Feels like a lifetime ago."

"Mm-hmm."

"It's a shame, really," the Lieutenant ignored his food, sighing. "Three dead on the mission, then Roberts goes AWOL and dies an Innie the next year. Then we've got-"

"Mitchell. I know."

An uneasy silence settled over their table. While Green had admired his old Lieutenant for the few months they'd known each other, Cross had fought alongside Ash Mitchell for years, and was hit hard when he left the UNSC. Finding out that their old friend - one of the greatest ODST's Green had ever met - had taken part in numerous atrocities by early 2556, earning his infamous title as the 'Butcher of Kuiper'. "Ah, forget about it," Cross said eventually. "Like you said, no point worrying or whatever."

"Yeah. You think that-"

This time, Green was cut off as the deck beneath their feet rumbled heavily. Moments later, alarms began to whine along the nearby wall as the walls shook from a second impact. Both men got to their feet, Cross hurriedly downing his meal.

"What the hell's going on?"

"No idea."

"An attack?"

"Could be. Let's go."

The ODST's ran along a nearby corridor, stopping before a computer terminal. Green activated it and quickly brought up a holographic map of the ship. Several parts of the blue-hologram had been tinted red as a dozen warnings scrolled across the screen.

"Ah, shit," Cross muttered. "Bombs." Several sections of the Destroyer had been hit, with readouts labelling the ship's lifeboats, primary engines, and weapon systems as heavily damaged. Suddenly, a third wave blossomed by the ship's bridge and the lights flickered for a moment.

"Get the men together!" Green barked suddenly, snapping into action. "I'll get to the Captain."

"Lieutenant, wait!" the other trooper shook his head. "We're being gutted. We've got to evacuate."

Green paused for a brief moment. "How many lifepod bays are left?"

"Two. Nowhere near enough for the whole crew."

"What about our pods?"

"There's around eighty, but that's for the three platoons on board."

Once again, the pair were struck with indecision. Without their personal COM systems, they had no way of properly contacting their superiors and therefore had to work alone. The prudent option, seeing as large sections of the Agrippa were disintegrating, would be to abandon ship and make for Madrigal in their drop pods. Said decision would, however, leave hundreds to die. Suddenly, Green pointed back towards the terminal.

"Look!"

As the Destroyer struggled to maintain its course around Madrigal's orbit, bolts of searing plasma hurtled upwards from the planet's surface. Unable to evade or return fire, several struck the ship's hull, gouging out great chunks from the vessel. An explosion blew apart the nearby cafeteria as the staff fled, and their panicked shouts turned to screams as a hull breach began to suck everything out of the room. Diving towards an emergency panel, Green wrenched it open and pulled a switch, instantly sealing a nearby door.

"We're evacuating," he said quietly. "Cross, let's get who we can and get down there."

"Got it."

With the nearby elevator sparking and out of power, Cross and Green dashed into a service corridor and moved downstairs as quickly as possible. As they finally emerged into the crew deck where their fellow ODST's were housed, they came across several other sealed doors and the body of another officer, slumped by a door panel. Cross knelt to check his pulse, only to shake his head.

"Took shrapnel from an explosion. Must've died after sealing this room."

"Damnnit," Green marched away, looking crestfallen.

The pair continued into the barracks, which was surprisingly empty. Most of their platoon had either already moved towards their pods or were unfortunate enough to be away when the attack began. Fishing their well-worn body armour and BDU's from nearby lockers, neither man said a word until they were fully suited up.

"Ears on?" Green tapped his helmet.

Cross responded with a thumbs-up. "Loud and clear. Let's see who we can raise."

"Good idea," he switched channels. "Calling all ODST's, this is Second Lieutenant Green. Anyone not already suited up, please do so and head towards the deployment deck; we are going to drop!"

While him declaring a drop might've been overstepping his rank, considering there were at least three other higher-ranked Helljumpers aboard, Green didn't seem to care as he sprinted back out towards the staircase, leaping down several steps at a time as they descended towards the deployment deck. Cross kept pace, sweating slightly but keeping quiet as they raced into the wide-open chamber. A number of other troopers were already there, grabbing weapons or climbing into pods.

"Hey Lieutenant!" called Saraga, one of the troopers in their platoon. "What's the plan?"

"Didn't you hear my transmission?" Green asked, confused.

She shook her head. "Deck-to-deck signals are screwed, sir. They might be jamming us."

They. Not only do we have a saboteur, we've got a damn smart one then.

"Okay!" he activated his helmet's loudspeakers. "Troopers, everybody mount up. We're under fire from the planet, and I we sure as hell aren't gonna take that, are we?!"

A chorus of shouts responded as the assembled troopers paid him their full attention. Appealing to a Helljumper's bravado was a surefire way of getting them to listen, and in a situation like this where even hardened soldiers were on the verge of panicking, Green had done well to get them focused. Everyone in the bay dashed for pods, quickly grabbing weapons from nearby racks and tossing them inside as they sealed themselves in the metallic coffins known as 'Human Entry Vehicles'.

"All troopers," Green spoke over TEAMCOM. "Giving the green light to drop when ready. Move fast, move hard, and make sure you're alive when we hit the surface, okay?"

This was always the hardest part. Within the cramped confines of his pod, Green's fingers moved over various switches, making last-second checkups on its systems before launch. The deck shuddered slightly as they began to launch on their own, dropping through the maelstrom of plasma fire and burning ship parts as they fell towards Madrigal. Green's fingers hovered over the release catch for just a moment before he pressed down. The pod detached, and fell from the Agrippa, heading into Madrigal's cloud-choked atmosphere. Barely a minute later, the ship finally broke apart and exploded.

Guess this is a combat drop now.

Descent
"I was born out here."

"Hrm?"

Standing before the viewport on the Dyansty's bridge, Amanda looked out over the asteroids. Trailing behind the gas giant, Hesoid, the sprawling field had once housed a Human settlement. Consisting of survivors after Madrigal's glassing, they remained hidden from both the UNSC and Covenant for seven years, until they were forced to flee the system. Now all that remained were a few floating scraps of metal and broken habitat parts.

"In this asteroid field. Used to be a place called the Rubble."

Climbing out of his pilot's chair, Faisal Khan joined her at the viewport, rubbing his beard as he squinted into the darkness.

"Never knew you were a BOB, Amanda," he remarked.

"a what?"

"Born-on-board. A space baby."

She shrugged. "Strange, isn't it? Not coming from a planet."

"Eh, I can see the upsides. Nothing to tie you down. Getting to choose where you want to be from, and all that."

"Yeah, I suppose."

"Lighten up, will ya?" a voice called from across the room. Carol DuMont sat by a terminal, checking the latest sensor reports. "Not everything has to be frigging philosophy, you know."

Amanda turned to scold her, only for Faisal to burst out laughing as he returned to his station. Eventually even she shook her head and cracked a smile at Carol's outburst. She was right, after all; they'd spent the past six months since Avalon's fall pursuing mission after mission, living hand-to-mouth as they gathered supplies and intel on the group within ONI responsible for destroying their home.. After carving a bloody path through the frontier, only five remained aboard; most had either died or departed from the Dynasty long ago, seeing their crusade as little more than a suicide mission.

Amanda had to admit that they had a point.

"Any news on that ship?" she asked, sitting down. The UNSC Destroyer's sudden appearance had delayed their arrival on Madrigal.

"It's just checking the place out, Amanda. It's-"

Carol stopped mid-sentence as something flashed up on her monitor, looking back and forth over multiple readouts.

"What's up?" Faisal asked.

"Shit, something's hit the Destroyer. It's breaking up."

"What?!"

"Yeah, look!"

Amanda and Faisal ran over to Carol's station and stared in stunned disbelief as explosions blossomed along the ship's hull, caused first by interior detonations, then by plasma bolts striking it. The warship wasn't even able to fire a shot back as its crew attempted to evacuate. It wasn't long before there was nothing left but charred remains, slowly burning up as they hurtled into Madrigal's atmosphere. The trio stood and watched for some time until Amanda shook her head and walked back towards the captain's chair.

"That's enough waiting. We've got to go in now."

"But Amanda," Faisal protested. "They just gutted a damn Destroyer. What chance will we have?"

"We've got the nav data and code to be let in, haven't we?"

"Well, yeah-"

"Then they'll let us land. Now go."

It had been roughly two months since news of Ciudad de Huesos had reached Amanda's ears, with rumours of a secret weapons cache surrounding the mysterious settlement. Since then, she'd become obsessed with finding it, chasing leads with increasing brutality across multiple systems. They'd finally hit the jackpot with the raid two days ago, though the slaughter of all those spacers for the sake of some data had left a bitter taste in their mouths. Not one person aboard the Dynasty could blame Amanda's lust for revenge after the massacre that was the UNSC's attack on Avalon, which had surpassed even her previous vendetta against Magnus, the man responsible for killing the ship's first captain.

"Locking in coordinates," Faisal said as the ship slowly manoeuvred out of the asteroid belt.

It took the Dynasty barely twenty minutes to reach Madrigal's orbit, keeping clear of what little remained of the UNSC Agrippa. Amanda keyed a code into their NAV computer; they'd taken it from Jim Hogan's heavily-encrypted files aboard the Starsailor just a few days prior.

"Hope this works," she whispered, broadcasting the code on an open system as their vessel slowly dropped through the atmosphere. Eventually, a response crackled through.

"This is City Command, reading your signal. Identify yourself at once!"

If these guys have the firepower to blow a Destroyer out of orbit, we won't last long against them. "We're an independent freighter from Escala III. Jim Hogan gave us these coordinates."

There was a long pause, presumably as those on the ground debated whether or not to fire on the Dynasty as well. Amanda and Carol had ensured that their code came with a fake ship name and manifest, and had even painted over their vessel's nameplate with a new one: Cernícalo. Faisal had pointed out that a Spanish name may help garner trust with the settlers, many of whom were likely descendants of Madrigal's original colonists from the country of Peru back on Earth.

"All right, Cernícalo," the voice finally responded. "You're cleared to come down. Sending your docking coordinates now."

As the COM clicked off, Amanda allowed herself a sigh of relief. The ship began its descend through Madrigal's atmosphere as a waypoint flashed up on a nearby readout. The bridge doors slid open, and two men entered, looking tired.

"We're here already?" asked Ash Mitchell, suppressing a yawn.

"Had to jump the gun on our landing, Ash. We'll be touching down in ten."

"Great," he scratched his unshaven chin.

Across from him, Rizhan Kama took the gunner's seat. A few years older from Mitchell, he'd once been chief of security at Avalon, and was probably their captain's most loyal follower. Shaking his shaggy head and clearing sleep from his eyes, he quietly ensured that the ship's weapon systems were operational as he always did, priming the Dynasty's 50mm defence gun and the numerous cannons designed to protect the vessel from anything up to a corvette. Amanda doubted they'd have to use them, but it was better to be prepared in a situation like this.

"So," Rizhan asked. "Think they buy our cover?"

"Hard to say. Guess we'll find out when we land."

"We gonna need the Mantis?"

"Maybe."

"Right, I'll go set 'er up."

As he got up to leave, Carol left her station as well, saying something about the mech's hydraulics. Having piloted it during a furious battle on Sargasso's north pole, she' become rather protective of her Mantis, and spent several hours every day fine-tuning its systems or simply painting the outer hull.

"Ash," Amanda jerked a thumb towards Carol's console. The mercenary moved over to it, still looking grumpy and exhausted after staying up the previous night readying his alarmingly large stockpile of weaponry for the battle to come. If there were indeed nuclear weapons stashed somewhere beneath the scorched earth of this planet, then they certainly weren't the only ones looking for them.

"This is odd," muttered Faisal. "Can't detect any signs of a settlement on the long-range."

"We're still following the coordinates they gave us, right?"

"Yeah, but they stop up ahead."

Faisal pointed to a holographic readout of Madrigal's surface, indicating a waypoint in a wide-open valley in the midst of a mountainous region. The Freighter kept on course, the bridge crew growing more uneasy with each passing minute. Suddenly, their COM flared up once again.

"We've got a visual, Cernícalo," spoke the same voice from earlier. "Dropping the shroud now. You've got thirty seconds to land."

Ahead of them the sky suddenly shimmered with light as a massive barrier flared for a moment, and dissipated, Amanda, Faisal and Mitchell stared in awe as a city seemed to materialise beneath them, the slate-grey of prefabricated Human structures intermingling with the blues and purples of Covenant-designed buildings. Dominating the entire valley were three massive spires, each emanating blue light. The moment a second waypoint flashed up beneath them, Faisal slowly lowered the ship, soaring above buildings towards a fairly large set of landing pads ahead.

"Showtime," Mitchell clapped his hands together and got up. "Looks like they've got a welcoming party for us."

Sure enough, there were over a dozen armed men standing by on the landing pad, backed up with what looked like a giant, armoured Unggoy.

"The hell is that?" their pilot muttered, slowly turning the ship around and extending the landing gear. "Was that a Grunt?"

Mitchell shook his head. "Goblin. A Covvie Mantis, more or less. Saw a few out on the frontier."

"Well shit, they must mean business. We still good to go, Amanda?"

She hadn't said a word since they'd first seen the City of Bones, staring blankly at a holographic map of a settlement that had just popped up on their scanners.

This is it, she thought, breathing slowly. ''This is what Avalon could've been if ONI hadn't come for us. Everything I wanted to build since all that shit with Verensky, and someone else has gone and done it first.''

"Amanda?" Mitchell tapped her on the shoulder, taking her out of her reverie.

"Yeah, let's go."

Leaving Faisal to man the ship, Amanda and Mitchell met up with Carol and Rizhan in the cargo bay, where the latter was powering up the Mantis.

"Shut it down!" Mitchell called as he walked past, rifle in hand. "They've got a Goblin out there."

Both of them looked confused. "What's a Goblin?"

"It's trouble, that's what. Just grab a gun and be ready."

Within minutes, the four of them stood before the rear bay door, Amanda clad in her usual longcoat. While seemingly unarmed save for the very visible pistol belt, the others knew she kept a pair of 'snapshot' pistols hidden in her sleeves, to be activated at the flick of her wrist. It had saved everyone's lives more than once. Finally, Carol hit the switch and the doors opened up, greeting them to over twenty rifle barrels and an oversized plasma cannon mounted on the Unggoy mech's wrist.

"Well, they got backup," Mitchell remarked.

A tall, thin man with a moustache and glasses ambled past the crowd of guards, adjusting his glasses as he looked Amanda and the others up and down. Compared to the patchy armour worn by his comrades, he looked completely out of place in a beige suit and tie.

"Welcome to Ciudad de Huesos, Captain Wade," he spoke politely, keeping a reasonable distance. "The name's Gordon Mills. Now, if you'd be so kind as to put down your guns, I've orders to take you all to my boss. No arguments."

As Amanda stepped forward and opened her mouth she heard the sound of multiple safeties being taken off. Raising one arm, she slowly removed the handgun from her belt and slid it across the floor, motioning for the others to do the same.

"Do as they say," she hissed to her crew. "We'll sort something out."

Hearts and Minds
Made it.

Those two words were the first thing that went through Michael Green's head after each and every drop. It didn't matter if he was already being targeted from afar by enemy snipers, or if he was about to emerge into a kill zone of burning plasma fire. Out there, he could rely on his skills as a soldier to survive, and could at least fight back. He wouldn't be killed by some mechanical failure or blasted out the sky by hostile anti-air. Green was terrified of that. He'd hit the ground hard but was otherwise fine.

''Get out. Regroup.''

In battle, thoughts tended to come to him in brief, fragmented sentences, like barked orders. The trooper unclasped his BR85 from the rack to his right, ensuring that its Sentinel sight was securely attached before reaching over to prime the gas-bolt system that would eject his pod's hatch. Raising his weapon slightly, Green activated it and sprang forward the moment it activated, leaping out onto the scorched earth. The ground crunched beneath his boots as the ODST swept left and right for hostiles.

Clear.

Green exhaled, lowering the gun by a fraction and activating his COM. They'd been able to launch most of their own pods, and some of the crew's lifeboats should have been accessible even after the bombing. Looking out over the barren landscape, the trooper felt frighteningly alone.

"This is Second Lieutenant Green to the crew of the Agrippa, do you read me? Is anyone alive, over?"

Thankfully, there were a smattering of replies over the local UNSC channel as both ODST's and surviving crew members answered his hail, though their numbers were fewer than he would've liked. Green then tried the emergency channel, and was met with similar success as several others, including Bill Cross, made themselves known. It soon became clear that the Captain had perished alongside her ship, while the subsequent explosion had claimed several escaping shuttles and late-launching pods. Some reported taking ground fire as they'd entered Madrigal's atmosphere, which was unsurprising. As the highest-ranking Officer left alive, Michael Green was now in charge of the survivors.

"Listen up," he activated his VISR's NAV system and scanned a topographical map of the area. "There's a ravine about two klicks north of my position that I'm gonna set a waypoint on. Anyone without the means to find it, let it known and we'll have someone come to get you once we've regrouped. Green out."

''Simple plan, but it's all I can do right now. Once I get a measure of our fighting strength, we might be able to launch a counter-attack.''

Following his marker north, Green began his sojourn across the glasslands, stepping carefully and keeping an eye out for potholes and half-buried fissures that dotted the landscape. The constantly-blowing dust made visibility difficult at times, though he could clearly make out figures in the distance heading his way. En-route, he came across two fresh craters, littered with the smashed remains of drop pods and their occupants. It was a silent journey of roughly twenty minutes before Green reached the ravine, where a group of his men had already set up a rudimentary camp.

"Lieutenant!" Cross called as he approached; the veteran trooper had been standing guard a the entrance. "I was wondering when you'd join us."

"I took the scenic route," he remarked. "Who's here?"

"Fourteen of us, including me and you. Six crewmen - engineers - who made it down in a lifeboat arrived a few minutes ago too."

"Everyone find this place okay?"

"Yeah, no stragglers to rescue. That said, we're going to have a supply problem after a few days."

Green turned to look out over the absolute desolation that was Madrigal's landscape. Nothing had grown here for nearly thirty years, making living off the land nigh-impossible. Their only choice would be to ration and live off supplies rescued from the Agrippa until the UNSC realised something was wrong and sent backup, which could take anything between forty-eight hours and several weeks. They could, of course, try to find and eliminate their attackers, who were almost certainly Covenant in origin, though without the supplies and manpower they stood little chance of locating an enemy base.

"You see that?" Cross nudged him.

"See what?"

"Up on the left, behind that dune."

Aiming down his rifle's sight, Green was able to barely make out the shape of a person slowly approaching them. Unlike the body armour or uniforms worn by the Agrippa's survivors, he or she looked as though they were clad in an assortment of rags and protective gear, with a gas mask clamped over their face.

"I see it," he whispered. With every second the figure got closer. "Get everyone up, just in case."

Within seconds, Green had over a dozen guns backing him up as he walked forward, waving frantically.

"Stop right there and put your hands up, or we will shoot!"

Either the stranger hadn't heard him or couldn't understand the trooper as he repeated his order, wondering why the usually multi-lingual message of having a gun pointed at you didn't seem to faze them. As he thumbed off the safety, another ODST darted to his side.

"Levante las manos! Levante las manos!"

At this, they froze and did as instructed, and even got to their knees. Green nodded approvingly towards his subordinate as they approached. This close, he noticed how small the person was, and stowed his weapon away before allowing the other ODST to do the talking.

"De dónde vienes?" she asked, crouching down before the masked person.

"Ciudad de Huesos," a child's voice replied.

The ODST looked towards Green. "He says he's from the 'City of Bones'."

"Can he take us there?"

The question was repeated again in Spanish, though the kid only shook his head. With a nod from Green, the trooper gently pulled him up and asked if he could take them somewhere safe. At this, he nodded, and gestured for them to follow.

"Guess we've got a lead," Green smiled. "Everyone, get moving. We might have a long walk ahead of us, so conserve supplies!"

With some grumbling, the ODSTs and crewmen quickly packed up their camp and began to follow the child through the glasslands in single file, with Green and the Spanish-speaking trooper leading the group.

"Thanks for the save back there," he said. "That could've turned ugly, uh..?"

"Lance Corporal Anna Volkov," the other trooper touched the chin of her helmet. "Usually have my name taped here, but mine was in for repairs when the Agrippa got hit. Had to grab what I could."

"It's fine. You part of Second Platoon?"

"Third, sir. Sixth year in the Helljumpers."

''And still a Lance Corporal? Christ, I guess I was lucky to get where I am.''

Their trek was long but uneventful, moving out of the wide-open plains where they'd landed and into a canyon filled with the skeletal outlines of what were once towering skyscrapers, now all smashed together like toppled gravestones. The effect was rather eerie, and Green began to feel like they were walking straight into a trap. He nodded for Volkov to stay close to the kid in case he tried running off, drawing his rifle and indicating for the others to do so as they moved onto what might have once been part of a highway.

"Not a lot of visibility," Cross noted over a private COM channel. "He said 'City of Bones', right?"

"Yeah."

"You don't think there's been folks living here since twenty-eight, do you? I mean, the Covvies absolutely destroyed Madrigal, there's no way anyone could've survived on the surface."

"I wish I knew, Bill. This makes one thing clear though."

"What's that?"

"Our attackers might've been Human."

"You think?"

"It's not unheard of for Innnies to get ahold of Covenant equipment - plasma's better than most Human weapons anyway - and use it against us. I'd say they built up a base here at some point and have been stockpiling the stuff."

"Makes sense, but surely we'd have detected something that big on sensors by the time we entered orbit."

"Guess we're going to find out why."

As they moved deeper and deeper into the ruins, the masked child suddenly veered left, heading down a collapsed ramp and into a tunnel. The troopers jogged after him as he entered what looked like an old parking garage, lined with makeshift barricades of assorted junk. A light shone ahead of them and a voice boomed out.

"Halt!"

The troopers dropped down, weapons raised towards an entrance. Green noted that the voice had spoken in English as a metal gate slowly juddered open ahead of them, revealing two armed guards. The child ran to one and began to talk while the other watched their group sheepishly, unwilling to do anything that would warrant a twenty-man firing squad. After a few moments, half a dozen others emerged from the tunnel, led by a wizened, bearded old man.

"You with the UNSC?" he asked brusquely in heavily-accented English.

"Yes."

"I never thought I'd say this, but it's damn good to see you."

He reached out and shook Green's hand, a look of immense gratitude in his eyes. Getting a good look at him and the others assembled at the gate, Green realised how horribly worn-down all these people looked. While unsurprising considering how harsh conditions were on Madrigal, he had to wonder why they were even on this planet in the first place.

"I'm Daniel Aiza," the old man straightened up slightly, gripping his cane. "Come. I'll fill you in on what's been happning here."

Seeing no other alternative, the Lieutenant waved his group forward. Daniel's guards seemed more relieved than wary of the UNSC personnel, and even stowed their weapons away as they moved deeper into the tunnels, going further underground. Eventually the ground levelled out into a wide cavern, dimly-lit by distant lamps and shafts of light poking through the ceiling. As they walked, Green noticed they had entered what looked like an old Gravball stadium, now half-buried and twisted by heat. Below them where the pitch had once been, were a number of ramshackle structures and tents, alongside several large machines and the massive shape of a six-wheeled mining truck.

"How many people are here?" Green asked.

"Forty-three, last time I counted."

"What about supplies? Water?"

Daniel indicated a piece of quietly buzzing machinery by the camp's entrance. "It's a purifier. Collects moisture from the air, and can recycle urine into drinkable water. It's better than nothing, but we're dead if it breaks."

As they approached, people began to gather round, staring in awe at Green and his comrades. They still moved as a group, the troopers keeping a protective circle around the unarmoured group of crewmen and quietly conversing over personal COM channels. If one of these people so much as twitched the wrong way, this could turn into a bloodbath in moments. Daniel gestured to a pair of chairs beside a tent, and the two sat down. Some of the ODST's had already spread out, forming a perimeter around the camp.

"Now," he took a half-empty whiskey bottle from the tent. "I will tell you our story."

For nearly half an hour, Green sat patiently as the elderly man spoke. Nine years ago, he and many other former residents of Madrigal - some with Insurrectionist ties - had sought to return to their homeworld. While relatively few in number, they had reasoned that if they could survive the Covenant's attack and the eventual downfall of the Rubble, then they could try and recolonise the planet without the UNSC's help. Discreetly travelling outside of UNSC space, these would-be colonists had spent years transporting stolen supplies as they established a base in the ruins of a former city. With contacts from wealthy secessionist groups and the black market, Daniel and the other leaders were able to acquire Covenant technology, stolen by opportunistic Kig-Yar as their empire fell apart. Hidden from the rest of the galaxy, the growing settlement's nickname of 'Ciudad de Huesos' - the City of Bones - soon became an official name and through a network of suppliers all sworn to secrecy, it established itself as a trading hub outside the control of any of the galaxy's major powers. Everything seemed to be going well until the summer of 2556.

"And then he came."

"Who?"

Daniel tossed the now empty bottle aside, his wrinkled face contorted into a furious sneer.

"Carlos Driscol. And we thought the NCA were helping us."

As this, Green sat a little straighter. "I've heard of Driscol. The man's a wanted terrorist."

"We knew nothing of him when he arrived, only that he was an old soldier. Some of us thought he would be like us; old freedom fighters. No offence."

"None taken. So what did he do?"

"He took over the city, that's what. Him and his men, they started building without asking the council, creating weapon stockpiles and bringing in more troops from offworld. Eventually, Aileda and Samson, two of my close friends, tried to stop him. He killed them, then told the entire city he was in charge."

"Wouldn't the people have stood up to him?"

Daniel spat on the ground. "Hah! You would be surprised at how many so-called friends abandon you when their lives are at risk, trooper. I quickly gathered those who refused this man's tyranny and tried to leave, only for Driscol to destroy our ship. A few of us were able to gather supplies and escape out here. This is all we have left."

Green looked around. Most of the people here were families with children, with few fighting men and women among them. At this stage, it was difficult to decide what to do. On one hand, Daniel and his comrades were almost certainly ex-Insurrectionist soldiers who could have committed acts of terrorism in the past, and had built this city using stolen or illegal goods. On the other, as a soldier he could not abandon them when a much more powerful threat ruled the City of Bones. He stood up, drawing himself to his fullest height as his visor depolarised.

"Can you get us into the city, Daniel?"

The man seemed taken aback by this, but nodded, a smile creeping across his face.

"Then we'll get rid of Driscol for you. Troopers, we-"

As Green turned, an explosion rocked the camp. He was blown off his feet as the water purifier erupted in a blinding flash. Screams and gunfire filled the smoke-laden air as he rolled over, his head spinning as he saw Daniel crawling for cover. The COM was a mess of shouting and as the ODST clambered to his feet, he saw figures moving into the cavern through the main entrance, guns blazing.

"Get everyone to the truck!" Green barked, snapping his rifle up to provide covering fire. "Troopers, protect the civilians!"

While their attackers had the high ground, firing from what had once been the stadium's stands, Green's force were better-trained and had VISR technology on their side. Slowly edging along the camp's outskirts, he let loose several bursts that dropped two men and forced the others back into cover. The civilians had ran straight for the truck, scrambling up the boarding ramp amid a hail of bullets. Glancing over, he watched as a small body with a gas mask fell to the stony ground.

"Goddamn motherfuckers!" yelled a trooper to Green's left, standing up and delivering a frighteningly accurate volley of DMR rounds. "You animals!"

The Lieutenant grabbed the other man and pulled him back into cover as their foe returned fire. Clad in the Recon-class helmet often worn in the field by ODST Pathfinders, the younger trooper's hands shook as he reloaded his weapon.

"Calm down, and pick your targets," he said not unkindly. "Make your shots count."

"Yeah, sir," came the sullen response.

In the confusion, Green wasn't sure how many men he'd lost. The sudden attack and frantic retreats made it difficult to keep track, and as he and the remnants of their platoon finally sprinted up aboard the mining truck, a thought finally occurred to him.

''That water tank wasn't hit from afar. Someone blew it up.''

The logic of one of Daniel's people destroying their own vital water supply was absurd, and they seemed to be a tight enough group that they would've noticed an outside infiltrator. That left only Green's own group as the perpetrators. Before he could mull it over further, reloading his rifle, a hoarse voice called from the front.

"Hey, Mister ODST!" called Daniel as the truck began to move. "Get up here!"

Green did as he was told, carefully moving past the huddled civilians filling up most of the vehicle's compartments and clambering up a tight staircase to the upper level. Of the twenty survivors of the Agrippa, only nine were left - all ODST's. While he lamented the death of the engineers they had failed to protect, he had to focus on the present. The trooper soon found himself in the driver's cab. There, the old man's hands clutched the wheel in a white-knuckle grip, his eyes blazing with anger.

"Did you kill them all?"

"Most of them."

"They were his men. Driscol's."

"Look, we didn't-"

"I do not care how they found us. Maybe they followed you, maybe it was a coincidence. Doesn't matter. I lost people, you lost people."

The trooper sighed, staring out of the forward window as the heavy truck finally pushed its way out of the ruined city and hit the glasslands without slowing down. Built to last even on volcanic worlds, these mining rigs were about as tough as military vehicles in terms of durability.

"My name's Green, by the way. Michael Green."

"Rank?"

"Second Lieutenant. Does it matter?"

"Not really."

They did not remain in the glasslands for long. Their truck soon turned, moving uphill into the mountains. Even the glassing had not flattened Madrigal's peaks, which jutted out of the near-featureless landscape all around them. While it looked like a dead end to the trooper, Daniel clearly knew where he was going. Ahead of them, carved deeply in the cliffs, was a wide-open crevice that was clearly man-made.

"There," Daniel pointed. "We used to use it to leave on scavenging runs when we first came back to Madrigal."

"Wouldn't they have closed it off?"

"It is the only way to leave by land, so I think not."

As they slowly moved over rocky, uneven ground, another trooper poked his head into the cab. It wasn't a man Green recognised; probably someone from Second or Third Platoon.

"Lieutenant?" he asked. "Master Sergeant Cross is asking for you."

"Right, I'll see what he wants."

The officer stood up and edged past the trooper, heading along the narrow gantry towards the stairs. Before he'd taken his first step, he realised that Bill would have just contacted him over the COM if he wished to speak. A strangled cry from the cab caught his attention, and he raced back into the room as Daniel toppled forward, his neck gushing blood. Before he could draw his rifle, the trooper sprang at him, one hand going for a pistol while the other held a knife.

"No you don't!"

Green headbutted the man, narrowly avoiding a stab as he pressed the attack, throwing quick punches and putting his weight against the attacker. Somehow, someone had been impersonating one of the Agrippa's ODST's, and had almost certainly set off that bomb back at the camp. ''But how? Nobody could've been around when we hit the ground or I'd have known, which means-''

The impostor landed an uppercut and Green staggered back, tasting blood in his mouth as anger welled up inside him.

Which means this is the bastard who bombed the ship.

It took every bit of training he had not to go for the kill in their next exchange as Green sent the knife spinning away and knocked the pistol from his opponent's hands. While he was a touch slower than the other man, the trooper's sheer rage seemed to block out any pain he felt as he landed blow after blow that toppled his enemy, finally giving him a chance to unclasp his rifle and bring it down with force on the impostor's visor. The glass only cracked, though the sheer force of it seemed to put his attacker out for the count.

"All ODST's, we have an enemy combatant on board and incapacitated, get up to the driver's cab ASAP."

He glanced over to Daniel's body. The old man had used the last of his strength to cry out and stop the truck, preventing them from crashing. Bill Cross and Anna Volkov were the first to arrive, followed by the young Pathfinder Green had spoken to earlier. Lifting the man's helmet off, the trooper saw that their captive was still very much awake.

"Who sent you?" he demanded immediately.

"It was a job," came the flat, eerily monotone response.

"Then who are you working for? Is it Driscol?"

Green knew it was unlikely, as no one had boarded the ship after it entered the 23 Librae System and the chance of Driscol somehow knowing their destination before leaving the fleet was unsettling, to say the least. The assassin looked extraordinarily young, with dark hair and chiselled features. He looked more bored than anything else, and showed little exertion from their brief fight. He sighed and spoke once more.

"The highest bidder. Idiot."

There was the tiniest flash of movement as the man's fingers twitched, and suddenly the floor gave way beneath him, a second explosion blowing much of the truck's lower portion to pieces. Green was thrown from the vehicle, his body saved only by its thick armour as he landed along a nearby mountainside. The civilians began to scream once more and as the trooper passed out, he saw dropships drifting over the horizon.

*** The mission had been harder than expected. Not impossible, but certainly harder.

The ODST's will cost extra, he decided.

Standing by the burning ruins of the truck with bodies littered around his booted feet, the assassin stood and waited as the Pelican dropship slowly lowered towards him. His presence on Madrigal would likely surprise Driscol, though singlehandedly destroying a UNSC warship and its crew was no small feat. A few had fled into the foothills, and were currently being pursued by the other vessel. Using his explosives early to save his life was a risky gamble, but had ultimately paid off thanks to his stolen armour and some quick thinking. The dropship's doors opened and a group of rough, heavily-armed men stepped out.

"Winston Zhou!" their leader clapped as he stepped down, clad in black. "I was surprised when you contacted us."

"I required assistance, Alistair."

"And you got it. So, what's the pay?"

"For delivering you both the exiles and these troopers? One hundred."

"Cheaper than I thought."

"The ship was a different contract."

Across from him, the man in black shrugged. A thin, sallow-faced man, Alistair Travis was Carlos Driscol's right-hand man and field commander. Just a year ago he'd been little more than a no-name gangster on the streets of Noctus, not far from what Winston himself had been when Driscol first found him.

"So, want a lift back into the city?"

"Yes please."

"Any idea what these guys were after?"

"None," he lied. Lieutenant Green had intended to break into the City of Bones to presumably kill Driscol, but there was no point in speaking of a dead man's motives. Travis waved him forward, and they boarded the Pelican, lifting off and beginning its journey back towards civilisation.

***

"Lieutenant? Lieutenant, you've got to get up!"

"Is he awake? We can't stay here long."

It was dusk when Green sat up, his head still aching from the crash. Sheltered within a tiny alcove on the side of a mountain, only he and three other ODST's remained. Bill Cross had a bandage around his head, while Anna Volkov knelt by him, looking worried.

"I'm fine," he muttered. "What happened?"

Nearly, the Pathfinder lay as a lookout, watching the nearby valley. "We got screwed, sir."

"Watch your tone," Cross warned.

Green managed to stand up, shakily. "No, he's right. What's your name, trooper?"

"Private First Class Victor Denley, sir."

"Well Denley, we're in the shit now, and since we've barely got enough supplies left for a few days, all we can do is advance. Are they looking for us?"

Volkov spoke up. "They had dropships searching the valley for the past two hours, killing everyone else. Guess they thought they'd done a good enough job, since they left."

The Lieutenant nodded, looking out towards the crevice that Daniel said lead into the City of Bones. After a total victory, it was likely that Driscol's forces believed they had won. That they were invincible. This was their opportunity to strike. Four Orbital Drop Shock Troopers could do a hell of a lot of damage in the right place, and even if they couldn't win, Green wanted to make sure they softened this place up for when reinforcements arrived.

"We'll move in at dawn. Get some rest for now."

Denley sighed, reciting the old ODST motto: "Feet First into Hell..."