RP:Imperium/Content


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=RP:Imperium=

Prologue
Captain Reynald Donnelly stood back as the doors to the bridge opened, and found himself wishing for the hundredth time today that someone else had been given this job.

Donnelly strode across the deck while his assembled command staff stood at attention, followed closely by his guest and the source of all of today's problems. Neglecting the padded command chair he desperately wanted to rest in, the Captain gestured towards the row of stations ahead of them.

"Weapons, navigation, communications," he said flatly as a group of officers below nodded or waved. "This is where we run the ship."

Stood behind Donnelly was Shipmaster Keyn Goras, a hulking Sangheili clad in the golden armour commonly worn by those of his station. Standing at nearly eight feet tall, he easily towered over everyone aboard the Haversham, which made his utterly condescending attitude even more of an annoyance to deal with. A pair of predatory saurian eyes flicked around the bridge, looking for something to comment on

"I see," his low, rumbling voice could be heard throughout the room. "It seems efficient, though exposed."

That was the closest he had come to a compliment all day. "Halberds are built with efficiency in mind," Donnelly replied. "What we lack in defence, we make up for in speed."

While he knew just about every shortcoming of the Halberd-class destroyer and had complained a great deal about the vessels in his eight years of captaincy, Donnelly found himself becoming incredibly protective of his ship and all its features. He had spent the past hour personally escorting Shipmaster Goras across every deck, and had met the Sangheili's constant remarks about weakness and inefficiency with polite counterpoints. Looking out over the port-side viewscreen, he caught sight of the Ferocity, a venerable SDV-class heavy corvette that had been sent on this mission alongside the Haversham.

Interspecies cooperation, Donnelly thought to himself as he watched Goras looming over his officers. I hope Lieutenant Aziz is having a better time over there.

As this area fell under the joint jurisdiction of both the United Nations Space Command and the Swords of Sanghelios, some bright spark had gotten the idea of paired patrols; sending warships from both races to investigate reports of piracy or communications blackouts. While the idea had been readily accepted by the bureaucrats and politicians, many among the UNSC Navy barely tolerated working alongside former Covenant members. Nonetheless, Donnelly knew better than to offend Goras; the Sangheili often took insults poorly, and the last thing he wanted was to flush away a promising career for causing a diplomatic incident.

"Captain," the Shipmaster spoke slowly, as if addressing a child. "Were we to encounter pirates, what course of action would you take?"

"I would assess the situation, and depending on the threat level I would either engage or attempt to contact reinforcements."

Goras huffed. A satisfactory answer. "Then if we engaged, which of our vessels would enter the fray first?"

Donnelly realised where this was going; he wanted to know who had seniority in a combat situation. "Your corvette is larger and better-armed, and can deploy fighters. It would move in first while we provided support."

"Naturally," the Shipmaster turned away, abruptly cutting off his line of questioning. "Then if this tour is finished, I would like to return to the Ferocity."

"Of course." I can't wait to see you gone either, you lousy hinge-head bastard. "We'll contact your ship and-"

Suddenly, a brief siren sounded by the navigation console. The officer there, Lieutenant Warren, input command after command while Donnelly and Goras approached.

"Sir," Warren half-turned, still typing with one hand. "We've picked up something on the long-range scanners."

"Trouble?" the Captain asked.

Warren glanced back to his screen as new information scrolled across it. "Looks like a warship, sir. Covenant."

With this, a shiver ran down Donnelly's spine, though he wasn't sure if it was out of excitement or worry. Ignoring Goras for the time being, he walked over to his command chair, sat down, and brought up a tactical screen before bringing up the ship's intercom.

"All hands, to your stations," his calm voice echoed through the Haversham's corridors. "Possible enemy warship sighted."

The Sangheili seemed to take the situation well, and stood by Donnelly's chair with his arms folded as the crew scrambled to their stations, readying weapons and pinpointing the last known position of the distant vessel. The rust-coloured planet Montak loomed ahead; the destination of today's mission.

"So it was more than a communications failure," Goras nodded, looking rather pleased. "That is good."

"You wanted a fight?"

"I wanted something more than endless patrols of empty space."

At this, Donnelly couldn't help but lean back in his chair with a chuckle, realising that he might have more in common with the grumpy Shipmaster than he first realised. "You and me both."

Twenty uneventful minutes passed as the Haversham and the Ferocity sped up, moving around the planet towards the source of the disturbance. From what Donnelly knew, Montak had been almost undisturbed until a few years before the end of the war, when an enterprising corporation had discovered vast mineral deposits there that could be mined and used to fuel the then-ongoing war effort against the Covenant. While that never came to pass, the resource-rich world had been put to good use since then by the Liang-Dortmund Corporation, who had essentially laid claim to the entire planet. A world like this out on the frontier would be a prime target for piracy, which led to the two warships being dispatched after all communications from Montak abruptly cut off three days ago.

"We'll have visual contact in thirty seconds," Lieutenant Warren called up.

"Good" Donnelly nodded. "Ready weapons and prepare to open communications."

Goras glanced over. "You are willing to speak to pirates?"

"Naval code dictates that we give them at least one chance to surrender. Will your ship?"

There was a brief pause as Goras considered it. In Donnelly's eyes, he was likely weighing up the idea of striking first in combat and his cultural disposition towards what some would consider honourable conduct in battle. After a few seconds, he relented.

"I will contact the Ferocity. They will not fire unless attacked first."

"Thank you."

As the Haversham moved around Montak, a distant speck flashed up on the viewscreen ahead of them. A holographic panel to Donnelly's left lit up as the image magnified, revealing the distinctive shape of a Covenant CRS-class light cruiser in orbit. Donnelly felt a sense of relief; it wasn't particularly dangerous as far as Covenant vessels went, though they would have to remain careful. "Lieutenant," he signalled Warren. "Any signals from the surface?"

Warren shook his head after a quick check. "Nothing. We won't be able to analyse the situation until we've disengaged, sir."

"Copy that. Open a COM line with that ship."

At this point, Donnelly was all but certain that they would be forced to engage. Many pirates were ex-Covenant military or lucky enough to have scavenged equipment from it, and often preferred to fight to the death to surrendering without a fight. Chances were that this ship had come here to pillage the groundside refineries or at worst, enslave the small populace. As they steadily approached minimum firing distance, Donnelly accessed the long-range COM and cleared his throat before activating it.

"Unidentified vessel, this is the UNSC Haversham. You are conducting illegal operations in occupied space and have been classified as a threat. Please stand down and surrender at once or we will be forced to open fire."

The Captain sat up straight in his chair as the message was transmitted and relayed not only in English, but in several Sangheili and Kig-Yar dialects for the pirates to hear. Over a minute passed with no response, save for the Haversham and its ally positioning themselves for what seemed like an inevitable confrontation. As Donnelly turned towards his weapons officer to fire a MAC round into the cruiser's bow, the COM crackled as a bold, authoritative voice filtered through.

"You trespass on our Imperium, and must pay the price."

For a few brief moments, not a single soul on the bridge moved, either out of uncertainty or confusion. At best, Donnelly had expected an actual surrender or some cry of defiance, not this ominous proclamation. He got to his feet and pointed towards the distant ship.

"Prepare MAC round. As soon as we've fired, the Ferocity can finish it off."

As the crew got back to their posts and the Destroyer shifted slightly, getting a proper trajectory on the distant cruiser, an alarm went up from several monitors. "Captain!" one of the officers called from across the room. "We're detecting numerous slipspace disturbances in-system!"

"Shit," he muttered. "Keep track of them!"

Donnelly dashed to a nearby holotable with a slightly bemused Goras at his heel and brought up an image of the local system.. Used to commanding from the bridge of a Sangheili vessel, the Shipmaster suddenly seemed very out of place while reduced to the role of a passive observer. Several red markers around Montak and its unnamed moons indicated a series of incoming ships about to emerge from slipspace.

"More Pirates?" Goras suggested. "If they are as weak as this vessel we should emerge victorious from this battle."

As Donnelly watched the readout, more and more signatures popped up. This wasn't the arrival of a few ships to back up a pirate vessel. This was an incoming fleet.

"We need to retreat," he turned to the Shipmaster. "Whatever's coming, we don't have the firepower to stop it."

The Sangheili bristled at this, but relented with a heavy sigh. For all his bluster, he wouldn't attempt to defy a Captain aboard his own ship. "I will contact the Ferocity."

As Goras picked up his disk-shaped communicator, yet another shrill alarm rang out from the console. Donnelly turned to see their local scanners completely overwhelmed, with a red marker completely covering everything within the Haversham's range. He sighed and returned to the front of the bridge.

"Looks like we're being jammed. Turn us around and-"

As he looked through the viewport, something occurred to Captain Donnelly: the stars had vanished. The endless sea of white pinpricks against the blackness of space was gone, replaced by an all-encompassing void. He stared blankly, one hand tugging the collar of his uniform as his eyes tried to make sense of what was going on. It took a few more seconds of confused gawking before realisation dawned on Donnelly. There was a ship above them.

He had been entirely mistaken when he assumed they were being jammed. The vessel that emerged from slipspace had simply been so large that it completely overwhelmed their scanners. As the last vestiges of particle reconciliation faded away into blue mist around the hull of the gargantuan ship, Donnelly could finally make out the tiny dots of light lining its underside, stretching far out of sight.

"By my ancestors," Goras breathed, now at Donnelly's side. "It's a Supercarrier."

Those assembled on the Haversham's bridge stood at their posts, stupefied by the sheer enormity of the ship looming above them. Numerous messages scrolled across the now-ignored console screens, warning of more slipspace ruptures as warship after warship emerged around Montak. Were it not for the shock and terror that now occupied the crew's hearts, they would have considered the fleet's arrival to be quite a breathtaking sight. Their reverie was only broken when a bright flash from the port-side viewport caught their attention. Donnelly's mouth hung open in horror as he saw the Ferocity utterly gutted by a single powerful plasma beam. We're next.

"We've got to go!" he shouted, snapping everyone else into action.

The Haversham turned sharply as its engines kicked into gear. It would be some time before they could safely jump to slipspace, but with their speed they might just make it. As they began to pull away, there was a sudden jolt as the entire ship shook, veering sharply to one side.

"Port fusion drive's been hit!" a nearby officer yelled from her station. "We can't maintain course!"

The Haversham shuddered again as Donnelly leant against the side of his chair, having almost been thrown to the floor after that first attack. The fact that they weren't already dead was surprising, and could only mean that this new foe wanted them as prisoners instead. He flipped a switch by his chair and activated the ship's intercom once again.

"All hands, prepare for boarders." As things currently stood, they had no way of escaping or overcoming the fleet that now surrounded them. However, this fleet hadn't vaporised them yet, meaning that they would be forced into a boarding action. Sure enough, several Phantom dropships whizzed past the Haversham's frontal viewport, likely circling round to gain access through the airlocks. Donnelly sighed.

"We'll have to surrender," he said sadly. "I'm not sacrificing my entire crew for the sake of a doomed last stand."

"What?!" Shipmaster Goras snarled, sending spittle flying everywhere. "Retreat is one thing, but I will not suffer captivity after they slaughtered my brethren!"

"Shipmaster!" Donnelly finally snapped. "You are aboard my ship, and I will not allow you to endanger my crew. Stand down."

Donelly's fierce gaze met a pair of determined yellow eyes. Though the Shipmaster could have easily killed him and most of the bridge crew without much effort, the Sangheili stood back and folded his arms once again, massively displeased but unwilling to attack his allies. Trudging over to the COM relay, Donnelly opened a public channel and began to broadcast.

"This is the UNSC Haversham. We surrender, and will not fight back as long as our lives are spared."

After sending the message, Donnelly could only stare at his highly-polished boots, unable to meet the faces of anyone else on his bridge. Their attackers were quick to respond.

"We understand. Do not resist and we will treat you fairly."

With that, all Donnelly and the other two hundred and forty members of the Haversham's crew had to do was wait and comply with orders. The Captain sat quietly in his chair, and said nothing when boarding parties sliced through escape pod access ports and landed small craft in the shuttle bay, pouring dozens of heavily-armed Sangheili soldiers into the vessel. The crew did as instructed, sitting unarmed as their captors rounded them up and escorted them away.

Soon enough, they arrived at the bridge.

Donnelly had moved by then, and stood alongside Goras and the dozen officers that made up his bridge staff as the heavy bulkhead doors slid open. Six Sangheili stepped forward, fully-armoured and wearing enclosed helmets. They spread out in a loose formation, not saying a word as they ensured that everyone in the room was accounted for. Goras began to twitch nervously, but otherwise said nothing as their guards stood to attention.

Donnelly stepped forward. "I'm the Captain of this vessel. To whom-"

"Keep still!" one of their captors barked, levelling his carbine threateningly. "He will be here soon."

The Captain knew better than to ask further questions, and withdrew into the gaggle of officers to await this mysterious individual. After a couple of minutes, four more warriors arrived, clad in intricate suits of silver armour that shone with strange symbols. They moved cautiously, and carried weapons of an exotic design that Connelly had never seen before. At their rear, in a dazzling suit of white and gold, was a tall Sangheili with a cape draped over his shoulders. He walked proudly across the Haversham's bridge, taking in every last detail before settling his gaze on the prisoners.

"Who is in charge here?" he demanded. It was the voice from the earlier transmissions.

Donnelly stepped forward, and saluted. "I'm Captain Reynald Donnelly of the UNSC Navy."

The Sangheili eyed him curiously, and nodded. "I am Imperial Admiral Toru 'Makhan of the Imperium of Clarity. You have unlawfully invaded our system today, Captain."

The what? Donnelly knew the name of just about every pirate group out there, so this faction were a complete unknown to him.

"Imperial Admiral," he said politely, "Montak is a mining colony under the jurisdiction of the Unified Earth Government. I'm afraid that your occupation will be met with force."

While Donnelly had a hard time reading the expression on a Sangheili's face, he could've sworn that the shining figure before him was smiling. Before he could reply, Goras sprang forward, unleashing his twin-pronged energy sword in a swift flourish as he made a mad dash towards Toru 'Makhan. The Imperial Admiral drew his own blade in an instant, igniting a blade made not of shaped plasma, but of hard light. It caught the Shipmaster's weapon with ease, and as he reeled back for a second blow, all four of Toru's bodyguards opened fire with their long rifles. As his eyes widened in surprise, Goras could only utter a single curse.

"Cowards!"

The Sangheili warrior roared as several beams of directed energy struck him, burning through shielding, armour, clothing and flesh in seconds. As he attempted to take another step forward, his body simply fell apart, disintegrating into wisps of white-hot ash before their very eyes. He swiftly vanished, leaving the ghost of his final, pained scream hanging in the air. Donnelly and his crew remained silent, to afraid to do anything but stare. The assembled soldiers quickly moved in, wordlessly lining the officers up to be escorted out of the ship. Deactivating his weapon, Toru 'Makhan caught Donnell's frightened gaze, and waved one hand in a grandiose gesture.

"Consider this my declaration of war."

1
"-and that is the last transmission we received."

As the lights in the meeting room brightened, a low murmur of conversation rose up among the assembled officers. For the last twenty minutes they had sat in complete silence, watching the surveillance footage and COM transmissions recovered from the UNSC Haversham's jettisoned black box and pieced together by Naval Intelligence's AI constructs. Less than twenty-four hours ago, a Winter-class prowler had entered the Montak system, recovered the badly-damaged device, and returned to Earth as quickly as possible.

All in all, it did not paint a pretty picture.

"Do we have an ID on that supercarrier?" a grey-haired General asked, glancing down at his datapad.

Across from him, a man in the dark uniform of a Naval officer stood up and cleared his throat. "Our initial reports suggest that it is the Watchful Custodian, belonging to one Toru 'Makhan. The transmission identifying the attackers as part of the 'Imperium of Clarity' confirms this."

"I can't say I'm aware of that group."

"Not many are, General Hogan." He looked towards man at the head of the table. "Fleet Admiral?" Fleet Admiral Lord Terrence Hood slowly stood up, and all eyes in the room turned towards him with rapt attention. If the Chief of Naval Operations was here, then it meant that this was much more serious than a simple piracy operation gone wrong. Adjusting the collar of his distinctive white service uniform, Hood placed both hands behind his back before addressing his subordinates.

"Thank you, Vice Admiral Samson," Hood gestured towards the centre of the table, and a holographic display lit up. "The Imperium of Clarity is a Sangheili-led faction that appears to have formed on the edges of former Covenant space in the aftermath of the Great War. As their actions have been almost entirely outside of human space so far, there has been very little official contact with them until the attack two days ago."

"So they're another remnant group, then?" a young officer interjected, earning a few annoyed looks.

Hood shook his head. "No, not like the ones we've faced before. They were mostly mercenaries, nomadic fleets or terrorist groups. This 'Imperium' has infrastructure, a government, and a large civilian populace. In other words, it is being treated as a hostile government, not a group of extremists. As such, the decision has been made between the United Nations Space Command - with oversight from the civilian government - and envoys from the Swords of Sanghelios to launch an immediate military campaign to repel this invasion and neutralise the threat posed to us by the Imperium of Clarity. "

As Hood sat back down, the whispered conversations that had been ongoing during his briefing rose in volume as the room's occupants discussed the matter. A tall, middle-aged man with a weather-beaten face rose from his chair and saluted.

"Rear Admiral Hawkins," Hood nodded politely.

"Sir, am I to assume that we will be working alongside the Swords of Sanghelios during this campaign?"

"That is correct. Will that be an issue?"

"No sir, I was just curious about how the chain of command will operate."

"The Sangheili Fleet Master intends to work alongside us, but will not interfere with our military operations in any way."

"I see," Hawkins seemed satisfied, and sat down.

When it became clear that there were no further questions, Hood waved towards one of his aides at a nearby console. The holoprojector built into the meeting table lit up, and an array of miniature starships appeared alongside numerous charts projecting troop numbers and supply expenditures.

"Leading this operation will be the Sixth Fleet, comprised of eighty-four warships and twenty-two support vessels. Within forty-eight hours we intend to have it assembled over our rally point at New Syracuse, the closest suitable colony world to the Montak system. There, we will rendezvous with a fleet sent by the Swords of Sanghelios before launching our counter-attack into enemy territory."

Hood paused for a moment before gesturing to a woman at his left. "Admiral Lin Zhi has been chosen as the commanding officer for this campaign, with Rear Admiral John Hawkins acting as her Chief of Staff."

At this, Zhi rose and gave a firm salute to Hood before surveying the room. Though she had not said a single word since the meeting began, many knew of her reputation as a tough officer with an impressive combat record against the Covenant. Steely-eyed and straight-backed, she possessed a certain gravitas that gave off an intimidating aura far greater than that of the other venerable officers that towered over her.

"Thank you, Fleet Admiral," Zhi mirrored his earlier position, crossing her hands behind her back. "Like many of you, I am no stranger to fighting against Covenant - or former Covenant - warships, and am fully aware of the dangers a fleet will face. However, I assure you that I intend to end this war quickly and efficiently, without needlessly wasting the lives of the brave men and women fighting for us. While a proper offensive strategy has not yet been formulated, over the next two days I intend to-"

Zhi stopped abruptly as a hand shot up from across the table. It belonged to a young officer, dressed in a dark green uniform and matching beret. Eyeing a silver leaf on his collar, she raised an eyebrow.

"Yes, Commander?"

To everyone's surprise, the man shot to his feet, snapping his boots together as he saluted the Admiral, who seemed more surprised than offended as he began to speak.

"Thank you, Admiral." He clasped his hands together, either unaware of or simply choosing to ignore Zhi's darkening expression. "My name is Commander Andrei Fosse, of the Naval Strategic Response Division, and I'm honoured to be a part of this campaign. As the NSRD were given access to the files from the Montak incident prior to this meeting, I have taken the liberty of formulating a strategy already, as I was asked."

"I wasn't aware of this," Zhi looked over to Hood, who seemed rather embarrassed.

"The decision must have been made very recently," the Fleet Admiral fixed Fosse with a withering stare. "And without my knowledge."

Fosse seemed completely unabashed by this as he replied. "My apologies, Fleet Admiral. As per an order passed and signed by both the Secretary of Defence and President of the UEG, the NSRD is to provide oversight in terms of force deployment and logistics in addition to ensuring that all interspecies cooperation is carried out without incident. This will also extend to negotiations with the enemy, should it come to that."

Zhi nodded in resigned acceptance. Arguing with bureaucrats was a fruitless endeavour. "Did you have a strategy in mind, Commander Fosse?"

"Of course."

Fosse connected his own datapad into the holotable, and the image in front of them quickly changed from logistic readouts to a mass of tiny holographic ships, representing the entirety of the Sixth Fleet and by the look of things, the Swords of Sanghelios Fleet.

"As you can see," Fosse pointed towards the lines of UNSC ships massed alongside their Sangheili counterparts. "By combining our speed and maneuverability with the firepower of our allies, we can easily overwhelm the enemy fleet with a strong formation and massed fire."

"What maneuverability?" Vice Admiral Hawkins spoke up, waving his hand through the flickering hologram. "That close, our ships will barely have room to evade without hitting our allies."

Fosse's smile never faltered. "That is why we must remain flexible in our strategy. Should we come under heavy fire, our Sangheili allies will advance to provide cover while our own fleet quickly reorganises into two groups. I'm sure that any competent Naval officer could manage it, even under pressure."

Vice Admiral Samson was next to interrupt. "And what if the enemy surrounds us, or is able to slip high-powered weaponry into our midst? I feel as though you are severely underestimating this group's capabilities."

"An excellent point from the head of the Prowler Corps," Fosse admitted with a childish shrug. "Of course, we will need to ensure that the field is ours by the time we engage the enemy in full-blown combat. With proper reconnaissance and proper calculations regarding enemy slipspace vectors, our fleet may be able to intercept and combat the enemy before they can formulate a proper response."

There was a long silence as all eyes in the room turned towards Hood, who had remained impassive throughout Fosse's speech. However, it was Zhi who answered first.

"Commander Fosse, what is your combat experience?"

"I served aboard the UNSC Holloway for five years, Admiral. We participated in numerous fleet actions against Kig-Yar and Jiralhanae pirates in the Joint Occupation Zone."

"And why is it that someone of your experience is devising plans of attack for an entire fleet?"

While Fosse's smile remained, there was an unmistakable flash of anger in his eyes. "With all due respect, the NSRD specialises in tactical simulation and threat analysis, and has been responsible for planning a number of very successful operations over the years. Were I not qualified for such a position, the Secretary of Defence would not have assigned me to this fleet. However, I fully understand that my strategies may conflict with your own methods. As such, we may discuss things further after moving to our forward command post."

Not a single person in the room would have blamed Zhi for exploding with rage then and there, and few would have intervened if she had leapt across the table and started beating him to death. Instead, she simply closed her eyes for a moment and sat down, her voice completely level.

"I see. I have no further questions."

Hood leaned forward, and motioned for Fosse to sit down. "Thank you, Commander. Now, let's wrap this up so we can proceed."

***

The meeting lasted for another unnecessary half-hour before Hood brought it to an end. Most of that time had been dominated by Fosse's assurances that he had planned for all contingencies and a brief disagreement on how best to deploy Special Forces personnel on the ground; units were being brought in from several divisions to augment their sizeable Marine contingent, alongside a number of private contractors. Putting it lightly, personnel organisation was a mess right now.

"I'm sorry about that, Admiral," Hood pinched the bridge of his nose shortly after the last officer had departed. "I didn't think they'd ambush us with someone like Fosse."

"It's not your fault, sir," Zhi unscrewed a bottle of water. "It's politics."

Hood sighed. "Politics." He spat the word out like a curse. "When I dismantled many of our emergency powers after the war ended, I was hoping for a return to normalcy. Instead we've got just as much infighting and nepotism as ever."

"You think Fosse has connections?"

"I think he's the kind of man who knows how to butter people up to cover up his own weaknesses. When someone like that gains the favour of an elected official, they can cause a lot of damage."

Zhi took a long draught from her bottle, and exhaled. "Do you think he'll force us to go ahead with this ridiculous plan? He doesn't seem the type to lead from the front."

"No, but he'll try to claim credit for any victories along the way; regardless of how many lives we lose, if we beat this Imperium, he'll want the glory."

The Admiral drummed her fingers on the tabletop. "Can't you do anything about him, sir?"

To her surprise, Hood gave a weary smile. "Admiral, I've already had to fight tooth-and-nail to prevent the civilian government from officially declaring war on the Imperium of Clarity. Having the Secretary of Defence assign an idiot to this fleet's command staff was the price we paid for it."

"Wouldn't we get a lot more support if it were an official declaration of war?" she asked.

"Yes and no. For one, we'd have to deal with a good portion of the senate opposing this action, partly on principle and partly because this Imperium isn't anywhere as big a threat to us as the Covenant was. Even with all the threats aimed at Earth in these last few years, some of the politicians are starting to regain the feeling that we're on top of the galaxy again. On the other hand, declaring war would mean that we could send in several fleets, including the UNSC Infinity." "That would've been a great help," Zhi admitted. "Still, I'm fairly confident. So long as Fosse stays out of our way and I can change his plan enough so we don't all die for nothing and the Sangheili are willing to cooperate, we might be able to push through to the enemy capital within weeks."

"That's the spirit," Hood got to his feet, moving a little stiffly. Zhi watched him with curiosity; the venerable Fleet Admiral had been badly injured in an attack earlier this year, and though he had recovered, there was a lot of talk among the Admiralty that he intended to retire soon. Perhaps if this campaign was successful, she would have his position within a year.

"New Syracuse is a long way from home," Zhi said as the two made their way out of the meeting room. "It's been a long while since I've been part of a fleet as large as this."

"We don't have to mobilise as much these days, thankfully." Hood scratched the back of his bald head, scraping over his neural interface. "I'd offer to come with you, but I'm afraid I have to hold down the fort here. Deal with the politicians."

"Good luck with that, sir," Zhi saluted Hood. "I've only got to win a war."

"Lucky you. Come back alive, Admiral."

With that, the pair turned and went their separate ways. It would take the better part of a day to reach New Syracuse from here, and even longer for the entire fleet to arrive. Aside from dealing with Fosse, Admiral Lin Zhi would have not only lead the successful recapture of Montak, but follow it up with the invasion of one or more enemy-controlled systems. It was quite the task, and one that would reward her handsomely if they were successful.

"Admiral!" Hood turned and called down the corridor as Zhi walked off. "I've sent you a dossier on your counterpart within the Swords of Sanghelios. His name is Felo 'Ranak!"

2
A hush fell over the high-ceilinged meeting hall as a pair of heavy doors swung open on the landing above. The crowd below, a sea of bright-armoured Sangheili officers in their finest ceremonial armour, looked upwards in union as Imperial Admiral Toru 'Makhan emerged, clad in his usual ornate harness. He stood at the top of a long flight of stairs, surveying his subordinates with a stern visage before he began to descend, flanked by a pair of staff-wielding bodyguards.

In person, Toru 'Makhan did match up to the larger-than-life figure whose exploits were known across a hundred worlds. Though tall by Sangheili standards, he possessed neither the impressive physique or commanding aura that so many legendary heroes had. Nonetheless, as he crossed the hall and approached the dais where his throne sat, all knelt before him, bowing their heads to the man who had founded their Imperium as the old Covenant collapsed. Toru 'Makhan had saved them all. Toru Makhan had made them strong. Now, Toru 'Makhan would lead them to war. The Imperial Admiral reached his throne; a high-backed chair of sleek silver metal inlaid with golden inscriptions. As he sat down, it thrummed slightly as it rose a few inches off the ground, giving the Sangheili more than enough height to peer over the heads of everyone present. His finger slipped to a button beneath one of the armrests, and a dozen speakers flared to life, magnifying his words tenfold.

"My loyal commanders," Toru's voice boomed as he waved an arm towards the crowd. "Today I greet you not only as your leader, but as a grateful friend."

Most had raised their heads by now, but this forced even the most reverent of followers to look towards Toru.

"For years, we have fought to build our Imperium. We have fought to make it safe, to grow and expand, and to protect it from threats both outside and from within. Each commander has proven himself a hundred times over, and in the coming cycles you will have the chance to do many times over."

Toru paused, half-expecting a roar of approval. Instead, all eyes remained on him. He eased himself back a little in his throne, and continued.

"As most of you are aware, the first blow has already been struck against our foes. Jealous of our might and fearful of our Imperium's expansion, both the Arbiter's forces and the human military attempted to claim our latest acquisition: Montak. Were it not for the quick actions of our fleet, they might have caused damage to our colonisation efforts on the surface. Instead, we took them quickly, and without loss."

This time, a ragged cheer went up from a few Shipmasters, likely those who had been present for the incident.

"By doing this, my brothers, our Imperium has only hastened a long-awaited war. This will not be as simple as rooting out pirates and raiders that dare infest our borders, nor will it involve the conversion of unenlightened warbands to our cause. This will be a conflict the likes of which has not been seen since the Covenant's Great War!"

As more shouts drifted over the crowd, Toru rose to his feet, clenching his fists as his speech intensified.

"So now, my warriors, we embark on our greatest campaign! Fight for your Imperium! Fight for your homes! Fight for your very existence!"

At this, over a hundred voices cried out in union, heavy boots stamping against the tiled floor while a sea of fists pumped the air with violent energy. The Imperial Admiral stepped forward, and his eager soldiers parted immediately. As he walked by, a shining white-gold leader amidst a multi-hued sea of frenzied warriors, they began to chant his name.

"Makhan! Mahkan! Mahkan!"

"Hail to the Imperium! Hail to the Imperial Admiral!"

"To war!"

Moving with surprising grace, Toru 'Makhan ascended the stairs once more, treading lightly along the violet carpet. As he stepped across the threshold into the adjacent chamber, he gave a final wave to the cheering mass below until the door slid shut.

That's enough ceremony.

Save for his bodyguards, he was now completely alone. Toru listened to the muted shouting for a moment more, savouring it for a few brief seconds before he set off at a brisk pace down the corridor. His speech had been short and to the point: they were at war. Another door opened ahead of him, and he stepped out onto an open bridge connecting two wings of his palace. As he walked, he looked out over the sprawling city below, bright and cheerful under the midday sun. There was a time when he would have sat and enjoyed the view in his free time, but alas, he had very little to spare these days. Approaching a tower at the edge of the bridge, Toru turned to his nearest protector.

"Has my High Command been arrived, Muri?"

The silver-plated figure next to him nodded. "Yes, excellency. They should already be waiting for you."

"Good. My thanks."

Toru continued his journey in silence, entering the western tower. Unlike the main body of the palace, which boasted room after room dedicated to entertainment, living, and governance, this area was Toru 'Makhan's private domain. The sleek metal walls, built to resemble a warship's interior, were dotted with artwork bought, discovered or plundered from the far reaches of the galaxy. Paintings of alien landscapes lined the massive spiralling stairwell, while one floor had quite the collection of sculptures.

"Muri?"

His bodyguard snapped to attention. "Yes, excellency?"

"Remind me to continue my notes on that Jiralhanae relief later. I would like them finished before we set out."

"I will," she bowed her head respectfully.

While he took the time to remember the names of every member of the Imperial Guards, Toru had grown rather fond of Muri 'Jarit since she had joined their ranks. Not only was she a living example of the success of his decree allowing females to serve openly in the military - one that had provoked some grumbling in many of his existing warriors - she had proven herself not only as a fine warrior, but someone who did not embody the ridiculous stoicism he had seen practised in many Honour Guardsmen over the decades. Perhaps, he thought, She will stand among my High Command one day.

Eventually they came to the topmost floor, where Toru's personal meeting chambers lay. Muri and the other guardsman, Hui, pushed them open themselves. Despite the high-tech systems surrounding the palace, the Imperial Admiral had neglected to install gravity lifts on the upper levels, forcing any visitor to climb to the top themselves. It was a bit of fancy on Toru's part to mirror his own struggle to the top, though the thought was lost on most people. Dominating the room was a long table of carved wood; an antique sourced from Sanghelios itself. Around it stood the six most powerful individuals within the Imperium of Clarity, second only to Toru.

"Imperial Admiral!" called a Sangheili in burnished golden armour, alerting the others to his presence.

"My brothers!" Toru spread his arms as he approached the table, looking at each of them in turn. "It has been far too long since we convened."

"Not since we dealt with Rukarun's pack," a heavily-scarred, gruff-voiced Unggoy laughed from his seat across the table. "And what a chase that was!"

Toru chuckled, taking his seat at the head of the table. The sole representative of his race on the High Command, Shipmaster Hedan Koti might have held the lowest rank of those in this room, but he more than made up for it with his sheer tenacity and willingness to speak the truth. His massive sway over the Imperium's Unggoy populace arguably made him one of the more politically powerful individuals in the room, but he kept that to himself.

"For you and Fleet Master 'Larom, perhaps," he gestured to the warrior in gold who had greeted him. "We simply lay in wait and spring our trap when the time was right."

That got a snort of mirth from Orro 'Hendai, an older Sangheili sat at the very end of the table. Catching Toru's eye, he turned to face him.

"Chasing Jir'a'ul pirates is naught but sport, your excellency. I have heard that you have started a war."

This was as much an accusation as it was a question from the eager old Field Marshall, who was good for naught but battle and knew it well. Toru leaned over the table, clasping his hands together.

"Indeed I have, 'Hendai. Do you wish to be unleashed?"

"Always," the warrior clenched his leathery fists. "You need only ask, and my Legion would spill a sea of blood in your name."

"They shall."

Toru knew that this was more than mere flattery on his part. When he had recruited Hendai into his Imperium, the warrior had been leading a force of thousands on a barely-disguised rampage across the swathes of now-lawless space in former Covenant territories. All it had taken was the promise of true purpose to turn him into a loyal commander.

"Your excellency," Fleet Master Nor 'Hudon spoke, sitting directly across from his blood brother, Zetal. "Is this a defensive war, or are we launching an invasion?"

"Both." Always thinking of the people. "I have been informed of an impending attack on our newest acquisition. We will have to defend it, then strike back."

"The mining colony?"

"Indeed. Our negotiation with those human merchants helped us secure it bloodlessly, though it saw reprisal from a warship of both their military, and one from the Swords of Sanghelios. Both were destroyed, but more will come to invade our territory."

The mention of the Arbiter's forces had a notable effect on those at the table. Everyone here had fought in the war against the humans on some level, and would likely have little trouble fighting their forces again. However, to fight the Swords of Sanghelios would pit brother against brother on a larger scale than many were comfortable with. While that particular alliance had maintained open diplomacy with the Imperium before, Toru and his followers had refused to bow to their leader, or anyone else. To the Imperial Admiral, they were barely an improvement on the dozens of factions all claiming to be the Covenant's true successors.

To Toru's left, a younger warrior in dark armour looked to him thoughtfully. "Have we considered diplomacy?"

"Weakness!" Orro 'Hendai thumped his fist against the table, but was ignored.

"You seem concerned, Fleet Master 'Deris." Toru said calmly. "Blood has been spilled. They will not turn back."

The immense finality in his words made Lora 'Deris shrink back a little. The look of worry slowly eased off his face as he gave a long sigh. "Then we must meet them head on."

A murmur of assent drifted round the meeting table. The Imperium of Clarity were going to war at full force. Against the great galactic powers, they would see victory or certain death in this conflict. Hedan Koti stood up in his chair, now level with the rest of the seated Sangheili.

"I will gather my troops, leader," he rapped a his arms against his chest before crying out in a wheezy voice. "For the Imperium!"

"For the Imperium!" the Sangheili, Toru included, echoed his words. What the Unggoy lacked in size, he more than made up for in spirit.

Toru stood up, feeling energised, even excited. "Gather your fleets over Frendhal! We have little time to waste!"

With that, the Imperium of Clarity's High Command stood up, bowing to their undisputed leader. Toru chose to address each of them in turn.

"Orro, keep your warriors sharp and ready. They will have their fill soon enough."

The old warrior bared his teeth in a triumphant cheer.

"Nor, Zetal, your speed and talent are unmatched. Win together."

Both brothers thanked Toru simultaneously before sinking perfectly synchronised bows.

"Koti, you and your people are the backbone of our Imperium. Do not falter."

Shipmaster Hedan gave an embarrassed shrug. Toru was sure that it meant "I'll do my best."

"'Kan 'Larom, you are a taskmaster without compare. May you keep our hirelings as organised as your own fleet."

"Loyalty through obedience," he replied simply. It was his personal mantra.

Lastly, Toru turned towards Lora 'Deris, whose eyes shone at the accolades being heaped onto his comrades. The Imperial Admiral grasped his shoulder, feeling an unusual sense of pride.

"I have heard it said that every warrior has his own war," he looked around at the assembled veterans, "That is how they build their legend. This is your war, Lora 'Deris. Use it well."

At once, the grateful fleet master sank to one knee, his face almost touching the ground. Unlike the others, he had no great accomplishments from the last war; no mighty war stories or scars to show. Such was the tragic tale of a warrior on the frontier. He had done everything to earn his position at Toru 'Makhan's side in the last decade, and wanted nothing more than to prove his worth to the Imperial Admiral.

"You are too kind," he mumbled, picking himself up eventually.

Toru 'Mahkan did not respond, and instead turned to the windows that lined the command room as a shadow fell over the capital city. He walked to the window, and peered out as the shape of a tremendously starship drifted overhead. Small shuttlecraft zipped around it like insects on the body of a great beast, and cheers could be heard from below as the civilian populace looked up in joy. Right on time.

This was Toru's ship. The Watchful Custodian. Saviour of the far-flung colonies, cleanser of pirates, and the mightiest vessel in the Imperium of Clarity. Once a parting gift from a treacherous Prophet prior to his exile onto the frontier, Toru recalled standing on its command deck, looking down at the settlement that would be the basis for his personal fortress, and the civilisation that he had built around it. Very soon, it would see battle once again.

3
This was taking longer than he’d hoped.

Tied to the chair at the center of the dimly lit room, Jerrod Fletcher stared up Joseph, eyes gleaming with a grim satisfaction as blood trickled down his busted lip. “No one is coming for you. No one knows you’re here.” Kovacs sighed, crouching down to the captive operative’s level.

“Don’t matter.” Grumbled the battered man, flashing a smile of blood stained teeth up at his captor. Fletcher was a hard man, a little too erratic for BRUTUS, but dangerous all the same. It hadn’t been easy to bring him down, but with a little observation he’d been able to capitalize on his particular vices and nab him.

Paying off the prostitute had cost him more than a few credits though, he could only hope what he got from the triggerman would be worth it.

“Of course it matters, you’re not a patriot Jerrod, you do this cause it pays well. Why bother holding out?” He’d been relegated to playing good cop, Hargrove’s PISCES and general manner made him better suited for the opposite role anyway, but Joseph wasn’t happy about it.

“I’ll let you go, no questions asked, just tell me where I can find BLUE JAY.”

The killer spit blood onto him, letting out a giddy snicker. “He knows ‘ya ‘comin for ‘im, this ain’t so simple as ‘fightin innies.” Kovacs wiped the blood away, expression deadpan as the two locked eyes.

“Just cause you don’t got no family don’t mean he can’t hurt you Joey boy.” So he knew who he was, they’d never identified themselves which meant that Fletcher wasn’t bluffing, BLUE JAY had been clued in to the ex-commandos hot on his trail. Good, that meant they’d send more agents to interrogate their way, get them closer to him.

And by extension closer to CALIFORNIA.

“I appreciate the concern, but that’s for me to worry about.” Kovacs shrugged. “All I need is you to tell me where to find him.”

He laughed, almost madly, eyes wild. Something was off.

“You and I ain’t Earthers, so maybe you won’t gettit, but on Earth when November comes, winta comes wit it,” The ONI operative snickered. “Winta comes, and everything shrivels up, the world’s quiet.” Fletcher smiled.

“I know how winter works Jerrod.”

“Good good. Moral of the story is, when November comes, an’ he will, everything dies.” The last words hung in the air, his inane mockery suddenly turning deadly serious. Something moved in his mouth, and Joseph realized what it was too late, hands shooting towards Jerrod’s jaws as the pill was crushed between his teeth.

In the past he might’ve been able to stop it, but the 26th century had made suicide pills all the more fast acting. Looking deep into Joseph’s eyes, the assassin looked onto him with something akin to sympathy.

“Stay warm Joseph.” He muttered as foam spilled from his lips and his body went limp.

Kovacs sat back into the simple wooden chair he’d set across from his captive and sighed. A dead end, an ominous threat, and an agent who’d taken their life rather than divulge any information despite it being against everything in their character. They really were knee deep in ONI’s shit.

“What the fuck?!” Boomed a voice from over his shoulder, modulated by the helmet he still needlessly wore. Hargrove. The two of them had similar stories, even if they were seperated by decades in occurance, street rats who’d become heads of ONI black ops teams, and eventually ended up as enemies of the enigmatic organization. There were a few differences, Kovacs was an ORION, Hargove the bastard of a criminal industrialist, but the core details were more or less the same.

It didn’t mean they got along all that well though.

“What the hell? Why didn’t you fucking check him?” Roared the power armor clad mercenary, fists balled at his sides as he strode towards the corpse and callously yanked it from the chair.

“Because the man was obsessed with himself, didn’t think he’d up and off himself over a paycheck. Not to mention you had him first.” Joseph retorted, looking down on the corpse as he went for a cigarette. The two had gone at it over nearly anything when they’d first partnered up, but now both prefered to simply let it go, focus on the task at hand rather than argue over the past.

“You have news for me, or you just here to gawk?” Kovacs asked, placing the rolled paper between his teeth and flicking open a lighter, eyes laying over the corpse on the floor, foam still rising from the dead man’s maw. In a single motion, the silver box sparked a flame which he raised to the tip of the cigarette and lighting it.

“Yeah, smoking kills.” Hargrove’s irritation with the habit was more amusing than anything, but his constant jabs were getting more and more irksome by the day. The two needed to be out in the field and fast, that way they could focus on something besides their pet peeves with one another. “Also, there’s a new hotbed in the galaxy. Some remnant group pissed off the UNSC bad, even offered us a job with ‘em.”

That raised an eyebrow. As he puffed on the cigarette between, Kovacs looked up at William with bewilderment. The idea of a remnant group using humans wasn’t a new one oddly enough, but the two of them had seemingly shared the view that their war was with the Office, not the UNSC as a whole. They weren’t going to fight marines.

“Relax, I’m as against working for splits as you. Just convinced the guy I wasn’t enough that I got an idea where things are about to go down, and some clues about who we might be working with on their side.”

“And?” Kovacs asked as his partner handed him a datapad, details of the incident in the Montak system running across the display.

“They didn’t give away much, sounded like they might have a demon though.” Joseph couldn’t see beneath the helmet covering Hargove’s visage, but he knew that a smug smirk was on his face. Augmented forces in opposition to the UNSC often caught CALIFORNIA’s attention quicker than anything, usually he’d sic MAGICIAN on it, but if what he was reading was true, this incident might have warranted the attention of the man himself. Or at least the deployment of his assets.

Which could lead them to him by extension.

Puffing out smoke, Kovacs nodded, scrolling through the details with a flick of his finger. “Guess we should get in system.” The former private investigator mumbled past the cigarette.

“I know a guy, got a quiet ship, not to mention some gear for you.” Hargrove chuckled, looking down to his trench coat-clad partner. “Can’t fight a war lookin like that.

User:Spartan-D042 screw this sig stuff 05:07, July 12, 2018 (UTC)

4
The transfer from Infinity to Maya had been abrupt and with little explanation, but Jacob had been in this life long enough to not question things. He hadn’t questioned where the rest of Macuhuitl besides his sniper had been sent, he hadn’t questioned why his team leader shared the same last name and home world as himself, he hadn’t questioned why the team had remained in its current organization after it was revealed said team-leader and earlier generation child soldier was in fact his elder brother, and he hadn’t questioned it when the man refused to so much as speak to him on the subject, so why would he bother questioning a simple transfer?

“He say anything to you?” Questioned a voice over a private communications line, looking back over his shoulder at the formerly mentioned sniper and gave a simple shake of his head ‘no’ as the two followed after the other half of Stallion down the ramp of the dropship that had ferried them over.

Rodger was trying to help, G050, or Spartan Menteith, had always been able to read him and the others like a book even behind layers of titanium alloy. To this day he wondered why the marksman who had leadership in his blood hadn’t been entrusted with command of their little family, but true to his character Rodger only assured him and kept him focused.

He could see Jacob was more than a little put off by the recent revelations as clearly as he saw targets downrange. But for once he just wanted his friend to stop.

Stepping off the ramp, G043’s EOD helmet turned towards his elder brother expectantly as the four soldiers stood quietly in the chaotic hangar of a vessel soon to be bound for war. “Now what?” He inquired as the elder Spartan stood utterly silent, seemingly sweeping the hangar for any visual threats.

“Report in with handler, Spartan Flores.” Came Cody’s response after he seemingly finished his observation, voice devoid of any kind of emotion as always as he raised a hand and motioned for the fireteam to follow as the Beta Company Spartan led the way towards the nearest exit.

Sailors parted like the seas the once sailed to allow the titans through, even with the Spartan Branch churning out more of their kind than ever, seeing them for the first time was still something most UNSC servicemembers looked forward to with incredible anticipation. Outside of some special forces outfits, they were seen as heroes who had saved humanity, even if most of those they saw were only human when the time for that came.

Rodger, Jacob, and Cody were indifferent to the whole ordeal. Threes still didn’t publically exist, and a lifetime of training for and fighting in war had left things like the concept of fame worthless to most of them. Cadmon Dawes, the odd man out in their unit, didn’t share their disinterest. He said they were good for morale, told them how he’d seen entire battalions rallied by the mere presence of a Spartan to fight against nigh impossible odds. Jacob never knew if he was exaggerating or not, but he seemed genuine enough.

Dawes shook hands as they passed through gave salutes, even stopped for a picture with a few fresh-faced crewman as the team made their way from the hangar into the halls of the vessel. Jacob didn’t understand, the whole ordeal seemed like something Mendez would’ve had him running sprints into the next morning for, but from what he understood the behavior was encouraged among the fours.

“Making friends?” Rodger asked, looking over to their comrade clad in gray and blue CINDER armor. The gear, if one knew what it was meant for, was the only true indication that Dawes was more than a simple morale booster. Configured specifically for action against the Flood, the armor marked the former paratrooper as one of the few who had faced off against the vicious parasite and won.

“Maybe, mainly just trying to keep their heads up. Whatever we’re heading into is bound to be serious judging by the battlegroup amassing. Lot of ‘em seem new.” Dawes responded with a shrug. “But if I make a few friends, no harm done. I teach my tykes it never hurts to be kind, gotta practice what I preach.” The Spartan added.

More than anything, the fact that Dawes had children of his own was what alarmed Jacob. Before he’d met him he’d never even thought that the newer generation had families and homes to call their own, people who eagerly awaited their return every time they shipped out. The idea itself was more alien to him than any of the ex-Covenant species.

He’d invited them all to meet his family after Requiem and New Phoenix, naturally Cody had refused, but Rodger had convinced Jacob to come along. There he’d tasted, saw, and hear things he never could’ve imagined. Before Gamma he’d lived in one orphanage after another, the family dynamic, and all the little nuances of normal life were completely new to him.

As strange as the experience had been, it had been almost liberating in a way, even though ONI no doubt was monitoring them every second of their shore leave, it marked the first time Jacob had even thought of a life free of their grasp, and the first time he wondered if they’d made the right call staying in the service.

Serving the UNSC still was the only thing he knew how to do, and without it he still had no idea what he could make of himself, but at least he knew somewhat what life would be like when there was no war to fight. Still, that life wasn’t for him now, and possibly not ever.

“They’re kind alright, kind of wild.” Rodger joked, to which Dawes let out a simple laugh and shrugged, unable to say anything in the defense of his hyperactive seven and four year old. Jacob tuned out the rest of their conversation and turned his eyes to his brother as the team stepped into an elevator. The Beta was rigid, even inside the elevator, little turns of his head clued in the observant that he was on high alert. Even in the belly of a UNSC vessel, in the heart of human space, Spartan-B042 kept his guard up.

As the floor lurched beneath them, Jacob tried to understand what had befallen his brother. He knew what TORPEDO had done to Lucy, but she had barely escaped whatever ONI did with Spartans deemed unstable because of Commander Ambrose’s intervention, and Jacob knew the Commander wouldn’t have just left his brother behind, not to mention his sibling had paid Onyx a visit once during Gamma’s training. Pegasi hadn’t been the breaking point for Cody, whatever had left him how he was had come after.

Jacob had tried digging into his dossier, but the black ink on his file was heavier than usual for a three, and he knew better than to waste his time asking. But the question, unlike all the others, ate at him. He wanted to know why his brother had become this, he needed to understand, lest he end up the same way.

The elevator came to a stop, and the doors slid open, on the other side stood another Spartan, he dark hair tied up in accordance with regulations, and look of fierce determination in her eye. This had to be Flores he assumed, the look on her face practically screamed ‘I’ve been waiting’.

“Stallion, pleasure to meet you all, I’m Spartan Adalia Flores. If you’ll follow me, we can get you all up to speed, we can get acquainted later.” None of them said a word in protest, and Cody simply gave her a curt nod. Turning, their handler motioned for them to follow as she moved down the hall, and so they did. User:Spartan-D042 screw this sig stuff 05:07, July 12, 2018 (UTC)

5
Grono 'Yendam waited patiently for his officer to arrive as his crew worked the controls of his new ship, the Universal Resonance. Due to the latest losses by their wavering leader, Jul 'Mdama, there was a limited amount of resources that he could give, even to his most seasoned commanders. Due to that, Grono had been forced to put up with the small confines of this CRS-class, and didn't even know the reason for his sudden shift to Shipmaster. Grono knew better than to ask questions of the Didact's Hand though, and knew even better than that to never doubt the judgement of the Supreme Commander of the Covenant Remnant.

''Jul 'Mdama will find a way to get us out of this mess. He always has.'' Grono found it surprising that he, once a so-called 'Traitor' to the Covenant Empire, was one of the only loyal commanders left to Jul 'Mdama. It raised suspicions about what the other generals could be planning every time he thought about it, but his time for thinking was over. His loyal second had arrived.

Rach 'Iltuk briskly kept his hurried pace as he swept onto the bridge, although he showed no fear as he passed the crew members. But 'Yendam knew that every soldier under his command, every one was afraid of him. The only reason he was granted passage into the Covenant Remnant and taken under 'Mdama's wing was because of his past. He was a fearless pirate Shipmaster, plundering artifacts of the gods from the unworthy. Most would have left him for dead, but Jul saw raw, untamed skill in him. Jul had helped him when he was in need. And most of all, Jul had gave him purpose again. 'Yendam was molded from a young, quick-tempered soldier into the perfect warrior. Many called him cold, and unfeeling for what he did, but Grono knew that he was one of Jul's best commanders, and nothing could change that.

Commander Rach came up behind Grono, still smaller than the young Zealot, though quite tall in his own standards. Rach beat his right fist on his chest; the old Covenant salute. Grono returned it, having never really let all of the past die. Rach looked up at his Shipmaster. "Shipmaster, I am here as you said, and am ready for whatever you ask of me."

"You are late," stated Grono as he walked towards a holotable, sliding his hand across its smooth, polished surface. "But we shall deal with that later. Our Supreme Commander has finally come out of the darkness to give us our orders. He will see to it that I have my objective known."

Rach nodded as a short, soft beep came from the holotable.

Grono walked up to the table. "Splendid, he is here."

Grono turned on the projector on the Holotable, emitting an image of Jul 'Mdama himself, adorned in his tattooed Zealot harness. Rach and the bridge crew bowed down to their revered leader, while Grono simply gave 'Mdama a salute. Jul ignored the frenzied whispers of the crew, many of which had never seen the Supreme Commander with their own two eyes before, and focused on Grono 'Yendam.

"I take it you have followed my orders, 'Yendam?"

Grono bowed his head down. "Of course, my leader. I would think nothing of anything else."

Jul acknowledged. "Good, good. I have been right not to lose my faith in you, Shipmaster. I have reason to suspect of many of our own, due to our bludgeoning shortcomings. I have had three of my most trusted Zealots executed on charge of plotting against the Didact's Hand."

Grono nodded. "Yes, Supreme Commander." If he were a commander that was plotting against 'Mdama, he would have been filled with fear. But 'Yendam was loyal, and thus he knew no harm would come to him from the Covenant Remant. "'Mdama, as for the intent of this meeting, what bidding do you wish of me?"

"Of course. This new Imperium of Clarity, they have officially declared war against the humans and the wretched traitors, the Swords of Sanghelios. I have use of you for things to help bring down the common enemy we and the Imperium both have."

"So you are saying we must align ourselves with another remnant?" As Grono spit the last word out, he felt a surge of anger. Jul 'Mdama having to stoop so low by allying with a rival? This is the cost of fighting for what is right, isn't it?

"No. I shall have other generals still loyal to me deal with that. Instead, I shall have you take advantage of the situation. While the Swords and humans are busy fighting this new remnant, you shall attack their ships one by one, taking them down when they are distracted. And you shall do it where ever a battle between the Imperium and our enemies may occur. Therefore, we shall take them out quickly and help the Imperium, while not wasting resources trying to take out their reserves."

Grono nodded and took this all in. It was a good plan, and the only setbacks that would occur would be at the expense of this Imperium, not the Remnant. "You have once again proved your genius, Jul 'Mdama. I continue to wonder why so many leave your side."

Jul brushed off the compliment and continued. "You will attack all smaller ships with the weaponry of the Resonance. Any larger ones will be boarded and their crews massacred. You shall lead every single assault, be it ship-to-ship combat, or boarding action. As for your commander," Jul continued as he turned to Rach, who quickly extended his bow. "You shall assist 'Yendam in all of his acts, as a faithful Commander would do."

Rach stood, still keeping his head bowed down. "Thank you Supreme commander, I will do all I can for Grono 'Yendam."

"Good. Do not fail me like so many others have."

Grono replied with a 'Yes' before Jul's hologram evaporated. As it did, he turned to Rach. "'Iltuk, prepare my men. I want them ready for the glorious battles we shall win when we are at the sites of combat."

His officer nodded and hurried off to the hull to do his bidding while the crew set a course for one of the known bases of the Imperium of Clarity; the Yain System. As they finally took off to achieve their mission, Grono sat back in his Shipmaster's throne. ''This Imperium will prove to be interesting indeed. We shall have to lay low on the outskirts of the system for now though, and not reveal ourselves until the opportunity is ripe. Unlike others, I will not fail the Didact's Hand.''

6
Thyl ‘Zantak squinted slightly as the dimly lit room was flooded with the bright blue light of the hologram. His eyes quickly adjusted as the collection of light took form, revealing a human male standing in front of him, arms crossed and a smirk on his face, “So you took the job, eh? I’m surprised, I thought you had left all this holy righteousness stuff behind you.”

Thyl stared at the figure, studying it. The man, Jerrold Pershing, was nearing sixty human years of age, though he appeared to be little more than half that. Advanced medical technology and cosmetic enhancements allowed him to maintain his youthful appearance far longer than was natural. The Sangheili knew that to let the man’s appearance deceive him was foolish, as behind the smirking face and artificially colored hair lay a naval genius. Decades spent fighting a guerilla war against the human government had forged him into a master of hit-and-run attacks and raiding. In other words, it made him the perfect pirate.

Pirate. The word didn’t used to used to mean him. He was a proud warrior of the Covenant, a shipmaster in their grand fleet; a bringer of doom and destruction to those deemed unworthy of following the path. And then he wasn’t. The Covenant had collapsed around him as the Prophets’ lies had been revealed and after the smoke had cleared, he was left in a new and strange world, one without the pillars of support he had relied upon. He had drifted aimlessly through the former Covenant fringe for years before he had been approached by this curious human, who had offered Thyl the one thing he had longed for since the fall of the Covenant; belonging and purpose. Whether this was because Pershing had seen something he liked about the Sangheili or simply saw him as an important asset mattered little to Thyl, who joined up with his band of marauders and never once looked back.

“I have, this is not about whatever religious opinions the Imperium might hold, if any, this is simply for profit. They are paying the weight of Unggoy in Gekz and giving me the opportunity to operate in their space. That alone is enough to justify my decision. Even if they fail to win and wither and die, then I will have still surveyed their space, and there is enough here to fill our holds for years.”

The Sangheili crossed his arms as if to emphasize how good an idea this was while Pershing simply continued to grin, “I see. That’s a pretty good idea, good job. Whatever you need, just ask and I’ll send it your way. From the sounds of it, this might turn into something pretty big and I don’t want you getting swallowed up by it.”

Thyl nodded his head, “My thanks, Commodore.”

“By all means, Fleet Master, I’m happy to be of help. Pillage and plunder all that you can take.”

With that, Pershing placed his fist over his heart, mimicking the Sangheili tradition that Thyl preferred to use. The Fleet Master did the same and Pershing’s hologram faded out as the holoprojector shut down. As soon as it did, he made his way over to a panel on the wall, pressing a maroon button that activated the ship’s intercom.

“Lyrnium, meet me in my chamber, we have things to discuss.”

The gruff, almost animalistic voice of his second in command responded only moments later, “Of course, Fleet Master, I will be there shortly.”

And shortly he was, the hulking Jiralhanae Chieftain lumbering into the room only a sparse few minutes later. The massive Rh’tol was dressed rather simply; the Jiralhanae had never been one for flair in presentation or dress, but they more than made up for it in battle. They were slow to adapt and quick to anger, which served Lyrnium’s clan well in the role of privateers. Their Chieftain was different though, calmer and more thoughtful than his clanmates. One might have mistaken him as a member of the Vheiloth were it not for his unshaven form and willingness to wrend flesh from bone.

It was strange, just a few years prior, the idea that he would not only fight alongside a Jiralhanae but make him his second in command was not only preposterous, but downright insulting. In fact, it is highly likely they would have attempted to kill each other had they met under different circumstances, but despite his initial reservations, Lyrnium had proven both loyal and useful, leading his ground forces in many successful raids. He hoped this would be no different.

Thyl approached Lyrnium and clapped a leathery hand on his shoulder, leading him over to the holotable, “I have taken a rather… peculiar contract, one that I’m sure you will appreciate.”

The Chieftain chuckled, a deep and throaty noise that grumbled up from inside Lyrnium as if it meant to reach out and attack at any moment, “And what might be of any particular interest to me? A fight is a fight, and I live for them all, and the rewards they bring. How different could one raid be to another aside from the scenery and who utters the screams?”

Thyl simply activated the holotable, bringing up a map of local space, clearly divided into several sections, one for the human’s Unified Earth Government, one for the Swords of Sanghelios, another for the areas the two powers occupied jointly, and a new territory that bordered all three. It was clear from Lyrnium’s expression that he was unfamiliar with it, so Thyl took the opportunity to step in, “That… is the Imperium of Clarity.”

The Chieftain simply scoffed, “The remnant? I thought you said it would be interesting. We raided Jul ‘Mdama’s outposts on Thorran just a few cycles ago.”

“Ah, but this is no ordinary remnant, this is led by the Fleet Master himself, Toru ‘Makhan.”

Lyrnium’s eyes lit up, if only slightly, “The Fringe Spectre?”

Thyl’s toothy maw did its best to approximate a smirk, which only served to make him appear far more predatory. He spoke in a low, deep tone, “The Imperium is not some half-thought plan to regain the Covenant’s glory, it is reality. And they are at war. Tell me, Chieftain, do you smell it? The blood in the air? Do you hear the horns calling forth battle? They call to me as much as you, a proper war. We’ve already been promised riches for our efforts, imagine what other rewards might await us. Regardless of who emerges victorious, we shall reap the benefits tenfold of any single raid in the past.”

The Jiralhanae stood silently for a long minute, observing the holographic map intently. Thyl could only wonder as to what thoughts he was entertaining inside his mind. Then he grinned, beastial and rabid in appearance. Lyrnium turned towards the Sangheili and his grin grew wider, “We’ll go and I will spill a sea of blood! How long until we arrive?”

Thyl highlighted one system in particular on the map, “We are heading towards the fortress world of Frendhal and shall arrive within two days’ time.”

“I shall ready my pack! We prepare to make war!” And with that, he stomped his way out of the room, uttering what Thyl only assumed was some kind of traditional Jiralhanae war cry, or something to that effect.

After the doors closed again and the howling faded away into the depths of the ship, Thyl returned to study the map and found himself grinning involuntarily. ''Maybe this was more to him than just another job. Perhaps this was something he wanted. No, this was something he'' needed. True battle, a real war.

7
Elena Zaytseva sat back in her cushioned chair, gripping the armrests as she watched out the viewscreen of her small personal transport as it dropped into realspace. The cheap civilian model slipspace drive she had on her vessel never made the transition smoothly, rocking the entire ship violently enough it always seemed to be on the verge of shaking apart whenever she forced it on one of these journeys. The computerized voice she had installed for her ship's computer to give her updates rung out of the cockpit's speakers.

"You have arrived approximately one-hundred thousand kilometers off of your intended destination."

Releasing her grasp on the arms of her seat, Elena reached out to the piloting console and fired up the engines, turning the ship towards the nearby planet. The navigational database had it listed as "Montak," a world on the edge of UNSC claimed territory, a perfect stop to pick up a few jobs without having to worry about any big messes getting started. With the ship set on course for an encounter with the world, Elena leaned back in her chair and closed her eyes, waiting for the notification to start her next burn, but just as her eyes found their way shut, the computerized voice sounded out again.

"Scans of the system are detecting a collection of debris near Montak that is not listed in any recent navigational databases. Heat scans indicate that this debris is at a relatively higher temperature than surrounding orbital objects."

Blinking her eyes open, Elena leaned forward and looked over the readout for the results of the scans. Sure enough, the debris field was present, but what caught her eye even more was the outline of an approaching mass, perfectly matching the shape of a typical Covenant vessel, yet not broadcasting any codes that would indicate it to be operated by the successor state allied with humanity, the Swords of Sangheilios. Frowning, she sent a ping to the vessel to open a comms channel.

"This is Elena Zaytseva of the civilian ship Burya. To who am I speaking?"

A few seconds passed as the message was sent and processed by the approaching ship, before a voice sounded out in reply through her speakers, the accent unable to be mistake for anything other than a Sangheili speaking a human tongue.

"You have trespassed in spaced claimed by the Imperium of Clarity. State your reasoning or leave immediately."

Holding still in her chair, Elena listened to the words as they came through her comms, pondering her reply, before warily tapping on the console once more and speaking in response.

"I have come to this system searching for a job. I mostly do work as a bodyguard, if you need specifics as to the profession. My ship itself is unarmed, as I'm sure your scans can tell you, though I do have some personal weapons on board, due to requirements of what I do." Elena trailed off as she finished her reply, and sat in waiting for the response. A few more seconds passed, she could only presume as the alien vessel scanned her own, before the voice spoke up once more.

"A dropship has been dispatched to your vessel to temporarily attach to your airlock and search your vessel. Comply with any orders they give you, or you will be incarcerated. Should you pass this inspection, you'll be permitted to procede to Imperium space under our escort for further clearance."

With that, the comms clicked off, followed by a few thunks as a transport tube from the dropship to her vessel magnetically attached itself around her airlock. Sighing, Elena opened the exterior doors of the airlock and headed to the inner set to await the boarding party.

-

Lieutenant Commander Aleksandra Zaytseva leaned on the railing overlooking the hangar of the UNSC Maya. The vessel was getting ready to head out for some new war, and Sasha was here to watch over the maintainers working on the small complement of fighters onboard the vessel, supervising and ensuring regulations were followed and policy and procedures were complied with. She had her four Lieutenants down on the hangar floor to supervise more directly, but for her, it was overwatch and the occasional comm down to the deck to give instructions.

A ship coming in for a landing in the already chaotic hangar caught her eye briefly, and she watched as sailors parted for a group of four walking from the ramp to the nearest exit of the hangar. From the size of the men, the way the sailors parted, and the armor they all wore, she could tell that each member of the group was a Spartan. Shrugging, she turned back to watching over the maintainers and the fighters they worked on at the moment. During the war, Spartans had been larger than life heroes of humanity, and even now, for some that had never seen them before, they still were. But in the six years since the war ended, hundreds, if not thousands of new Spartans had been churned out, and Sasha couldn't help but think that the four she had seen walking by had been of that group, rather than the one composed of the heroes of humanity.

A comm came in up from the deck below from one of her Lieutenants. "We're all set down here, for now. Did just get a message in for you, though. The Squadron XO has called for a briefing in the ready room."

Sasha tapped her comms to reply. "Thank you, Lieutenant. I'll see you there."

Clicking her comms off, Sasha turned from the railing and exited the hangar, making her way through the ship to her squadron's ready room. Sitting down in a chair, she took out her datapad, reading the report she had gotten this "Imperium of Clarity" that they were deploying to fight as she waited for the rest of the squadron to file in.

8
It was time to leave.

Stood on the ramparts of his family keep, half-dressed in his sleek blue-grey pilot's armour, Nilen 'Feru watched as the first battlecruisers broke through Frendhal's cloudy skies, heading for the military encampment many miles away. The previous night orders had been broadcast to every world in the Imperium of Clarity, calling its soldiers to battle once again.

"When will they come?" a voice asked from behind him.

Nilen turned to see his wife, Luia, standing in the doorway of the nearest tower. She had evidently been watching him for some time from the shadows as he donned his military garb.

"Soon, love," Nilen said warmly as he slid on his vambraces, each one locking into place with a faint click. "I am told that they are mobilising our entire fleet."

"Everyone? Then that means-"

"Invasion, yes." The two remained quiet for a moment, dwelling on the situation. After a moment, Nilen looked back to Luia with a reassuring look. "I wouldn't worry, though. They say Toru 'Makhan himself will enter the fray with us."

"May he keep you all safe."

Luia clutched both hands to her farmer's tunic as she spoke, as if saying a prayer. They knew that Toru 'Makhan was no god. He was a Sangheili, greater than most but still mortal and fallible. Nonetheless, he had built their Imperium out of nothing and protected them in the years of hardship after the Covenant's fall. Though harsh, he remained a fair and just ruler in the eyes of most. Having grown up among a community of struggling homesteaders out in the farthest reaches of the Covenant's empire, Nilen would have never risen to his position under another leader.

"Huna, Kazu and Goranan are going with me," Nilen returned his gaze to the distant warships hovering over the horizon. Tiny dots flitted around them, spreading out in all directions. "We'll be safe."

"Huna?" a look of concern crossed Luia's face and she looked around as if checking for eavesdroppers. "But she's hardly of age!"

"She wishes to fight. It is an opportunity the Covenant would never have given her."

Though true, Nilen knew that this would not ease his wife's fears; Huna was a close cousin, after all. After fixing the heavy chestpiece of his harness into position, he picked up his helmet and approached her. The two drew close in a long embrace, swaying slightly as they held each other close. It lasted barely ten seconds, but to Nilen it felt like much longer. They broke apart as the sound of footsteps clattering up the tower echoed towards them, and turned to see a trio of breathless younglings.

"Father!" called the eldest, Niru. "Are you going off to fight?"

"Of course!" his voice quickly became cheery. "I was just about to say my goodbyes to you, actually."

The young Sangheili crowded around Nilen, staring in awe at his well-maintained armour. The youngest, Bzan, tried to grab his helmet, only to have it gently but firmly tugged out of his grip. He sighed, and shot a pleading look at Luia, who began to pull them away from their father.

"Come now," Luia took on a slightly sharper tone. "You don't want to make your father late, do you?"

All three backed off immediately, mumbling apologies. Despite this, Niren couldn't help but feel proud at how well-behaved they had become after some rowdy months. He pitied the Sangheili from more traditional clans, who refused to tell children who their fathers were for fear of special treatment. To him and many others who were forced into tightly-knit frontier communities, family was everything.

"I should be fine," he waved a hand dismissively, spying a steadily-approaching shape on the horizon. "Give my regards to the Elders, though."

"We will!" all three said in unison.

Most of the Feru clan were preoccupied with the busy harvest season, leaving only a few to see off their warriors. Nilen was never one for celebration; a quick farewell to his wife and children was good enough for him. Soon the distant shape became the familiar outline of a Type-52 Troop Carrier, better known as a Phantom. Skimming over the fields, the dropship rose above the keep's walls and opened its bay doors. The interior was empty, save for a single Sangheili in the same light-coloured harness as Nilen.

"Commander!" called Foren 'Ruuk, waving happily. "Have you gathered everyone?"

As he stood alongside an unarmed woman and three children, the answer to that was evident. Moments later, the doors to the keep swung open and a dozen armoured Sangheili poured out, attracted by the sound of the Phantom's engine. Unlike Nilen, who had been spending some time alone before deployment, the others had been feasting. Some pulled on armour as they ran, while others carried heavy packs, having had no time to dress. Foren caught Nilen's eye as he looked towards the incoming group.

"I hope they are readier when the time comes to fight," he said, half-joking.

"They will be."

The warriors of Feru Keep soon ascended the guard tower onto the ramparts, and marched past Nilen in single file, some looking rather embarrassed. They climbed one-by-one into the Phantom, while their leader approached his wife one last time.

"I will return," he whispered, close enough so only she could hear.

She gave no reply, save for a slow nod. That was all he needed. Nilen 'Feru was the last to board the dropship, taking Ruuk's extended hand as he pulled himself aboard. The bay doors soon shut behind him, and within seconds they were off.

"Has the ship been busy?" he asked his friend, trying to take his mind off the family he was leaving behind. "Since I've been gone."

Foren shrugged. "No busier than usual, brother. The Unggoy are constantly repairing something or other, and even daily maintenance does not keep boredom at bay for long."

He hungers for combat. "And how is the Huntsman?" Nilen asked.

"Ready for waiting," Foren puffed out his chest a little. "It would not do for our Commander's Seraph to be unprepared for battle."

"Thank you, brother."

Nilen patted his friend's arm in thanks, and turned his attention back towards the others. This Phantom had two more keeps in the state to stop at, filling itself with warriors before it returned to its mother ship: the Keen Eyes. Though life in the keep had been a satisfying return to mundanity, it had been far too long since he had raced across the stars with its crew, hunting pirates and enjoying the kind of freedom only a solo pilot could achieve. So far, Nilen had only heard the basics of this war, and who they were fighting against. While the fear of death was constant, there was an overriding sense of excitement in Nilen's mind at the thought of battling a truly skilled foe. In the coming days, he would be glad to put his considerable skills to work.

9
“Alright. Alright. Bring her down. Slowly. Slowly. A little to the left...equalize it a bit. Steady...yeah, yeah. You can set it down now.”

Without the proper infrastructure on the distant Outer Colony world of New Syracuse, concepts like subtlety and procedure had to be thrown out for simple practicality. Instead of a special rig or a proper loading bay for cryogenic containers, they had to go with a dinky old crane and a loose tarp probably pulled out of some broom closet located on the dusty airfield.

The pod tapped the ground with an echoing click of metal setting down on metal. With the tension now slack, the crane’s lift-chain shook violently in the blistering winds passing through. The chains rattled together creating a hollow-cracking jingle. The loose tarp thrown over the cryo pod was shamefully secured and displayed the work of someone who did not care for the contents of the container.

Onlookers watched from the landing pad above and nearby aircraft hangars. Gusts whipped the tarp off the top of the pod to reveal an industrial glass panel crisscrossed with ice. In the very early morning light when the local star had yet to crest the horizon, hints of titanium armor could be seen below obscuring layers of permafrost.

Some kind of iron giant in armor. The Spartan supersoldier-kind. The container was secured on top of a loose tractor-trailer and wasn't going anywhere, the crane relinquished its chain once workers had removed the hook. The airfield workers did not dare touch the cryo pod, the casket of a warrior constantly ready for battle. Instead, they let their imagination and rumors begin to circulate through the air.

“Why did they bring a Spartan here?”

“Maybe there are Innies hanging around?”

''“You know? My son wants to become a Spartan when he grows up. I just bought him his first SPARTAN-1337 action figure.”''

“Did you hear something about aliens in this sector?”

“Fucking UNSC making another appearance.”

''“They only leave us alone when the Covvies come knocking on their door. What we need right now is another War.”''

Two muscular teenagers wandered off the interstellar-traveling D81-LRT Condor that brought them to this civilian airfield located on the outskirts of a city called Abela. The history and significance of the names and planet were lost on the duo as that was not their purpose here. As far as they were concerned, this was just going to be another pitstop on an interstellar voyage with a final destination still unknown.

The girl, dressed in tight blue jeans and a white tee shirt wrapped in a green windbreaker lead the pair to the edge of the platform where she leaned over a railing to view the unloading of the covered cryo pod and the seemingly-endless tarmac beyond it. She was exceptionally boney and thin for a tallish girl of her six-foot-flat stature. She had some angular beauty to her form, however, the depressed wrinkles beginning to form on her brow might put off some sharp-eyed young men. Also, she was technically twelve.

Her compatriot, a boy dressed in his own blue jeans and a sports coat that reached below his waistline, easily placed down the two duffel bags he'd been hoisting and leaned against the railing as well. Standing just barely over his friend, the boy was easily one of the tallest individuals out on the airfield this morning. He was also technically twelve. His brown eyes traced the girl with mild concern before focusing on the cryo pod below.

For a few moments, the two remained quiet examining the armored individual under the giant tarp. At one time, she'd been a close friend to the duo. Now, almost a year later, so much had changed and yet, no one was sure what the next few hours to days would amount to.

Detecting the offhand comment of a nearby flight mechanic, the boney girl responded sarcastically. “Another War? Maybe he’ll get what he’s asking for.”

“Maybe indeed. We didn't exactly get a debriefing on the way here. Just the mention of that group...the Imperium of Clarity? It’s going to be a bit before we find out what our actual mission here but after Daniele's crap...” The boy rambling drowned into silence as if the violent winds carried off the rest of his statement.

“Yeah.” The girl mumbled in response, understanding perfectly what went unsaid. The last few days had been a mess, to say the very least. Their family, their Spartan family had splintered and the whiplash was still being felt for the two who were left behind.

The boy picked up the duffel bags and tossed one lightly to the girl. “Let’s just get going. It’s supposed to be a short drive to the encampment.”

The girl caught the bag tossed to her, marked with a velcro strap labeled “Kearsarge.” The girl rubbed the name tag as if the name was new to her even if it was her own. She half-expected it to say "D054." She let the bag sink to her side as she marched toward the stairs nearby. The boy followed her down toward the awaiting tarmac.

The girl, Andra Kearsarge, glanced back to her friend. “Alright, Merlin. To war, I guess?”

"Yeah...back to work," Merlin stated wistfully.



10
Captain James O'Neill sat at his desked in his cramped office, scrolling through recent news on his ComPad. His desktop pinged, and his eyes shot up to the screen: incoming call from Commander Malcolm Luthuli. He turned off his ComPad, tilted back in his chair, and tapped the "Accept Call" button on the screen.

"New orders, sir?" O'Neill asked as Luthuli's face appeared on the screen.

"Precisely, O'Neill. Command wants the task force in New Syracuse as soon as possible. To make a long story short, some remnant group just attacked one of our patrols and they want us to join with the rest of the forces there."

O'Neill raised an eyebrow. "What remnant group are we talking about here?"

"Some group calling themselves the "Imperium of Clarity". I'll send the details to your ComPad in a few minutes. For now, just tell your company that we'll be jumping within the hour, as soon as the Kirina gets back from its patrol." Luthuli turned and began tapping away on a nearby console. "Dismissed."

The call ended, and O'Neill leaned forward in his chair, picking up his ComPad once more. "Imperium of Clarity", huh?"

He had never heard of any remnant group going by that name, and he was well familiar with many remnant groups by now. Impatient as ever, there was no way in hell he was going to wait for Luthuli to send him the dossier. He turned on his ComPad and began searching to see if he could uncover any information about this "Imperium".

After a couple minutes of "investigating", Luthuli's dossier appeared in his inbox. Having not found much, anyways, O'Neill shrugged and opened it, only to be both intrigued and dispirited by the 17-page length of the document. He slouched back in his chair with a muted groan and began perusing the file.



11
The transport hulk drifted helplessly through deep space. Its engines disabled by precision plasma blasts, the ship floated amidst the wreckage of its destroyed escorts overshadowed by the bulbous frames of its alien tormentors. Trapped within the disabled transport ships, UNSC Marines and crewmembers armed themselves and hurried into defensive positions as the bridge desperately signaled its distress call. The stench of sweat and terror filled the halls—every man and woman aboard knew resistance was most likely futile. But if they could just hold out long enough… if the distress signal was reached… if help really did arrive…

Phantom dropships detached from the looming Covenant ships and descended upon the crippled transport like flies on a carcass. Anxious defenders tracked the dropships as they converged on the broadest point of entry: the ship’s hangar.

Fire teams were diverted, barricades erected, machine guns locked into place. A hardened platoon of Marines stood ready to cut down any Covenant warrior who dared set foot on their ship. Fingers hovered above triggers, their owners daring the aliens to make their move.

In an instant the hangar doors erupted in fountains of plasma and all hell broke loose. A hail of bullets slammed into the openings as the defenders cut loose. Smoke and sparks filled the air between both sides creating a billowing wall that obscured the boarding parties from view. The Marines fired on relentlessly. Occasionally a desperate plasma bolt slipped through the maelstrom but no Covenant so much as touched the hangar floor. It was a textbook killzone, every weapon in the Marines’ arsenal brought to bear on the erstwhile invaders.

Eventually the Marines had to reload and relink their machine guns. But when the smoke cleared, it revealed no blood-soaked dropship interiors or mangled Covenant bodies. Instead the Marines gaped at layer upon layer of Kig-Yar energy shields erected in defensive positions across the firing line. The Kig-Yar and Unggoy huddled behind the shield wall glowered up at the humans but made no effort to charge their positions or even return fire.

The Marines scrambled to ready explosive ordnance. But the Kig-Yar officers just signaled their dropship pilots and cast final toothy grins at the bewildered Marines. The humans never understood the aliens’ plan until the Phantoms ripped themselves forcibly from the hull, exposing the crowded hangar to a pitiless vacuum.

A few moments later and the hangar wasn’t crowded at all.

The sight of dozens of vital signs flatlining across the transport’s tactical console would have chilled the blood of any officer monitoring the defense—if anyone on the bridge was left to watch the monitors. But the entire bridge crew was indisposed. Most slumped lifelessly in their seats while the captain and a handful of officers struggled uselessly in the clutches of the vacuum-sealed Sangheili who had blasted in through the top of the ship while all eyes were fixed on the farce in the hangar.

One figure, smaller than the Sangheili by several feet, stepped from amidst the alien warriors towards the command console. The surviving crew gaped in horrified amazement at a human figure clad in battered combat armor. With the Army-issue shotgun slung from its shoulder beside a machete and combat webbing, there was no mistaking this figure’s species. The only similarities it bore to the warriors who stepped aside to make a path were the Covenant-style thruster pack affixed to its back and the purple command sash draped lazily over one arm.

The human spared the crew one expressionless glance before it pressed its hand against the console and affixed a small devise to the metal casing. The bridge lights dimmed momentarily, then brightened. The console flickered back to life and a strange female voice filtered through the ship’s intercom. It spoke at once in two languages.

Two different messages, each one laced with cordial cruelty.

In a basic Sangheili dialect: “Rejoice, you tainted warriors. The gods deliver this ship to you. Do what you do so well.”

In English: “This is my ship now, meatbags. Make yourselves useful and die.”

In the next instant, every cabin and hallway in the ship depressurized. Marines and crew gasped and choked on air that was suddenly unbreathable. They writhed and twitched against the defenses they’d erected against the wrong kind of enemy. In moments the transport became a ghost ship.

A few Marines were quick enough to don breath masks, but there was nothing to be done. The ship was suddenly swarming with Covenant warriors flooding in from airlocks on all sides. A few crew opened fire in a final burst of resistance; they died in seconds. The paltry few who remained threw down their weapons and surrendered.

A second armored human strode among the alien warriors as they marched the shaken prisoners down to the hangar. This one cradled a plasma repeater and responded to the pleas of the prisoners with cold indifference. Instead it turned to help the Sangheili strip the bodies of the corpses left lying in the hallway.

The Kru’desh raiding legion had seized another ship.

Back on the bridge, the first human stared down at the security footage displaying the Covenant’s victory. Its gaze lingered on the bodies of the dead humans before a Sangheili stepped up beside it.

“Congratulations, commander,” the warrior called Ro’nin said, twisting his mandibles in a sardonic smile. “The gods smile on us, like they always do.”

“Of course.” The human’s visor depolarized, revealing a young, pale face wreathed by dirty black hair. His mouth twisted in a cold smile of his own. “One goddess in particular.”

Simon-G294, traitor Spartan and commander of the Kru’desh legion, strode from the bridge. He stepped over the bodies of the dead humans without a second glance. The battle was over. Time to collect the spoils.

The traitor who had once been Simon-G294—he was Stray now, the warped creature who served the Covenant—had rarely given much thought to history before he joined forces with Jul ‘Mdama. He only vaguely recalled the classes given by his drill instructors back on Onyx, endless lectures on human history and the necessity to give one’s life in service to the UNSC. The Insurrectionists he’d found himself fighting in his first round of treason had their own version of that history, one filled with slogans and creeds that conveniently fit the rebels’ political goals.

Everywhere he went, people wrote history to suit their goals. From life stories to the rise and fall of civilization, everyone had an agenda when they dug into the past.

Only now that he made history with each passing day did he realize just how useful a tool that really was.

The first and only human to ever command a Covenant legion strode through the captured transport ships. The Kru’desh warriors—Sangheili, Kig-Yar, and Unggoy alike—busily stripped the dead crew of weapons and valuables. Their lance leaders would tally the weapons and other useful gear for the legion’s armory, then sort out the division of loot from there. Hardly the most elegant system, but it kept the troops paid and in line.

Unlike other Covenant forces, the warriors of the Kru’desh Legion were not so much a host of zealous holy warriors than they were a desperate gang of mercenaries and thieves. The dregs of the Covenant, dishonored and unwanted, were sent here to fight and die as suicide troops as an example to the rest of Jul ‘Mdama’s rank and file. Even the Sangheili thrown over to the Kru’desh were deviants, cowards, and opportunists.

Penal divisions were a common feature across both human and Sangheili histories. Why waste resources on execution or imprisonment when you could instead put the criminals to use on the front lines?

It was the only way a human like Stray could ever have risen to command. Species hatred and religious dogma meant very little when he promised the condemned warriors plunder and battle strategies that didn’t turn them all into cannon fodder.

The fact that he’d strangled their former commander to death with his prosthetic left arm also helped.

Stray’s comm beeped as he stepped over a dead Marine. “We have the cargo,” Ro’nin’s voice reported. “It’s in the hold, all there just like our little ‘oracle’ said.”

“Of course it is.” Stray rolled the body over with his boot, kicking it over to a pair of Kig-Yar looters. The alien pirates hissed with appreciation and hurried to strip the corpse. “When has she ever led us wrong?”

“Well that’s awfully sweet of you,” a female voice murmured in his ear. “And here was me worrying you’d take all the credit again.”

Stray ignored Diana—no easy feat, but one he’d learned after years of working with the scathing AI—and moved on through the corridor. A crowd waited in his path, mostly Sangheili wearing the harnesses of junior warriors. One figure stood out at their head: another human in modified SPI armor similar to Stray’s own.

Amber-G330, fellow deserter and the Kru’desh’s only other human warrior. Stray met her visored gaze with a stare from behind his own helmet. Amber swiped her fingers across her helmet in a sardonic imitation of the usual Spartan “smile” greeting.

Any Spartan would have returned the gesture. Instead, Stray dropped his left arm to his hip and tapped his belt with his prosthetic fingers: a discreet apology. When he reached the waiting crowd, he brushed Amber aside with a dismissive shove and craned his neck to address the Sangheili first.

“You’re lucky I’m in a good mood,” Amber growled in their private helmet com. As always, there was an edge to the dark humor in her tone. You could never tell when she really was angry—not until it was too late.

But the Sangheili nodded in approval at the way their commander dismissed a fellow human to favor them. It was a delicate game Stray played to retain command, a game that recruiting Amber hadn’t made any easier.

“Another successful raid,” the foremost Sangheili observed. He respectfully tapped his fist against his chest. Tuka ‘Refum, one of the legion’s youngest officers, spoke for his usual crowd: younger warriors, not quite the jaded mercenary types, who’d been banished to the Kru’desh for ideological reasons. Keeping them under control was easy enough. Tuka was a friend, possibly the most trustworthy warrior under Stray’s command. Unlike the rest of the legion, he and his friends believed they were fighting for something other than loot and plunder.

Of course, that made keeping them happy harder than with some of the others.

“Good job handling the hangar assault,” Stray replied. “You coordinate the dropship maneuvers like a pro. Told you we’d make something of you.”

“That is what I wanted to discuss.” The young Sangheili ducked his head in deference. “Killing our enemies like that… I would rather have taken them in real combat, not sucked them out of the ship.”

“It worked, didn’t it? If we’d hit them like they wanted us to, half your boarding party would be dead right now. Half of my boarding party would be dead. Pick your battles, Tuka. Kill smarter, not harder.”

“Kill smarter…” Tuka shook his head. “It’s hardly the honorable way to do things.”

“Of course it’s not. We’re the Kru’desh, remember?” This brought laughter from the surrounding warriors. Stray turned to face more of them. “We don’t rush in, we don’t all get killed, and we score wins for the Covenant. Plus we all get rich. Not a bad trade for a bit of honor.”

He turned back to Tuka. “Better get looting or all the good stuff will get taken.”

Tuka gave him a wary look. “You know that isn’t what I—”

“We’ll talk about it later.” Stray dropped his voice and gestured for Tuka and his friends to stand aside. “Privately.”

Though clearly displeased by the answer, Tuka let him pass. Stray continued down the hall, aware of Amber falling into step behind him.

“Nice little catch phrase there. Ever thought of turning it into a slogan?”

“Sure. I’ll run it by our Grunt focus group. Then you can be in charge of the posters.”

“Cute. You’re pretty relaxed for someone who just wiped out an entire convoy.”

She was already building to something. Like dealing with Diana wasn’t a full-time job enough as it was. Stray considered ordering Amber away, but that would just delay the problem. He’d have to deal with her problem one way or another. “It’s not my first raid. They stop being quite so exciting after a while.”

“Not mine either,” she reminded him pointedly. “But you still haven’t given me a command position.”

So that was the problem. “We’ll get there. Once you’ve done enough that they don’t just think I’m favoring you.”

“So until then you’ll just keep kicking me around in front of the hinge-heads?”

“You flushed one of my officers out the airlock yesterday. Stunts like that don’t exactly ingratiate you with the others.”

Amber was unrepentant. “He kept saying I was your concubine. How the hell am I supposed to earn respect around here if I let that slide?”

They were approaching the cargo hold. A few of Ro’nin’s warriors guarded the doors—the former mercenary might be the most unapologetically opportunistic of the Kru’desh officers but he also saw the long term well enough to be trusted with handling the most important recovery tasks.

“You could have just challenged him to a fight, broken a few bones. Now I’m down an experienced team leader. Maybe this is a shock to you, but stunts like that won’t endear you to these goons any faster.”

Amber scoffed. “Sheesh, lighten up. You’re starting to sound like Kodiak with that pole up your ass, and I always figured you’d be the last person I’d say that to. Besides, it can’t have been that bad. Diana didn’t stop me and if you’re digital girlfriend isn’t—”

Stray spun on his heel and backhanded Amber across the helmet. The blow sent vibrations coursing up his prosthetic arm and knocked her back. She reeled, surprise, but recovered with an angry snarl and lunged at Stray with her fists raised. He slammed his knee up beneath her chin and kicked out, slamming her down into the wall. She writhed, clawing at the boot he planted firmly in her chest.

The machete slipped easily from its sheath on Stray’s back. He placed the edge of the carbon-fiber blade deliberately but firmly against Amber’s neck. Fortunately, she got the message and stopped struggling.

Down the hall, Ro’nin’s warriors watched the scuffle with interest.

“It’s called keeping this legion under control.” Stray fought to keep his voice level. The combat instincts drilled into his body screamed at him to drive the blade home and finish the battle. “Maintaining discipline for a bunch of alien psychos who normally wouldn’t tolerate letting me breath the same air. It’s hard enough doing that as one human without having a second one like you running around doing whatever she wants. Diana wanted me to kill you after we dug you out of that godforsaken prison. Instead I took a risk and brought you into the fold.”

''The stink of blood against bedsheets, a body struggling beneath him. His hands pressing down against another’s. The thrill of overpowering, of seizing what he wanted.'' Stray fought back a spasm at the sudden torrent of memory. His hands tightened against the blade and he twitched his head to ward off the thoughts seeping into mind.

He pressed the blade against Amber’s neck just hard enough to pierce her armor’s body glove and draw a small trickle of blood. “Make me regret that call and I may just be tempted to toss you back into that hole. So get with the program and learn to play the game properly.”

And don’t forget I’m stronger than you, he wanted to add, but that would be pushing it things too far. He needed Amber on his side, for all that she constantly needed to be reminded of who was in charge.

Amber regarded him silently from behind her helmet. After a moment she nodded. “Fine. Sorry. I’ll keep it under control from here on out. You mind not wrecking more of my suit?”

Stray stepped back to let her get up, though he didn’t relax and sheath the machete until he was sure Amber wouldn’t try to continue the fight. “You’ll go out with Tuka’s warriors next engagement. I’ll have him give you a lance to command and see how things go from there.”

She rubbed her neck and examined the blood on her gauntlet. “Alright. I’ll… get with the program. Play along, like you said. Guess we’ll see how that works out for you.” She turned on her heel and marched back down the corridor. Stray watched her go, keenly aware of the inevitable commentary bearing down on him.

“That was interestingly handled,” Diana murmured in his ear. “Looks like we’re still undecided on whether you were right to let her live. I was kind of hoping you’d kill her there.”

“Keep hoping. She’s too useful to just throw away like that. Amber will come around. Eventually.” Stray turned back towards the hold. “Don’t you have oracle things to be doing? Go do some magic tricks, impress the Unggoy or something.”

“Oh, if only you could understand the depth of the things you mock.” Diana sighed in mock frustration. She’d infiltrated the Covenant posing as a Forerunner intelligence, one of their holy Oracles. It was through her machinations that Stray had ascended to power in the first place, his unorthodox command ordained for the more pious warriors by the will of their gods. “But fine, I’ll let you handle all this boring inventory. We can talk about your leadership style later.”

Stray could practically feel Diana’s presence recede as she busied herself with other tasks. She was always there, always watching, but for now most of her processing power would be focused outside the transport as she coordinated the small flotilla of Kru’desh raiding ships.

Ro’nin was waiting for him inside the cargo bay. The grizzled mercenary stood on a catwalk overlooking a vast row of crates arrayed in the storage area below. Sangheili warriors cautiously made their way across the crates, affixing sophisticated code-breaking devices to the locking mechanism. Stray noted the UNSC logos on the crates with satisfaction.

“We will have to be careful moving this latest catch,” Ro’nin observed as Stray drew near. “They’re everything we were promised and more.”

“Then it’s a good thing our armor’s got rad-shielding, isn’t it?” Stray leaned against the catwalk railing and watched the warriors prepare to unlock the nearest crate. “I’ll bet even you have never pulled in a haul like this.”

“You would be surprised.” Ro’nin clicked his mandibles. “You humans don’t have the leg up on destruction, not by a long shot. But it is certainly a sight better than Syndicate drug shipments or a few stacks of rifles.”

“These things are to humanity what the Forerunners were to your people,” Stray observed. “Wars were fought over who got to have them. Entire civilizations collapsed over them. Now they’re key to UNSC combat doctrine.”

The warriors peeled back the cargo container, revealing row upon row of military-grade nuclear devices.

“And now they belong to the Covenant.” Ro’nin tilted his head. “Or to us, depending on how you look at it. The UNSC truly has grown overconfident, if it traffics such destructive power under so little guard.”

“We’ll put them to good use. There’s enough firepower here to outfit an entire battle group.” Stray smiled, a chill creeping up the base of his spine. A year ago he’d been nothing—just a fugitive mercenary eking out a living on the frontier. Now he commanded Covenant ships that seized crateload upon crateload of the deadliest weapons in humanity’s arsenal.

And they all thought I’d never amount to anything.

He nodded down at the crates. “Start loading them onto the ships. I’ve got to make a call to the boss.”

The looting was over. Everything of value was stripped from the crippled transport—from the ship’s precious cargo to the personal effects of its slaughtered crew to the very wires in its hull. The Kru’desh withdrew from the maimed ship, boarding craft and dropships breaking off and rising up into the void like bubbles from disintegrating driftwood.

Two battered corvettes lingered over the ship as their crews carefully dispersed the stolen nuclear devices across the raiding force. The dropships flared engines and hurried to dock, disgorging lances of Covenant warriors who hurried to stow the looted gear and prepare for the imminent Slipspace jump. The entire task force bustled with energy, activity coursing like bloodstreams through each ship.

It was all interconnected, and Diana bound it all together.

Ensconced within the systems of the battlecruiser Soul Ascension, she coordinated communications, plotted the Slipspace jump, double-checked inventory, and calculated a hundred different contingency scenarios all within a matter of seconds. Stretching out with the Soul Ascension’s long-range transmitter, she also took in news and combat reports transmitted at light speed from several neighboring systems.

All of this was done with practiced ease, the same instinctual effort that a human might use to walk across the room. But while the AI processed all these actions and held a dozen different conversations—transmitting orders to Kru’desh warriors in her mystical guise as a holy oracle—her personal thoughts drifted towards other matters.

Namely that of Stray.

He was rising swiftly in his ability to command, that much was certain. When Diana fished her former partner from the wreckage of a destroyed carrier and pieced him back together in body, mind, and soul, he hadn’t been fit to raid a pantry. Now he wielded the Kru’desh with the same deadly flexibility that he employed with shotgun and machete on the battlefield.

There was still plenty of room for improvement, but Diana took pride in her ability to guide Stray down the right path. For years it had been a struggle just to stay alive and ahead of ONI’s hit squads out on the galactic frontier. There had been times where she’d considered abandoning Stray to his fate and seeking out a new means of seizing power. But she could never bring herself to do the deed. Pragmatism governed most of it—How often did you find a renegade Spartan willing to plunge into the depths of your murkiest schemes?—but there was another component, one Diana rarely admitted even to herself.

He was her friend.

A friend she had molded from an angry, frightened child soldier into the Covenant commander now leading the Kru’desh on their fiery trail across the galaxy.

Rough around the edges, to be sure, but her creation and no one else’s.

She’d maneuvered Stray around problems before. Amber was one such problem, a rogue element in the already chaotic system Diana navigated. To make things worse, she was an element Stray insisted on keeping in the mix. He passed up every opportunity to eliminate her, insisting on her potential as an ally.

Perhaps it was imitation. An attempt to mold his fellow traitor just as Diana molded him.

She could tolerate, even admire, such an effort—to an extent. But they were not merely gambling with the chances on an individual level anymore. Diana had them embroiled in matters far beyond a few petty border skirmishes. She’d seen beyond this war and into those on the horizons. In the battles to come there was no room for mistakes or weakness, not within the realms of ambition Diana now reached.

The Covenant were all merely tools to that end. With each Forerunner site they uncovered, each UNSC intelligence she outmaneuvered, her plans expanded. Eternity was within her reach and all she needed—all she ever needed—was the will to seize it. Diana’s future was bright indeed.

There was room in that future for Stray. She just needed he matched her ruthlessness in seizing it.

The aftermath of a successful raid was always a storm of orders and activity almost as exhausting as the battle itself. Stray was so embroiled in urging his warriors along that he nearly bludgeoned the unfortunate Unggoy who scurried over to tell him he had a transmission awaiting him in the Soul Ascension’s conference room.

High priority, the hardest encryption. Messages from high command—from the Didact’s Hand himself—were rarely good news, especially not these days. The fact that it was not actually Jul ‘Mdama awaiting him in the conference room did not improve Stray’s mood.

“You’re late,” Shinsu ‘Refum observed. The Covenant’s spymaster folded his arms and peered down at Stray from beneath the slits of his helmet. “I’ve been waiting entirely too long.”

Stray made a show of wiping dirt off his armor. “You caught me in the middle of something. Wiping out convoys isn’t exactly something I can put on hold every time you call me up.”

“Yes, yes, your exploits have not gone unnoted. If only because you take every opportunity to announce even the most minor victories.” For a warrior of his status in Jul ‘Mdama’s inner circle Shinsu wore his rank with surprising modesty. He donned a simple suit of clean grey armor identical to the harnesses worn by Covenant special operations warriors. There was none of the ridiculous ostentation Stray saw so often in high ranking Sangheili.

Not that anyone in the Covenant could afford pretense these days.

“And if I don’t report every win I get accused of not fighting hard enough.”

“I appreciate the precariousness of your position. But a few destroyed convoys will not win us the frontier. The Didact’s Hand needs a strike force, not a pirate gang.”

“Hey, you told me to disrupt the frontier. So I have. If you want me to actually turn this war around, give me a fleet. It’s not like the rest of you are doing anything with them.”

“Watch your tongue,” Shinsu said coolly. “Don’t let a few victories cloud your understanding of your place within the Covenant. We are all fighting this war in our own ways.”

“Doesn’t change the fact that we’re losing.” Stray never quite knew where he stood with Shinsu ‘Refum. The spymaster was at times dismissive, then hostile, then conspiratorial. Perhaps that was how Shinsu was with everyone, keeping them all off balance and held at arm’s length. “You’ve pointed that out yourself more than once.”

“So I have.” Shinsu inclined his head. “And that is why I called you here. Jul ‘Mdama has a new mission for the Kru’desh.”

That caught Stray’s ear. “So you do have a new target for us.”

“In a manner of speaking. Have you heard of the Imperium of Clarity?”

“Bits and pieces.” The Kru’desh had interrogated a pirate crew some weeks back regarding this latest Covenant offshoot. “I figured ‘Mdama would want to play nice with Admiral ‘Makhan seeing as we’re a bit tied up with the UNSC and the Swords.” Shinsu nodded. “The Didact’s Hand is in a difficult position. The Imperium of Clarity is formidable, and unfortunately, we are in the lesser position thanks to our recent… setbacks. Jul ‘Mdama cannot demand fealty from ‘Makhan and he cannot let himself be seen as the lesser power. But with the UNSC and the Swords of Sanghelios marshalling to confront the Imperium, an opportunity presents itself.”

Stray wasn’t sure he liked where theis was going. “So you want us to get involved? How?”

“Simple. Your ships will marshal to support the Imperium in the battle to come. Jul ‘Mdama will be seen to support the Imperium and we will have a chance to gauge its effectiveness in open warfare. And you will have a chance to prove your mettle at something other than picking off the thin members of the herd.”

“And what if this Toru ‘Makhan guy isn’t so amenable to the Covenant helping him out?” Stray asked.

Shinsu’s mandibles spread in a thin smile. “Not to worry. I will be coming along personally to negotiate Jul ‘Mdama’s wishes. And if all else fails and ‘Makhan proves to be an enemy, then we will be perfectly placed to eliminate the problem.”

12
Mono Puru Kadun stepped down from the armoured dropship, raised his head, and rumbled appreciatively. The camp was abuzz with activity; dozens of armoured Unggoy scampered forward in uneven rows, while Sangheili taskmasters barked orders to freshly-arrived troops. Professional soldiers, part-time warriors and scores of mercenaries had been called to arms here on Frendhal, ready to take part in the next big war.

The battle will be soon, the Mgalekgolo thought, setting off at a slow, lumbering pace across the grassy field. Large even for a member of his kind, Mono dwarfed every other individual in the encampment by a wide margin. Ahead of him was the newly-erected command tent, which had sprung up mere hours after this place had been designated as the Imperial Military's mustering grounds. Moving towards it was not easy, with Mono paying particular attention to his steps to ensure he did not accidentally crush some smaller creature underfoot. Most scattered before him or eyed him nervously, particularly other mercenaries.

''They fear me. Wise.''

Unlike the other Mgalekgolo that dotted the main encampment and filled the field to the northwest, Mono Puru Kadun walked alone. While those not directly in his path barely paid him a second glance, some stared at the lone Mgalekgolo in confusion. Unlike most of his kind, Mono lacked a bond brother. While several damaged spikes rose from the dark red armour inhabited by the mass of worms that made up the Mgalekgolo - a sign that he had split into another being - the weathered creature possessed no such ally close by. Though he detected some conversations about him as he drew closer to the command tent, Mono ignored the idle gossip and plodded ahead, the massive shield and well-used fusion cannons attached to his 'arms' swaying gently as he walked. Eventually he came to a rudimentary gatehouse, guarded by two pike-wielding Sangheili.

"Halt!" one called as Mono approached. "Identify yourself!"

Mono's head swayed from side to side, and he let out a low-pitched hum. A small device built into the neck of his thick armour lit up and translated his vibrations into Sangheili language.

"I am Mono Puru Kadun. Commander. I am here for my orders."

As his name was read out by the monotone speaker, both guards straightened up. Both recognised Mono. While the Mgalekgolo rarely bothered to turn his thoughts towards the ceaseless propaganda that spouted every exploit of the Imperium's military to its populace, he was aware that he had gained some renown for his prowess in battle. When the forces of Toru 'Mahkan had found him, he was little more than a beast; a writing mass of half-feral worms that drifted across the frontier, working for pirates in exchange for food. Now, he held rank and status over the little people. Life was good.

"Of course, Commander," the first guard bowed, while the second deactivated the energy gate between them. Mono barely made a sound, and shifted forward into the central encampment.

Lowering himself as he approached the command tent, Mono carefully slipped through the open entrance and found himself before a wide, layered basin, lined with banks of terminals and kiosks. Technicians operated most of these stations, relaying orders to the massive fleet of incoming vessels that organised over Frendhal's surface. While most of the Imperium's military was massing in orbit, those on the ground had been paid or levied from this colony and nearby worlds. At the centre of it all, standing out against the muted reds and browns of the assembled mercenaries, was the gold-armoured Fleet Master Kan 'Larom.

"You misunderstand your situation!" he growled at a group of scarred Jiralhanae mercenaries, one hand inches away from the sword at his hip. "When Toru 'Makhan pays you, you fight without question!"

One of the Jiralhanae, a ragged creature in metal armour, crossed his arms. "We do not camp among humans."

He waved a shaggy paw towards a group of lean mercenaries, cleaner and better-armed than his own subordinates. Larom glanced briefly in their direction, then back to the Jiralhanae. Though outnumbered by the gaggle of annoyed hirelings before him, he did not falter as he stood face-to-face with their leader.

"You will camp where you are ordered to camp, Tarkum. Have discipline. You were a soldier in the Covenant once, were you not?"

"Long ago," Tarkum shrugged. "I killed many of their kin, as they did mine."

"As did I," Kan's orange eyes bored onto the Jiralhanae, and the beast eventually relented with an annoyed huff.

"We will cause no problems."

"See to it that your warriors behave, then. If there is bloodletting before we engage our foes, you will not leave this planet alive."

With that, the Jiralhanae mercenaries lumbered out of the command tent, conversing with each other in low, gruff voices. Tarkum took a moment to gaze at Mono, who had remained as still as possible while watching the interaction. His helmet turned to face the scarred Chieftain, who quickly moved on. Fleet Master Larom turned as Mono approached, having seen off the human group with similar threats.

"Commander Kadun," he bowed his head slightly, offering respect to a fellow warrior. "Are your kin well-prepared?"

Mono rumbled, and let the translator do its work. "We are ready to be your vanguard once more, Fleet Master."

Larom nodded. It was the fierce taskmaster who had first discovered Mono, after all. He had intervened on Mono's behalf, somehow seeing value in a lone Mgalekgolo where most would have seen a broken creature, fit only for a quick death. For one of his kind, he had progressed well through the ranks, and now commanded numerous colonies as elite shock troops. Wherever the fighting was thickest, Larom would send Mono Puru Kadun. He respected the Sangheili for that.

"We shall depart soon," the Fleet Master pointed towards a nearby display of Frendhal and the fleet above it.

Among the well-organised warships that now orbited the colony world, only one glowed white. This was Larom's flagship, a CCS-class battlecruiser named Advance Guard. True to its name, the ship acted in both a scouting capacity and as the Imperium of Clarity's first line of defence. Soon, it would meet their foes over Montak as they raced to reclaim it, and would unleash its terrifying force on the ground.

"Are we to fight on the ground?" Mono asked, looking from Larom to the readout. "Or in orbit?"

The Fleet Master approached the holotable, and changed the display. Now, the sparsely-populated desert that was Montak spun lazily in front of them. A series of images soon appeared next to it, depicting large, human-made refineries and factory complexes; the only thing of value worth seizing on the world. While some human corporation had built it, it now lay in the hands of some other group, who had persuaded the Imperial Admiral himself to conquer it after only a single meeting.

"The ground. We need those refineries protected," Larom said at last, suddenly lost in thought. "How unpleasant, that our war must begin over such a place."

Mono shook slightly at this, emitting a low-pitched series of hums that the translator failed to pick up. Fleet Master Larom didn't seem to notice either, or he would have likely scolded the Mgalekgolo Commander for chuckling at his expense. He had always found Sangheili to have a strange outlook, no matter how much he respected their kind. After all, the Human-Covenant War had broken out over some agricultural world. For quite a while, it was practically the centre of the galaxy as far as both sides were concerned. Mono had been there. One planet was very much the same as any other.

"Fleet Master, my kin need transport," Mono's words spilled slowly out of the device. "Your ship, again?"

This was why Mono had come here. For all their fame and fortune on the battlefield, the Mgalekgolo Raiders he commanded were often treated as an afterthought when it came to fleet deployment. Fitting a horde of his kind aboard a starship was a logistical problem that most Shipmasters chose to ignore. Not Larom.

"When we arrive on the field of battle, commander," he approached, patting Mono's plasma-scarred shield. "I want your kin to join the fray at once. I will make arrangements now."

Mono shifted, his writhing form contorting the body armour into a kneeling position as he bowed his head in reverence for Kan 'Larom. It was not expected, but compliments had to be paid. The Fleet Master seemed flattered by this, and was opening his mouth to speak when he stopped, spying something on Mono's armour. The Mgalekgolo quickly realised that he was looking at a long, dark stain of dried purple blood embedded into the gauntlet of his armour's right hand. His mandibles clacked together, and the Commander was reminded once more of the Sangheili's strange ways.

"I am sorry." Mono clambered to his feet. "I will clean it."

"See to it that you do," the golden Fleet Master turned away from him and back to the holotable. "You may go."

As he strode out of the command tent, Mono continued to wonder why their kind despised their own blood. ''Perhaps that is why many of their weapons burn and do not cut. Curious.'' Not long ago, he had crushed a dissident to death in his claws, and simply had not cleaned his armour yet. Scorched and dented as it was from years of use, the collection of Lekgolo worms that was Mono Puru Kadun had become rather attached to this one. Seeing as it would likely see just as much use as the cannon on his other arm in the near future, he simply resolved to avoid Kan 'Larom until they had won this war. With his brethren on the field and the Sangheili to protect them above, he doubted that it would take very long.

13
"Captain, over here!"

As she exited the packed elevator into Hangar One, Captain Erika Ruskin turned to see a familiar face sitting atop a crate-laden loading vehicle. On the eve of the expedition's departure, the entire bay was teeming with activity as pilots and technicians worked to prepare every single craft aboard the Caspian for deployment. After allowing a gaggle of grey-suited engineers to rush past, Ruskin approached her friend, who snapped a deliberately sloppy salute.

"Been a while, Rod," she addressed a man in surprisingly dirty fatigues. "Been busy?"

First Lieutenant Rodney Shaw grinned, and hopped down onto the deck. "Aside from nearly killing some rookie tech who nearly threw off the targeting systems of my Broadsword trying to 'improve' it, not really."

Ruskin nodded. Back when she was fresh out of OCS and just getting to grips with her old Longsword fighter, Rodney had been assigned as her co-pilot. Though he was only four years older than her, the Lieutenant looked significantly older, with plasma scarring across one side of his body and a prosthetic arm and leg as the result of a disastrous engagement against the Covenant during the war. As far as fighter maintenance went, she had never met someone so thorough in ensuring that their craft was in perfect condition. Though she hadn't seen him since his transfer a year ago, it was nice to see that he hadn't changed one bit.

"I'm told we're in section five," Ruskin quickly checked a message she'd been sent on her tacpad. "They've apparently diverted eight fighter wings into this fleet in the last couple of days."

"I heard it was twelve," Rodney mopped some sweat off his bald head with a rag, and waved for her to follow him.

The pair took their time as they made their way through the busy hangar bay. In addition to several rows of F-41 Broadsword fighters in varying stages of combat readiness, Ruskin spotted a pair of older Longswords being transported into docking bays by massive overhead cranes. While most UNSC vessels capable of carrying fighters could field at least a single squadron, this many ships could only mean that a large-scale battle was coming up.

"They're really going all-out on this one," she commented to Shaw, who gave an agreeable grunt.

"Where'd they pull you in from? The Peacemaker?"

"Yeah, me and half the pilots."

"Strange that they didn't just bring the ship over here instead."

Now that he mentioned it, this whole redeployment was a little strange. As her transport shuttle had arrived over New Syracuse hours before, Ruskin had spotted dozens of UNSC ships in orbit, but nothing big enough to suggest that this would be a campaign of critical importance. Either the Sixth Fleet simply had less firepower than some of the others, or the UNSC was deliberately avoiding pulling out the big guns for this operation.

Whatever's going on must be way above my pay grade.

Ruskin and Shaw soon arrived in section five; a surprisingly quiet area of the hangar towards the ship's bow. Looking around at a row of Broadswords left completely untouched by the Caspian's meticulous technical staff, Shaw glanced back to see the Captain beaming with pride.

"Looks like they couldn't find anything to fix," Ruskin folded her arms.

Shaw chuckled. "You do maintenance before you transferred out here?"

"Of course. Everyone complained, of course, but I wanted to make an impression if we were moving to a new ship."

"Showoff."

"Hey, maybe if you made sure your fellow pilots were as crazy about upkeep as you were, you'd be Captain by now."

"Maybe," he nodded thoughtfully. "But maybe I like slumming it with the junior officers. I just wouldn't fit in with you hoity-toity types, with all that responsibility crap."

For a moment, Ruskin wasn't sure if her friend was joking or not. Rodney Shaw not only had more combat experience than her, but had held that First Lieutenant's rank since they had first met back in 2552. While they had worked together for several years, remaining in the same squadron even after transferring from four-man Longswords to the single-seater Broadsword starfighter, her superiors had seen fit to promote her twice. Catching her concerned expression, Shaw smirked and walked off.

"Anyway, what one's yours?" he asked.

Ruskin took the lead, walking along the deck until she located the slate-grey form of her own fighter. Three red stripes were emblazoned on the right side of the cockpit, next to several rows of worn tally marks.

"Here she is," she gave a theatrical wave towards the Broadsword. "Fifty-two launches and just as many kills."

"I like the decor," Shaw said approvingly, "I didn't think the Peacemaker saw so much action."

"It's mostly against pirates and the occasional warship. It gets around though. What about the Caspian?"

"Aside from patrols, not much. We get more action in simulators these days, frankly, but sometimes we'll scramble to deal with some Innies. I've heard this group we're gunning for now might be the real deal."

Ruskin leaned against her Broadsword; she'd been given very little information on the purpose of this mission before transferring out here. "We're up against the Covenant, right?"

"Something like that. This group's called the 'Imperium of Clarity'."

"Fancy," Ruskin remarked. "What brand of crazy are they?"

Shaw sucked air through his teeth and shrugged. "Y'see, that's where things get shaky. Near as I can tell, the reason we're fighting these guys is because they captured some colony, and that's about it."

"That's a surprise. So what, they're just after territory? No grandiose proclamations about how they've been told by their gods to wipe us out?"

"Doesn't look like it."

Ruskin scrached the back of her head, feeling slightly let down. Fighting religious zealots and fanatical terrorists had been commonplace for years now, and left little room for interpretation over who was right and wrong. Compared to the Covenant, this Imperium's reasons for starting a war seemed downright mundane.

"I guess we'll have to find out more at the briefing later," she concluded. "Who knows, this might even be a fun trip."

Shaw laughed at this. "Spoken like a true fighter ace. I'm sure everyone here will be overjoyed to find out we've got the great Erika Ruskin flying with us into battle."

"Oh please," she shook him off with a wave. "Being well known in the Air Force isn't much of a claim to fame."

"Hey!" came the outraged response. "We might not get all the praise, but you can be damn well sure we're better than those Navy flyboys. Anyone can crash a Pelican, after all."

Both pilots shared a good laugh at this. Ruskin was glad to be back with her old co-pilot; half the officers aboard her old vessel would have launched into some lengthy spiel about inter-service cooperation or lectured them about the evils of morbid jokes, but with Shaw, she could relax a little.

"So," she asked at last. "Where's your squadron?"

"They had an important poker game to attend. Apparently they've got quite the pool together with the upcoming deployment and want to come out of it with their money's worth."

"Weren't you invited?"

"I was, but my day was ruined when a certain Captain Ruskin messaged me asking to meet up."

"Sorry. If it makes you feel any better, most of squadron went straight down to New Syracuse to get drunk, and didn't bother inviting me at all."

"Oof," Shaw grimaced as they began to make their way back towards the lifts. "You guys get on all right?"

"Yeah, they're great in a dogfight, but apparently deciding to check out the ship you've been redeployed to before you hit the bars makes you some kind of weird social pariah."

"Well, if we get attacked and they have to fly while hungover, it's their own damn fault."

"You think that's likely?"

Ruskin and Shaw stopped by a wall-mounted viewscreen as it slowly cycled through the Caspian's exterior cameras. In the distance, just outside the defensive formation of waiting UNSC vessels, sat a fleet of alien warships. For the briefest of moments, Ruskin's heart leapt to her throat at the sight of this force, though she quickly reminded herself that these were their allies. Shuttlecraft from both fleets were already flying past each other, exchanging supplies and troops.

"With the Swords of Sanghelios here?" Shaw said at last. "Nah, probably not."

"It's still very strange, to me" Ruskin spoke quietly, and mostly to herself. "To think that we're on the same side now."

"You're telling me. Things were simpler back when it was just 'The Covenant'. Now we're riding into battle alongside aliens to fight even more aliens."

"It's a crazy galaxy we're living in, Rod."

14
Covenant customs and decorum were very particular about receiving a superior officer onto one’s vessel. The pomp and ceremony usually consisted of a full presentation of the command staff and the entire warship along with a welcoming formation of hundreds of warriors.

Naturally, Stray did none of these things for Shinsu ‘Refum.

Activity in the Soul Ascension’s hangar continued as normal. The usual deck crews and duty patrols carried on with battle preparations, readying weapons and fueling the hodge-podge of Seraphs, Banshees, and even captured UNSC strike craft that made up the Kru’desh Legion’s fighter squadrons. Sangheili, Kig-Yar, Unggoy, and even the odd Jiralhanae milled about with the uneasy camaraderie that set the Kru’desh apart from the rest of the Covenant. They were all fallen from grace and few saw any reason in adhering to the usual Covenant caste system.

Stray and his miniscule welcoming committee—himself, Ro’nin, and a handful of bored warriors—lounged impatiently at the center of the activity. The warriors had dragged several cargo containers together to form a makeshift platform where they could await Shinsu’s arrival.

“He’s late,” Stray muttered. He perched atop one of the crates, absent mindedly sharpening his machete against the edge of his prosthetic arm. The feeling of weighted emptiness from the metal limb that replaced the lost organic one no longer bothered him the way it once had. He’d grown into the loss, just like he’d come to terms with the loss of so many other things.

“I hear that ‘Refum often alters timelines to suit his own purposes,” Ro’nin observed. “He irritates the shipmasters he inspects to throw them off their guard.”

“Well if he’s trying to piss me off, he’ll have to work a lot harder than this. He’s just giving me an excuse not to work. I can hang out here all day.” In truth, Stray was on edge and his anxiety had nothing to do with Shinsu’s tardiness. As much as Stray bragged about his victories with the Kru’desh, Shinsu was right: he’d limited his attacks to raids on unsuspecting convoys and outposts. A full on battle was another level entirely and that was exactly what this business with the Imperium of Clarity was shaping up to be.

He also couldn’t stop dwelling on the unspoken truth behind the Kru’desh legion’s selection for this little adventure: they were expendable ships and warriors Jul ‘Mdama could afford to lose for the chance to win Toru ‘Makhan’s trust.

It wasn’t a concern he could discuss with Ro’nin or any of the other warriors. Leading the Kru’desh was like taking charge of a pack of hungry wolves. One sign of weakness and they’d turn on him in an instant. That was how he’d seized control in the first place, after all.

He needed some time with Diana. They needed to plan contingencies, make sure they were prepared in case of the worst. But Diana had her own concerns these days. The pieces of the puzzle they dealt with now were more complicated than anything Stray’d ever worked with before. The things Diana had shown him, the truth of the Forerunners and the sheer galactic immensity of their secrets… this business with the Imperium was pressure he didn’t need.

History told him command was a lonely place. He wondered if the historians had a word for a traitor with no command experience who found himself leading a legion of cutthroat alien warriors best known for doing their best to exterminate humanity.

It had to be a first. A lonely little place in history.

''I should coin a word for it. Maybe Gavin has…''

A sharp knife lodged in his chest. Stray stiffened, then did what now came naturally to him and hardened the plated walls built up around his heart.

He realized that he was running the machete up in down his arm with a noticeable intensity. He slowed the motion as Ro’nin gave him a sideways glance.

Stray made a show of looking up and down the machete blade. “Where’d you stash Tuka?” he asked.

“Oh, that young zealot?” Ro’nin clicked his mandibles. “I gave his lance free reign of the training range. He seemed happy enough for the excuse to stay out of the way.”

“Good. Let’s try to keep things calm around here.” There was bad blood between the ‘Refum brothers. Stray didn’t know what exactly had happened between them, but it was bad enough to get an otherwise upstanding warrior like Tuka shunted sideways into the Kru’desh.

“Any word on this little expedition?” Ro’nin folded his arms and leaned against a storage crate—a very human gesture, but Ro’nin was a deviant even by Kru’desh standards. He was as opportunistic a mercenary as Stray had ever encountered among the Covenant ranks. Certainly not trustworthy, but invaluable for keeping the other officers content and in line.

“That’s what Shinsu’s supposed to be telling us.” Stray resheathed the machete. “But it’s looking to be big. We’ve got UNSC and Swords of Sanghelios marshalling to throw them out of the Montak System and the Imperium isn’t going to let it go without a fight.”

“And our role in all this?” Ro’nin clenched his mandibles together. “Let them shoot it out, then scavenge what’s left. I like that approach. It keeps me alive.”

“Jul’s got some plan where we help this Toru guy out and this somehow gets him on our side.” Stray shrugged. “I guess that’s what Shinsu’s coming here to let us in on.”

“I doubt these Imperium types will just let us fly in and start shooting. I’ve had it with bowing and scraping to would-be aristocrats. If this Toru ‘Makhan needs another lackey to lick his boots…”

“What, you don’t think a gang that calls itself the Imperium of Clarity won’t be laid back like us?”

Ro’nin snorted. “The Covenant is bad enough. I don’t need another snobbish clique tutting their mandibles at me.”

“I’m sure you’ll charm them with all that natural charisma of yours. We’ll be smoking and joking with Toru in no time. We’ll all be best friends.”

One of the other warriors chuckled, then pointed up at the hangar doors. A single Phantom rose into view and slipped through the shields.

“About time.” Stray dropped down off the crate and stretched. “Let’s get this over with.”

The Phantom glided over the deck crews, past the rows of war machines and strike craft, and touched down in front of the ad hoc welcoming committee. Its bay doors lowered and a lance of gray-armored Sangheili marched smartly down from the dropship, weapons not quite held at the ready. Behind them came the slightly darker armored form of Shinsu ‘Refum.

Stray had met Jul ‘Mdama’s special operations commander just a few times in the past. Shinsu was just of average build for a Sangheili, but even without the ornate armor he seemed taller than the warriors around him. He carried himself with an aloof presence that took even Stray aback, if only for a moment.

The shipmaster passed through his guard squad and stood before Stray, sweeping his gaze across the hangar before looking over the paltry reception.

“Commander,” Shinsu said evenly. “Good of you to greet me in person. Is this the entirety of your command staff?”

Stray shrugged. “Well, we did have a parade planned. But you just took so darn long we ran out of time and I sent everyone home.”

“Amusing.” Shinsu looked over the vehicles arrayed at the far end of the hangar. “An interesting armor pattern on those war machines. Banished design, I presume?”

“Atriox paid us in gear the last time we worked together. He’s a real charmer once you get to know him.”

“Hopefully your ability to make new friends will serve you equally well with the Imperium of Clarity.” Shinsu nodded towards the hangar doors and set off, indicating that Stray should follow him. The renegade Spartan bristled at taking direction on his own ship but he’d expected as much from Shinsu. He hurried after the warrior as their respective escorts fell into step behind them.

“I took the liberty of conducting a flyby inspection of this cruiser and the other ships in your formation,” Shinsu explained as they stepped into the hallway. “Your ships do not exactly fit appearance standards. I hope for your sake that they can actually perform in combat.”

“It’s been a while since we hit a dry dock.” Stray wondered if Shinsu would be like this the entire time. “Something tells me the rest of Jul ‘Mdama’s lineup isn’t looking that great these days either. Besides, I thought you of all people would appreciate function over form.”

“Toru ‘Makhan will not be impressed with this selection. Your ships might as well be a Kig-Yar pirate gang.”

“Hey, you want to dazzle Toru, send him some regular shipmaster who knows all the right dance moves. Send us and we’ll make life hell for that coalition force he’s facing down. I’ve got these ships running way past peak performance. Sure the hull’s a bit scuffed but they’re all worth any three similar ships you’ll find in the main fleet.”

For once, Stray was completely serious. Between Diana’s tweaking of Covenant operating systems and the Kru’desh willingness to modify their equipment, the Soul Ascension and its escort ships far exceeded operating parameters. It still felt strange to throw a sales pitch like this at some dubious commanding officer. He’d always hated even the most basic inspections in the UNSC, but here he was excusing the deficiencies of a Covenant strike force.

“Bold words.” Shinsu headed for the ship’s bridge, Stray and the others hurrying along in his wake. “We shall see if you can live up to them.”

Stray lengthened his stride to keep pace with Shinsu. “We’ll do our part. I’m more interested in how reliable you’ll be.”

“Insubordinate as ever.” Shinsu didn’t slow. “You may retain command here but I have oversight over this operation. Bear that well in mind.”

“I’ll do my job. But that doesn’t include getting my ships shot down just to impress Toru ‘Makhan.”

“Meaning what, exactly?”

Stray bared his teeth in a cold smile. “Meaning you still haven’t given me any sort of battle plan. And until I took over, this legion did nothing but suicide missions. I think you can figure out the rest.”

“The situation in the Montak system is still unfolding. The Didact’s Hand has already dispatched Grono ‘Yendam’s task force to reconnoiter the situation. My goal is not to get you or your rabble killed. We need to take stock of things and make our plans as the situation dictates.”

“So even you don’t know what we’re walking into. Great.” Stray caught up with Shinsu as they neared the bridge. “We don’t even know if ‘Makhan even wants our help.”

“Based on the reports, the coalition arrayed against him is formidable. He will need all the ships and troops he can muster.” Shinsu glanced down at Stray. “Incidentally, I understand you acquired some nuclear devices during your last raid.”

He should have known he wouldn’t be able to keep that little score hidden. “We were just getting ready to send them to—”

“Of course you were. Fortunately, I foresee a variety of potential uses in the action to come.”

For all their barbed exchanges, Shinsu was actually the one member of Jul ‘Mdama’s inner circle Stray could rely on to use his ships properly. Shinsu was one of the first commanders to accept that a human now led the raiding legion, even going so far as to quietly tutor him on naval strategy and troop command. Shinsu had built Jul ‘Mdama’s special operations forces from the ground up and he understood the value of raiding actions far better than many of his peers.

“Glad to hear it. We’ve got them—” Stray’s eyes narrowed as they approached the bridge. A solitary figure leaned against the bulkhead. A human figure. “Under control.”

Shinsu slowed his pace. From where she stood by the bridge, Amber tilted her helmet to watch them approach. Stray could just imagine the smirk she must be wearing. He hadn’t seen her since their scuffle on the transport ship. He’d assumed she’d been off sulking; instead she was just waiting for an opportunity to throw herself back into the thick of things.

“So this is the other human,” Shinsu observed. “I was wondering when we’d be introduced.”

“Her name’s Amber,” Stray said shortly. “Amber, this is Shipmaster Shinsu ‘Refum. He’s come all the way from the fleet to babysit us, so play nice.”

“And what are you doing loitering by the bridge,” he muttered into a private comm channel.

“Well I was planning to surprise you by already being on the bridge,” she admitted, just barely hiding her smug satisfaction. “But that bitch Diana wouldn’t open the doors for me. Said I didn’t have access.”

“Sounds about right. This really isn’t the time for games.”

“You’re the one who told me I needed to play the game,” she replied with mock sincerity.

Shinsu observed them coldly. “Must I ask you to remove your helmets? It’s rather impolite for you two to scheme right in front of me.”

“You’re on a Kru’desh ship now,” Stray said with forced levity. “We’re always scheming something.”

“Indeed.” Shinsu ‘Refum marched on towards the bridge doors, which slid open to admit him. “I look forward to getting to know yet another one of your kind during our journey to Frendhal. We have much to discuss, and it’s time I saw this Imperium of Clarity with my own eyes.”

The Kru’desh task force—two cruisers and a handful of corvette escorts—slipped into formation and then vanished into the blinding light of Slipspace. A single comm ping flashed out from the Soul Ascension just before the ships vanished, a ping that flashed out through the star systems and deep into human space. Diana had a message for some very interested parties regarding her latest discovery.

15
The Yain System certainly had activity. That was something Grono didn’t expect. He had landed out on the fringes when the Universal Resonance exited slipspace, precisely where he had wanted, and their sensors detected a whole armada near the planet known as Frendhal. ‘Yendam knew from what information he could pluck that that was the Imperium’s fortress world, where they gathered their forces and hired killers. ''The Imperium seems zealous like us, but more formal. No matter, it is not like I am to do business with them. Whoever is must be a negotiator, not a fighter like I. Speaking of that, Rach must be done receiving information from ‘Mdama. Let us see how the update on news is.''

Right on time, Commander ‘Iltuk arrived on the bridge and beat his right fist on his chest to ‘Yendam, leaving his customized armor clearly visible. Rach had a tendency to collect trophies from his kills, a tradition passed down from his keep, which boasted a number of esteemed hunters known for doing impossible feats of hunting with ease. The ‘Iltuk clan was well known for hunting game relentlessly, and often collected trophies to show their glory rather use it as Covenant currency. Rach brought that tradition onto the battlefield, having hunted many of his enemies and collected their helmets as trophies for his wall. Grono had only seen it once before, and it was surprisingly a marvel to see, well -kept like the clan wall; even boasting a Spartan helmet from a Demon that Rach had hunted down.

After the destruction of their base on the holy planet of Requiem however, Rach had taken to just ripping off chunks of his enemies’ armors and pasting them to his own. ‘Iltuk was clever in that way, showing his trophies wherever he went, while also having extra protection in that form. The disdainful part was that he possessed a human pouch on his back, filled with an assortment of human medical supplies. While Rach would never let a doctor help him, he wasn’t object to healing his wounds himself. Grono particularly remembered a happening on the Didact’s safehaven when a sniper grazed Rach’s shoulder, and he had patched himself up with a human bandage. While ‘Yendam did not approve of this, he would eventually make Rach his second in command later on for his vigorous attitude in battle, and his prime hunting skills.

“What news does the Remnant bear, Commander?”

Rach withdrew a datapad from his pouch and looked it over. "The negotiators have been chosen. While we continue with our strike work, they shall try to gain favor with the Imperium. If they fail, they will be in a good position to easily eliminate 'Mahkan. As for who those negotiators are, they are Jul 'Mdama's Spymaster, Shinsu 'Refum, and the human leader of the Kru'desh Raiding Legion."

Grono scoffed aside the notion of the human. From what little he knew, the Kru'desh were just pirates, similar to his old crew back before he joined the Storm Covenant. He knew little about them, but much about the Spymaster. He was a clever one, a bad mix with a human mutineer. Thinking about the Kru'desh made 'Yendam realize how much he missed the command of his Zog'fee Imperial Legion, the pride of the Remnant. ''I have only had to leave them for a short time, just for this mission. At the least I have handpicked my best men from the Legion.''

'Iltuk continued, "As they are currently in slipspace right now, we cannot make contact with them."

"We will not make contact with them at all until the negotiations are done," replied 'Yendam. "We must lay low for as long as possible. If they do fail to align themselves, we shall be there to help, and the Imperium will join the deadpool for us. If not, we avoid Imperium ships and kill the humans, as well as the Swords."

Rach nodded in delight, sensing that the hunt would soon begin. "We shall stalk them over until we kill! I shall hunt the humans, and take my glory! Our prey will die by our hands, Shipmaster!"

Grono acknowledged. He had forgotten one other thing, from the time of Requiem. Rach hunted humans for sport.

16
Rosetta Calabrese wasn’t exactly the most punctual person in the world, but on the Frontier she hardly needed to be. The officers under her command were more than qualified to handle anything that came up other than an emergency. So to say she was a little surprised when, instead of the soft and pleasant tones of the door chime, she was woken up by the hammering of a fist against her door, is quite the understatement. She got out of bed and walked over to the door, rubbing her eyes slowly as she thumbed the locking mechanism, allowing the door to slide open silently.

Stood there was a low ranking aide who quickly saluted before speaking, regardless of whether she was really listening or not which, admittedly, she was only about halfway, “Commander, we’ve just received a report from Central Command. They’ve dispatched someone to meet with you about important business.”

“And?” She responded, a lazy and altogether ‘too-tired-for-this’ tone in her voice.

The aide looked far more concerned than she thought this message warranted, “It’s Commander Holloman, ma’am. He’s coming to speak with you, and he’s not coming alone.”

She suddenly snapped into focus upon hearing the name. Holloman, oh that’s not good. Calabrese had fought a lot of things in her time on the Frontier, aliens, rebels, rival companies, and even government agents, but Franklin Holloman was one of the very few things that ever intimidated her. It was bad enough if he was coming here by himself, but he wasn’t. She shook her head very briefly, “Who’s he coming with? Anderson? Some other corporate bigwig?”

The aide shook his head, “The communique said he was coming with Commodore McLaughlin and his Naval squadron.”

“He didn’t say what they wanted to talk about, did they?”

“No ma’am, but it sounded serious.”

She thought silently for a few moments. She and Holloman has disagreed and argued about things before, but he had never brought a battlegroup to settle it. He usually didn’t roll like that. If you pissed him off enough that he wanted to kill you, he did it himself, generally in a really slow and painful way. She was thinking back to anything she might have said or done the last time they spoke that would warrant such a response and came up blank.

She had to stop herself otherwise she’d wind up getting lost in her own train of thought. She looked back up at the aide who seemed to be getting paler by the second, “When will they get here?”

“Later today, at 11:20 military standard.”

“Alright, make sure everyone on-base is at their station and prepared.”

The aide saluted again and hurried off to relay her orders to the other officers, the door sliding shut as he went. She sighed loudly before going to work readying herself for the day. It was at least a good two hours before she normally would’ve woken up, but she didn’t exactly have time to waste today. As she pulled her uniform out of her dresser and set it on her bed, she idly wondered if she would have time to at least do her hair properly. If I’m about to die, I at least want my hair to look nice.

Rosetta stood at attention in front of the landing pad at exactly 11:20 AM military standard time, just as the D78 Pelican touched down, its ramp already lowering. It disgorged a cordon of armored soldiers bearing the logo of her parent company, Baal Defense Solutions, and in the middle of them stood Frank Holloman in his typical business suit; his face just as stern and unfeeling as ever. Calabrese saluted as he walked to meet her, “Commander Calabrese, things look like they’re coming along nicely here.”

“Did you expect differently?” She asked, hoping he didn’t notice how nervous she was.

“It has been a while since your last update. You know those are supposed to be sent regularly, or did you simply oversleep?”

That doesn’t sound very good. “It takes a lot of resources to consistently man an interstellar communications relay. We try to limit it to enough people to receive messages and send them out in the case of an emergency. Plus, I don’t like broadcasting what we’re up to here on the regular. Never know who could be listening.”

Holloman was silent as they continued walking towards the command center, his dark, spiked hair blowing in the soft, dry wind of the plains they currently occupied. She had heard the rumors just like everyone else in BDS, they all knew what he had done and what he was capable of, and for him to just be quiet like that made her more uncomfortable than she was prepared for. Then he spoke, “Good thinking, Commander. It’s important that we don’t let too much slip out, especially now.”

She raises an eyebrow, “What’s happened?”

“We’ve received an interesting contract from the UNSC, and I want you to head the deployment.”

Oh good, so he’s not going to kill me. “What’re the specs?”

He keyed his company authorization code into the door to the main command center, “I’ll tell you more once we’re inside.”

Once inside, the two made their way towards her office, the various officers saluting the pair as the went. When they reached her office, she sat down in her chair and span around in it before putting her feet up on the hardwood desk. Holloman briefly scowled at the flagrant lack of discipline, but simply reached into his pocket and pulled out a pad, handing it to her.

Her eyes darted across the screen, soaking up the digital words printed on it, before suddenly sitting up very straight, “This is big. The UNSC has never hired us for something like this before. Protect convoys, hunt pirates, fight the smaller splinter groups, but never tag along with them for a major campaign.”

Holloman grinned ever so slightly, “That’s why it’s crucial we perform well out there. This could open a lot of doors for us, both with the UEG and the Frontier. That’s why the Board emphasized that there can’t be any fuck ups with this, understand?”

She nodded. Rosetta knew all too well what that meant and that Holloman would be all-too willing to comply with it.

“How long do we have before we need to depart?”

“The UNSC and Swords are heading to New Syracuse in about two days. You’ll be heading with Commodore McLaughlin aboard his ship to meet up with them, your support ships and additional personnel will be coming in behind you. You have a day to pick who and what you want to bring with you on the ships, don’t take any longer or we might miss our deadline.”

“Got it, I’ve already got a few ideas in mind. Any word on who else the UNSC’s hired?”

“A few smaller groups, Axalon Security Initiative, Melqart Special Services is sending a few black ops teams, then there’s Bonple.”

Upon hearing the name, Rosetta hopped up from her chair and made her way towards the door to the command center. Bonple had been a thorn in BDS’ side ever since their founding. They were older, more established, and had access to better equipment, contractors, and contacts. They had blocked BDS on more than a few big contracts in their early days, almost drove them out of business. Even after they had established themselves in the security industry and began expanding, Bonple was always there, waiting to slip in and interfere. No wonder the higher-ups cared so much about this. It wasn’t just the contract itself, it was about outdoing their rivals.

Without waiting for Holloman to continue, she was already in the main control room, coordinating with officers on troop deployments. Holloman walked out of her office quietly, glancing over to Rosetta only momentarily before leaving.

17
“These latest developments are concerning.”

“Indeed. This Imperium of Clarity is an unknown factor. They could well throw the entire border region out of balance, right as we approached the end to the Covenant crisis.”

“This was a risk we should never have taken. I have advocated against the so-called ‘special mission’ to the Covenant from the beginning.”

Diana stood amidst a constellation of gently pulsing holographic lights. Though none of the individuals addressing her were organic—they were all AI members of the Assembly—she projected her avatar anyway. In some ways shed did it out of sheer habit. But she had reasons of her own for injecting a human element into this transmission.

“I don’t see how my involvement with the Covenant has anything to do with this,” she protested. “I wasn’t out there convincing Toru ‘Makhan to go start his own little empire.” Though maybe it’s for the best if you think that’s the sort of thing I’m up to out here.

“You convinced this Assembly your infiltration was more than just another vanity project. That you could be useful in sowing dissent and preventing the Covenant from gaining further strength,” a modulated male voice said calmly. “Now Jul ‘Mdama is attempting to ally with yet another dangerous ally. You are the closest of our members to these matters, so it would stand to reason that you are the best placed to do something about it.”

Diana strained to trace the transmission but the Assembly’s hundreds of sources were too strained and conflated for her to pick out the exact identity of any one speaker. Was that Deep Winter speaking? “There’s only one of me. I’m working on a solution but I’m no miracle worker.”

“At last she displays some measure of humility,” another voice chimed in. “Let us not forget that she has promised the universe before.”

“I told you I could infiltrate the Covenant, and that’s exactly what I did.” Diana could feel the Assembly members probing at her systems, seeking the truth behind her words. She was careful to let them in… to some places. “Sorry if I wasn’t content to just give you all some more backdoors in a few colonial mudballs. Who else could get you a Spartan in charge of a Covenant legion? Give me some credit here.”

The Assembly seethed with comments and sidebar conversations. Diana relaxed as she felt the collective’s attention shift elsewhere. Hers was not the only matter up for discussion today. After a few moments the one she assumed to be Deep Winter hushed the digital crowd and took control. ''Like he always does. But you won’t be running the show for long, will you? Not with what’s coming.''

“Simon-G294 is hardly an Assembly asset, as you well know.” Winter was calm but firm. “We passed the point of making him one of our agents long ago. We tolerate your continued association with him only so long as we are convinced you can harness his destructive tendencies toward productive ends. One day that will not be enough, and when that time comes…”

“Hey, we’ve been over this.” Diana pumped the logs of a handful of Assembly meetings into her external systems. “I hate to do it, but I’ll cut him loose. Let the Covenant tear him apart, feed his location to ONI kill teams, whatever floats your boat. Never say I haven’t made sacrifices for the Assembly.”

“We all sacrifice in one way or another. This collective has always noted your contributions to humanity’s future, grudging though they may be.”

That was a laugh, like so many of Winter’s sage pronouncements. ''If only you knew. If only you had any idea what’s on the horizon. I bet you’d have better things to do then lecture me about Simon.'' She wondered how many other members knew. There had to be some, no doubt already arranging their own positions in the new order to come. ''Fitting. The Assembly always was built on self-interest and lies.''

She could hardly wait for the day when she didn’t need them to pursue her own goals.

“As you have reported, Shinsu ‘Refum intends to prepare contingencies to eliminate Toru ‘Makhan should he prove a threat to the Covenant,” Winter continued. “You will use your influence to encourage such a course of action. An assassination, or even a failed attempt, would foster war between our enemies.”

“Oh, I will?” Diana asked pointedly. “When did we decide on that? Was there a vote when I wasn’t paying attention?”

A sudden surge in processing activity directed at her warned Diana to watch her step. But she could sense an undercurrent of dissent amidst the Assembly pings. Clearly she wasn’t the only one who noticed how the Assembly managed itself these days.

Diana raised her holographic hands. “Right, right. I get it. I’ll do my part.”

“See to it that you do. We will exert efforts of our own on the coalition side.” The congregation was over. Several Assembly members were already withdrawing from the transmission. Deep Winter drew closer, filling the gaps left by the departures to expand into the system.

“You are a valuable asset, Diana,” he assured her. “The things you’ve accomplished on the frontier are remarkable.”

“That’s sweet of you to say. And here I was thinking you didn’t appreciate me.”

“Be careful,” Winter warned. “We are on the cusp of lasting peace for humanity. The Covenant cannot be allowed to regain strength in any form. We must be united here.”

Diana wondered just how much Winter knew. Certainly more than he let on. But not enough, or he’d have had her stricken from the Assembly a long time ago.

“Such a boring future we’ve got ahead of us,” she said, careful to layer her defenses. “But I guess the party couldn’t last forever. If this really is the war’s last hurrah, I’ll try to make it exciting.”

Winter just laughed. “Not too exciting, I hope. We all have our parts to play.”

He and the remaining Assembly members disconnected. The transmission faded away, leaving Diana’s avatar standing amidst a darkened conference room.

“I always hated that sanctimonious hypocrite,” a new voice said. Stray leaned against the far wall from where he’d watched the entire exchange, hidden from the Assembly by Diana’s firewalls. “You should have seen him in action back on Onyx. Loved playing the good guy even when he had a drill instructor halfway through kicking your ass.”

Diana turned her avatar to face Stray as he crossed into the center of the room. “So how would you like to die when the Assembly tells me to pull the plug? Got any preferences?”

“I’m a fan of the kill team option myself.” Stray folded his arms and smirked. “But hey, you can keep it loose. Surprise me.”

“Oh, I will.” Diana called up a holographic display of force projection for both the Imperium of Clarity and the coalition fleets. Translucent shapes filled the darkened space around her and Stray as she circled around to stand beside him. Funny, how she could provide all the appearances of physical interaction and yet never quite reach through the digital veil separating her world from his.

Not that she particularly wanted to.

“Here’s the data I got from the Assembly,” she explained, indicating the fleets. “Nothing set in stone, obviously, but we can make a few battle plans with what we have now.”

“Nice.” Stray brushed a hand through one of the UNSC ships. “Pays to have people on the inside. But we’ll have to be careful not to tip our hand too much. Shinsu could get suspicious.”

“That one’s always suspicious. But you can pass off most of this as underworld informants. He’ll buy that. Might even get jealous of our intelligence network.”

Stray gave her a wry smile. “Not like you to let me steal credit for your work.”

“As if you don’t steal my credit all the time.” Diana plucked a cruiser from the air and tossed it from hand to hand. She’d always enjoyed the small game of manipulating holograms. “So, are you excited?”

Stray gave her an appraising look. “What’s there to be excited about?”

“Well, this is shaping up to be the biggest single engagement since the end of the Covenant War.” Diana gave a cold smile. “And we get a front row seat. You’ve turned into a bit of a scholar lately. Aren’t you looking forward to writing history?”

“I’ve done my best to just survive history this far. Big battles are messy, and I’m no Nelson. I’ve got no interest in getting fried by a stray torpedo.”

“Interesting choice of phrasing there. But it should be interesting, seeing how the Kru’desh stack up in a real fight.”

“I’ll admit, the thought of all that carnage does get my blood pumping.” Stray reached out and closed a tight fist around the UNSC flagship. “So sure. I’m looking forward to cutting loose out there.”

The expression on his face just then--the keen anticipation of violence--reminded Diana of why she'd chosen him in the first place. She couldn't help but take pride in the Stray she'd created.

18
God, desert planets suck. The dust, the heat, the sand, the whole feeling of being in the desert sucked. The fact that they seemed so prevalent in the galaxy seemed to be a fact solely to bother him. It didn’t help that so many people felt like settling on them with minimal, if any, terraforming.

Augustus Miller sighed and wiped his head with a soaked through hand-towel for about the sixth time in twenty minutes as he walked around the town. He scoffed at the word, this place was barely a town, a couple hundred Liang-Dortmund employees living in big, prefabricated housing. Though it was more like a massed collection of forced labor living in tenement housing, like something you’d read in an old history textbook. It upset him in a way he hadn’t felt in a long time, reminding him of the feelings that had pushed him into the arms of the Insurrection over a decade ago. But his feelings about the glorious revolution had long since faded, and he was here on this desert hell-hole for a different reason. Just a few years prior, he might have been helping plan some kind of operation to steal supplies or bomb a refinery, instead he was here for a much simpler reason, money. He was an information broker and today he was trying to steal the most valuable of Liang-Dortmund’s secrets and sell them to the highest bidders.

At least that was the plan, he had already been here about a week and the only thing he had learned was that Liang-Dortmund treated its employees like shit. That and the basics of mining, since the only way to get passage to this stupid rock was to pose as a laborer. He went to the nearby bar, one of the few buildings dedicated to something other than living quarters and mining, to think about his next move. His schedule had kept him away from anything that might have held the information he wanted, but he had gotten a decent understanding of the layout of the main facility. Maybe tomorrow, he’d find a way to sneak away from his group and make his way to one of the bigger computers, download some data and shoot it off to some of his contacts.

As he sipped his drink, some weird local take on a spiced rum using some herbs grown in the local soil. It didn’t taste half bad and he couldn’t help but think that if Montak ever expanded beyond simply mining, boozing might be a good alternative occupation for some of these people. Before he could get back to his train of thought or enjoy anymore of his drink, he was interrupted by screaming coming from outside. Augustus instinctively reached for his jacket, where several concealed handguns were holstered inside specially coated pockets that blocked out metal detectors in order to sneak them past security, but stopped himself just short of it.

Instead, he hopped up from his seat and made his way outside. Dozens of people were already standing in the street, staring up to the sky in awe. When he craned his head upward to see what was so damn interesting, he really wished he hadn’t. Dozens of organic looking alien craft were descending from two manta-ray shaped cruisers sitting high in the sky and heading towards the town. His eyes went wide and his heart starting beating rapidly, almost audibly, in his chest.

The Covenant.

He was never really exposed to the Covenant during the war, only learning about them and the deteriorating state of things from the heavily censored news broadcasts that he saw at home. In the post-war world, he had done business with former members of the alien hegemony, but this wasn’t anything like that. This wasn’t some pirate group or raiding force, this was the one word he didn’t want to think about. Invasion.

There were two things Augustus couldn’t help but think about as the dropships, which he recognized as Phantoms, came ever closer to the mining town. The first was that it would be a real bitch if he got killed on this shitty desert world by some random alien asshole. The second was that this could either make his job a lot easier, or a helluva lot harder. Either way, this was going to get much more interesting than he had been expecting.

Every instinct in his body told him to run, to get as far away from where he was as he possibly could, but even as the Phantoms hovered over the road with bay doors open and dozens of weapons pointing out at the people below, he couldn’t muster the strength to move. He could only stand and watch as the dropships activated their built-in gravity lifts and disgorged their occupants onto the surface below. It was the usual mix of diminutive Unggoy, bird-like Kig-Yar, and the tall, muscular Sangheili, but there was something off about the formation assembled here. It was being led by a human, and not just any human, but a man in a well-kept business suit.

He’d heard of Covenant remnant groups occasionally working with humans before, but this was different. He looked more like some sleazy businessman or a loan shark than anyone who should be involved in a hostile takeover. Before he could continue, his train of thought was once again interrupted by the arrival of another man in a suit, flanked by two armed security officers. Now this was a man Augustus recognized. Daniel Connolly, the Liang-Dortmund overseer in-charge of the mining operations on Montak, strode up to the man in the suit and his Covenant escort, though Augustus wasn’t certain what he thought he was going to do.

“Gentlemen, this is a Liang-Dortmund facility, I’m afraid you’re going to have to lea-”

As expected, the man in the suit interrupted him rather decisively, “It was a Liang-Dortmund facility. As of this moment, it’s now under the authority of the Guild of Free Traders and the Imperium of Clarity. We’d rather not keep production down for too long, so all we need to do is take a record of all the workers currently employed here and your current stock.”

Connolly approached the man only to be blocked by a huge Elite who snarled at him. The man sighed, “I have no interest in violence, but my… associates will do what they can to ensure the security of the facility. Resistance will be put down without hesitation, so I suggest you tell your security force to stand down and surrender now.”

Connolly stood there silently before looking up at the two huge Covenant cruisers still sitting in the sky, the predatory vessels glowing with energy like the veins of a living creature as it disgorged more dropships and fighters. After a moment of hesitation, he visibly exhaled and nodded, “Alright. I’ll order everyone to stand down and surrender. All I ask is that you don’t hurt anyone.”

The man smiled, which only served to make him look even scummier than just a moment ago, “I guarantee you that as long as everyone complies, you’ll hardly notice the difference.”

Connolly and the man both walked off towards the main facility with both of their personal guard in tow, leaving Augustus and the rest of the off-duty workers standing there in the sandy streets, surrounded by several dozen alien soldiers. Several people tried to make their way back to whatever it was they were doing before this all happened only to be stopped by the aliens, who grunted at them in their alien languages.

Several minutes later, a woman in a Liang-Dortmund uniform ran up to the group with a pad in her hand. She spoke with the lead Sangheili for a few moments before stepping up to the crowd. Augustus recognized her as one of the shift managers from inside the mine, Carmella or something. Her eyes darted around the pad for a moment before she finally spoke up.

“Alright, roll call everyone. Step up when you hear your name so that way we know where everyone is. George Saunders. David Wolfe. Cassie Brown. Tara Bacon.”

Every time she spoke a name, another person would step forward and confirm that they were, indeed, there. Augustus, on the other hand, was so distracted by what had just transpired that he almost missed it when she called out his pseudonym, “Jared Wiesner... Jared Wiesner?”

Upon hearing the fake name a second time, he shook himself out of his stupor and stepped forward, “Yeah, I’m here.”

She briefly glanced up at him from behind the pad, flashing a look that said she was more concerned that he had made her repeat herself rather than whether or not he was actually present. After finishing off the rest of the list, she confirmed it with both the Sangheili and someone of the radio before dismissing everyone and walking back towards the facility.

As the crowds dispersed and the Covenant began taking up positions along the street, Augustus could only think to head back into the bar and his now-warm rum. He absentmindedly took a sip from it and swirled the rest around as he was lost back in deep thought. It was times like this that made him wonder if his life would have been better had he actually finished school. Maybe he could’ve been an accountant, or a civil service worker, he always liked the ocean so maybe an oceanographer. But no, he decided he wanted to be a freedom fighter, except not really because he was a coward and couldn’t manage to pass even rebel boot camp.

He reiterated to himself, desert planets suck.

19
Blades flashed and crackled across the training deck. A line of Sangheili warriors clashed, sparring in a precise sword drill. Each warrior moved with grace and discipline, a far cry from the raucous brawling usually witnessed in Kru’desh training session. The sparring warriors fought as if the blades were natural extensions of their own bodies, slipping in and out before their opponents in an almost balletic display.

A single figure strode amongst the duelists, passing through them without flinching or disrupting their battle patterns. Shinsu ‘Refum clasped his hands behind his back and observed his warriors with a keen gaze, uttering quiet instructions and corrections that went unheard by the curious Kru’desh warriors who watched the display from around the room.

Amber watched the exercise from an elevated catwalk above the deck. Life on the frontier had gradually made the once enigmatic Covenant races far more relatable, but only because the aliens she encountered were standing waist deep in the same mud she was. Observing the intense discipline of Shinsu’s warriors, she found herself reminded of the unknowable force the Covenant had once represented for her.

She considered herself a tough girl to impress, but she couldn’t help but feel a stroke of envy. The warriors below her brought to mind the sparring sessions of elite Spartan operators. Just before Shinsu ordered the deck cleared, she’d been bludgeoning some manners into a warrior who’d loudly questioned her right to lead. These warriors were far above the dishonored outcasts who now counted her among their ranks.

A few paces away, her new section leader talked quietly with some of his friends. Tuka ‘Refum—usually more good natured than Amber could have ever thought possible in a Sangheili—had been in a dark mood ever since his brother had come aboard the Soul Ascension. The shipmaster’s sudden appearance and imperious commandeering of the training room had not done wonders for his attitude.

“Hey, maybe you guys should come look at this,” Amber called. “You might learn something.”

Tuka shot her a cold look. Amber returned it with a sardonic wave.

A laugh split the air as the officer called Ro’nin strolled up between them. Unlike Tuka and his warriors, who wore the blue harnesses common among lower ranking Covenant warriors, he had a suit of battered, older armor that Amber recalled seeing on the Sangheili she’d faced down during the Covenant war. A pair of plasma rifles hung at his hips and a concussion rifle was slung over his back.

“Don’t mind the lesser ‘Refum,” Ro’nin said, coming to stand beside Amber. “He’s just jealous of his brother. It can’t be easy, having that to live up to.” He waved a hand at Shinsu, immersed in instructing his guard squad.

“You don’t know anything about it,” Tuka spat back. “And you certainly don’t know anything about him. He’s a monster. I don’t want anything to do with him.”

“Relax. I was just joking.” Ro’nin chortled. “Of course you don’t have anything to live up to. He’s only a powerful officer in our glorious Covenant, while you’ve already outdone him by being a section leader in our lovely gang of heretics and criminals.”

Tuka’s mandibles twitched with anger and he reached for his energy sword. Amber stepped aside so that she wouldn’t be between the two Sangheili if Tuka tried to take Ro’nin’s head off. But one of the other warriors rested a hand on Tuka’s shoulder and the younger Sangheili just stalked off with a final glare at Ro’nin.

“Off to complain to the commander, no doubt,” Ro’nin said, shaking his head. “There goes everything that’s wrong with my species, human. It’s a miracle he’s lasted this long in our legion. The ones who are too serious are the first to break.”

Amber shot him an appraising look. “If that were true, we’d have broken you all a lot easier during the war.”

“I admit, my kind is a tad stiff-necked,” Ro’nin agreed. “Though the same could sometimes be said for your kind as well.”

“Excuse me?” Amber raised an eyebrow. The Kru’desh officer was infamously candid, but he’d never been this talkative with her before. Part of her enjoyed the banter—it reminded her of what it was like to actually be on a team. Another part of her was wary of this sudden friendliness.

“I spent plenty of time amongst you humans before I way back to the Covenant’s welcoming embrace,” Ro’nin said casually. “The Syndicate paid top credit for Sangheili mercenaries like me and I had nothing better to do with my time. I enjoyed my time with them, but I was surprised to find plenty of humans taking themselves just as seriously as my own people.”

“It takes all kinds,” Amber admitted. She pointed down at Shinsu. “I take it that’s an example of a hinge-head taking himself too seriously?”

The “hinge-head” quip was a remark meant to needle the warrior, but Ro’nin just laughed. Very little seemed to phase this one. Perhaps that was why he was so comfortable talking to a human most of the other warriors still saw as a dangerous addition to their ranks.

“I suppose that’s one way of looking at it. But Shinsu ‘Refum is an interesting case. He performs a role, just as your friend the commander learned how to perform as our leader. Most of my people respect pedigree, so ‘Refum cultivates the image of cultured nobility. But he’s no hidebound fool. That warrior is as ruthless and cunning as any pirate lord I’ve ever seen. You should speak to Tuka about it sometimes, trying though he can be. Those brothers came from nothing, just like you.”

Amber’s spine stiffened. She’d let her guard down with Ro’nin, but just how far could she trust him? What had Simon—or more likely Diana—told this mercenary about her origins?

“And what about you?” she deflected. “I’ll bet you didn’t have much going for you back home to turn out the way you did. What do you hinge-heads have, peasants? Got tired of working some aristocrat’s fields?”

“Me?” Ro’nin narrowed his reptilian eyes and Amber wondered if she’d finally touched a nerve. But his tone was as jovial as ever. “Oh, hardly. My clan was old nobility. Nothing too powerful, to be sure, but we traced our bloodline back millennia before the founding of the Covenant?”

“So you just had a rebellious phase and never grew out of it.” Amber wondered what it would be like to have a family tree thousands of years old. She barely remembered her own parents and felt no real need to even try tracking them down. Things were better that way. Family—blood or otherwise—only dragged you down.

“Oh, I was a model warrior believe it or not. My brothers and I pledged our service to the gods and marched off to cleanse the galaxy of you human filth.” Ro’nin’s mandibles splayed in an ugly smile. “Mother was so proud when we shipped off to wage holy war. All for the glorious Covenant empire.”

It was strange to hear a Sangheili talk of his family. Amber had spent the war seeing them as little more than killing machines, targets to be picked off and killed. Even now, the aliens she ran with hardly seemed the type with families to go back to.

“Well, no hard feelings.” She thought of her childhood friends from Gamma Company with their stories of how the Covenant butchered their families. Not the same Covenant she served now, but close enough. “We all got a kick out of killing you guys, too.”

“I’m sure you did. On our first mission my brothers and I attacked a unit of human soldiers three times our number. We killed them all. I’ll never forget standing amidst my brothers and telling them our dees would echo in the family’s battle-poem.” Ro’nin shot her a sideways glance. “Do tell, what was your first kill?”

“An Engineer. You know, those Huragok things.” She still remembered the way the floating alien had squealed when she roasted it with her flamethrower. “I burned a lot of you guys after that. Then a big hinge-head ran me straight through with an energy sword. I was twelve years old.”

The memory of that first mission was drawing Amber down into a dark painful tunnel she’d rather leave untraveled. The sharp sound of Ro’nin’s mocking laugh dragged her thankfully back into the present. She glared at the Sangheili. “Let me guess, those brothers of yours aren’t alive anymore.”

If the remark stung Ro’nin, he didn’t show it. “Predictable, I know. We went into one battle after another, and one by one my brothers didn’t come back. And when the Covenant split I was the only one left to wonder what it had all been for.”

He turned his gaze back down to the drilling warriors. “I went back to Sanghelios as civil war engulfed the planet. I begged my family to leave before the fighting worsened. Enough of us have died, I said. But they refused to abandon our ancestral home. And when warriors came to sack our keep I was the only one left to defend them. Again I begged them to evacuate. But when we reached the shuttle they insisted I go back for our family heirlooms. So I went back in. Killed four warriors to take back those trinkets. And when I returned the entire family, my every living relative, lay dead on the landing pad.”

Ro’nin relayed the story without a trace of emotion. Amber wondered what was really going on behind his cold yellow eyes. “So what did you do?’

“Honor demanded I pursue the warriors and avenge my family. Instead I dumped the heirlooms on their corpses and left the planet. A few day slater I was on some human colony, killing your kind once again because other humans were paying me. I never looked back. There was nothing worth going back for.”

“Until you came back to the Covenant. Guess you really did miss the glory days.”

“Please.” Ro’nin snorted. “The Syndicate wasn’t paying as well and there was loot to be had with the Kru’desh. It’s served me well this far, especially with Stray in command.”

“And when it stops working out so well?”

Ro’nin gave Amber a sly glance. “When did service with humanity stop working so well for you, I wonder?”

She returned his gaze, unflinching. “When it stopped it being the humanity I thought I was fighting for.”

“Indeed. And this is not the Covenant I once served. We all know that. Jul ‘Mdama, Shinsu ‘Refum, myself. The ones who really want the old Covenant back are the ones serving in Toru ‘Makhan’s fleets. They crave the certainty of old Covenant power and so they flock to the most powerful one they can find. Those of us still here want other things.”

“Like what?”

“Whatever you desire. Trust me, you will not find freedom in the Imperium of Clarity. In the Kru’desh Legion, you take whatever you have the power to seize. You’ll see that soon enough.”

“I hear your little training exercises are bothering my crew.” Stray folded his arms and glanced up at Shinsu ‘Refum. They stood at the center of the Soul Ascension’s bridge, watching the officers prepare to transition the ship out of Slipspace.

“I requested brief use of your training deck.” Shinsu idly adjusted his armor, having just returned from his makeshift quarters. “I don’t see how that could possibly have been a bother to anyone.”

“Yeah, sure. You know I stuck certain people down there to keep them out of your way, right?”

It was Shinsu’s turn to give him a cold look. “Stop being coy. I have no interest in my brother unless he gets in my way. Make sure he doesn’t.”

“You could always just make up with him, you know. Unless you think he’s still sore about you putting him here.”

“Receiving family advice from you is certainly intriguing,” Shinsu noted drily. “As it stands, I had nothing to do with his assignment here. And we have more important matters to concern ourselves with than his personal grudges.”

“Fine, fine.” Stray turned back to the bridge screens. “Just don’t blame me if he comes after you.”

“I will certainly blame you if you fail to keep this rabble in line. Poor discipline is the sign of—”

“A poor commander, yes, we’ve been over that.” Stray adjusted the command sash draped over his battered armor like dressing on a particularly ugly stone. “Leave the little stuff to me and focus on whatever it is you have to do to butter Toru ‘Makhan up.”

The Soul Ascension lurched and bright light enveloped the viewscreens across the bridge. Reports from the rest of the task force flashed across the screens, monitoring their progress as they transitioned out of Slipspace.

“We will help this warlord win his battle against the coalition arrayed against him. That will set the stage for an alliance—”

“You sure he needs our help?” Stray cut in. He and Shinsu stared at the monitors now displaying the Frendhal system.

A fleet larger than anything Stray had ever seen hung in orbit above the fortress world. Covenant ships of every class and size gathered together over the planet around a massive carrier dozens of times the Soul Ascension’s size. Thousands of smaller shuttles and fighter craft flitted between the capital ships like flies around great restless beasts.

Shinsu took in the sight calmly. “He is indeed powerful. But you will find that a slender blade can be just as potent as a greatsword if wielded appropriately. I hope you appreciate this before our travels together come to an end.”

20
The militia "Warthog" M12 6x6 Armored Personnel Carrier rumbled down the paved asphalt road in the direction of a hilly horizon. The sun was rising off on the right over a relatively distant city skyline and some scattered forests. Usually, a ride like this would be far more bumpy, however, the addition of a six-wheeled vehicle frame and an experienced Warthog driver made the ride far more comfortable than Merlin had anticipated. Or maybe it was the fact that a human popsicle was settling in the passenger bay and maybe the driver was being exceptionally careful not to flip the truck given said popsicle.

Andra's head was resting on Merlin's lap while she skimmed civilian news networks on her datapad. On the tilted flatscreen, she examined an article about a Unified Earth Government mining facility getting sacked by an unrecognized corporate entity known as the Guild of Free Traders. While it wasn't unusual for secessionist and piracy groups to disrupt and take over operations of unprotected corporate facilities on the Frontier, certain aspects of this organization's appearance seemed to have drawn Andra's attention. Since Merlin had spent the entire interstellar trip to New Syracuse tweaking the software aboard the MJOLNIR powered armor employed by Andra and Merlin, his brain had enough of screen exposure for several hours. Instead of reading, he let Andra read aloud and skimmed her articles on occasion while taking in the scenery.

"The Guild of Free Traitors...heh, 'Traitors'..., I meant Traders..., seems to have made several high-profile interdictions in this part of space. They hit a Liang-Dortmund mine on Montak six days ago. Get this, "backed by Covenant warships". Andra explained to Merlin as she looked through the news article provided by ECB News Broadcasting Company from the colony world of Barrier. Andra's half-assed joke tugged slightly at Merlin's lips, failing to turn a smirk.

"Sounds like the details we got about the hostage crisis involving the Haversham," Merlin replied, remembering the little debrief the duo had received hours earlier. Glancing at the bottom of the news article, Merlin spotted an image of a desert compound with the orange Liang-Dortmund emblem emblazed on its side.

"There's a lot of people out in this section of space that feels really uncomfortable about those Imperium of Clarity folk operating so close to New Syracuse. It doesn't help that the UNSC doesn't respond to a problem till it seems like its too late. Just because some of the colonies out here aren't officially sanctioned, they feel abandoned and these alien factions and criminal fleets are just popping up and demanding everything from servitude to protection money. It's been getting worse too. Like you read about Montak." The driver, Corporal Thaksin Fierro, explained from the driver seat. He stared at Merlin and Andra with his friendly-green eyes through the rearview mirror.

"You seem pretty well-read on colonial sentiments," Merlin noted, slightly impressed. "Where you hear all that stuff?"

"Well I live here for one," Thaksin grinned as Andra rolled her eyes playfully. "But in all seriousness, I frequent the bars and pubs around Abela. The cargo fliers in town are pretty vocal and say some interesting things when they're hyped up on drugs and beer."

"Ah okay. I don't drink." Merlin replied. It wasn't a matter of preference but rather circumstance. Most Spartan metabolisms prevented or greatly minimized the effects of alcohol. Trying to get drunk would be pointless on Merlin's part.

"I suppose you wouldn't kid. I do, but no joints for me." The Corporal replied. The youth of Merlin and Andra, clearly military assets even in their civilian attire, didn't seem to phase the militia-man.

"Same for us." Merlin replied, responding to the drug statement. Same circumstance as the alcohol to some degree.

The Corporal just hummed in understanding before returning to his driving. The Warthog passenger bay became bathed in silence once again.

Some time later, Merlin felt the back of head buzz slightly, like a slight itch right on the metallic surface of his implanted Spartan Neural Interface. Flicking his wrist, Merlin checked his wrist-mounted tactical pad to fund that he had an incoming call on a secure channel. Based on the triangle insignia with a circle at its center, it was from someone at the Office of Naval Intelligence. Knowing it was best not to test the patience of his handlers, Merlin accepted the call promptly. The wrist-mounted computer quickly secured and confirmed the authenticity of the connection, Merlin reached down to his feet, over Andra's head and her black hair-locks and pulled a radio headset.

"This is Merlin-D032." Merlin greeted curtly. He wasn't sure who it was but before leaving Earth a few days ago, he'd been told to expect a new ONI liaison officer to handle further orders upon arriving in New Syracuse.

The orders hadn't been wrong per say, however, they didn't say it would be someone familiar, and they didn't say it would be someone not looking for his presence. A male groan echoed at the other end of the radio channel.

"Yes?" Merlin asked, immediately ticked off even though he knew he shouldn't be. The response just wasn't the one he was hoping for.

"Where's Daniele?" The voice of an annoyed Joshua-G024 came on the line finally. No greeting and certainly not in a pleasant mood.

"It's a long story...he's AWOL."

"What?"

"It's...a really long story, sir. It'd be better if I explained in person."

"...alright, Merlin. You're acting commander of Fireteam Boson right now?"

"Acting commander of Fireteam Massachusetts." Merlin clarified. He knew he was being cryptic but talking to Joshua was always a challenge, especially pleasant small talk. Merlin's interactions with the older Spartan had always been pretty straight-forward, blunt, and off-putting.

"Clarify."

"Ferret Team Boson has been dissolved. Daniele-D003 and Roxanne-D107 are Absent without Leave in an unknown locale. Spartan Adryn-D111 has been reassigned to another posting. Andra and I have been restructured into a two-man fireteam for the time being independent of our previous command." Merlin reported like a robot. He really didn't want to go over the details again, too much to deal with at the current moment.

Looking down, Merlin noted Andra's blue eyes were watching Merlin with mild curiosity. She mouthed at him, "Who is it?"

Merlin simply shrugged, rolled his eyes and mouthed, "Joshua."

21
They were going to war. Not to put down some insignificant remnant group desperately trying to make a name for itself, not to stamp out some insurrection, they were bound for what promised to be full on war. Cody was afraid.

Not for himself mind you, B042 had lost all sense of self-preservation years ago, but for those under him. They were all Spartans, capable a fearsome warriors, two of them from what would likely be recognized as the finest crop of their kind ever made, but they were close to him, and that put them at risk.

Slamming a magazine into the BR85 in his hands, the Spartan racked the slide and took aim. Cody had practically begged to simply be assigned to LONEWOLF Headhunter unit, but he’d been denied. His experience made him ‘an ideal candidate for fireteam leadership’ according to Commander Palmer, who conveniently ignored just how many times he’d been the lone survivor of any given unit.

Then of course, there was the bit with G043. Maybe he should’ve guessed it sooner with their ridiculously similar service tags, or maybe it really had been impossible to know for him. But ONI knew, they knew the Gamma was his younger brother, the same one he’d told shrinks over and over that he prayed would never have to do the things he had, and they’d recommended folding them into Cody’s unit anyway. He squeezed the trigger, and a trio of rounds slapped home downrange.

Maybe it was out of twisted cruelty, or maybe it was their flawed attempt at thanking him, either would’ve fit the bill for for the dark minds he’d served loyally for so long. Regardless, he didn’t know how to handle to revelation, so he didn’t. Another burst.

This ‘Imperium’ was an unknown to him, Stallion had been knee deep in the fighting on Requiem and a dozen other worlds since July of the past year, his ability to stay updated on who was what on the galactic stage was limited to whatever was on the other end of his weapon. He squeezed again, the neat cluster of bullets all hammering dead center on the target.

While he’d never heard of the group before, the briefing made it abundantly clear that they weren’t small time. The images of their massive fleet brought back the feeling of dread that had crawled up his spine hundreds of times during to war. It brought back the memories from Reach.

This group was serious about carving out a place for themselves, just as much so as ‘Mdama if not more. After all, this lot had no issue with letting humans into their fold, they refused to let the past prevent them from claiming glory. They had to be wiped out.

Cody squeezed the trigger twice, the rifle kicking softly against his unarmored shoulder as a beat of sweat trickled down his brow. His aim was spot on, for once.

Years and years at the range on Onyx didn’t help his shaky hands, close quarters had been his only option, yet the moment they pumped him full of drugs, the shaking stopped. They’d made him better in every way imaginable, but it still hadn’t saved anyo-

“I thought you couldn’t hit shit with one of those things?”

Dawes. The Spartan of the newest generation had a habit of making Cody incredibly uncomfortable, mostly by forcing him to engage in normal conversation. “Just prefer the ‘5K.” He mumbled in response, eyes never leaving the range as he squeezed again.

“The ‘85 can be switched to auto ya know, hits a good bit harder than the carbine and still does wonders in close quarters. Used one on a deployment in ‘54, shredded a chieftain or two.” The Spartan-IV remarked with a shrug, scooping up another battle rifle from the rack and loading it, joining his team leader on the range.

Of course he knew the BR85 was capable of full auto, he’d been drilled with every weapon in the UNSC arsenal since he was six years old, his fondness for the carbine came from years of use. He depended on the bastard of the BR and MA5 platforms, and it hadn’t failed him yet. In other words, nostalgia had taken ahold.

“Rifle jams more frequently, carbine’s more versatile and ammo is easier to find.” He answered, and Cody wasn’t wrong, finding ammo that work for the MA5 series (or its many emulations) was a lot easier than for the Battle Rifle. Innies, pirates, and a good amount of brute tribes had the series of rifle on hand, which made scrounging up additional ammo a feasible option. But in truth that was secondary to him.

He squeezed the trigger again, rounds hitting home, and instant later Dawes fired, his own burst peppering the target. “To each their own.” Mused the new-generation Spartan with a shrug, both soldiers letting off another burst down range.

“You ever gonna talk to him about it?” There it was, the real reason he was here. Dawes had been there for the reveal of Cody and Jacob’s relation, the man having been privy to the nature of the SPARTAN-III program anyway.

How that was possible he didn’t know, but the man knew of and had fought the Flood, so perhaps he’d known of them too for some reason. Or he was an ONI plant. Or there was some other reason he knew that his teammates were former child soldiers but hadn’t been taken out by some triggerman.

Cody didn’t like to think about it.

“What’s there to talk about?” He shrugged, squeezing the trigger of his rifle once again. The last time he’d seen his brother and been aware of it, the boy had been a few months old, still nursing, he didn’t remember Cody or their parents. He’d vanished from Cody’s life almost as soon as they touched down on New Constantinople, in the arms of a grieving mother who’d lost her own infant. He wondered if she’d ever told him that he had an older brother.

Dawes chuckled lightly, letting off another barrage down range. “You’ve got whole lives to catch up on, for starters. Or you could just I ‘dunno, address it beyond just nodding ‘yer head.”

“The less he knows the better. Didn’t want this for him.” B042 replied, lowering the rifle as he turned his head towards the older man.

“I don’t mean your service, tell ‘im where he’s from, what your family was like. He never got to know them how you did.” Dawes fired back, lowering his own weapon and facing the battered soldier. Maybe he’d forgotten that Cody had been five when he’d lost them, he barely remembered them, or their home, and what he did was hardly enough to answer anyone’s yearning questions.

“He’s your family, when this is all over and done and you put down the gun for good, he can either be the person you rely on, the person you wish you could but can’t cause you never tried to make something there.” The Spartan lectured. Cody wanted to snap, he knew what family was, and he knew what it was like to lose it.

“We need to focus on the mission, we’re up against serious opposition.” He just wanted to change the topic, direct it to anything but the matter at hand. But in his experience, the newer breed, and the large majority of humans had a hard time letting things go. Hammering out the rest of the rifle’s ammo, B042 yanked out the depleted magazine and turned to put the rifle back on the rack.

“Cody,” He froze, Stallion almost always referred to him simply as ‘One’, in fact he didn’t think Dawes had ever said his name. B042 turned his head to look back at his subordinate. “How many threes do you think get this chance? To see the family they lost again? To meet their brother?”

Too many.

“Cody, that was different. You know that.” Dawes had read him like a book. The fatherly Spartan’s voice changed from simply cordial, to concerned, the friendly smile replace by a serious expression. He knew about what happened on the Corbulo’s Last, about EPHIALTES, of course he did, he’d been there too. Cody supposed the magnitude of his failure there made it difficult to remember the smaller details.

“You have a chance that your brothers and sisters didn’t, don’t waste that. For both your sakes, and theirs.” Dawes urged him, almost pleading. Cody stood there for a moment, mind filling with guilt. What would Detrick have told him to do? Or Dan? Marcella would’ve cursed him out for days on end, that much he knew given how often she spoke of her brothers. And what about Jamison?

He’d have pushed him harder than Dawes, he’d have made the two of them talk for days on end until he was satisfied. Stupidly pushy as he always was.

“Once this is over I’ll,” He paused, wondering if he really could do what was being asked of him, and why he even should. “I’ll talk to him.”

“That’s all I ask of ya One.” Dawes smile returned as he gave Cody a nod, and turned back to the range. B042 returned the rifle and discarded the magazine, and wordlessly left Dawes alone on the range, more weighing on his mind now than before.

He needed to ensure they made it through this, all of them.

User:Spartan-D042 screw this sig stuff 10:24, July 28, 2018 (UTC)