Halo: Avenger's Quest

Part One: Hunt for the Outcast
Part One Archive

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

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

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

There was all that, on that one planet.

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

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

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



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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Then get to it."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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



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

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

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

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

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

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

"The older one?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Not giving up, just waiting on."

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

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



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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Yeah, mostly. Why?"

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