Halo: Common Denominator

Common Denominator By Dragonclaws and RelentlessRecusant

Dramatis Personae UNSC Research Expedition Dr. Sachs – expedition leader, sociological specialist Dr. Freshney – technological and biological specialist Lt. Wakes – ONI intelligence officer, security chief Sgt. Eisen – Marine guard Pvt. Barrett – Marine guard

ONI Recovery Team Cpt. Loring – Bravo Six, point man Sgt. Sequard – Bravo One, sharpshooter

UNSC Sanghelios Embassy Ambassador Pressley – extraordinary consul to Sanghelios, UNSC Department of State General Wakes – commander of UNSC Marine Corps garrison on Sanghelios

The Pit, outside command center

A pair of ELITES slowly walk towards the RESEARCH CAMP. Meanwhile, SGT. EISEN is pacing back and forth at his station. When they approach, EISEN turns around to greet them.

EISEN: “What’re you doing here?” ELITE: “Is this is human camp?” EISEN: “This is the UNSC research expedition camp. Who might you be?” ELITE: “And who are you?” EISEN: “I’m Sergeant Eisen, UNSC Marine Corps.”

The ELITES walk a bit closer.

EISEN: “I’m sorry, sirs, but this is a restricted area. I’ll need to see your identification first.” ELITE: “My identification?” EISEN: “Yes indeed, sir.”

The ELITES withdraw maulers from their sides. Cut to inside the RESEARCH CAMP.

ELITE: “This is my identification, infidel.”

The Pit, inside command center

Dr. FRESHNEY is kneeled over a Covenant gravity lift, studying it. BARRETT is kneeling in the corner, and the rest are pacing. Suddenly, WAKES turns to BARRETT.

WAKES: “Private, where’s the Sergeant?” BARRETT: “Should still be at the guard post, sir. Shifts change in fifteen minutes.”

Suddenly, there is the roll of assault rifle fire, and several blasts from a mauler. Everyone in the tight room turns to the sound of the fire.

WAKES: “What the hell was that, Private?” SACHS: “Lieutenant, is there a problem?”

WAKES and BARRETT take the BR55HB SR Battle Rifles from the side of the room and take several fragmentation grenades.

BARRETT: “Doctors, time to go. I’m going to check on the Sergeant. The pistols are just over there.”

BARRETT, with a Battle Rifle, quickly leaves the room.

FRESHNEY: “The hell’s going on, Lieutenant? I’m not leaving the camp-.” WAKES: “Take a sidearm, Doctors. We need to go. Now.” SACHS: “How the hell do you even hold a damn pistol?” WAKES: “Stop bullshitting! You just take a goddamn magnum. Until the private comes back, I’m assuming it’s not safe for you anymore, and my responsibility’s to make sure you two are alive and breathing.”

The Pit, outside command center

BARRETT looks down the ramp to see EISEN’s body.

BARRETT: “Holy shit”

BARRETT turns back in the direction of the command center.

BARRETT: “Lieutenant, it’s Private Barrett! The sergeant’s dead, and--”

Just crouching near the ramp are the two ELITES. One rises, and fills BARRETT with needler rounds. The private explodes.

ELITE: “Spread out! Find them!”

Guardian, in the sniper tower

WAKES, FRESHNEY, and SACHS are panting, running from the hammer spawn up to the tower itself. WAKES leads the way, Battle Rifle in hand.

FRESHNEY: “Mother of God, what just happened, Lieutenant?” WAKES: “Shut up! If they’re really out to kill us, they’ll find us, even here in the forest.” SACHS: “What is this place? It looks ancient…primordial…” FRESHNEY: “Looks Forerunner to me.” WAKES: “You two can figure out what this place is. I’ve stashed emergency provisions for us here, including a long-range secure COM. You two keep watch. I’ll message General Wakes at the embassy, and we’ll be exfiltrated in the hour.”

WAKES heads up the ramp for the COM transponders (fusion coils), while FRESHNEY and SACHS remain in the overshield room, looking around at the walls.

FRESHNEY: “Look here. It’s a Forerunner motif.” WAKES: “Hieroglyphics aren’t familiar. I’m guessing pre-transliteral era.”

Meanwhile, at the transmitter.

LT. WAKES: “This is Lieutenant Wakes, Office of Naval Intelligence, UNSC research expedition, Sangheilios. Transmitting secure to General Wakes, UNSC Sangheilios Embassy.” AIDE: “Pass-key confirmed. Upload receipt confirmed. Stand by.” GEN. WAKES: “General Wakes.” LT. WAKES: “Sir!” GEN. WAKES: “Son, what the hell are you doing on the priority channel?” LT. WAKES: “We’ve been attacked at the research camp! The two Marines have been killed, and-”

High Ground, in the COM room

GEN. WAKES: “Son? Come in? Lieutenant Wakes, are you there?” AIDE: “What was that?” GEN. WAKES: “SATCOM ping is green: problem is on their end. Sergeant, I want you to call up Field Ops. I want an ONI special-operator team at the research camp ASAP. I want to know what the hell happened.” AIDE: “And what about the secure transmitter’s location?” GEN. WAKES: “Prepare an airborne force, Bravo Company, immediately. I want them to be our rapid-reaction task group for this. There’s something definitely wrong, and I’m guessing the way the SATCOM cut out wasn’t a coincidence nor a technical company. Let me know when Field Ops has that ONI team.” AIDE: “Right away, General.”

Guardian, in the sniper tower

A sniper shot arcs from the far gravity lift, and in a conflagaration, detonates the fusion coils that was the transmitter.

WAKES: “Fuck! Doctors, we’re under attack! Fall back! Fall back!”

Meanwhile, in the overshield room, the second sniper shot barely misses FRESHNEY’s head.

FRESHNEY: “Oh, shit!”

FRESHNEY and SACHS frantically run downstairs, and are met by a breathless WAKES.

WAKES: “You guys still have all your limbs?” FRESHNEY: “They just shot at me, and I’m a-” WAKES: “Enemy sharpshooter, three hundred feet, north-east, by the gravity lift. SRS99D-S2 AM. It’s an anti-materiel rifle, a large-ass motherfucker. Must be contraband from the arms facility at Chi Ceti IV.” SACHS: “It nearly took his head off!” WAKES: “14.5x114mm, armor-piercing. We’re pinned down.” FRESHNEY: “And did HIGHCOM respond?” WAKES: “I got cut off. Whoever’s after us must even have a Maxwell filter: they’re tracking all transmissions with a UNSC header codon. We won’t be able to transmit without them catching us.” SACHS: “Who are these assholes?” WAKES: “They’re definitely Elites: I can’t imagine the Ultranationalist Party, for all their venom and tough talk, trying to kill us. I’m guessing mercenaries: well-armed and well-trained shock troops. Untraceable.” FRESHNEY: “Then we’re dead!” SACHS: “We still have the Lieutenant. And we have you and me. We’re not giving up.” WAKES: “Sorry to crash your party, Doctor, but it doesn’t look like we’re going to be getting out of here without reinforcements. A hunter-killer team is typically three Elites: one marksman and two close-quarters specs. They have us pinned down here, and it’s only a matter of time before they come in and get us.” SACHS: “And then what?” WAKES: “Then, we’re dead.”

Construct, peripheral balcony

ELITE: “Milord?” SENATOR: “Ossoona. What is your report, spy?” ELITE: “Our filters have picked up a distress call from the apes. Airborne telemetry indicates that several of their cohort are dead, and the survivors have fled to a Forerunner installation in the jungle. Shall we make a move?”

Guardian, near the sniper tower

Sniper shots continue to ring out as FRESHNEY, SACHS, and WAKES are clumped in a small huddle.

WAKES: “I’ve set the charges, and the motion sensor line’s been prepared. If they come close, the trip mines will blow. Hopefully, we can hold them off until my father can arrive.” SACHS: “He does know where we are from the back-trace on the SATCOM line.” FRESHNEY: “For God’s sake, he doesn’t even know what’s happening! He’ll know we were here when they find out corpses.” WAKES: “Shut up. That’s an order.”

The sniper shots stop, and suddenly, there’s a large explosion.

WAKES: “That was one.”

Suddenly, before they can respond, an ELITE falls upon them, a plasma rifle in hand. ELITE: “I’ve found them!” WAKES: “Don’t move, you son of a bitch, or we’ll blow your brains out.” ELITE: “You and what army? These…civilians?”

FRESHNEY slams the ELITE in the back with his sidearm, and the ELITE crumples, unconscious.

FRESHNEY: “That was a nice nose job.” WAKES: “Good work.” FRESHNEY: “He’s concussed. Elite physiology has a deficiency of the occipitoatlar joint between the occipital and C1. The descending corticospinal tracts should be over-compressed now: I’m guessing he’ll be out for hours.”

WAKES shoots the ELITE’s limp body several times.

WAKES: “No, he’s not going to be waking up.” SACHS: “But-” WAKES: “Doesn’t matter, Doctor. You know when he woke up, he’d kill us all.” FRESHNEY: “Had to be done.” WAKES: “That’s the-”

The sniper shots start back up again with eerie regularity.

WAKES: “Mother fuck. There’s still the last one, and he has a sniper trained on us. Undoubtedly, he’s calling for help as well.” FRESHNEY: “Well, we can’t just run into the center if he has that big-ass rifle.”

FRESHNEY glances at the corridor before them.

SACHS: “We can go underground: flank him.”